Part seven
With the departure of the winged, mechanical monster I allow myself to crash down into a seat, to run my hands over my dust-spattered face.
I can't take much more of this. These adrenaline-pumping bursts of intensity. I let out a laugh as I realize how insanely brave I just was in the face of such terror. Staring down the dark titan. The laugh, however, melts quickly into a sob.
Leah slumps back into a seat herself, staring out into nothing with an expression of deep thought across her face, and my brother rushes to my side at once, crouching down beside me.
*The man who calls himself my brother, at least.*
I squeeze my eyes tight shut for a moment.
Fuck. The words of the machine have gotten into my head.
*He was so convincing… the machine… 'METATRO'… He knew exactly what to say to play on my fears. My insecurities and my concerns.*
I open my eyes and look into his. The eyes of my brother. These, at least, are as young as I remember them being. I want to trust him. I want to believe in him with my full heart.
…But the damage is done. Doubt, to my dismay, has settled in.
We pass a lone lamppost in the desert, and its shadow passes fast across Ryan's face.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"…Honestly? No. Not really".
He nods. "Yeah. That's understandable. But, you know he was lying, don't you? That's what he does. I don't love 'playing the hero'. I'm here because I love you. And I'm here because finding you was the right thing to do. The guilt was maddening, but deserved. It's my fault you're even here, so". He shrugs and rubs the back of his head, and for a second I see my little brother, the teenager, as he once was.
He's so different, now… Marked by scars… They run through his eyebrows and down his cheeks… Across his neck…
*This is him*, I force myself to believe. *He went through this for me.*
…***Only*** *for you though, Yaz?*
I glance down to the shining silver cross that hangs around my brother's neck.
"Who is Kristie, Ry?" I ask him.
Ry pulls back and sighs. Not in frustration, just, in sadness, maybe.
"Someone very dear to me", he replies simply.
Lacking the energy to probe this further, I instead just turn away. I look at Leah, sat in a seat beneath the bus's remaining roof as the desert scrolls by through the windows behind her. The edges of her hair and shoulders are tinged in orange. Perhaps feeling my gaze, she looks up to meet it.
She smiles sadly.
"You were incredible, Yaz. Just now. The way you spoke to him… You were so… so brave… I just sat there with my mouth closed, like an idiot. I wanted to defend myself, and *you*, but, I just couldn't find the words… I'm really sorry. This is all so… so crazy".
It's been so long since anyone has given me any real praise. A compliment. I ache to reach out and to cling to it, and to hold it close. To absorb it and soak in the kindness… But whilst the doubt regarding Ry has been merely sprinkled like dust, my concerns with Leah have taken a deep root.
As desperate as I am for this girl to be my friend.. This girl who, to be honest, is so similar to myself- The way I used to be back when I had actual peers who cared about my wellbeing- Back when I was cool and interesting… As desperate as I am to trust her, I just *can't*. Not anymore. The way the machine spoke to her… The things it said… The enduring fact that she *knew* about this world before me…
*…Ry said that METATRO lies.*
*But what if Ry is wrong?*
*What is Leah hiding from me?*
*She has reasonable explanations for all your concerns.*
*She SAVED YOU from jumping from the bus and into the watery wall of the Leviathan.*
*…But METATRO said that you'd be* ***safer*** *off the bus… Is he right?*
"FUCK!"
I rap my knuckles against my forehead. My head hurts. And my throat is still death-dry. I reach out for one of our bottles of water and take another swig, and as I do so my stomach rumbles, loudly.
…I don't even care. I'm way past the point of embarrassment.
Ry draws back and casts an eye over the crumped packets of chips and cookies. "Seems like you guys haven't had much to eat. Doesn't look like you a great deal in your crate, to be honest. I can get these cans open for us, at least".
He hunkers down in the aisle and draws a knife from his satchel. He unsheathes it and stabs it into the lid of one of the cans at an angle, working it steadily and carefully around until he is able to empty the food into a little army-style mess-tin.
"My stove is out of gas, I'm afraid. Might find some more cannisters in the Axis-Mundi, but for now… it's gonna have to be cold, if that's okay".
He offers it to me, along with a little metal fork. Looks like a simple tomato-based ravioli.
