THE FOREST
4:59 PM
Insider knowledge of universal laws was a nice perk, even if Thorn despised said universe and the Gods who built it. She’d never been good at playing by the rules. She was too competitive for that. When taking part in pentathlons, she’d done things by the book, but in day-to-day life, she’d been happy to engage in minor offenses, particularly when the rules were nonsensical, which was often the case. Today, however, she hoped the Gods’ directives would give her the advantage she needed to rescue Storm. She intended not only to play by the rules but also to exploit them.
A dense forest stood a couple of miles ahead of the peculiar cavalcade, its towering trees standing sentinel to the horrors heading their way. Everything was proceeding as per her feeble plan, with the group scattered. A few Ordizien had wandered away to tend to the experiences of the odd traveler still stuck Down Below. January had lost at least fifteen of her people.
The losses were deeper on the red side of the convoy. The Domizien lagged behind, with nature yielding to the Gods’ laws, hindering their journey north. Some demons had been caught in a cattle stampede, or had fallen down some crevice freshly opened by black thunder, while others were simply turning around and galloping south.
Wrath had lost nearly half of her demons, and Thorn predicted both the priestess and the condottiere would soon stop them from continuing their journey north. Still, with the forest near and some aid from the Gods’ laws, they might find a way to elude the fifty pairs of eyes pursuing them.
Storm continued to play coy, checking her out when he thought she wasn’t looking, a display of intense curiosity she didn’t quite understand. But it was the ten Ordizien dressed in green Plurizien commune clothes that surprised her the most. They competed for the opportunity to ride beside her, hanging on her every word like it was gospel. Pissed off with God, they seemed enthralled by his butcher, who occasionally was also his friend.
“Tell me a story… A good one,” an old woman asked. Her voice was so soft it almost failed to reach its destination. Like most Underlings, at least half her life was a lie, never truly lived or genuinely experienced.
The Ordizien was in her eighties. In theory, older than the universe she inhabited. In practice, she was probably generated as an adult to serve some human’s experience; her past memories stuffed in at the time of her creation. Illusions, inside an illusion, inside an illusion-making machine. What’s reality anyway?
Then there was the rest of her life, mostly lived in servitude, with her story manipulated to provide travelers opportunities for personal growth. She probably didn’t experience many moments where she was in charge of her own story; where she was creating her memories while in control of her destiny. And still, when she had the opportunity to write her life, she stood there, enthralled by God’s killer, begging for other people’s stories.
The Underlings’ obsession with stories was something Thorn failed to comprehend. To the Underlings, stories appeared more valued than wealth, power, or even safety. Thorn couldn't grasp their utility for those living in such punishing worlds. Perhaps they were trying to escape their own stories. What the frack is reality anyway?
“What’s your name?” Thorn asked.
“Carmen, my name is Carmen.”
“And what kind of story would you like me to tell you, Carmen?”
“A rebellious story, of course. One that changes the luck of the oppressed.” Carmen spoke predictable words, repeated across all worlds like a broken record.
All the Ordizien, wearing the wrong colors, drew closer. Thorn led the pack, and they all fell farther behind Storm and January, who pushed ahead, closely followed by the wagon carrying the screaming traveler. The bully was losing his mind with dehydration and the punishing words of his motherly ghosts. “Little creep,” they said in their nurturing tone.
“The poet is the expert in those stories,” Thorn said.
“But you shot God, and he’s still your friend. That’s quite rebellious.”
“Guilt. He owes me quite a lot. And sex. Great sex! He fucks like a champ.”
The woman smiled; despite the many wrinkles on her face, there were no smile lines, and the corners of her mouth struggled to lift the numerous downturned folds. “So you bedded him, and then shot him, and now the debt is paid?”
“No,” Thorn said, glancing at her ghost, who now sat sideways on the croup of the old woman’s horse. Like a bird, the little girl sang a pretty song, her hollow eyes set on Thorn. “I can shoot him a thousand times and he still won’t be able to repay that debt.”
“Yes, that’s how I feel. We need a better story…”
“The poet can force change,” Thorn said. “He needs a bigger audience, a microphone, and a camera. He needs reach.”
