Chapter 26

26.

         When night had fallen and nothing had been heard, he knew he had no choice. He would have to go. He hated being out at night, it made him feel far less protected, even though it was probably no different than in the daytime. He wondered which was the illusion, the safety or the danger. Probably both. But the night felt like a blinding veil, preventing him from seeing what was coming. And being out there, exposed, without the armor of skin to turn aside any blows that might come his way, he was doubly nervous.
         But there were no conduits, and he had no choice. The irony of the thought made him smile slightly. No choice. After all they had gone through, could it be they had really won anyway? If so, then things had turned out vastly different from what they had expected. But then, that was no different than usual. In this world, it was very possible to be told a thousand versions of a story by a thousand different people and have none of them come anywhere close to the truth. To the way things were. He had once prided himself on being able to pierce illusions, to strike right at the heart and see, even as he cloaked himself with a dizzying array of masks. But recent events were making him doubt whether anything was true anymore, or rather, that everything was real. In a way it was scary. Because it everything was true, than anything could happen.
         At the edge of the village, a light draft whispered between the houses, gently ruffling his clothes and bringing a mild shiver to his shoulders. The motion wasn’t entirely from the cold. He didn’t want to be here. Not like this. The stars hung in the sky above, unblinking and detached, gazing down on all of them, but never offering any judgement. As a child, he had wanted to go to them, not understanding what it truly meant. Someone had told him, a long time ago, that once you stepped off, the view was never the same, no matter where you went. Even if you came back.
         Standing there, he reflected on how peaceful it was, this velvet sky and grey air and still life before him. Strange, really, to be so quiet, especially on a night like this, in times like these. For these weren’t quiet times. On the small scale and the large, it was all changing, even from his precarious angle, that much he could tell. Or maybe, it had always been like this and he was just noticing. Perhaps it didn’t matter, in the end. He thought of change, and how it came about. And how it never came easily. He thought of the violence in his past, not far enough away now, and the violence that he sensed was in his future. Some nights he woke up swearing there had been a knife to his throat. Even now the wind sounded like a low moan, the kind a dying man emitted, when he knew he was dying and there was nothing that could be done about it.
         Flinching, he tried to brush the sound away. It faded, but not willingly. Perhaps death did it in. It occurred to him that the village was oddly silent, not so much a hush as a vacuum. He suspected he knew the cause. Again he shivered and somehow the night became even more smothering. Another layer might suffocate him completely.
         Drawing his coat tighter around his shoulders, he began to stroll forward, his destination already clear.
         But he was in no hurry. Wasn’t it a nice night for a walk?

* * * * *

         The slit of light that appeared when the door opened was razor edged, and barely touched the man. His head was bowed, but he was crouched on the balls of his feet, with his back braced against the wall. At the creak of the door, he picked up his head, staring with narrowed eyes at his visitor.
         “My, don’t you ever sleep?” Junyul asked the prisoner, stepping through the ample crack and shutting it quietly behind her. The sealing of the portal served to plunge the room into a fragile twilight. The man remained visible, but only as a vaguely defined shadow, its edges seemingly fluid, as if he could slip out of the room at any time, but chose not to for reasons unknown. “I get the impression that you simply don’t trust us.”
         The man looked at her in silence, his eyes uncomprehending. The metal shrouding his wrists clanked gently where he rested them on the floor. He didn’t budge from his spot, but merely regarded Junyul with a sunken expression from across the room. She stayed near the doorway and came no closer. What you did, I will not allow again.
         Junyul did allow a smile to creep onto her face as she stared at the man. “Several times we’ve checked on you and each time you’ve been wide awake.” She crossed her arms lightly over her chest, leaning against the door with one foot braced on it. “You’re a rare man, indeed to forgo such a luxury as sleep, to receive no break from the day’s events . . .” she sighed, smoothing and adjusting her long skirt, “after all, without sleep, there would be no dreams.” Junyul shrugged, as if nothing could be done about this. “And then, where would we be? We would sleepwalk through our lives, content with our lot, never wishing for better and greater things. And perhaps, being content, we would not care . . . but,” her eyes were strangely honest. “. . . I am glad that it is not that way.”
