Suture (The Bleeding Worlds) (15 page)

"I told you, I waited over an hour. Including searching the entire school grounds again. I even had the office page them. They weren't there. I tried using my cell to call them, and Njord for advice, but it didn't work."

"None of our phones did," Jackson said. The mix and intensity of emotions appeared to have him on edge.

Brandt growled, tore the phone from his pocket, and sent it smashing into a wall.

"Junk. They send us on the craziest mission of all time and they just give us junk to work with."

"Brandt," Njord said, "if Marie isn't here in fifteen minutes, we'll go in. I just don't want to send in two search teams if we only need one."

"So send us in now. If Marie doesn't show, send a second one later. She's only forty minutes overdue. Jason is over an hour and a half."

"Jason
and Gwynn,
" Alice huffed.

Outside, they heard a car pulling up. Brandt shouldered past Caelum, who shrugged at Njord.

Marie was getting out of her car.

"Where the hell you been?" Brandt yelled.

"Stuck in traffic and lost." Marie looked ready to hit him. Njord almost hoped she would.

"They had most of the downtown blocked off. I couldn't take the two routes we discussed and I got lost trying to find another way. The roads in this city suck."

"Brandt, Caelum and Jackson, I want you three to head toward the downtown core and see what's going on," Njord said. "If you don't find anything there, make your way to the school where Jason and Gwynn were. Jackson, see if you pick up anything active or residual that might help. Caelum, you're in case of medical need, and Brandt—"

"I'm the muscle if anyone messes with our boys."

Njord nodded and handed Brandt a set of keys. "Take my car. In the trunk there's a couple of handguns and a flare gun. If you need us, use the flares. At least we should be able to see those."

The three boys hopped in the car and peeled out in a cloud of dust and smell of burning rubber.

"What's going on?" Marie asked.

"Jason and Gwynn are missing and none of the cells work," Wade answered.

"I know. I tried to call and let you know I was late. Should I head back too? With my speed I could cover more ground faster."

"No," Njord answered. "I only want the minimal people going until we figure out a way to communicate. I only had the one flare gun. For now, everyone get some food, get your gear ready, and rest. Be ready to move at any moment."

"What are you going to do, sir?" Natalie asked.

Njord's shoulders sagged. "To tell Woten we've lost our only two Scripts. One of which, is his grandson."

"You heard her, she's on the way."

The whipped girl looked ready to kill Jason anyway.

"Did you see what he did to me? Are you saying my honour doesn't deserve his blood?"

"From where I was observing, his actions were entirely honourable. Besides, you looked dangerously close to damaging our prime objective. I think he did us a favour."

"Is there a problem, ladies?" a new voice said, entering the apartment.

Gwynn just stared. Jason managed to lift his head. His eyes went wide.

"Angie?" he asked.

The whipped girl smacked him across the face.

"You don't get to address M'Lady in such a familiar tone."

The girl who looked like Angie moved closer to Jason. She reached down and touched his temple. He flinched at her touch and grit his teeth for the seconds her contact remained.

"This one is extra," the whipped girl said about Jason. "I was preparing to dispose of him."

Not-Angie stood and slapped the whipped girl.

"You think your rank deserves to make such a decision?"

The whipped girl hung her head. "No Ma'am."

Not-Angie motioned to a few other figures by the door. "Place a collar and shackles on this one as well. The bit I gleamed from his mind would suggest he could be useful."

They were organized, armoured in a similar fashion, and apparently had a command structure, suggesting to Gwynn maybe they'd been right—this was another world's version of Suture. Why did they keep referring to him as their objective? He'd ask, but he had no desire to be kicked or hit. Hopefully answers would come soon.

Once a collar and shackles had been place on Jason, they were hauled to their feet and held straight so they could be inspected by Not-Angie, who pulled a knife from a sheath on the leg of her armour. She moved toward Gwynn. He did his best not to flinch as the cold steel approached him. She gripped his wrist and slid the blade beneath the band of his tether. One swift flick of her wrist and the blade severed the band, and his connection with his own world. He choked back a cry, not wanting to betray the importance of the watch-like device.

