Chapter 15

15.

         “I doubt it,” Tristian said, nodding a friendly greeting to the man who just stood there and openly stared at him. “I know Joe, that’s not how he is. He wouldn’t wait until the entire unit was killed and then surrender, he’d keep fighting, if only to buy time.”
         “Unless he surrendered and they were killed afterwards,” Ranos pointed out. The road had gradually blended into the village, with the smaller, more residential huts and farms giving way to a varied sets of buildings, all laid out somewhat haphazardly, with uneven spacing and little reason behind the pattern. It was as if the original builders had merely plopped down buildings where they had felt like it, and subsequently had assumed it was tradition and followed suit. It had the effect of turning the otherwise normal village into a twisted maze of walls and houses.
         “Even without Kara present, it’s hard to believe . . .” Tristian replied, stepping agilely around a chattering group of children who barreled past them. Their shadows blended and melted in the bright sunlight. “If anything he would have told her to surrender to avoid getting hurt and he would have slipped away to get help. It’s a matter of pride for him, I think, especially now that he’s in charge.”
         “And you think that was prudent?” Ranos asked as they paused at T-intersection, deciding whether to go left or right. Without discussion they both went left, as if by prior agreement.
         “Whatever keeps Kara out of danger . . . I’m not thrilled with her being held prisoner somewhere,” he frowned, a spasm of worry fluttering over his face, “but as long as she’s not hurt, she’ll have to hang tight until we find her.” His face relaxed slightly. “As for Joe, well, he’s a little more reckless than I am. The downside of continued fighting isn’t as severe for him. I guess if I were him I’d take my chances as well.”
         You do anyway, Ranos thought, thinking of their shared experiences over the past month. That much about Tristian hadn’t changed at least. His version of “reckless” was to stay in the burning building and put it out from the inside, as opposed to merely running in and back out again. It was an adjustment to a perspective Ranos hadn’t considered in years.
         “So what exactly are people seeing?” Tristian asked suddenly.
         Ranos glanced down at him. Two men carrying wooden boards hurried past, faces already shining with sweat. “What do you mean?”
         “You know, when they look at us . . .” Tristian said, sliding sideways to allow a young woman past. She gave him a nervous smile and scurried along, barely casting a backward glance. The faint babble of invisible voices bubbled all around them. “Who do they see?”
         “Oh,” he said, catching the other man’s meaning, “mostly just you. I figured it’d be best if you received most of the attention. I’m just as visible, but it doesn’t exactly register . . .” He snapped his fingers in front of a older man who shuffled past, who blinked in annoyance and glanced at Ranos, but moved along without further comment. “It’s the same with your clothes.”
         Tristian absently brushed dust off his shirt. “I know, I’m not exactly dressed to local standards.” Shrugging, he set off walking again, with Ranos in tow. The shadows were deeper here, with a sort of interlaced texture from the overlapping angles of the surrounding buildings. All talk, discernable or not, took on an echoed quality, a bad recording from another time. “Though if we stay out in the open we may be able to panic them into doing something to reveal themselves.”
         “That may have . . . variable repercussions,” Ranos noted grimly. Down the street a man was staring intently at Tristian. When Ranos squinted to get a better look at him, he abruptly spun on his heel and strode away. “At the moment they know far more about us than we know about them.”
         “If it’s a group,” Tristian responded, watching the same man disappear. His hand lingered near the sword, as if expecting something to happen. It was oddly empty in the street suddenly. “We shouldn’t make assumptions, but if we don’t than we have nothing to work with.”
         “We can assume that mindbenders are involved,” Ranos said quietly, his voice going rough over the word. It could just as easily describe me. But we have no other term. “I don’t think the fact that this is a world where Mandras may have hidden documents is a coincidence.”
         “I don’t think so either,” Tristian agreed, walking a few steps closer to the end of the street, where the buildings were sparser. The fast chatter of women’s voices floated past, while shadows of unseen bystanders danced by like radio waves. “But . . . it’s over. Why fight? Why even bother?”
         “Perhaps they do not know.”
         “Or they don’t care,” Tristian murmured tightly. Looking around again at the empty thoroughfare. “But we can’t stay out here. There’s a difference between attracting attention and standing out.” He stepped closer to what appeared to be a town square, although it was mostly empty, with just a few older men sitting around on battered chairs. The dirty sweet scent of a kind of pipe wafted through the air. “Think a place like this has an inn?”
