Chapter 2: Ascended
Far away, on a distant and forbidding side of the world, for the very first time in history cigarettes had saved a life.
Clutching tendrils of acrid black smoke filtered up from the ruins of the elementary school building, grasping at the passionless blue sky as though in one final and desperate attempt to seize the eluding memory of the past -- for clearly, there would be no future. Not in the God-forsaken land of Palestine.
Alex McKinnon looked at what little remained with a stunned, disbelieving look glazed onto his soot-blackened face. The cancer stick drooped between his two open lips, and he failed to notice when it slid free, bouncing off his foot to rest next to a large chunk of plaster that had once been a wall. Had it not been for his vice, though, Alex would have been inside the school when the bombs fell.
Dimly, he could hear the roar of the fighter jet's engine. Long gone now and probably already home, the pilot a temporary hero until someone realized that he had missed whatever target he was aiming for. The building itself had most certainly done nothing wrong, and though it came as a wonderful blessing that no one had been inside, the loss would surely send shockwaves through the community. The school was the one, the only, chance for the many to rise up beyond the bonds of their cultural heritage. Especially for the girls, who faced an upward battle even with a solid education bolstering them.
Alex's voice came in an angry and desperate roar, a challenge directed at a world that would not listen, would not answer. Would only serve to mock failure and sublimate success. A single shaft of sunlight pierced the smoky blanket and fell on his face, a golden rope that promised hope would be born once again. With a snarl, Alex turned away and kicked at a piece of the rubble that had come dangerously close to breaking some toes.
At that moment, he saw the shadow flicker on the ground, cast by the solitary ray of heaven's light. He whirled on it in surprise.
The girl held her fingers up to her lips to shush him as he opened his mouth in surprise. Small -- petite, even -- and clad in heavy layers of dusty white cloth that concealed nearly all of her features, she stared up at him with eyes that belied her heritage. Wherever she was from, it was not there. Slightly slanted and wide, with the color and depth of a million-year old piece of amber, Alex guessed those eyes claimed a homeland somewhere in the distant east. She carried a long black ski bag that seemed as out of place as the entire scene did, destruction and all.
As he opened his mouth again to ask her who she was, the girl gestured again and swept her hand around, guiding his vision to the terraces of not-so-distant apartments. Through the haze, he could make out movement, more shadows flickering in dusty windows. He caught the glint of metal, heard the voices rising in anger.
"We're surrounded," whispered the figure, her lilting voice clear and fierce, though Alex had to lean in to hear. "If they hear us..." she shrugged, leaving the rest implied.
Alex felt no fear, though. "I've worked here for five years," he replied in a normal voice, "all the locals know me and like me. They’ll help us."
"They are scared, and angry as bees, and will want someone to blame," the girl glared at him as she spoke in her whispers. "Do you trust them enough to spare an idiot American who thinks five years guarantees him safety in a culture that has suffered for two thousand?" Gunshots, fired upward randomly and accompanied by rising chants punctuated each word and suddenly Alex felt less sure.
"What do we do?" he asked, glancing up nervously as the shadows took form. Mujahedeen -- the local Islamic militias -- in the school's neighborhood were remarkably well organized and notoriously fierce. They had tolerated the school stoically only because it offered some protection from Israeli attacks, and now that too was gone and they would seek an outlet for their anger. More gunshots rang out.
The girl was already moving. "Through the ruins," she whispered over her shoulder. "Come quickly," she said. With a glance around her surroundings, like a wild animal scanning for danger, she bit off a curse in her native tongue. "They've seen us," she added grimly, "we need to lose them through the school."
Not wasting time either, Alex followed, a nervous eye cast over one shoulder. He could hear the voices approaching from behind, growing louder and colored with zealous fervor. The girl got to the doors first, and with one glance backward at Alex to make sure he was following, she pushed through, holding the ski bag in front of her like a talisman to ward against evil ahead.
Little was left of the building's insides. Thoroughly gutted by the explosions, fires still flickered where papers burned and plaster dust clouded the air. The building groaned as though in pain, and spider web cracks crawled throughout the walls, warning of imminent collapse. Slipping through like a spirit of the night, the girl navigated broken beams and fallen chunks of ceiling that leaked fragile sunlight. Electricity sparked from shattered lights and broken wires, hissing like angry snakes. Occasionally she stopped to gesture at a place where the floor seemed too weak to support his weight.
"What do I call you?" he whispered ahead, feeling as though he should at least introduce himself to his savior. She gave no indications of having heard, but shot back, "Mirai. Kishida. Shut up." Alex did not even know which one to call her and feared to ask.