She moved to Jason and removed his tether as well.

"Gentlemen," Not-Angie said, "the collars around your necks emit a personal Prometheus Field, so don't bother trying to use the Veil to escape. The shackles on your wrists are tethers. Yes, we know about your tethers," she said in response to the look Gwynn and Jason exchanged. "You should be honoured. From this point on, you are the guests of the Valkyries."

They were escorted down the building's stairs to a set of waiting vans.

Jason and Gwynn were separated into separate vehicles. Not-Angie and the whipped girl were in the same van as Gwynn. He was thankful the girl couldn't continue to take her wrath out on Jason. He wondered if this version of Angie did it on purpose. Before the vehicle pulled away, Not-Angie reached over and tied a blindfold on Gwynn. She hesitated, letting her fingers linger on his temples.

When she'd touched Jason, he'd appeared to be in pain. This didn't hurt—only a feather tickling at the center of his mind.

What do you want to know?
Gwynn directed the thought toward the sensation.

Her fingers snapped away from his head, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.

"Who are you?" she whispered, more to herself than him.

"Nobody," Gwynn answered. "Nobody special."

"You're wrong. You just don't know it yet."

Njord made his way into the communications tent and dismissed the lone staff member.

Alone, he locked the door, collapsed into the chair, and set the system for the highest level of encryption.

He waited only a few seconds before Woten's face filled the screen.

"Ah, Njord. I expected I would be hearing from you shortly."

Njord straightened in his chair. "So Gwynn and Jason being gone is your doing?"

"Gwynn
and
Jason?" Woten scowled. "Only Gwynn was part of my original plan. I will look into what has happened to Jason."

"Good. When Alice arrived without them—"

"Alice?"

"Alesandra, from the Greek department."

Woten stroked his beard. "Yes, watch her. Zeus has never insisted on anything outside the operation of his own branch, but he was very insistent on having her along for this mission."

"What do you think he's planning? Could he know of your plans?" Njord asked.

Woten laughed—a mirthless, cold sound full of contempt. "That old fool only knows one kind of plan, how to get under a lady's skirt. No, I doubt he knows my plans. Still, I don't trust the girl. Watch her closely."

"I will, sir. And, assuming Jason is with your people, will you return him?"

"No," Woten answered. "It would be too much to explain. No, we will just have to continue without him. I will dispatch the other two teams to your location. Inform the others I am sending them as support for the search efforts."

"Do you think they'll believe that?"

Woten smiled. "Would a loving grandfather do any less?"

Cain arrived too late. Again.

This cursed town, lying at a crossroads between worlds, didn't register within the Veil how it should. Why was he always arriving too late? Could the universe be conspiring against him? A silly question, it had conspired against him for centuries.

The distant notes of the melody echoed, suggesting he hadn't been too far behind. There was no evidence of where it had gone.

How long had he been chasing that song? He'd first become aware of it eight months ago, but other, more pressing, matters demanded his attention. Then it became so faint, so hard to pinpoint, it seemed to come from everywhere. It had been so clear the other day, drawing him to a world too familiar. And there had been Adrastia. When he first saw her, he wondered if it was her melody he'd heard. But no, her song flared in front of him when he challenged her, and it wasn't the same one he'd been chasing.

Now, here, he'd heard the song again. He realized that he might've heard it earlier, if he'd only known to listen. Too many years with its absence—he'd assumed the melody dead. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Sormr," he said.

A form slipped from the shadows.

"You have called me, Lord."

The man stood, head slightly bowed, with his right fist pressed against his left shoulder.

Astounding that such a thin frame could contain such power.

"Does your network extend to this place—can you tell me what happened here?"

"Due to the…odd state of this city, no, I cannot tell you any specifics," Stormr said. "However, I do know the Valkyries were dispatched toward this place. Again, I'm not sure what their mission entailed."

"Can you find out for me?"