         Ranos sniffed. “I would be surprised. It’s unlikely they get many visitors.”
         It turned out to be not so much an inn as a glorified bed and breakfast. “When my boys got married and moved out I figured I might as well put their rooms to use instead of letting them just gather dust,” the owner of the house, a middle aged woman, explained cheerfully. “But we don’t get many travelers around here these days. Where are you two coming from?” Her voice was conversational, darting from point to point in a disarming fashion.
         “Oh, nowhere specific,” Tristian replied airily. They were standing in what he took to a be living room, the battered rugs and faded furniture looking lived in. The dusty light shining through pale curtains was the only illumination in the room and gave it a timeless, frozen feel. “You have a beautiful home here,” he said, tapping a well crafted table, the wood still a deep brown in color.
         “Why thank you,” the woman gushed pleasantly. “I do what I can, but there’s just so little time anymore.” Absently she whisked a bit of dust off the table, her nose wrinkling at the motes took flight and fluttered through the air. Stepping toward the back of the house, she said, “This way, boys. There’s a room in the back of the house, I might as well give you that one.” They were led through a small kitchen painted with the old splatters of past food stains, a ghostly conglomeration of meals lingering in the air in an unidentifiable mix. Then it was down a small hallway that ended in another door, the passage dim except for a small column of light passing through a window in the door.
         “Here we go,” the woman said, opening a door set in the wall. “That door leads outside if you need to leave, that way you don’t have to go through the whole house. Unless you want to. You certainly won’t bother me.” Turning and smiling at them again, she said, “You boys sure you don’t want to say where you’ve come from? I like to hear where people come from, I’ve always wanted to travel. I promise I won’t tell.” Tristian noticed that when she faced Ranos she never looked up, but merely stared straight ahead, as if his head was in his chest. Ranos had said very little the entire time they were here. Perhaps that threatened to break the illusion.
         Tristian sighed. “Have you ever heard of the village of Legoflas?”
         The woman’s broad smile dissolved into a confused look. “No, I can’t say I have. No, I haven’t heard of it at all.”
         “Well, that’s where we’re from,” Tristian told her matter of factly. “It’s very far away, we’ve been . . . traveling for a while. Just passing through.” That appeared to settle the issue for Tristian, who smiled cheerfully, forcing the woman to return with a blandly understanding grin of her own. Without waiting for an okay, he stepped past her and through the open door. The room was large enough, solidly square, with only one bed and scattered pieces of furniture, as if placed by afterthought. It was almost absurdly plain, a skeleton of a room as opposed to a proper room itself, waiting for muscle and flesh to be sketched over its too thin bones.
         Ranos followed Tristian in, the woman allowing him past without exactly acknowledging his presence. He wondered why Tristian had so boldly dropped the name of Legoflas. To most people the name would be unknown anyway, unless he suspected that someone might be tracking them somehow, reporting their words and movements and actions to the shadowy cadre of people that he and Tristian were apparently engaged in conflict with, a presence without evidence and a motive without cause. Then the very word itself might be all the message or calling card they needed. To the right people, the mention of the city held great weight indeed. Great weight and perhaps a great fear.
         That could be true. Or maybe, Ranos thought wryly, he merely believes the easiest lie to swallow is the truth. It wouldn’t be the first time.
         Tristian was handling a small knitted pillow that sat on the plain dresser that took up most of one wall. Ranos noticed that it left a clear impression in the otherwise dusty dresser, and when Tristian took one of his hands off of it, his fingers were coated with grey dust.
         “This is quite nice,” he said to the woman, who was standing in the doorway, hands clasped together. Running his fingers along the pastel colored fabric, he traced a name knitted into the center of the pillow. Fiona.
         “Is it yours?” he asked, holding it up so the woman could see.