"I only have the one tin", he says apologetically, turning to Leah. "So you guys will have to share".
Leah puts out a hand. "I'm really not hungry, but thank you. Save some for me if you like Yaz, and I'll eat later".
I *am* hungry, so I nod to her and thank my brother, and start to greedily munch it down. It's not half bad, actually. It's almost warm. I offer some to Ry and we pass it back and forth, sharing what sustenance there is. Probably best to save the other cans.
The buzzer goes off one more time before we depart City Two. If the shattered, skeletal remains of lampposts and endless desert can even be called a 'City', that is. We're still eating when it happens, and Leah and I both start in alarm, but Ry puts out a hand. He swallows his mouthful and rises to a stand.
"This one shouldn't take long, hopefully. Be ready to hold your breaths if I give the command".
*Hold our breaths…?*
He has jumped onto the seats before the speaker has even finished its indecipherable crackling; though I swear I pick out the word: 'memories'.
Ry swings round his satchel, and the sky's orange glints off the little silver buttons along the straps. He reaches in and draws from inside a shining gun; a revolver of some kind, maybe. I'm not great with weapons.
"Jesus, Ry!" I say to him, but he doesn't respond. He closes an eye, and with that impeccable balance he holds himself in place and looks down the barrel.
I follow his sights.
Something approaches from the ruins of an iron shack out in the desert. A roughly child-size, bird-like machine. Flying, like METATRO. It's wings are proportionately much larger, but overall this machine seems to be far smaller than its predecessor.
Ry mutters something under his breath. Then, a little louder, he says: "cover your ears".
Leah and I do just that.
*There's no way he's going to shoot that thing from here, surely? With that thing? It's too far away…*
But he fires; the noise reverberates angrily around the bus, and the left-most wing of the machine is clipped.
The thing lets out a screech as its flight pattern is bitterly disrupted. It starts leaking oil across the sands as it twists and spirals out of control.
"Fuck. Not good enough. It's still gonna hit the bus. Hold your breaths!" Ry bellows, and fires again. This bullet tears right through the body of the machine with an explosion of sparks and the screeching stops at once. The machine's trajectory is set, however, and as it falls it crashes hard into the side of the bus. The impact releases a shower of bolts and little gears, and something else, too. A great and sudden billow of black-purple smoke. A watery cloud; one that is largely lost behind us as the bus speeds away… but a little of its wisps still seep through the windows and over our immediate surroundings.
There are more windows that *are* shattered and smashed than ones that *aren't*, now.
Ry looks pointedly between us, stashing away the gun and holding his nose, tapping his throat with his free hand. The message is clear, and we follow it.
…Well, I try to, at least.
I hold my breath for as long as I can. Honesty, I really do. I feel my face turning red as I clench my fists again and again, over and over.
My lungs start to ache.
The desert rolls by, and we pass the melted, tire-less remains of what might once have been a tractor, half-buried in the sands beneath an enormous sign.
'**NOW LEAVING CITY TWO**'
'**CITY THREE: 70 MILES'.**
And accompanied as always by a string of faded Japanese text.
*That smoke must have dissipated by now. I can't see it anywhere. And I need to breathe. I need AIR.*
I look from Leah to Ry, but he just furrows his brow and taps his throat.
I bounce my foot rapidly against the floor of the bus.
*Air.*
Just one breath. One quick breath.
Reluctantly I open my mouth… and allow some in.
…I have definitely missed the worst of the fumes. That's my first thought. There's no visible trace of the smoke around us at all, and the great holes in the bus had, I had been hoping, largely blown the smoke away.
…They hadn't been entirely successful, however, is my second thought. Because I *do* inhale something. The very tail end of the gas, but it's enough for me to slump right back in my seat.
All of a sudden it is as if I am floating through water. I can see Ry jump down from the seats and approach me, but he's moving so slowly… so damned slowly… And that familiar orange tinge to the world around is replaced by a glittering pale purple.
It's beautiful, at first.
Beautiful until I see Courtney's face in the shadows.
I try to turn to look, but my head is so heavy. So unfairly heavy, all of a sudden…
And there she is again, in the shadows on the opposite side.
I try to turn back.
The shadows blend.
And I find myself at school.