“We are forcing God’s hand by keeping Nate here and threatening his life.”
“There are many Gods and many hands in this story,” Thorn said. “Storm’s words affect them all, and all but one want to suppress them. By keeping him here, you are silencing the one voice the universe responds to. The voice of change. I resent Shadow as much as you do. I fracking hate him…most of the time. But, believe me, he’s not the enemy, and he’ll fight for you whether or not you’ll hold his heart for ransom. He cares. That causes a heck of a lot of problems, but what you’re doing isn’t helping.”
“He doesn’t care about us,” the woman said, her eyes searching for Storm. "January told us how Wrath came to be. We all know who he truly cares about.”
Yes, and I put a bullet in his chest for it. “It’s…complicated. You asked me for a rebellious story. So here it is. Take it or leave it. Shadow needs Storm’s voice to release you from slavery. That’s a true story from God’s butcher. Help me unleash Storm’s voice on the masses and you’ll be one step closer to the freedom you deserve.” Thorn neglected to inform them she didn’t quite know how many steps would remain after that. Probably too many to count. But she believed in her words and in their promise.
She galloped ahead, catching up with Storm and January, positioning herself between them.
“Kill meeeee!” The traveler wailed. His body wriggling and squirming in an attempt to loosen the ropes binding him. All his ghostly mothers parading a banquet in front of his eyes, and then pushing the food right through his face and cackling wildly.
“I’ll release him when we get to the forest,” Storm said. “There should be plenty of places to hide there and we’re not in the business of torturing people.”
“Soon, I’ll have to bind you to me with rope, my dear friend.” January wobbled her head from side to side. “I hope you understand.”
Eager to change the subject and buy some time, Thorn asked, “Can someone please explain these people’s obsession with stories?”
“Shadow’s words,” January said. “The first day we met him, he explained how the universes work. All universes. And then he returned my eyes.”
Thorn laughed. “Shadow is clearly an expert on ‘all’ universes. The one he built is…perfect.” She flashed her teeth.
“Like us, they want to create better stories and escape their own stories,” Storm said, never looking at Thorn. “New explanations, ways out of the slavery of universal laws. Somehow, they know the Gods’ laws may not be as universal as they appear to be. I think Tom hinted at this when he first visited.”
“He always had a twinkle of hope in his eye when he shared that story with us,” January said.
“He was probably crying at his disastrous world-building attempt,” Thorn said. “Who calls a city ‘the City,’ and a bar ‘the Bar’? Seriously!”
Storm smiled. “I remember when he first read that book…the book that explained creativity as the flame of consciousness. The creativity required to come up with new explanations as the very thing that distinguishes us from mach— Umm…from things. Tom was so young and it gave him such an optimistic perspective on life.”
“Optimistic? Was this experienced in an alternative universe?” Thorn nudged the horse to go slightly faster, and, distracted, January seemed to be keeping pace with her.
“It came from a book?” January asked.
“Yes. By David Deutsch, a British physicist. Great ideas. Terrible politics,” Storm said, frowning disapprovingly.
The traveler stopped wailing, and Thorn hoped he wasn’t dead in any universe. She looked back, beyond the green and then the blue Ordizien, to see how far they were from Wrath and her crew. Not far at all, the reds were speeding up, probably aware of the possibilities posed by the forest. She counted them. Fourteen or fifteen demons, all armed to the teeth, a couple of them carrying longbows.
“Soo… What’s this brilliant theory?” She sped up again, hoping the other two kept up with her.
“The book explained that by creating new stories, we test the nature of reality in the same way a Nobel Prize winner tests the laws of physics,” Storm said. “Scientists and inventors alike, they first guess a new explanation—a hypothesis—as wild and innovative as they can conjure. And then they test it rigorously, their hearts filled with the hope they’ll find a door or a window that reframes their understanding of the universe, of life, of a flower, or a cure for cancer. And it all starts with a guess, a good explanation as unlikely as it is plausible. A story at the knife’s edge of innovation, bleeding truth and pushing the limits of knowledge further afield. That impossibly sharp place where dreams and reality converge. A hard-to-vary idea as powerful as the one that broke Einstein’s General Relativity and his assumption that the laws of nature don’t depend on the motion of an observer.”