A moment later, though, Mirai pointed at a room to the side. "Chem lab?" was all that she asked. Alex nodded yes, unsure if she could see but still unwilling to open his mouth and expose himself to more abuse.
She disappeared suddenly inside, emerging a moment later while still tucking vials beneath the folds in her robes. One bottle she handed to Alex. "Spread on floor behind you as we go," she whispered. "Don't breathe it. Head down. They're close."
Ignoring orders, Alex brought the bottle just close enough to his mouth to take a whiff. The powerful smell of ether nearly knocked him out, and he paused for just a moment to clear his head and ponder the mysterious girl's intentions.
The sudden sound of voices, though, brought him back to sober reality and he followed, liberally sprinkling the noxious liquid behind him as he went and careful to stay upwind of the fumes.
As Mirai turned back towards him to gesture a turn, though, Alex’s foot found an exposed pipe, eliciting a loud yelp that echoed down the ruined hallway. Activity erupted, the hunt was on. Voices raised in victory, sending shivers up Alex's spine as he realized they did not belong solely to men. Women's voices, too, and more disturbingly, children's excited squeals broke through the din. He wondered sadly if some of them were his students.
Mirai's firm grip yanked him from his thoughts just as a black-robed figure's head rose into view from the other side the jagged remnants of a wall. "Run!" she cried, shoving him roughly forward.
Gunfire erupted all around, blasting out bits of plaster as they tore through the walls like angry termites, eager to consume everything. One clipped Alex's ear sending him spinning sideways and over a twisted desk. He landed on his stomach hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs, and he choked on the dust, certain that he had taken a vital hit.
In less than a second, though, Mirai was over him, helping him to his feet. With a quick inspection, she took the ether from him as she sent him forward once again. "Not bad. Manly scar," she breathed. Suddenly her watch began to beep above the din of the bullet storm. "Bad!” she screamed, “Three minutes! Go go go!" Mirai began pushing Alex from the behind, unrelenting. "End of hall. Almost there! Don’t stop!"
A sudden lull brought a moment's false security until Alex realized the pursuers were only reloading. He could see them clearly now, the fierce hunger in their eyes. They could see him, too, and exalted in the hunt. With a final burst of speed, he used the adrenaline surge of the moment to sprint to the door at the end of the hallway. It opened on a little-used alley, and he wondered if Mirai had any plan from there, or if she was relying on him to navigate.
More shots rang out, a staccato beat that cut into the wall less than an inch from Alex's head. He turned back to see the streaks of fire zipping
down the hall. None managed to hit a target, though, and despite the haste, Mirai seemed perfectly comfortable with the carnage. Sprinting behind him, she did not pause at the doors, tucking her shoulder low and bowling straight through, tumbling into a roll. As she rose to her feet, she tossed the bottle of ether in behind her and gestured to Alex to close the doors.
She cast about and found a dumpster. Almost effortlessly, she pushed the heavy thing in front of the door, effectively barring it from the outside. With a satisfied nod, she glanced down at her watch. "Two minutes! Go go!" she yelled. "Up there!" she pointed at a terraced apartment some two hundred yards away and took off, yelling something incomprehensible behind her shoulder.
Just as Alex moved to follow, a huge crash sounded behind him. The human wave had broken against the door. It held. For the moment. He took off after his savior.
The door buckled again behind them, but the sound was smaller this time. The ether, he realized, sapped the horde of its strength, shaved away its fighting edge. They would not be able to budge the dumpster until they had time to recover.
Mirai was far ahead now, had already in fact managed the two hundred yard goal. Placing her hands on the terrace, she easily vaulted over and peered up, anger glowing in her eyes as she watched his approach. "Faster!" she screamed. "One minute! Get your ass moving!"
Something in her voice spurred him on, and at last he found his speed. He loped up the hill towards safety. Suddenly he noticed something else wrong, some deep instinct realized that the entire world had hushed, as though holding its breath -- impending disaster. Mirai yelled something, and suddenly she was beside him again, half dragging him the last ten yards. She leaped over the terrace again and pulled Alex over and in beside her just as her watch beeped a final time. She dragged Alex to the floor and clapped hands over his ears as the entire world disappeared into a phosphorescent white blur. Wind roared in his ears, dulled only slightly by Mirai's hands. He tried to place his hands over her ears as well, a completely futile gesture. He could see nothing. Hear nothing, not even his own pained whimpers.