         The prisoner’s gaze never broke. For a moment Junyul wondered if he had died, so complete was his silence. But he could feel the beat of his pulse, quick but steady, and sense the heat of his body, far warmer than an ordinary man. It reminded her of the desert sun she would wake up to every morning, the unwavering heat, not blocked by clouds or shade or dispersed by a breeze. Only night could end its reign, as it did every day. Absently she rubbed her hands to ward off the relative chill of the room and wondered again if she had made the right choice. But if she questioned that particular choice, then a hundred more might be called into doubt as well. And there was little enough time in this world as it was, to waste on such useless matters. She had made her decision. One day, perhaps she could reverse its consequences. But not now. And maybe not for a long time.
         Pushing herself away from the door, she strode lithely into the center of the room, about halfway between the prisoner and the door. His eyes flickered away, and then refocused on her.
         “I know what you are doing,” she told him, her voice quiet but clear. The years away had sanded down what remained of her accent and each day it became harder to remember the exact way her family had once spoken. Time was chipping at her, bit by bit, and there was no way to collect the fragments as they fell. Eventually they would all go away and she did not know what would be left. Too many things did not feel the same lately. Junyul had tried to nap before, to relieve the strain of the day, but her dreams were of nothing but hovering holes, and blank faced men stepping through them, unimpeded, their access unrestricted, rifling through her mind, stripping her bare at their leisure. Who were you? What did you want? But her recollections were hazy, her memory strewn with scratches and tears. No eyes no face no identity. Maybe it was for the best, but the second time would be worse. Of that she had no doubt. I do not wish to be here. He had to be found, before he entered her again. But then, why am I here? “You are stalling, trying to hold off as long as you can, in the hopes of being rescued. Doing your best to protect whatever precious secrets you hold inside of you.”
         Experimentally she probed at his mind, or at least attempted to. While she could guess at the outlines or the contours, the interior of the man himself remained inviolate and almost invisible. She had never seen anything like it. If not for his physical presence, Junyul might have never believed there was a man in here at all, at first glance. Such a curious phenomenon. But it couldn’t matter. She wasn’t here to study him, but to retrieve information, something that might keep them all alive.
         “I’m sure you are certain they will come for you at any moment,” she said, drawing a thin line in the dust with her shoe. “And your rescue will make all of this seem like little more than a bad dream.” She smiled then, a too friendly gesture framed by callous eyes. Junyul took another step forward and bent down, so that she was eye level with the man. “But I think you would like to know that your people have tried to rescue you already, and have failed.”
         The man blinked and his mouth twisted, like he had swallowed an unpleasant piece of candy. But he remained silent. His gaze spoke of disbelief. Junyul had been expecting that, had been hoping for it actually. He seemed too strong a man to merely believe anything he was told. With her eyes adjusting to the light, she could clearly see his well defined yet soft features. Even weary and battered, he possessed an innate resolve. Junyul suspected he might not break, but he could certainly crack. And that’s all she needed.
         “I know what you’re thinking,” she said casually, shifting her position so she was sitting crosslegged on the floor, her folded hands delicately propping up her chin. “You are thinking that I’m lying, because there is no way your people could fail to rescue you. And honestly, I believed that as well, especially upon seeing your friend’s glowing red sword.”
         The prisoner’s breathing changed ever so slightly, a nearly imperceptible break in his rhythm. His lips parted briefly, but again he said nothing. She noticed that what was left of his hands were now resting on his knees. Junyul sensed she had his complete attention now, and in the right circumstances his gaze would have been utterly disconcerting. But not now.
         “Yes, it was very impressive,” she added, keeping a cherubic smile plastered on her face. “Such a brilliant sight it was, I have to admit that it looked quite beautiful . . .” she paused, allowing time for the dagger to bite flesh, “especially from the air, when I dropped him into the forest from several hundred feet up.” She dropped her hands into her lap, glancing down at the floor. “I did this several hours ago. I watched him fall myself. He plummeted like any other man. I do not believe he survived. I believe he was your best hope. He is dead now.” She was not looking at the prisoner, had no desire to see his face. His breathing had become suddenly irregular and fast, although he had not shifted his position. For a second Junyul thought he might try to attack her again. She hoped he would not be so stupid, especially since the first attempt had failed so spectacularly. But for all its lack of success, it had been a frightening experience, one she had little desire to repeat.
