Keystones: Altered Destinies (22 page)

Already the pain in his back was receding. Testing himself, Deklan turned his torso back and forth. The skin pulled a little, but that was fading. He felt sick inside when something squished under him. He realized that part of his cooked flesh had been left on the carpet, but he kept that feeling from his voice in saying, “A sad accident. You got scared, and you reacted without thinking.”

Vinicius was back to nodding.

“You have to know that it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Are you feeling guilty?” Deklan was back to using a soft and gentle voice.

A nod.

“That’s normal. It’s because you loved them and because you didn’t want to do it. You haven’t become a monster because you made a mistake. There are people the world over who have been making mistakes like yours for the last few days, people who can do things that they couldn’t before. Some have been attacking other people. I’ve been attacked. That was on purpose. You made a simple mistake, and it was ugly and horrible, but you need to come with us. Staying here isn’t going to bring them back, and it isn’t going to make you feel better. Will you come with us?”

Wordlessly, Vinicius walked over to Deklan and prodded at his back. Deklan understood that the child was seeking a form of reassurance. “Yes, you did hit me, but I’m better now.”

“Are you an angel?” Vinicius’s voice was full of wonder.

Deklan laughed, causing a fresh flare-up of pain. “No, but I have a friend who looks like one.”

Vinicius prodded his back and asked, “You’re not hurt?”

Deklan reached back and touched where the whip had hit him. “I healed.” It was not the whole truth. He was still in some pain.

“I hurt them. I hurt them badly. I thought mommy was a devil.” Vinicius’s eyes welled up with tears. “I was so scared, and then it all happened so fast.”

Slate folded the boy into a hug and held him while he sobbed.

Deklan waited for the lad to stop crying before he spoke again, grateful for the additional time to heal. “Slate,” he asked, “are you going to go back to your . . . other persona?”

“Tell anyone that I’m not a guy,” replied Slate curtly, “and you will regret it.”

“Vinicius, can you keep a secret?” Deklan asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

A wide-eyed Vinicius nodded.

“Only you and I know that Slate is a lady. We’re going to keep it that way, okay?”

“Okay.”

Deklan reached out with his hand, and they shared a solemn handshake. “Great. Now try not to be scared when she changes back. Then we’re going to go. Can I ask you a favor too?”

Vinicius cocked his head at Deklan, waiting for what he was going to request.

“Are there any shirts here that might fit me? I’ve been going through a lot of shirts, and this one is a little bit ruined now.”

Vinicius sounded uncertain. “My dad had shirts.”

“Do you want to show me where they are and help me pick one out?”

The boy nodded again.

Deklan allowed Vinicius to take him by the hand and lead him to the master bedroom’s closet. He called back to the living room, “Slate, are you going to help or just comment sardonically on whatever I choose to wear?”

Slate followed Deklan and the boy into the walk-in closet.

“What do you think, Vinicius? What should I wear?” he asked with forced cheer, trying to get the kid to talk.

Slate interrupted before Vinicius could answer: “No wonder you dress so poorly. You don’t know what to wear.”

Deklan frowned at her and wrinkled his nose. “Somehow it’s creepier when comments like that come from a pretty face. I like you better when you look like unholy spawn.”

“Fine,” retorted Slate, initiating the process that would restore her eyeless mask. All traces of who she actually was vanished one by one. Her eyes disappeared; her nose receded; her hair and ears concealed themselves. All signs of age, gender, and facial expression smoothed out like creased linen being pulled taut. In her deep voice she asked, “Is this better?”

Deklan watched as the mouth opened on the featureless face, revealing itself only long enough to emit her words before again becoming invisible. It was hard to believe that she was the woman with whom he’d just been conversing. “I like her better like this,” he confided to Vinicius in a stage whisper. “When she says mean things, which she always does, it just seems more appropriate. She’s too pretty the other way. Then her face doesn’t match her words.”

Slate tilted her head and looked at him. It was amazing how even that blank face could show confusion.

Problems immediately arose as the three left the apartment. Deklan discovered that Slate could teleport only one person with her at a time. “So are you just going to leave me?” he asked. Deklan expected that but had hoped it would be longer before she abandoned him.