Sormr's hairless brows raised. "Does that mean you wish me to cease my search for the one known as Pridament?"

His fists clenched. Pridament. The pressing matter keeping him from his search originally. He sighed. Should he put this ahead of his other obligations? This current project was personal and shouldn't be allowed to derail the greater plan. After all, what was the point of putting so many pawns in play if you were just going to let someone else remove them before they fulfilled their purpose?
 

"No, keep searching for Pridament. I'll manage this myself. Still…the Valkyries you say?"

Sormr nodded.

"Thank you, Sormr. Resume your search."

Sormr melted away into the darkest corners of the room.

He moved in a slow arc, passing his hand over the remains of the door. The whole place vibrated with the remnants of a Prometheus Ring. That device, sealing a place in space and time away from the Veil, was an abomination—another example of human arrogance interfering with the natural energies of existence.

Cain stepped to the door frame and ran his finger along the torn edges. Yes, he saw the scene now—two Anunnaki pursued into this building. The Valkyries would've used the Ring to null their abilities and employed conventional arms to storm the building. They hadn't bothered to cover the damage, so it was unlikely they would've bothered with blood—meaning the trace amounts he'd found indicated neither of the prey were killed. Was the melody one of the hunted, or one of the hunters?

He leaned against a ledge by the window, closed his eyes, and pressed his head against the glass. He tried to summon the dream, the closest he'd been to facing the owner of the melody. There was only one explanation for those notes to reach him—only one reason he might touch that person's consciousness through the dreamscape. Why now? Shouldn't he have heard that melody years ago and dealt with that loose end? How many times had the world divided? Beyond a reasonable count, to be certain. Over all those centuries, he'd been alone. Reason dictated he would always be alone. He pressed his palm against his forehead and silently reprimanded himself for being so complacent.

A slight ripple in the Veil announced the arrival of three Anunnaki downstairs. He made to fold away, but decided better of it. Perhaps he'd learn more about who else's pawns were in play. Learning your opponent's moves was half the process of defeating them. He pulled the mask down over his face. A craftsman fashioned it for him in Japan during the tenth century. He'd worn it during many battles and continued to wear it now. There was power in masks. In those days, the designs helped strike fear into opponents. Now, the power lay in remaining anonymous. Entire universes worth of worlds hunted the mask, and yet he could walk any of their streets unmolested without it.

The Veil tugged as the approaching boys drew weapons and strength. So, they'd sensed him. That almost registered as being impressive.

He strolled from the ledge to an armchair and flopped into it. It was comfortable, much more so than the ledge. Why hadn't he sat here first? He spent the seconds before they arrived looking at the room. His first sweep through had been looking deeper, feeling the disturbances in the energies of the place. Now, he allowed himself the luxury of taking a superficial appraisal of the place. This was a comfortable chair, no faulting that. Tastefully decorated—sparse on colour and adornment. If things had been different, would he live in a place like this? Maybe, but it wasn't worth worrying about. A long life had taught him one valuable lesson—you were only where you were. No amount of wishing or what ifs would change it.

The boys edged into the room, weapons ready.

Cain spread his arms wide in welcome.

"Hello, gentlemen. Why don't you have a seat?"

Jackson wasn't sure what made him more unsettled—the fact Jason and Gwynn had gone missing, or he'd voluntarily got in a car driven by Brandt—who was currently doing mach ten down an open stretch of highway that, thankfully, had been sealed off in the quarantine. If there'd been other cars, the chance of Brandt slowing down was slim, but the chance for Jackson to die of a heart attack significantly increased. He prayed Brandt would see the sense of slowing down when they entered the city limits.

He couldn't blame Brandt for being in a hurry. In his time at Suture, Jackson learned when you lost someone, the longer they were gone, the likelier you would never find them—in one piece.

"You got the map?" Brandt asked Caelum, who sat in the front passenger seat with a very obvious map open.

"No, I left it back at the base." Caelum waved the map in front of Brandt's nose.

"Shut up. I'm keeping my eyes on the road."