         Rising calmly to her feet, she said in an even tone, “You will not be rescued and you cannot escape. We are not asking for impossible things, but we cannot begin to discuss them until you drop this nonsensical charade.” With a long fingernail she chipped at a crack in the wall, flecks of wood spiraling to the floor. “Whatever secrets you hold are of no interest to us. We know you are Time Patrol, there is no doubt in our minds. To pretend otherwise is, frankly, foolish. It serves no purpose other than to prolong your time here, a time which, as unpleasant as it has been for you, can still be made vastly less comfortable.” In the dark, she gave him a sidelong glance, his unreadable expression mirroring her own. “I do not need to affect your mind to affect you. I want you to know that.” Her smile failed to resonate in the shadows. “Please do not give me an excuse to become creative.”
         Junyul waited another moment for a response. When none was forthcoming she nodded to herself and turned to leave the room. She had planted the seeds in his mind, that was all she had wanted to do. If he didn’t respond, she had other options, but for the time she wanted to let him make the next move. She didn’t think she could drive a man like this to despair, but it was possible to make him rethink his current position and change it to one slightly more cooperative. You are no good at this, Valreck. I shall show you what success is like.
         She had barely taken three steps when he said in a hoarse voice, “You didn’t kill him.”
         Slowly, Junyul turned to face him again. He hadn’t moved. No, wait, he had, he was leaning forward slightly, still bent in a crouch. “What was that?” she asked the prisoner, not sure she had heard him right.
         “You. Didn’t. Kill. Him,” he said in a clearer voice. He brought his wrists together lightly, causing a brief, wobbling ringing noise. He coughed, removing some of the static from his throat. “Don’t pat yourself so hard on the back. It’s not so easy.” His voice was casually confident, almost offhand in its abrupt dismissal of her.
         “Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” she said derisively, “I dropped him from-“
         ”I heard you,” he responded, cutting her off smoothly, his voice a dagger cutting into her sentences, ripping them apart. The tatters refused to bleed. For some reason she expected them to. “You people may not be any good at listening but you sure as hell like to talk.” He paused and rocked forward on his heels slightly. Too startled by the sudden change in behavior, Junyul felt the chance to regain the advantage in the conversation slipping away. “I heard you,” he said again, sounding almost amused. “I know what you said. And I’m telling you that you’re going to have to try harder than that. Because you’re not dealing with people like me anymore.” He grinned at her angelically and said, “Me, you’ve got me penned up in here, I’m useless to anyone. But now you’ve got something far worse on your tails now.”
         “Are you trying to frighten me here?” Junyul asked him haughtily, taking a step toward him. This was the longest speech she had ever heard the man give. Even his attack on her had been done in almost complete silence. What game have you started now? “Is that what you’re saying?”
         “What I’m saying,” the prisoner told her, “is that whatever plans you thought were going to happen have just been tossed out the window.” His lips twitched at the reminder from before. Junyul realized for the first time how much better he looked from when she had thrown him through the wall. “Because as of the time he stepped onto this planet, you’re all dead. It’s just a matter of time.”
         “I watched him fall,” Junyul said emphatically, her shoes scraping on the floor as she moved closer to the man. “Perhaps you think I am exaggerating, but I am not. He fell. He died. I saw it. There is no doubt in my mind.”
         The man only laughed, a sound halfway between a cough and a sigh. He doubled over with the effort, his ribcage shuddering from the emotion. “Heh,” he said, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Then won’t you be surprised when he runs you through with that beautiful sword of his,” he told her mockingly. His smile faded into a cold stare as he regarded her. “If you have a way out of this place, I’d take it. Tell the others if you want to, but I’m telling you. Get out while you can. Maybe he won’t bother hunting you down. I’ve seen stranger things happen.”