I'm playing ice-hockey. This is right back when I first moved here. I played the sport for my previous school, and my Dad made me try out for the new team.
I remember this moment.
I remember it well.
Courtney is racing towards me.
She's going to knock right into me and I'm going to fall. I'm going to fall, and break my collarbone in the process.
That's what I get for scoring a goal, I guess.
And this isn't even the worst part. The worst part is that I'm *smiling*. I can feel the muscles in my face, and try as I might I can't change them. I can't alter the memory.
I'm smiling because I hate confrontation. I see her come towards me, I see the malice in her face, and I still want to give her the benefit of the doubt. My first instinct it to play the submissive, and to try and diffuse the situation. Maybe if I smile she won't see me as a threat.
But all the smile serves to do is intensify the humiliation when she knocks me down to the ice with a juddering crack.
She's going to make a joke now to one of her friends…
I can feel its sting, prematurely…
…But it's here that the memory fades.
The scenes around me shimmer and waver like steam as I realize that my head is pressed against glass, not ice.
I'm not wearing my hockey gear.
The purple tinge fades and the orange hue of the sky returns.
The cool of the rink is lot to the claustrophobic warmth of the bus.
"Yaz… You okay?" Ry says. His voice doesn't seem to be synched with his lips. I groan and close my eyes tight shut for a moment, leaning forwards. Cautiously, I open them again, and I see them a little clearer. Leah and Ry looking over me with concern.
"Yeah…" I murmur. "I'm an idiot, I'm sorry. I held for as long as I could. I thought all that stuff had evaporated".
"Yeah, I'm sorry too. I should have explained what it was beforehand. It just… It doesn't sound so scary when you describe it, and I thought if I did so you guys wouldn't take it seriously".
"So what is it?" Leah asks him.
He grimaces.
"The smoke draws up painful memories. Or happy memories sometimes, I think, but warped into nightmares. Plays them over and over again, spinning a labyrinth… One that you have to work to find your way out of. Believe me… it's- it's hell".
He squeezes my knee and then pulls back and away to double check his gun.
"Once again, I'm the only one targeted, it would seem". I mutter, and I'm pretty sure that Leah hears. We exchange a look.
We say nothing further, but meaning is passed between us like electricity. She actually looks… *hurt*, and I am struck by a wave of guilt.
*You really wanna do this Yaz? You really wanna drive away the only non-relative friend you've made in three years?*
Leah turns away.
"How come you didn't use that thing on the machine, Ryan?" she asks him, gesturing to the gun. "The speaking one, I mean. METATRO".
"Don't have that many bullets, any more. And I haven't been able to find replacements". Seemingly satisfied with what he sees, he stashes the weapon away for a second time. "And sometimes it's better not to fire. Kristie stopped me using that thing on the train, and it saved my damned life".
"Train?" Leah repeats, and Ry hesitates.
"Ry… Please", I begin, "just tell us. How did you get here? How LONG have you been here..? And who *is* Kristie? How did METATRO know who she was?"
*Questions, questions, questions…*
Ry rubs his gloved hand across his forehead. He looks remarkably old, all of a sudden. Even beyond his years. Stretched and wearied, and well-travelled, to say the least of his journeys.
He sits in silence for a long-ass time. We watch the desert wastes shimmer by beyond the broken glass.
"Kristie", he says eventually, his voice clear, but gravelly, "is the first girl I met on the train. Five years after your disappearance, Yaz. Five years after I signed you up to this hell".
I shiver. The thought that there might well exist out there a world in which our parents have lost both their children is a disturbing and upsetting one. Lost to this poisoned land.
"The story of the train is a long and disquieting one, so I will save its bulk for another time. But to put it simply, it is yet another way to travel between worlds. I tried signing myself up for this very bus at first, you know, but I couldn't do it. Try as I might, I just couldn't find that fucking forum. And I searched for *years*".
He sighs.
"The train is unrelated entirely to this place, I believe. The two are not directly linked in any kind of meaningful way. And I tell you what else, it's hard as fuck to even get onboard, and it's harder still to keep your nerve once on it". He carefully draws off his glove and shows us the back of his hand. Marked there is in an intricate scar, one that Ry has surely carved himself. It looks vaguely like some kind of ancient rune: a rough 'R' shape, comprised of four straight lines. "Tickets are paid in blood, is my understanding", he murmurs, some painful memory no doubt returning to him as he allows his eyes to wander the shape of the scar.