“No,” she replied. “I’m just going to have to go back and forth a lot. It would help if you ran over areas where you can and save me the energy.”

That was better news than he’d expected. “Like where?”

“Like here.” Slate touched Vinicius’s shoulder and teleported down the hallway. “Do keep up.” Deklan was surprised by the comment, which seemed very British for a young woman from Boa Vista.

Deklan spent a good deal more time running than he had before. Slate chose to teleport back for him only when crossing the chasms between buildings or balconies.

Vinicius meanwhile adapted to Slate’s horrifying appearance, secure in the knowledge that under her monstrous disguise was a normal person.

Traveling with another Keystone was exhausting but liberating. With his parents and Susan, Deklan had felt compelled to scout back and forth, investigating every possible route. He also had been forced to pace himself so as not to leave them behind. With Slate, however, he found that he was the one lagging behind and that he was crossing the city faster than he would have believed possible.

Deklan was also tiring at a phenomenal rate. Coming to a halt at the edge of another rooftop, his heart ready to burst and his tongue feeling tight in his mouth, he called out to Slate, “Stop! I need a break. How much farther?”

Slate dismissed his need for rest. “You’re doing fine, and we’re at the perimeter now.”

“I can barely breathe,” he replied between gasps, his chest heaving and lungs burning.

“Then you should focus on recovering quickly. We’re approaching the undeveloped land surrounding the terminal.”

Deklan nodded and kept his speech to a minimum. “How far?”

“Three blocks.” Slate took pity on Deklan and teleported him the rest of the way across to a rooftop. There was an odd crater on the roof that Deklan ignored because he was too tired to care.

“What now?” he asked, lying on the ground and waiting for his breath to return to its normal rate.

“Well, now it’s worse. I can’t come back for you.” Slate sounded apologetic.

“Meaning what?” asked Deklan, though he was pretty sure that he already knew.

She sounded annoyed to have to spell things out for him. “Meaning that if you weren’t on the ground struggling for oxygen, you’d see that there is a wide open space that we have to cross. I’m going to teleport myself and Vinicius across it. You’re going to have to make a run for it.”

“I’ve been running for the last hour.”

Slate’s tone made it clear that there was no possibility of negotiation. “I can’t go back and forth as I did before. It’s too far. I’d be leaving the child at risk.”

Deklan understood and even agreed with the logic, while disliking its negative implications for him. “Fine. The perimeter looks quiet at the moment. I’ll run it and hope for the best. Will you teleport me to the ground?”

“Yes.”

Not one to linger, Slate took Deklan’s arm, and a moment later they stood on the turf at the base of the building. Slate nodded farewell before she turned.

Deklan expected her to vanish at any second. Instead, Slate hesitated. As she swiveled back toward Deklan, her outstretched hands held a sheathed knife and a holstered gun. “Here,” she said. “These will make your life a little easier.” Her voice was low and rough, as though she begrudged the action.

Deklan thanked her and accepted the weapons. He didn’t dare say much else lest she change her mind about the gifts.

Slate nodded, seemingly embarrassed by the moment of compassion. “That’s the last help you’re getting from me,” she said before teleporting back to the rooftop.

Deklan turned his attention to the knife. Fifteen centimeters long and matte silver, the blade flowed into the handle, its smooth curvature interrupted only by a pressure switch on the pommel. It was a Zephyr, so named because when activated it sliced through almost anything. Having one was illegal.

Deklan activated the Zephyr and felt it come to life in his hand. Nervous at first, he slashed the side of the building and watched a small piece of masonry fall to the ground. The cut was a clean line. The Zephyr itself showed no abrasions or signs of use. Deklan carefully strapped the knife to his leg.

The gun surprised Deklan less. It was a large-caliber weapon, nickel-plated with a black rubber grip. It too he strapped to his body. He had little experience with either firearms or knives, but at the very least he could use them for their intimidation value.

He watched as Slate and Vinicius vanished across the torn but quiet green space, leaving him abandoned for the second time that day.