         Junyul looked at him in disbelief. Even caged, he is brazen. But how much of this boldness is a facade? “Is this your attempt at bargaining your way out of here? You’ll give me an offer to leave if only I let you go?” She suspected most of what the prisoner was saying was mere bluster, simply said to frighten her into assuming that a terrible doom was proceeding her way. His words did hold a certain odd conviction to them, but she had experience with men who promised apocalyptic things. And perhaps some of those things had come true, but she had lived through them. She had no doubt she would make it through this. Typical divide and conquer. “I have to admit that I respect your gall-“
         ”That’s great,” the man cut her off, again throwing her off-balance. He should not be doing this to me. The events of the last day had affected her more than she had realized, putting her on a constant defensive. But this man here was a soldier and the role of a soldier was not to defend. “Except there is no bargain. I don’t make deals. Lowly guy like me, I don’t have that sort of power. I’m just a grunt, nobody gives a damn whether I live or die.” He shrugged, as if apologizing. Junyul noted with muted alarm that he was acting as if she were imprisoned instead of the other way around. Such a curious man. And so quietly arrogant. “So until you let me go, you’re stuck with me, I guess. Not so bad for me, not so good for you.” His voice dropped again, losing its amused edge and becoming more forceful, insistent. “You have to understand, this isn’t a bargaining table and I’m not about to trade. I’m just warning you what’s going to happen. To you, and everyone else.” He gave her a tight lipped smile, daring her to try another tactic.
         “I . . . see,” Junyul said after a minute. Tucking her hands into her wide sleeves, she paced in a ragged line before the prisoner. He watched him calmly, his face entirely passive, silent once again. If not for the words that were echoing in her brain, the whole incident might have been an illusion, a strange dream. “So you admit nothing, but instead cajole me with idle threats and promises of my demise? You claim to have no desire to barter, even as we hold the advantage.” Not looking at him, she smiled grimly. “My friend, you do not play the part of a prisoner well.”
         “I’m sorry, I slept through that part of class,” the man said idly. “What am I doing wrong so far?”
         “Wrong? No, there’s nothing wrong . . .” she strolled in his direction again, following a diagonal line. Let’s see how much of a man you truly are. “I’m afraid the fault has been entirely on my end . . . I don’t think it’d been properly explained to you what you should expect . . .” while she spoke she reached out, brushed intangible fingers across the prisoner. He stiffened, his face momentarily quizzical, but said nothing. Junyul didn’t bother to hide her smile. Excellent. “I guess we’ve misled you somewhat and for that I apologize . . .” she grasped at him again, harder, and he grunted as his back hit the wall. There was a confused expression on his face. “I imagine you believed we would torture you, because, frankly, that is what normally happens in these situations, but I think you’ll agree that not only are you prepared for such things . . .” his face spasmed and flushed, as his breathing became more rapid, his back arching as his wrists tapped the floor, acting to help keep him upright. “But they would do no good.” Her wandering took her near the wall, which she leaned against calmly, facing him with her hands clasped in front of her. The prisoner made a soft noise, like he was being strangled. “I’ve already said I cannot affect your mind, but not everything is in the mind and not all of your functions are . . . voluntary.” His feet slid out from under him, and his rear hit the floor painfully. He didn’t seem to notice. The man’s mouth was partially open in a silent shout, the muscles of his neck bulging. He seemed unable to keep his body from constantly shuddering. In a quiet voice, barely audible over the man’s jagged moan, Junyul said, “Do you feel that, my friend? I think you do. Not every torment involves pain, and sometimes the worst cuts are the kind that do not bleed.” She bent down on one knee, one hand resting on the floor, the other on her leg. Her mind trembled again and the man swatted at his body with his useless wrists. His head snapped back, hitting the wall with a violent thud. His eyes fluttered, flickered, as his chest heaved in an attempt to draw air. “Do you understand?” Junyul asked with some glee, as the man gasped again, his eyes opening and staring at her with barely any recognition. She brought her face close to his, and hissed, “Do you realize what I’m doing to you? Not what you expected, is it?” His face twitched and his lips parted to reveal tightly clenched teeth. “You thought it would hurt. But it doesn’t need to. Not to kill. I learned that a long time ago. A soft hand applied properly can slay just as easily.” She let her thoughts ripple again and the man jerked, limbs askew, an oddly warped scream escaping from deep in his throat even as flailed wildly for a second, his body eventually contorting and sliding to the floor, all his muscle control apparently gone.