He raises his gaze.
"Anyway. I boarded the train in the hopes that it would lead me here, Yaz. To you. And the folks who run the train don't like noise. No disturbances, that sort of thing. I didn't know this, at first, and I found myself in an altercation about a week into my journey-"
"A WEEK?" I reply. "You were on the train for a WEEK?"
Ry chuckles drily. "I was on it for a hell of a lot longer than that, Yaz. A hell of a lot longer. And I nearly fired the gun barely seven days into my trip. Had I done so, I likely wouldn't be sitting across from the two of you now. Kristie stopped me. She calmed me down. She saved me".
He draws in a deep and ragged breath. I can tell that this is painful for him to recall.
"We got to talking. She was riding to ride to try and find her sister; a girl who got lost following some foolish, misguided personal ritual". He shakes his head. "The things we do…"
The engine rumbles.
The bus drives. Ever onwards, down the length of this bendless road through the barren sands of the desert.
"We saw some incredible things, you know. Kristie and I. For years we travelled, from world to world… We fought the silver tide on the coast of an impossible black cliff, beneath a sky of swirling gold…" He smiles in fond memory. "…There's a lighthouse keeper there that still owes me a favor, in fact…"
I listen. Confused, but enraptured.
"Kristie was amazing. From start to finish. We fell in love, of course. I asked her to marry me in a realm of shimmering tendons… in a place where great veins flowed like rivers through the earth…"
He reaches up to the cross around his neck.
"And we did find her sister. We saved her amidst the rush of a storm, on the head of a living mountain. I can still hear its roars, sometimes; loud above the thunder when I try to sleep at night… But after we returned her safely home, Kristie chose to stay. She chose to stay with *me*. I had helped her find her sister, she said, and she owed it to me to help me find mine. So we travelled onwards, station to station, world to world, until at long-last it brought us here. To the shattered remains of the so-called 'New Eden'. My first journey on this very bus was with Kristie. The second, too".
He rubs his chin.
"I'm rambling. This isn't what you asked. I'm sorry. Basically, Yaz, Kristie was killed during one of these tests. We were helping a boy, the youngest we'd seen, he couldn't have been any older than eleven"...
His jaw tightens.
"Kristie died defending ME. Fixing one of MY mistakes, as she so often did… And she was torn from the bus. Killed in seconds, I'm sure of it. I would have leapt after her had she not made me promise to help the boy. 'We'll get him home, Ryan', she said. 'Promise me we'll get him home…'"
Ry taps his dusty knuckles against his head, and forces the words to keep coming, strained as they are. I doubt he's ever had to recall these memories before, not quite like this.
"That kid wouldn't have stood a chance without me. So I kept my promise. I got him through the tests. And when I was able to finally send him on his way I built Kristie a shrine in my grief. In the Axis-Mundi. A shrine to Kristie. That fucking speaking bastard machine claims that she was alive at that point, that she was… *Fuck!* That she was *calling out for me!..."*
Ry trails off and rises to a sudden stand, fists clenched.
He gathers himself, and looks down at me, his eyes wet.
"METATRO lies. He lies, he lies, he lies. I did not abandon Kristie. I kept my promise. There's no way she survived the fall from the bus. Not in the state she was in. There's no way".
He shakes his head. He sounds as if he is convincing himself more than anyone else.
"There's just no way…"
My heart goes out to him. I reach out a tentative hand, and I gently squeeze his arm. Leah offers a sympathetic smile.
Ry looks out at the wasteland, the wind ruffling his hair. The orange light of the scorched sky shines fiercely in his eyes, and the silver cross around his neck flashes bright.
METATRO *may* be a liar. I do not know exactly what kind of a web is being spun here, in these wastes. But the machine was right about one thing, at the least. He referred to my brother as a 'stranger'… and you know what? He spoke true.
I love my brother dearly. As I always have, and I always will.
But this man who stands before me…
…He is in part, a stranger, to me now. I do not know him as I once did.
I do not know this