The poet lifted his nose and spoke his spell as if he too were lost in it. In his eyes, the glimmer of memories she couldn’t read but could predict. Precious moments with his Tom, lost in philosophical discussions about the nature of reality.
She tested at least ten sarcastic puns in her head—all terrific—getting ready for the right moment to strike the fool and his blind love. But every time she tried, something in his intense eyes made her stop. Whatever was that spark, she was jealous of it. She’d never felt that thing, not really. There had been moments when she’d experienced Motya’s pull, and she had a crush on Storm in her youth, but that flame…that flame in Storm’s eyes…that was different. She craved it as much as she feared it, and fortunately, she’d never come across it. Fortunately? She was getting all soppy because of the ghosts. That scheming universe was driving her insane, while the poet was still going…and going…
“Einstein’s powerful story confirmed by black holes and their shadows, and by the way the light bends around the sun. A plausible explanation, so sticky, most forget it is a flawed hypothesis about space and time. A story challenged by another story about many universes, and cats both dead and alive and everything in between. Some Underlings learned to chase those stories, the ones on the edge of reality. Those with the potential to bend it, because they’re likely to be true.”
“Ah, the power of fiction—it can cure cancer, defy gravity, and even turn water into wine. Right? Right?” She grinned, and he released a frail chuckle.
“The stories that make us human, because they can’t be inferred by machines.” He went quiet for a while, probably realizing what he’d just said. “Tom was mad for that book, and now…here we are, every creature in his worlds yearning…chasing new explanations. Most failing to grasp the true meaning behind the words they parrot. A theory that might not be true.”
“It’s not our fault. None of this is our fault!” January said in her singsong voice. “It’s hard for us to create new stories when we are bleeding from old ones. When you can’t afford a loaf of bread, you aren’t thinking about mixing salt and caramel to see what it will taste like.” She opened her eyes wide. “Sooo bloody good!”
Storm laughed. “Jan is obsessed with Plurizien ice cream. There’s this place by the…” He stopped talking when he met Thorn’s eyes. A moment of amicable conversation broken by old resentments.
“We’ll stop here,” January said.
Thorn glanced at the convoy behind them, considering if they should make a run for the forest. She vacillated. The Ordizien were unlikely to hurt Storm, but she feared the Domizien archers, and they were close enough to cause real damage.
They dismounted the horses, and Storm rushed to cut the ropes around the traveler’s body. The man—too weak to run—meandered toward the forest and Thorn suspected he wouldn’t make it. That’s when the universe finally played by the rules.
To save the traveler’s real life, as per directives, a low storm started forming over the forest. The dark mist slowly descended and headed in their direction. The clouds ahead were like ink blots, spreading and merging together until the air was consumed by a dark, ominous mass, thick enough to provide the coverage they needed to vanish.
“Run!” she screamed at Storm. “Go!”
He dropped his heavy robe on the ground, glanced at January apologetically, and ran beside Thorn, as fast as he could, with every single Underling on their tail. Some arrows followed quickly, one missing his neck by an inch.
The air was charged with an otherworldly energy as the storm approached. The light that cut through the sky wasn’t white or blue, but a deep, primal black that devoured everything in its path. The thunder echoed like Wrath’s growl, shaking the earth beneath their feet. The fabric of the universe was being torn apart by its own laws.
“Faster!” Thorn called. They had to run about a quarter of a mile to reach the fog. At this speed, it would take them almost two minutes; long enough for arrows and horse riders to catch up with them. She glanced back.
“Nate, don’t do this,” called Jan as she and her blues mounted their horses. “How can you do this?” A nicer tone than the screeches of a betrayed Wrath. The mad girl and the storm roared, competing to become the deadliest threat.
But there was hope. The commune people were now wrestling with the blues, pulling them off horses and creating a barrier between Storm and Thorn and the others. Right in the middle of the green wall was Carmen, lifting her wooden staff in the air. The blues outnumbered the greens two to one, and there were at least fifteen demons racing in their direction.
