Chapter 23

23.

         “What the hell are you two doing in my home?” the man snarled, his voice threatening to tear jagged holes in the silence. His eyes flicked to Ranos, who was standing closest, on the side of the bed near the door, and then over to Tristian in the opposite corner. The three of them created a lopsided triangle, a precarious shape, with any of the sides ready to buckle and break away at any moment. The man’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he saw the bleeding gash of the sword. The dull crimson light was reflected in his eyes, like fires going off in the mind. Licking dry lips, he said, “I want you two out of here. Now.” The curtains on the windows shivered violently, as if in a strong wind. “Now,” the man said again. “Or I kill you.”
         “Not before we ask you a few questions,” Tristian said evenly, taking a step forward, keeping the point of the sword between him and the other man. Ranos had to admire the gall of someone who could answer a death threat with a statement like that. “I think you’re the person we wish to have a little talk with.” He glanced at his partner, asking, “Is this him, Ranos?”
         Concentrating, Ranos plunged straight into the man’s mind, skimming the surface much like a bird riding currents of air, diving into the slippery sand only when a choice morsel presented itself. Brisk winds and jagged debris buffeted him, but he pressed on, even as the ground tried to become solid concrete. He brushed it all aside, plucking the freshest pieces from the soil they were spawned in, disregarding the grasping roots and uneven gravity. There was nothing to impede his progress. Nothing to halt his wholesale ransacking. He swept past dusty streets and quiet towns, full of people gone and not gone, who stared at him with empty and misunderstanding eyes, down dirty paths and pristine gardens, soaked in blood and grown in grime, up the wall of a high-rise with no name and down into a hole so dark that the mind refused to even acknowledge it was there. A certain stink pervaded throughout. A certain disillusion. By all the gods, what have you-
         Fixing the man with a unreadable gaze, Ranos said to Tristian in a quiet voice, “His name is Tolin. This is his home. He is definitely a mindbender.” Ranos’ eyes narrowed, a light focusing to its finest point. “And I believe he has done terrible things.” Seeing the man back away in surprise, his face growing strangely pale, Ranos smiled grimly and said, “Oh, does my name precede me? You seem to recognize it.”
         “Does he know where they are, or what happened to them?” Tristian demanded, taking another step forward. Without a sound the door behind the man closed, a fact he seemed aware of, but helpless to stop. His eyes kept darting to each man, never resting on any particular one for any length of time. His wife merely cowered in the bed, the covers in a bundle in both hands pulled up to her chin, watching the proceedings unfold with wide and fearful eyes.
         “I believe he does,” Ranos said, speaking directly to the man. Behind him the door was rattling, the sound of someone trying to break in. Except there was no one there. His smile became thinner, knife-edged. “Yes, that’s right, Tolin,” he said to the man. “That’s exactly right. We’re just the people you think we are.” Tolin’s jaw worked feverishly but no sound came out. Ranos took another step forward, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes. He towered at least a foot over Tolin, forcing the man to crane his neck upwards to look at his face. He didn’t seem to like what he saw. “You know what we can do. I strongly suggest you cooperate.”
         “Tolin, what are they talking about?” Jula asked, her voice quavering. The sword was hovering near the edge of the bed and she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. “What are they going to do? Who are they?”
         “Quiet, Jula,” Tolin said quietly, backing up so that he was the center point of a line between Ranos and Tristian. He and Ranos appeared to be locked in a staring contest, although he kept an arm half-raised toward Tristian, as if that along might keep him away. “Please. Be quiet.”
         “But Tolin-“
         ”Quiet,” he ordered and she abruptly fell silent. Even Ranos’ eyes widened at the sharp retort in his tone, a hammer blow cushioned under two tons of feathers. It might be soft on the surface, but the strike could not fail to be painful nonetheless. Weight was a terrible burden.
         “You’re better off just telling us what we want, Tolin,” Ranos told him, quickly recovering from the backwash. His eyes were twin needles, drills boring into the brain. Tolin’s mind was a subtly crafted maelstrom, orchestrated chaos designed to keep the unwary mind guessing, a constantly shifting surface where every fact was a lie and every lie concealed only more untruths. “The more difficult you make this the harder I have to try and I can’t vouch for your well being if that happens.” He took another step. “You don’t even have to say it outloud,” he noted reasonably. “I’ll just ask the question, and read the answer. We can sort out the particulars of your involvement later. I’m sure they’ll at least consider taking it into consideration later.”