         The woman gave it a stony glare, uncomprehending. He may as well have shown her the plans for a nuclear reactor. “No,” she said distantly. “No, it’s not. I’ve never seen it before.” Stiffly she walked to the door, hollow footsteps resounding on the wooden floor. At the door she spun around, resting a hand on the frame. Meager light from the hallway wrapped half her face in shadow. Her voice said lightly, “I have some errands to run, so you boys make yourselves comfortable and maybe later we can discuss payment and all that nonsense. Okay?” She grinned broadly at them before giving a little wave and disappearing into the hallway. Footsteps clacked loudly and only faded with the distant slamming of a door.
         Tristian and Ranos exchanged looks. Without a word Tristian put the pillow down, and went over to shut the door. He stood near it for a while, face creased in thought. Ranos stood on the other side of the bed, trying to read Tristian’s expression and finding that at some point the map had changed, there was no way in and all the old entrances had gone away. Even the room spoke to him more. It smelled of lilacs and fresh cut wood, molding with old murmurs to form a sort of background radiation. But something was missing. Ranos felt he was staring at a blackboard equation that someone had tried to erase, the words were there but blurred, indistinct. Smeared. Even when you try to wipe it away, an impression is always left behind.
         After a second Tristian said, “I guess we won’t be here long enough to decide who gets the bed, eh?”
         Ranos breathed out, smiled briefly, looked down. “I trust not, no.” He ran one hand along the wall, rubbing his fingers and feeling the grit of old dust in between. “She must not get many tenants. Or she’s not interested in cleaning.”
         “Mm, yeah . . .” Tristian said, sounding unfocused. He turned away from the door violently, as if repelled. “Have you sensed her yet, Ranos? Is she around anywhere?” The pleading tone in his voice was disturbingly foreign to Ranos, and took him aback for a moment.
         “I don’t sense her, Tristian,” he replied, choosing his words with care. “But in itself it means nothing. Kara may not be nearby, or she is hiding. In either case there’s nothing we can do other than speed up our search.”
         “Well this was the nearest village, so if she was taken, then she would have had to pass through here, right?” Tristian was running a one sided argument, spinning through ideas without waiting for contrary input from Ranos. “It may be worth asking around if anyone suspicious has been spotted lately. That may give us something to work with.”
         “Keep in mind others might also be looking for her,” Ranos pointed out, although he hadn’t sensed anyone else around with his abilities. Even mindbenders not actively using their abilities gave off a constant pulse, like a color without a name. And those who might be shielding themselves were still not immune to a concerted probe, since even the best cover could not form a perfect seal. The leaks were easy to discern, if one knew what to look for. Kara, unfortunately, was one of those few able to form such a seal, mostly because it had been the first thing he had taught her. But it made her impossible to find by anyone and since she had no reason to suspect help was nearby, she wouldn’t be trying to contact him. “We may find them before we find her.” Ranos had so far been doing his best to dampen any static his abilities were spewing into the invisible air, managing to keep the pollution as a local effect, but anyone nearby with half an ear and the inclination to listen could find them out.
         “Then we deal with them,” Tristian said firmly, echoing Ranos’ own thoughts, to his surprise. The carnage wrought on the soldiers had disturbed more than sickened him, but he found it more than mildly disquieting. A person like that so willing to delve into brutality would not go quietly, if at all. Ranos wasn’t sure what to think of that. He was here to help rescue Kara and the Commander, not to dispense the Time Patrol’s justice. And yet, as Tristian used to remind him, sometimes it needed to be done. When and why were the questions that still lingered for him, a quandary time had been unable to resolve. He had no desire to right the world. But someone had to, that much he had become increasingly sure of. Him, though? It didn’t make sense. After all this time, he still had no answers.
         “We are not here to fight another war,” Ranos said evenly. “The cost, these days, is becoming much too high.”
         “I know, I know,” Tristian said, his voice a fuzzed scratch of frustration. Pounding a fist lightly against the wall, he looked at the ceiling and said, “I’m just saying . . . we should see . . . that’s all, just see . . . what they’re doing. Why they’re here.” He crossed his arms, tucking his chin briefly into his chest. “Maybe . . . maybe they had a good reason to do . . . what they did to those soldiers. Maybe they did.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But maybe they didn’t. And maybe this wasn’t the first time.” His head snapped up, his eyes possessing a hardness that threatened to impale Ranos where he stood. “If I have to, I’ll stop them myself. I’m grateful for your help, Ranos, but this isn’t a democracy anymore.”