“You go ahead”—Thorn glanced at Storm—“Vanish as soon as you are allowed. I’m going to help them out,” she said, and then she saw it. “Frack, duck!” She jumped over him and stumbled forward, her hands instinctively flying to her back as a searing pain shot through her body. “Goddamnit!” The sharp point of the arrow pierced through her flesh just below her ribs. She gasped for air. Time stood still as she began to fall, Storm catching her in his arms at the last moment.
“Come,” he said. “We need to run.”
The sound of her own rapid heartbeat filled her ears as the world grew hazy and unfocused. “I’ll slow you down, and they need help.” She looked back, but all she could see was the arrow protruding from her back. “Go!”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
Now closer, the storm raged on. Some trees were ablaze from black bolts of lightning; others were charred in seconds, too fast to keep the flame alive. The traveler was just a minute away from his escape, and as soon as he was gone, nature had no excuse to continue to unleash hell on earth.
“Go!” Thorn shouted. “The window of opportunity is closing, and there are millions dying up there. Run!”
She tried to make sense of her injury. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she braced herself for the pain that was sure to follow. Slowly, she began to assess the damage. Her hand reached back, feeling for the shaft of the arrow that had found its mark just beneath her ribs. As she probed the wound, she decided it had probably missed any vital organs. Probably…
Storm shook his head, hesitation lingering in his eyes. “Your letter,” he murmured.
“What letter?” she asked casually, suppressing both her pain and her anticipation. She’d been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
The ground shook with each deafening clap of thunder, followed by torrential rain.
He lowered his head. Water dripped from his hair to his chest. “For years, I kept it in my pocket when I performed. It kept me going when he was gone.”
“Kids!” She played it cool as she bled to death and fangirled for her teenage crush. All of this, during a deadly black storm while she was hunted by demons. Super-normal situation. Still, goosebumps rose on her skin. His words had traveled with her all her life, keeping her company in the best and the worst beats of her existence. She and he felt with the same intensity, and it was cool she’d inspired him too, even if now he hated her.
“Thank you, soldier.” He blinked his intense eyes at her before sprinting toward the fog as an arrow narrowly missed his head.
The arrows kept coming, and she crouched down by a few small boulders that barely covered her torso. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the shaft, gripping it tightly.
For a split second, she was in that room again, crying quietly and holding the little hand of her ravaged dead sister. Then she steeled herself, gritting her teeth. She pulled on the shaft and then pulled harder. A scream of agony escaped her lips as the arrowhead ripped through her flesh. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath as the ground shook with the violence of the storm. For a moment, she let the rain cool off her skin before jumping to her feet and running toward the fight.
Fortunately, the horses whinnied in fear, their eyes wide with terror as they galloped blindly through the tempest. It was as if the world was coming undone, tearing apart at the seams under the relentless assault of the storm. Without horses, the blues tried to push through the greens.
Outnumbered, the commune’s people were now down to eight, but they had made a dent on the other side. Carmen held strong, waving her staff at the blues’ heads as if she were practicing her golf swing at a driving range.
“I wish I was young enough to have sex with God,” Carmen shouted as Thorn approached her.
“He’s not worth the trouble, honey.” Thorn avoided killing blues, kicking and punching and using her elbows whenever she could. The real threat was incoming, and her horns, high above the crowd, grew increasingly closer.
“Do you think he’ll make me young again?” Carmen whacked a blue in the face. “I’m helping him, right?”
“He doesn’t have that kind of power anymore… A long story.” Thorn stared at the priestess, who stood away from the commotion. January’s eyes followed Storm and the traveler as they disappeared into the fog.
“Stop, it’s over,” shouted the priestess, her fearful gaze now set on the approaching demons. And that’s when Wrath charged, and greens and blues turned to face the demons, now relieved from faking human qualities.
“Stay back, Carmen. Stay back!” Thorn jumped in front of the woman, chopping off a red’s head, while with the sole of her boot, she kicked another in the stomach. Her knees almost gave up on her, blood loss starting to take a toll on her body.