         Tolin was breathing faster now, the hollow rattle of his panting the only true noise in the spacious room. He had stopped paying attention to Tristian at all, although the man was far closer to him than Ranos was.
         “Come now, Tolin,” Ranos said, his smile a frozen scar on his face, “this isn’t really a hard choice. Either cooperate or-“
         Tolin’s eyes flicked away for just a second. That was the only sign. The air was utterly silent.
         “Tolin, don’t-“ Ranos yelled.
         Tristian grunted as his arm suddenly jerked, the sword quivering and then slashing across his body, nicking the edge of his shoulder as it passed in front of him, his back arching as he tried to get out of the way of the weapon, watching it sink into the nearby wall, forcing Tristian to twist with it or let go. He yelled as the sword cut downward, leaving a long slash in the wall, slicing through the wood and plaster like so much water, obscene letters drawn with a perverse hand, the red sword blurring and carving a hole in the air with delicate ease.
         “Ah . . . what-“ Tristian shouted, as his arm jerked to the side again, spinning him around, the sword a dog gone astray of its master, yanking him along, the tip hovering in the air like a missile confused about its possible targets, forced to decide amongst an embarrassment of riches. “Ranos . . . what . . .”
         Then, with whiplike grace it stabbed at Ranos, propelling Tristian across the room as it dove in a straight line right at the taller man. Tolin ducked as the sword cleaved the air over his head, taking several calm steps back as he did so, pressing up against the wall, his eyes purposefully following the action.
         Tristian stumbled forward a few steps, off balance, before finally letting go of the sword completely, leaving it free to slither toward Ranos with astonishing speed, the air seeming to hiss in its wake. Ranos threw himself backwards, the sword passing in front of his robes, easily cutting a thin tear in his clothing before slamming into the wall. Moving his tall frame with unexpected grace, he dove toward the bed, flipping his legs onto it and leaping for the other side.
         Meanwhile, Tristian reversed direction and launched himself at Tolin, his muscles locking into a fluid pattern where every motion was a continuation of some impossible dance, a flurry of movement that was only complex on the surface, its goal starkly simple and its means speaking of a quiet violence.
         “Put it down . . .” Tristian ordered, his first punch striking Tolin square in the gut, followed with a blow to the face, forcing the other man to sink down in the corner, raising his hands to cover his face, to protect his body, even as Tristian broke down his defenses one by one, toppling the towers, bringing the walls down. “Let go of the sword, or I swear to God I’ll-“
         ”Nothing,” Tolin whispered, sliding suddenly to the side, letting Tristian’s fist slam hard into the wall, the jolt running like wayward strings of electricity up his arm. His legs kicked out at Tristian, entangling him, just a force he couldn’t see struck him in the back of the head, forcing him down. “You’ll do nothing,” Tolin vowed, clambering to his feet.
         Off to the side, the sword tore itself out of the way, the blade spinning and pointing directly at Ranos, who was getting to his feet after Jula had frantically knocked him off the bed. He saw the sword lancing toward him just as he turned around and his eyes widened. The air around shimmered into a shield, but it wouldn’t be enough.
         “This is ridiculous. You’re not one of us,” Tolin jeered, his statement ending in a grunt as Tristian slammed him up against the door, rattling his spine and causing the sword to waver briefly in the air, giving Ranos time to duck, his body hitting the floor flat. It made a long curve and came around again, even as Ranos scrambled to get out of the way.
         He brought his knee up, catching Tristian in the chest, knocking the breath from his body, although the other man managed to grab his leg, wrenching it hard and bringing them both down. Tolin caused a series of exploding lights to cascade around Tristian’s head, deafening the other man and making him lose his concentration, giving Tolin the room to dance back, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Tristian.
         “Stupid,” he said, breathing heavily, clutching his chest as if to prevent his heart from escaping. “You’re not one of us at all. No way to defend . . . no way . . . you see, it’s just child’s play to shut you down . . .” in the peripheral edge of his mind Ranos heard a chime make a brittle sound in a dark room, its vibrations echoing deep in his marrow. It wasn’t a good sound. It wasn’t at all. The sword scraped past his ear, spun around and shot for his head. “To simply make you useless to-“
         Tolin stopped. His face froze, along with the rest of his body.
         Tristian struggled to one knee, merely returned Tolin’s stare, his face impassive, his eyes hard.
         Gradually Tolin’s face faded into a mixture of confusion and terror. His breathing became erratic, scattered.