And then it was over.
Alex lay still a long time, long after Mirai had moved away to the terrace. She was saying something to him, but he still could not hear properly. His eyes slowly came back into focus, stubbornly rejecting the damage from the flash. He had yet to work out what happened. Mirai was staring into her ski bag now, silently nodding in satisfaction. She turned back to him and offered a hand to help him to his feet.
As he looked out over the school, his breath caught in his throat. There was no school. It was gone. A second strike had turned the rubble into little more than dust, an empty and hungry hole driven into the ground. Alex's mouth worked silently, awed into uselessness. "The people..." he managed to stammer.
Mirai stared at him with eyes like liquid flame, golden in the hazy sunset, "With their false gods now," she replied.
"You locked them inside a building you knew was going to be destroyed!" Alex shot accusingly. The anger burned away all else. He rose up over her threateningly.
Her stare, though, spoke of a feral danger and desperation. "They followed us into that school fully intending to torture and kill us," she gestured at Alex's freely bleeding ear, "if they hadn't shot us to pieces first. They decided their fate the moment they chose to express themselves through their arms. He who lives by the sword..."
"Shall die by it," Alex finished, the rage clouding his voice. "And what of you, Mirai Kishida? She who lives by the bomb? You poisoned those people even before the strike came!"
"And you helped," Mirai added, a slight smile played on her lips, "I have long ago paid for my sins, and far in advance. This was not one of them. Lives are precious. Ours too."
Alex turned his back to her, disgusted. "You aren’t human," he accused.
Again, Mirai's speed shocked him. She was suddenly toe-to-toe with him, looking up at him with eyes that had not simply been dyed gold by the setting sun, but had shed their natural color, deepening into a shining and unnatural gleam. "Neither are you, Seven Kharaos," she spoke each word with fierce conviction.
"My name isn't Seven Kharaos,” he growled, “It's Alex McKinnon. Why would you be looking for Seven anyway?"
Mirai's look turned to ashen fear. "You aren’t Seven Kharaos?" she gasped. "But..." she managed, "But you have to be! Look what they did to get to you!" Her hands gestured at the destruction.
"Get to me?" Alex returned, "What the hell are you talking about? And I know Seven. He and I went to school together. Not me. Thankfully."
Mirai's eyes locked onto his once again, pulling them in like a deep and inescapable vortex. They promised retribution for even the smallest lie. Alex gulped and tried to look as innocent as possible, hoping the girl would turn her predatory gaze away. "Look out there," she said, "you think they would target an otherwise empty school if not for you? You were the only person there."
Alex decided the girl was paranoid delusional, but he played along if only to avoid angering her further. "Why would they target me... errr," he added, "or Seven rather? He could be a jerk, but that's only because of his refusal to bend or break."
Mirai leaned in close, her whispered words barely audible. "None of your business," she said. "If not you, where can I find him?" she demanded. For the first time, Alex noticed that her robe had been tattered to pieces. A dozen holes riddled the fabric, a few in seemingly critical places, but the only blood staining the cloth was his own. Beneath the tatters, he could see Mirai's defined muscles, the wiry definition of a warrior.
"I don't know," he began and Mirai tensed. Realizing that would not be an appropriate answer, he racked his brain. "Look, he and I were only a little close back in middle school. In high school he rarely kept other company. Only a couple friends. I wasn't one of them." Suddenly a thought struck him, "Wait!" he said, "This morning, his sister Facebooked something about her brother coming back home. Late as usual."
Frowning, Mirai said the word, "Megid."
"What do we do now?" Alex asked. Though he feared the one who had accidentally saved him, he was equally scared to continue on alone.
Mirai released a long, exasperated sigh. "Normally I would leave you here," she declared, "but it looks like I owe you a quick favor for the trouble. Stay down," she ordered, "we have company.”
Raising his head just enough to catch a glance, a group of angry looking militia with thick beards and dirty clothes were gesturing in their direction. Alex cast about for an escape route but found none. He chose to rely on Mirai instead, fearing the consequences.
Hands reached down to grab his collar, and next thing he knew, Mirai was dragging him out into the open. She hissed another command to stay put in his bloodied ear, and then stood up to her full and less-than-imposing height.
Six men, judging from the boots, ringed the two of them. Alex could hear the guns being leveled, and harsh questions barked from the apparent leader -- two brown sandals straight ahead of Mirai. Though he had lived in the area for some time, Alex hadn't adapted to the language well. He only picked up a few words, but was able to put together the whole picture.