         He lay there for a time, wedged in the corner, his head resting against the wall, eyes closed and breathing shallow, trying vainly to catch his breath. Even in the darkness his face was so pale that it shone, a thin sheen of sweat glistening from what meager light was available. His boots rasped across the floor as his legs twitched, apparently involuntarily.
         Junyul regarded him while still kneeling, her expression satisfied. Even without being able to see into his mind, she knew what he had been feeling. Time Patrol or not, he was a man, same as any other. Some things could not be changed.
         “Now, doesn’t it make more sense to cooperate,” she asked innocently, not even sure if the man could hear her at all. “That was just a brief taste . . . imagine how you would be after three or four hours.” He wasn’t moving at all now, and she wondered for a second if he had fallen unconscious. Junyul leaned a little closer to him, whispered, “You could end all of this now. Do it while you are still capable of speaking.”
         Without opening his eyes, the man drew in a shuddering breath. “Lady . . . you are . . . definitely sick . . . was this your . . .” he shivered, muscles convulsing again, “your idea of revenge from . . . before?”
         “I’ll have to admit it did play a part,” Junyul noted lightly. True revenge would be snapping your neck.
         “That’s . . . that’s too bad . . .” the man said, drawing himself up so that his eyes were even with hers. His uniform blended with the environment, and only his head was completely visible, giving him a ghostly, wasted look. “Because I was hoping . . . you wouldn’t be so petty and . . . do it so quickly . . . because that . . . that means . . .” he broke into a wide grin, “. . . . you’re just going to have to do it all over again.”
         Then he tackled her.
         The metal surrounding his wrist caught her in the stomach first, breaking apart whatever counterattack she had meant to set up and removing all the breath from her lungs. The two of them tumbled backwards, momentum carrying them nearly halfway across the room. How . . . how did he move so fast? There was no way . . . not from that position. Her thoughts spun wildly as he hit her again, the blow glancing off her hastily thrown up arm, still forcing its way through her physical defenses and bouncing off her head, causing stars to explode in the periphery of her vision, threatening to plunge the room into a greater darkness. Not again. No. No! Frantically, Junyul tried to reach at him, to affect him in some way but in her panic all she could think of was to grasp at his mind. And it wasn’t there. Not that she could find. The prisoner pounded her again in the abdomen, violently evicting more breath from her body, leaving her unable to even cry out. He may have hit her again after that but Junyul did all she could to push the pain away, surrounding herself with a core of numbness that rendered her impotent, but safe. Nothing could harm her here. Nothing could touch her. His strikes meant nothing. His fists meant nothing. Pain meant nothing.
         And then she was being lifted into the air, as the man slipped his arms under her armpits and bodily slammed her up against the wall. “Now,” he said through gritted teeth, pressing his face close to hers, “I think we can have a more productive conversation this way, hm?”
         Barely comprehending she stared at him, feeling a cool trickle of blood flowing from her forehead. Get away. If she closed her eyes she could pretend it was happening to someone else. Please. Lazily, experimentally, she reached out and tried to pull at his limbs, to push him away or make him dance or anything to get him away from her.
         A painful pressure in her side made her stop. A swift glance revealed his knee digging into her body, just above her hips.
         “Not too smart,” the prisoner sneered. “I can easily break most of your ribs from this angle and still have enough time for the other side. If I so much twitch when I don’t mean to, I will. You understand me? Do you?” He shook her hard enough for her jaws to clack together. The world was still tilting awkwardly and even if the man did let her go, Junyul felt she might just topple to the floor anyway. “Got it?” the man demanded again. It was all Junyul could do to nod assent.