         Inches from Ranos’ neck, the sword merely dropped to the ground with a limp clatter, nearly cutting off the tip of Ranos’ boot in the process.
         Apparently unable to take his eyes off Tristian, Tolin let out a shredded scream.
         “Ah . . . ah . . . what is that . . . ah-“ Tolin gasped, his complexion having gone completely pale, all the blood in his head being put to better use elsewhere. Pressed against the door, his hands pushing on the wood like sheer pressure might be enough to enact his escape. “Your . . . it’s not . . . it’s-“ He turned his face away sharply, avoiding a blow only he could see, hands trembling as he tried to cover his head, warding off a danger that existed in a head that wasn’t his. “It tried to . . . oh . . . it almost . . .” Gradually, in broken stages, he slid down to the floor, his hands clutching at the wall, staring at Tristian with a look of absolute certainty that all the terrible things he may or may not have heard were all completely true. “You’re . . . you’re not . . .” he grimaced, swallowed tightly, grasped his trembling hands together, “. . . not one of us or . . . or Time Patrol . . .” he wet his lips, stealing another brief look at Tristian, “you’re not . . . so . . . so what are you . . .” Shuddering, he ducked his head and whispered something that couldn’t be heard. It might have been another question. It might have been a prayer. It didn’t matter.
         Not taking his eyes off the man, Tristian got to his feet. The air around him was tinged with crimson as the sword floated over to him at waist level, hilt first.
         “I believe this belongs to you,” Ranos said, moving across the room to join him. Tristian nodded his head in acknowledgment and plucked the sword from the air, swinging it experimentally before switching it off and returning the weapon to his belt.
         “What happened to him?” Ranos asked, staring down at the other man, who was now watching them both with silent trepidation and more than a little resentment. “I didn’t see you touch him . . .”
         “He tried to get into my head,” Tristian replied, talking to Ranos, but looking at Tolin. Across the room, Jula watched without a word, the covers having fallen from her hands in a loose pile around her, never taking her eyes off Tristian. “I think he wanted to . . . paralyze me or . . . stop my breathing . . .” the tone of his voice suggested he barely believed what he was saying. “Or something nasty along those lines . . . but he ran into . . .” he paused, searching for the right words, before finally giving up and tapping his head with one finger, finishing with, “whatever is in there, I guess.”
         “Yes, I remember it, from the days when our . . . link . . .” he didn’t like saying the word anymore, though Tristian didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, “when it was active, I could feel something prowling, on the fringes, sniffing the link, plucking at it like a child might play with a stretched rubber band.” He paused, frowning, the memory returning to him in pieces, a healed bone painfully reminding him that once it had been severely injured. “In retrospect, it was dangerous for me . . . at any time I could have been seen as a threat, and the link . . . gave it unimpeded access to my mind . . . in such an instance, it would be no contest. That much I could tell. If I were not killed outright, I would be rendered utterly useless.” His gaze drifted back to Tristian. “I imagine it’s a gift from some powerful friends.”
         “I’ll agree with the powerful,” Tristian replied soberly. “Everything else is up for debate.” He sighed quietly, glancing sideways at Ranos. “You talk about it like it was alive.” His lip curled into a half-smile. “And you wanted to reopen the link.”
         “Yes,” Ranos said neutrally, his expression carefully guarded, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
         Tolin, meanwhile, had watched the entire exchange with a mixture of angular observation and some measure of scattered shock, his attention not seemingly focused on the situation at hand.
         “So, now that we’ve got him,” Tristian said, his gaze sweeping back to Tolin, “what exactly are we going to do with him? We can’t just question him and let him go, not until we’re sure about what’s going on here.”
         “I agree,” Ranos replied. “My suggestion would be to question him here and discover what he knows before removing him to Legoflas. He will not be inclined to try and escape from there.”
         “That’s what I was thinking, actually,” Tristian responded. “Good, we’ll do that, then.” Turning to regard the silent woman on the bed, he stopped and frowned as another thought occurred to him, suddenly. “Ranos, is he the mindbender you discovered earlier?”
         Ranos considered this for a second. “He does not seem familiar, although . . .” he paused, concentrating. “No, that was not him. So, there are others we may have to deal with as well.” He paused again, peering at Tolin more intently. “Though there are . . . echoes of the other one on him, I think . . . which is strange,” his voice became suddenly hushed, “like overlapping vibrations . . . in the air . . . but that doesn’t make sense, it would have to mean-“
         A woman abruptly appeared next to Tolin, her hands on his arm, and her gaze directed at Tristian and Ranos.