"Who are you?" the leader demanded, jabbing forward with his gun like a spear.
Mirai looked at each man in turn, a disarming smile on her lips. "Just a defenseless woman," she said. "This American tried to attack me," she gestured at Alex, who immediately shot up to his needs, racking his brain for the words to protest his innocence. Mirai slapped him across the mouth hard enough to inspire stars, and Alex sank back to the ground in betrayed confusion. "He tried to rape me," she finished.
The men looked at each other, and at the scene and snickered without the smallest trace of sympathy. "Defenseless? You treat him like a dog, woman," one of the men shouted out. They moved in closer when they heard the sexual implications. Thoughts had begun forming in their minds, too, on the beautiful girl they had outnumbered and overpowered.
"He is a dog. American," Mirai retorted. She placed a
foot on his back and pressed him into the ground. "See? An obedient one. I'm taking him with me," she said.
The militia did not like that; they grumbled low and Alex could no longer make out the words. At last, the leader said, "Why not leave him with us? We are... equipped for dealing with prisoners like this one. If we can ransom him, maybe your family will get a little benefit, eh?"
Alex was shocked to hear Mirai agree. "You are right," she declared, "Come and take him but please let me go." She removed her foot from his back and he looked up at her, stinging tears of bitterness welling in his eyes.
The leader stepped forward, a cruel snarl twisting his lips like a vicious hound. Alex could smell the stink of rotten teeth as the man leaned forward to inspect his appropriated catch, eyes narrowed and calculating, and cold as the void of space. The man stood up and faced Mirai, reaching a hand out to grasp her shoulder.
Mirai stepped aside and glared at the man, who clearly did not appreciate his approach being rebuked. He snarled off a curse and reached out again to grab the girl.
The man's eyes widened as not one but both of his arms dropped from his sides to the ground, neatly parted from the rest of his body. Mirai stood beyond him and the sudden gush of blood, two Chinese broadswords grasped lightly in her hands, glowing like sun flares from the flames cast by the school's ruin. The other militiamen had no time to reach as Mirai flowed into a whirling dance of death.
The first she took with an uppercut, one sword supporting the other, lending strength. It cleaved the man's chin in two and took his life with it. She spun under his already falling corpse and sliced the next closest across the throat, using his body as a pivot to spin into her next victim.
This one actually reacted, reaching out clumsily to grab at the very specter of death. Mirai did not miss a beat as she slipped under his hands at the last moment, as liquid as quicksilver. The action threw the mujahedeen off-balance, and Mirai pressed her advantage with a quick kick to the back of the knee, sending him to the ground. Alex watched as she rolled across her opponent's back, leaving one blade buried. This she grasped and yanked it forward to propel the hapless and doomed human missile into the final two attackers. As they all tumbled to the ground, they let up a great cloud of dust that obscured Alex's vision. When it finally settled, though, Mirai stood in the center sheathing her weapons within that mysterious black ski bag. Her opponents, all six, lay dead or dying -- the leader still twitched at Alex's feet, unaware he had died. Mirai remained unscathed, even her victims’ blood failed to stain her white robes.
She turned to stare at him, eyes burning golden and bright, angelic death and Alex accepted his fate. "None are allowed to set eyes upon the Ascended," she declared, voice an accusation, a proclamation, and a capital sentence all at the same time. Leaning low, to face him squarely, the blazes disappeared, replaced by a sympathetic gaze.
"I do not listen to the rules, though," she finished at last.
"Who are you?" managed Alex, mind racing. He had escaped death three times in less than fifteen minutes, and despite all this he had only one nagging question. "What are you?" he corrected himself.
The girl suddenly looked hurt at the question, as though it brought back distant and painful memories that, like herself, remained equally indefinable. She was smoke, mist, the shadow of the moon, a dream forgotten, a promise unfulfilled, a naked blade -- sharp and just, drawn only in defense but stained indelibly with ancient and rusty blood. None of this she could say, however much she wanted to. To scream it to the world that had shaped her; had demanded her. For a long time she simply said nothing.
Finally, just as Alex was about to apologize, she whispered almost to herself with the same conviction that had carried her through a thousand pitched battles, "I am me."
And then, as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone -- faded into the very fabric of the unforgiving universe, ever pursuing her prey. Sunlight filtered on the spot she had been a mere moment before, the afterimage of deadly grace, leaving Alex to wonder if he had hallucinated the entire thing. Looking about at the carnage, though, Alex knew in the depths of his heart that the world had changed.
Forever.