         Ranos said nothing. He pressed his hands to his face and looked down, face pinched in thought. “Let’s find your daughter, and the Commander. Let us . . . accomplish that,” he said slowly. Taking a deep breath, he looked up slowly at Tristian, “Afterwards, I will see. And if we find that something must be done, then . . . I will see.” His shrug was the acceptance of an argument begun long ago. “I can promise no more. You are correct, your fights are not my battles.” He allowed a grim half-smile to sneak onto his face. “But that doesn’t mean that we no longer have . . . common purposes on occasion.”
         Tristian blinked, slowly unlacing his arms and sliding his hands into his pockets. “Yes, I suppose,” he muttered, looking down. “It’s not that I’m looking for a fight, Ranos,” he tried to explain, his voice hesitant. The laugh that followed was shaky, and he immediately attempted to cover it with words. “And, dammit, I know I can be stubborn sometimes but . . .” and his voice fell off a cliff, became quiet, “I can’t walk away. Not if I can do some good. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t clear who he was apologizing to. Abruptly, he stood up straight, running his hands through his hair in a quick, almost dismissive motion. “But this is nonsense. Let’s get Kara back. Let’s find her. At the moment that’s all that really matters.” He didn’t look at Ranos as he spoke. Again, the other man wondered what exactly his former partner was thinking. Looking at him was trying to peer through a waterfall of ice, the outlines were present but insufficient on their own. He could recognize the man as Tristian, but beyond that, nothing was certain anymore.
         “I can do another search,” Ranos said, bending down and smoothing the bed sheets, the fabric oddly rough under his hand. “A more . . . intensive one. There’s a chance it may find Kara, but more likely it will help us decide once and for all if there are any mindbenders here. But that alone could be valuable information.”
         “Right,” Tristian agreed, his hand tapping the sword at his belt. “Anything is better than what we have now. Otherwise we’re just stumbling around in the dark.” A small smile touched his face. “I don’t think Joe will be too thrilled if he finds out we rescued him purely by accident.”
         “I doubt he will complain about any rescue,” Ranos said simply, sitting on the bed. The springs creaked under his weight and the mattress sagged slightly and refused to bounce back, but it was comfortable otherwise. He’d slept on worse.
         “Will you need a lookout while you . . . search?” Tristian asked. He scratched absently at his arm, while shifting from foot to foot toward the door, like an inpatient child. “Because if you don’t, than I can try and ferret out some information from the villagers, maybe find someone in charge and see what they know.” He paused. “If you don’t need me here, that is.”
         Ranos thought for a second. “No, I should be fine. I won’t be doing anything that will leave me too vulnerable and at the worst I can merely teleport away. You will probably be in more danger out there, in all honesty.”
         “If you say so,” Tristian said, already opening the door. Ranos wondered if Tristian would have stayed if he had asked, or would have merely crept away when he was sure Ranos wasn’t attention. “But I have my own defenses, too.” The sword swung against his hip, doing its best to look rather ordinary. “I won’t be long, either way. Don’t take any chances if you don’t have to.” And then he slipped out the door.
         “I see no reason to . . .” Ranos began, but Tristian was already gone, the door quietly shutting in his wake. It remained slightly ajar, a small sliver of frayed sunlight running a sharp point along the floor, a finger pointing right at Ranos. He stared at the door for another minute and then it closed the rest of the way on its own.
         Nodding to himself, he did his best to stretch out on the bed, although he seemed to be a foot too tall for it. Tristian may receive the bed by default. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind, imagining his head expanding and filling. Then with a subtle jerk, he flattened his mind, sending his thoughts spilling out, spreading in all directions like a liquid, a thin film to cover the surface. He was in every molecule, and each bump and each node and each depression was a mind and a person and a bundle of thoughts. All alone, all constantly emitting fragments that no one would ever hear. All unique and all exactly the same. Written in a language that we all used to speak, before we found words and speech and signs. Before we became corrupted. Before we destroyed meaning.
tells me I know what he should mean but there are days when he says what he doesn’t mean and I should know that too and there are days when he means what he doesn’t say and if I want to be
         Shuffle through the static. Sift through the white noise.