         “For the record your little attempt at showing me death through pleasure was clever, I’ll give you that, but whatever interrogation school you and your friends went to, you should beg for a refund.” His words were rubbery, just sliding down a hill away from her. Her forehead was throbbing painfully but dully. Someone else . . . I’m someone else, she thought dizzily. The man shook her again, as if sensing her gradual detachment. “Stay with me for just a few more minutes, then you’ll have plenty of time to rest. Together, the two of us are going to walk out of here. Right now I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but if you try anything I’ll just kill you. Not even teleporting, I know how to mess it up, and it may kill the both of us but I guarantee you I won’t stay dead. With me so far?” Eyes fluttering, she stared at him, his words buzzing around her without penetrating. Junyul nodded anyway, feeling this was the right thing to do. “We’re going to leave the village. Any of your friends show up and you’re toast, I don’t care if they’re just passing through. So you’d best hope no one is feeling friendly today.” His smile was a grim portent. “When we get out of the village and we’re sufficiently far enough away, I’ll let you go. At that point you can either try to finish what you started or run and tell your buddies how badly you screwed up. I’ll leave that one up to you.” With one blunt hand he tapped her on the side of the neck, sending a wave of nausea into her head and down her chest, a sewage pipe burst open, spewing its contents into her wounded brain. Don’t touch me. Don’t. “That sound good? I know I like it. And being the alternative is killing you and leaving your body here, I’m sure you’ll like this better too.” He grinned at her again, a more jaunty expression than before. “Ready, then? The sooner we get away from each other the better.” He stepped back from the wall, letting her find her own feet, although he kept a hand raised to strike her again if necessary.
         Junyul’s knees buckled and she slid toward the floor, landing heavily on her rear, the shock radiating all the way to the back of her neck. Shaking her head, she groaned outloud, trying to get her bearings and figure out just what was going on. The man’s words came back to her in waves, disjointed impressions and sentences horribly out of order, ideas barely remaining intact, the ultimate meaning eventually lost. Leave? she thought, picking a word at random. Where are we going? He’s the prisoner, he can’t go.
         “Ah, dammit,” the man swore, and to Junyul the black on black contrast of his body on the darkness made him look like an oddly shaped insect, with jointed arms and rounded head, his clothes whispering to her like old armor. “You’re not making this easy, lady . . .” sighing, he bent down to help her stand again.
         What? The dark presence looming overhead alerted Junyul and penetrated the fog she had been hiding behind. The situation still fluid enough to slide lazily through her desperately clutching fingers, she saw as if from a distance the man bending over and remembering what she had done to him and his comments about revenge, felt a cold sweat erupt all over her body. No. No you will not touch me. Her eyes widened as his cold hands brushed against her shoulders, a sensation she could feel through the loose fabric of her shirt. No.
         “Get away!” Junyul rasped, reaching out and grabbing both the man’s hands, her mind racing with enough force that she could have sworn she heard his wrist bones crunch. The man grunted at the sudden pressure but had no time to do anything else before Junyul forced both his hands up and slammed them into his face as hard as she could. There was a cracking sound as something splintered in his face and a wet mist gently settled over Junyul, feeling almost refreshing.
         “I told you,” the man gasped, having staggered back from the blows, his words strangely warped, “I told you that was-“
         ”No, I told you,” Junyul repeated with a numb calm, effortlessly grabbing his arms again and ramming them into his face, the metal ends on his wrists bludgeoning at his features, striking one after the other in quick succession, a rhythm that Junyul refused to let up on, even as the initial soft thuds gave way to a grim pulping noise and the man’s shouts of pain became a gargled plea, though for what Junyul wasn’t exactly sure. She kept it up, even as the man was driven to his knees. His head didn’t look right anymore, in the darkness, it didn’t look like a human head but a shape belonging to another species, something she had seen once growing up, a beast who’s name escaped her.
         Eventually he fell over onto his stomach, some unknown time later, and it became nearly impossible for the prisoner to hit himself any longer. Mentally she shoved him over to the other side of the room, listening with hooded eyes to the metallic scraping of his wrists as he slid across the floor. He made a noise that sounded not unlike a sneeze, but didn’t resist the motion. It was too dark in here. Too stifling. The room stank of blood and metal. She needed to get out, needed to find some air.