Steeling himself, he prepared for the next phase of his journey to the Elevator. There didn’t seem to be much activity, and he didn’t know what to wait for, so he trekked across the perimeter, keeping within a safe distance from the blocked road to the terminal but just inside the tree line so as not to feel exposed.

Mutuari

Deklan sat under a tree, his head leaning against its gnarled bark, his eyes closed, and his teeth gritted. His fingers grasped his leg just under the left knee. Scant centimeters below his fingers was the object of his frustration—a quill embedded in his calf.

The donor of the quill lay on the ground next to him, the Zephyr driven through its head. Two meters long and covered in more quills, the creature had three quadruple-jointed, leg-like appendages that all met at the animal’s middle. Both ends of the beast had mouths lined with vicious teeth. At one end were eyes. That was where Deklan had impaled its skull.

His fingers brushed against the quill, each little tap sending a jolt through him. His hands drew back. This was his third attempt to extract the quill. Each time he’d shied away from the pain that he knew would come.

“Hello, Chain,” said a drawling but menacing voice somewhere behind Deklan’s tree. Deklan had encountered others in the parkland between the perimeter and the Elevator, but no one had announced his presence unless preparing to fight someone. For the most part people tried to move about unseen and unheard.

“Come back for a rematch, Mutuari?” The other voice was familiar.

“Mutuari,” thought Deklan. That was Latin for “to borrow.” Who would have that as a name? He didn’t have time to get distracted by silly questions, and had to focus on his leg.
 

Deklan’s right and left hands wrapped themselves around the portion of the quill that protruded from his calf and pulled. Fireworks of pain were followed by relief. He held the quill up with one hand and rotated it. Long and thin but unbroken, it was coated in a sheen of his blood. His leg, though tender, could move again without stabs of agony.

The slow drawl drew his attention again. “Is that what you think this is? I see it a little differently.”

Careful to stay hidden, Deklan peered around the tree to see who was speaking. Two men stood in a clearing not more than five meters apart. The shade from tall trees obscured the features of the more distant of the pair.

The same voice continued, “I’m here to put you in your place.” The speaker was dressed in immaculate white attire that matched his closely cropped hair.

The other man stepped toward his opponent, bringing his face out of the shadows. His voice was pure venom. “Put me in my place? You may forget that I sent you running like a dog.” This speaker Deklan knew, having stared into his eyes while he bled out on the ground. This Keystone had stolen his Uplink and left him to die. Deklan watched, unable to tear his eyes from the confrontation.

“Like a dog?” Mutuari’s voice conveyed amusement. “Think you can do it twice?”

“With pleasure,” Chain sneered, unleashing a glowing chain of purple energy that bit into Mutuari’s pristine suit. There it stopped, however, connecting the two men link by link.

“Oh dear, that wasn’t the best you can do, was it?” Mutuari sounded entertained. He stepped closer to his adversary.

Chain’s hand launched another bolt, which this time hit Mutuari’s face. The man in white collapsed forward at the knees and lay motionless. Chain gloated: “No, it was not like sending a dog running. This time it was more like simply slaughtering an animal.”

Just then Mutuari’s hand lashed out and wrapped around Chain’s ankle. Where the chain had hit him, his face was stripped of skin, exposing a subsurface of shiny metal instead of bone. What remained untouched wasn’t much better as it was covered in old burn scars.

Chain’s hands jerked spasmodically back and forth. “You took it,” he gasped in disbelief.

Mutuari stood, raised a hand, and with a careless gesture sent glowing links toward a nearby tree. A thick branch sheared off. “I didn’t take it,” he declared. “I borrowed it. One day I may give it back if I find something better.”

This Keystone, realized Deklan with considerable trepidation, could steal the abilities of others.

Mutuari patted Chain’s cheek and spoke with the oily condescension of one who knows he holds the advantage. “You’ve lived a lifetime without this. You’ll be fine.” He placed a hand on Chain’s left wrist. Chain screamed and jerked his arm away, toppling over in the process. On the ground he made no move to run but clutched his arm to his chest. Deklan blanched when he saw that the arm ended in a stump.

Mutuari bent over to pick up the still bloody hand. “Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked. His voice grew colder. “Now, before I change my mind and kill you with your own power, run.”