I want to find a place in the sky where there is no hate and if that doesn’t make sense then who the hell cares you never cared how long are you going to sit there and stare at me if it’s the last thing I ever do
         A million hands skipping a million stones in the clearest water of murky blue. Each bounce a lifetime, each splash an eternity.
so hard to breathe oh lord don’t let me be dying its not my time I swear I know I’m doesn’t mean that no no breathe dammit don’t dammit I have to dammit no its not time dammit not me they never said no I swear I no breathe I can’t feel my no no no
         Every footstep a ripple. But the ripples never touch. We only assume they do because we can’t see. They aren’t even on the same plane. A billion miles of distance and a endless need to travel and we’ll be no closer. If by some accident we touch I won’t be able to feel you. Every second we lie here you’re drifting from me. Thoughts are a jigsaw without a map. A dozen puzzles that don’t fit together. But all the pieces look the same. What do we do?
if I’m still she won’t hit me and I must stay small because yes I am small and yes she won’t see me and the other night someone laughed at a funny story but oh if I laugh she might hit me again and oh it was about a man with a funny hat it was a nice story the man with his hat nobody bothered him I remembered the hat nobody will hit a man with a hat but I’m small and so
         A man is the sum of his thoughts. But can a series of summed up thoughts make a man? It’s a dance through a mindfield that nobody has remembered to disarm. Every step is out of place. Nobody knows where to jump anymore. The more you walk the farther away you get. It’s not about understanding. It’s about surviving.
if she looks at me then then I know what I’ll tell her I’ll say she has beautiful eyes but no she won’t believe that but why not because she does oh I could stare at her all day oh crap she’s looking stare at your plate what if she talks to me I don’t know maybe I’ll tell that shirt accents her breasts oh no I can’t say that stupid she’ll go and hit me and never speak to me again but it’s true and what am I supposed to do otherwise maybe her eyes maybe I’ll mention her eyes that might be the
         We are just a collection of functional chemistries. But that can’t be right. Why can’t the waves survive, to travel forever onward at an angle perpendicular to life, always outward. Because this can’t be it. This can’t be all we have. I refuse to believe it.
bastards I know what I should have said bastards how dare they tell me bastards I should have said I know what I should have said those bastards think they can tell me well next time I know what to say bastards wait until next time bastards then I’ll know bastards I’ll know what to say
         Ranos, where do you walk to? In between rivers of the profane and the profound? Stepping across streams where the rocks cannot stop shifting, where every second another stone blinks out, lost forever? There is no purpose in your stride, no stagger in your step. The bumps in the road are where the bodies are buried. Under them you’ll find the truth. No you won’t. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing at all. Why can’t you see that? Why?
ha take that and he races around the corner with the dastardly villains in hot pursuit but they are no match for his keen intellect and boundless physical prowess oh no indeed he could wear them out by merely running in circles all day but what kind of hero would be then what kind of hero would let the bad guys do all the work hey is that my mom
         Everyone will tell you what you need to do. It’s encoded in our genes. Since the first day. We’re just reenacting the same warped play. Only the lines change. And the characters. And the situations. History never repeats. Only last night’s dinner.
she could take all the pain away with just a caress I only wish
         Someone has emptied the streets and erased the prisons.
I could knit and knit and knit all day and the damage just won’t
         A cry is just a string. A sound is just a path.
stop stop hurting I swear I don’t know what I did but oh please
         If you follow, Ranos, where does it lead? Where?
once I might have listened but honestly woman I just don’t care
         A hump is merely a tunnel sealed. A door is here.
what we do I just don’t want him here anymore frankly he scares
         Here a door is. What is this? Step in step in. All.
he scares me just sitting there breathing not moving just sitting
         Light. Dank and dusky. It’s all around. Footsteps echo off unseen rafters. Water falls in the distance. Sight and sound fall about him like a box closing in, sealing him tight. There’s no need for the hermit to be hermetic. We’ve got it all under control. Where the hell are you?
         Air is still. Stagnant. Drifting past in patterns unseen. I’d drop it all for just one more day. You don’t understand the time we waste. The ground is hard and full of stones. Step over carefully and leave your family intact. Too late for some. Too late for tears. The well’s dried up and only the burning remains. Some days I think I’m staring at the same sun you are.