         Weakly, Junyul struggled to her feet, keeping half an eye on the prisoner across the room. Her legs were wobbling and there was a taste of copper at the tip of her tongue. Could he have hit her that hard? Her mind felt out of synch with the world, racing to catch up with a planet that wasn’t even on the same plane anymore. What is happening to me? If you never go in the same direction your paths will never cross. Her stomach churned warningly and she wondered if she’d be able to make it outside before vomiting. Junyul hadn’t thrown up in years. It had been an experience she hadn’t missed.
         But at least she had shown the prisoner that he could be hurt, that he wasn’t as invincible as his self assured manner seemed to suggest. The Time Patrol were no demons or gods that strode above the rest of the Universe. They could be brought down just as easily. It was a lesson the man would do well to remember. She suspected he would.
         Junyul was almost at the door when a broken cough halted her. For a second she stopped and listened to the sound emerging from the battered throat, realizing with a start that it was laughter. Has he gone mad? she thought, turning around slowly to face him again.
         In the dark his face was invisible. Part of her was glad for that. He was propped up on one elbow. He coughed again, gagging on something. “You . . . you think you’re . . .” he gagged again and spit out a small object which bounced and clattered on the wooden floor. A small wet splatter followed it shortly after. “Just so smart,” he rasped, dragging himself to his other elbow with an obvious effort. “But . . . you . . . you don’t know anything, or you would . . .” his body spasmed, his face briefly touching the floor. It took Junyul another startled second to realize he was seizing with laughter again. “Your . . . your friend was . . . he was trying to . . . starve me, you see, because he knew that . . . I can’t heal something like that . . . not until I’m . . .” his voice failed and he drew his arms in closer. He barely seemed able to keep his head upright. “But you . . . now . . . you’ve jumpstarted it . . . I’ll heal this and . . . everything else . . . and I’ll be . . . be right back where . . . we started.” His smile, filtered through the dimness was frightening in its shrouded defiance. “But I guess . . . got you to thank for it,” he bowed his head, though whether through respect or mere weariness, it was impossible to tell.
         “Then . . . you . . .” Junyul wasn’t able to get the words out. Tricked me. He tricked me. She wasn’t entirely sure if she spoke. Her mind was full of echoes and distortions. His body was too fluid, any moment it seemed ready to fall through the cracks and into the earth below.
         “Couldn’t have . . . done it without . . . you,” the man said, his body slumping slightly as he relaxed. He looked ready to die. Junyul wondered if he ever had. She yearned to ask him what it was like. But all he would tell her was lies. “Oh and . . . by the way, the name’s . . . Joe.” He flashed a broken, lopsided grin at her again. “Just . . . so you . . . have . . . something to take . . . back . . . for your . . . troubles.”
         Junyul stared at him for another moment, her mouth drawn into a thin line. Then, without a word, she grabbed his hands and rammed them into his face again and again, until she could swear that there was more of his face on his wrists than on his flesh. Her expression never changed, not even when he finally flopped to the ground, a dark stain gradually spreading all over the floor from under his head.
         Still silent, Junyul turned on her heel and exited the room.
         In the near center of the room, the prisoner convulsed.
         A little later, somewhere, a voice that might have been his said, “Jesus . . . wonder what they’ll cut off . . . now . . .”

* * * * *

         No one. None at all. I can’t hear anything. He kept expecting faces to peer through windows, night creatures unable to sleep, he kept expecting to be mistaken for some bogeyman and fuel a child’s nightmare. But nothing. There was no one. Even the background whispers were gone. Perhaps he had finally gone deaf. But . . . no. The only sounds were his boots swiping at the dirt on the paths, the swishing of his clothes in time with his movements, the hollow whistle of a distant wind.