         “Tristian,” Ranos warned, just as the other man began to turn, as if sensing a subtle change in the air.
         The air quivered.
         Tristian’s hand darted for the sword.
         A blast of air knocked both men off their feet, sending them reeling toward the other end of the room. Ranos managed to grab hold of the bed, wrenching his shoulder as his arms threatened to part from his body. Keening howls swirled around them as the air warped and twisted, curling around them like invisible tentacles. Tristian tried to lean into the wind but only succeeded in slowing his impact into the opposite wall. The bang could hardly be heard in all the noise.
         By the door, Tolin was beginning to get to his feet. The woman’s lips were moving as she spoke to him, but her words couldn’t be heard. Sounds masquerading as colors exploded like sinister fireworks in Ranos’ brain, even as he tried to use for the bed for leverage. His mind worked furiously, trying to find the center of the knotted weave, seeking to find the one gesture that would unravel the whole affair and bring it to a crashing halt. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tristian slowly gaining ground, his face registering the difficulty of his progress.
         Now both mindbenders were standing, the woman helping the man regain his footing. He was saying something in a terse fashion, his words torn apart by the ferocious wind, rendered unintelligible, ripped paper flung off a building. You could construct the meaning, but it would take too much time. There was no time. Mentally, frantically, Ranos worked invisible fingers into what he saw as a pulsing cord, looped upon itself a dozen times. Clever, clever, he thought, biting back a yell as a fresh gust forced him to lose his grip on the bed with one arm. His feet sought purchase on the ground but kept slipping. The temperature of the room seemed to be dropping.
         Tristian was even with him now, inching his way past the bed, his clothes fluttering, like the air itself was trying to undress him, strip him down to his barest components.
         Suddenly Ranos saw the answer. No time to be gentle. Crafting a knife with an edge that could be seen if you weren’t looking, he cut down, forcing his body forward at that moment.
         The woman tensed, looked in his direction, seemed to sense what he was doing.
         Abruptly, the brutal winds faded, silence falling down on a room gone deaf.
         The woman vanished with a shimmer.
         Tristian, no longer having to fight against an invisible hand, stumbled forward violently, nearly falling on his face. He was holding the sword now and his finger was near the recessed switch that would ignite it.
         Ranos, meanwhile, was caught off guard and wound up catapulting himself onto the bed, his long frame falling across the width of it, his senses briefly addled, sight and sound seeming to switch for a long second. Spots like scattered rainwater blurred his vision, with an effort he cleared the static away, trying to gather himself together and get back on his feet.
         Tristian continued to move toward the door. Tolin was nowhere in sight, although Ranos could sense of the wake of his passage, ripples left in a constantly shifting field of mud.
         To his left, Ranos felt something move, an uncomfortable shifting. He twisted, finding Jula staring at him, her expression no longer fearful. It seemed to change the entire contour of her face.
         Her lips parted, moved, twisted into an echoed hint of smile. “Ranos,” she breathed, and everything about her was somehow different, “it is you.” Even her smell was off, wrong.
         “Wait, what are you-“ he said, startled by the familiar tone. But before he could pursue the mystery further, he felt something percolate in the air again, a sensation that was becoming all too common now.
         No. Wait. Not where he thought.
         Almost diving off the bed, Ranos spun around, his mind already arcing out, sending out tendrils of interference, knowing it would be futile. “Tristian, she’s-“
         Inches from his back, the woman laid her hands on Tristian’s shoulders even as he began to pivot on his heel, the blade emerging from the sword in slow motion, the angle of the strike directed right at her face. Her expression never wavered from its absolute calm.
         The air rippled, folded, collapsed.
         Then they were both gone.
         “No,” Ranos whispered, staggering over to where Tristian had been standing. “Where did she . . .” His eyes unfocused as searched the invisible ways with a rake that could scar as easily as it could sift. “Where did they-“
         Strangling webs erupted around his essence as he struck something. Wreathed in shadow, it hunched over his form, its weight curving the shape of all that was around it, holding him in place, all roads leading back to it.
         Who are you-
         Lips was big as the world cracked opened a faultline, revealing a grin comprised of jagged pillars and the memories of dreams long discarded, powering a different kind of life.
         Desperately, he tried to pull back, vaguely understanding too late the nature of the trap.
         It reached him anyway.
         “Goodbye,” it said, simply, gleefully.
         There was barely time to scream.
         His mind, and the world with it, caught fire.