         She’s crying. In a ball. Curled up. Crying. Shaking silently with echoed sobs. You could talk to her and oh the things she could tell you. Even now you feel their simple texture. Even the softest fabric has to be made. Not facing you but you can see her nonetheless. Who says we have depth? Just as paper thin as the world around us.
         Rocks are buried bodies. Caught as if covered in ash, screaming with throats coated in dust. Nobody hears. Not anymore. She’s crying and you can see why. It’s written in her stance, in her posture. Can’t see her face. It’s not there. Expressions aren’t important. Don’t you see? Words are just tangled thorns, to impale us and make us bleed all the lovely things we really want to say and pervert them. Words are the clots our brains can’t handle. So it must expel them. And we speak. Speak. Speak.
         “All dead.” “All dead.” “Help.” “They’re all dead.”
         Touching is not allowed. For one so young the price is high. Even if she had eyes to see you with her face would be hidden. That’s not the price.
         “It’s fate, he told me.” “They had to die.” “Why?”
         “I left him because I wanted to stop believing.”
         “But it’s that not easy to stop.” “What happened?”
         “I’m afraid to die.” “But we’re all dead.” “It’s fate.”
         “He told me.” “And I left him.” “But I don’t know.”
         No longer young, a child becomes a woman. Before your eyes be amazed. With a face so blank you can’t penetrate she sees you and stares and stops and oh no.
         “What . . . oh . . .”
         Can’t let her see. Turn sideways and slide into nothing.
         “I’m just fine, sorry, I . . . for a second . . . I . . .”
         These barren crevices with their wasted frames are no cover.
         “. . . hey . . .”
         She’ll grab you if you’re not careful. Touching never requires hitting. The worst damage is never from the impact. The worst bruises dissolve us out of sight.
         Let her see. Let her tumble.
         “Dammit, what . . . what . . .”
         Falling back. I’d splatter blood on the window if I thought it would make you see. You want to say to her that you know but it would be a lie because her face is shadow her face is nothing her face is out of your vision and your range and your life.
         “Who . . .” A hiss. Water from a blocked tap.
         You could tell her. This is who you are. Who she are. Who you is. It makes no difference.
         Reach out. No need for faces here. Messy messy messy.
         What do you want to tell her, Ranos?
         Darkness drops like a bird. She squeezes out three more words and you cannot warn her.
         “What are you . . .”
         Hugged by blackness. She is gone. She is gone.
         I didn’t do that.
         The construct crumbles into tatters around you. Light darkens and becomes brighter. Nothing to see. Her face still a blur. Her speech a mystery. There are no hints. There is no time. There is only names. That’s all we have in the end. It’s how I know you.
         You have a name. I know you.
         You have a name and it is
         “Ranos! Dammit, Ranos, you said-“ someone was shaking him violently, threatening to rattle his teeth out of his head. With a jolt he pulled himself back together, feeling more than seeing the room fall into focus, the world suddenly growing quieter even as the person with him began to shout louder.
         “Come on, Ranos are you-“
         ”I’m here,” he said, his hands shooting out to grab the wrists of the man shaking him. Halting the inertia nearly dislocated his shoulders. Tristian stared back at him with a slightly surprised expression, as if Ranos had done something unexpected. How did Tristian sneak up on him? He hadn’t been that far gone, had he? “I’m here,” he said again.
         “Good, good,” Tristian replied, glancing back toward the closed door. His face looked flushed, as if he’d been running, although his breathing was normal. He was kneeling by the bed and his other hand kept inching toward the sword. “Something weird is going on and I don’t know if I’m going to have time to explain it . . .” he was speaking quickly, racing against an opponent who wasn’t giving any warning. “So it might be a good idea if we just get the hell-“
         With a thud and a thump and a crash the door flew open.
         Two angry looking young men stepped into the doorway. One was carrying something that looked very heavy. Ranos thought he counted three more men behind them, stuffing themselves into the hallway, jockeying for room. Outside people were shouting, muffled words he couldn’t make out. Beyond the room he could hear a number of clattering noises, heavy footsteps, assorted bangings and crashings. It occurred to him that this might not be good.
         The nearest man stared at them with narrowed eyes.
         “Now,” he said in a jagged croak of a voice, “how about one of you bastards tell me what the hell you did with my sister?”