         All of the houses were dark. All the streets were empty. He kept walking anyway. Exposed here in the darkness, the only hope was to keep moving. Damn you, I don’t want to be here. The night became heavier as he moved deeper into the village, the weight of the air becoming vastly more oppressive. The introduction of a foreign element. Perhaps, perhaps. Sometimes he thought he felt currents in the air that were more shallow than the rest, where it was easier to move and breathe. Like he was being guided down a certain rut. There will never be a need for unpleasant choices again. Who said that? The tone was sarcastic. It hadn’t been him. Perhaps it was his imagination. It had never been that simple. People never went where you wanted them to. He had learned that long ago. It was a futile task. People would go where they willed and did what they wanted and to change those absolutes required a power blunt enough to break what rigid direction they still possessed.
         But the air was broken here. If he wasn’t careful he might cut himself on the shards that remained. From deep inside a house he swore he heard a baby crying. No one moved to help it. No one would. Everyone had made for the exits. The cry followed him, chased him as he strode with fretful purpose past hollow houses and vacant lives. What the hell happened here? If no one ever came back, could you pierce these people together from the fragments that remained. He didn’t know. In a thousand years, when his descendants were dust, might someone be able to puzzle together his life, to make a whole person out of him again and remember. It didn’t seem possible. Time erased everything. The good and the bad. Once he thought it didn’t have to be that way. And maybe that was true. But not in his lifetime. When the bonds between the forces that held time and chance and fate together loosened, maybe then it might be possible to affect some portion of the triangle. But not now. Not now.
         The thought chilled and frightened him more than a little. Drawing his cloak tighter around his body, he increased his pace, glancing from side to side, wishing he had the nerve to risk the jump, wishing he could find a proxy to send in his place. But it was empty and it was just him. So this was how it had to be.
         When he found his friend it came as no surprise.
         He was standing in the doorway of his home, looking in a certain direction, both hands clutching the doorframe. The man only reacted to his approach at the last second, when his presence couldn’t be ignored. And even then it was the barest of glances, just enough to acknowledge him and that was all. Slowly, he licked his lips and focused his eyes in the other direction, toward the horizon, away from the village, to a place that wasn’t far enough away.
         “They would have tried to kill us,” Valreck whispered, the exertion clearly evident on his face. The wan light coming from inside his home caught his features sideways, made them look thin and stretched. “You saw . . . you know. So I had to do it. I had to.” His eyes never left the distance. It was like he was only rehearsing for a conversation to come later. Or for a person who wasn’t there.
         Rathas looked at him with veiled pity in his eyes, slipped his hands inside his pockets. “Valreck, I came to tell you . . .” he stopped, hearing his voice curl in the vacant air, expand and fill the ambient spaces, not echoing as much as spreading, eventually absorbed by the porous air. It hit him then. What had been missing before. It hadn’t been silence. The night felt too empty, the air was buzzing with a single thought. But not a conglomeration screaming one word. Just the one thought. Just one.
         He couldn’t have . . .
         Licking suddenly dry lips, Rathas finally let his gaze follow the direction of Valreck’s eyes. Not that far away, just beyond the trees, on the very edge of the village, past the houses and smiths, near where the farms lay, the sky was a different color. It was bleeding, pale orange, a sunrise arrived too early. It was warping and shifting, colors painted mockingly on the sky, a grand dance with only one outcome.
         As if taunting him, the faintest whiff of smoke teased his nostril.
         No, this isn’t . . . not all of them . . .
         The empty village suddenly felt enclosed, smothering. He devoutly wished for a spacious mind to hide behind and send the world away. But there were invaders in the bloodstream and aliens in the brain. It wasn’t human, but didn’t mean-
         “Valreck, you didn’t . . .” he said, not recognizing the sound of his own voice. “All of them . . . it would have, it . . .”
         Finally the man turned and regarded him fully, pale hands still clutching the door, as if a soft wind might take him away. What Rathas saw in those eyes made him take a step back. High above, the wind let out a twisted wail, an animal given new voice.
         “It was the only way,” Valreck said in a monotone, channeling the voice of a long gone spirit, speaking to a man who was no longer there.
         “Valreck, no . . .”
         “The only way,” Valreck repeated. And then said no more.