Thorn held her sword tightly, gritting her teeth in pain as she watched the horde of Wrath’s soulless advance toward them. The searing pinch in her lower back was a constant reminder she was bleeding to death. Still, she wasn’t backing down, not after the stories she’d been telling Carmen and the others.
The greens formed a line of defense around Thorn and Carmen, swords drawn and ready to fight. January and the others stayed back, probably hoping it signaled they were on Wrath’s side. But when the demons came, they spared none. Blues and greens dropping like flies as Wrath screamed her displeasure.
The greens charged forward to meet the enemy head-on, swords and shields clashing. Some were dead on arrival; such was the brute force of the reds. Thorn saw an opening and lunged forward, but Wrath was quicker. She dodged the attack, delivering a swift blow to Thorn's wounded back, sending her to the ground in agony. Thorn gritted her teeth and stood up, drawing on her last reserves of strength. She raised her sword and faced Wrath.
“These are real people you’re killing,” Thorn's vision blurred as she fought to stay conscious. Blood trickled down her back, soaking her clothes. She staggered backward, her sword arm shaking.
Wrath's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. “There’s always a line with you people. Like, who lives and who dies? We’re always on the other side, aren’t we?”
The demons with empty eyes now formed a triangle behind Wrath. They mimicked her expressions even as they slaughtered the Ordizien around them.
Thorn and Wrath clashed, their swords ringing out in a deadly dance. Thorn gritted her teeth and darted forward, her blade slashing through the fading fog. Her chance to escape was vanishing in front of her eyes. Wrath parried with ease, driving Thorn back with a ferocious swing. Thorn stumbled, barely managing to dodge the strike. Her movements grew sluggish as she fought through the pain.
“We had a chance. Like…we all had a chance. Why do you always side with them?” The condottieri spoke like a spoiled teenager arguing for a larger allowance.
“I don’t. Too many of your people are dying up there.”
Suddenly, Wrath lunged forward. Thorn tried to dodge, but it was too late, Carmen’s staff coming between Wrath’s blade and her neck in the nick of time. With a sudden twist, Wrath broke the deadlock, sending Carmen’s staff flying from her grip. The old woman staggered back as Wrath's sword flashed forward, piercing through Carmen’s chest. She gasped, blood bubbling from her lips.
“What have you done?” Thorn screamed, and the Domizien stopped fighting as a pinch of regret hung on Wrath’s lips. “Carmen! Carmen!” Thorn shook the lifeless body of her travel companion. She froze, bile rising in her throat. “These are real people, Hope. Real people. You murdered a good woman. A victim, just like you.”
The girl pouted, her eyes locked on Carmen's body. “I’m no victim. We had a deal. You betrayed Jan and me, and she paid for your sins.” She paused, her gaze shifting to Thorn's blood-soaked tank top. “This is not over. I'll get Nate back.” With those final words, she mounted a horse and galloped to the south, her demons following close behind.
Teary-eyed, January spoke as she and her people lifted Carmen’s dead body. “You have no more business here, God’s killer. Go. Get out of here.”
The storm's rumble grew more pronounced, or so Thorn thought. But it wasn’t the storm; it was the unmistakable roar of an engine. From the dense fog, Preppy's silhouette became visible astride her motorcycle. She slowed down just enough for Thorn to recognize the invitation. “Hop on,” she commanded.
Thorn wavered, every instinct yelling at her to refuse the offer. But the blood seeping down her back convinced her otherwise. For once, she forced down her pride. She managed a smirk despite her pain. “Missed me?” Her beige pants, now sullied with her blood, hinted at her critical condition.
“About as much as I'd miss a mosquito bite,” Stella shot back.
Thorn swayed dangerously forward, her head almost resting against Stella's back.
“You doing okay there?” Stella asked, gunning the engine and plunging them deeper into the fog.
“My bite's much more lethal than a measly mosquito's,” Thorn managed, fighting to keep her eyes from shutting.
“Where I’m from, mosquitos are death incarnate.”
Thorn smirked weakly. “Private school?”
“You’re such a thankless brat!” Stella sped up.
“Call me when you can break a nail down here, honey. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Thorn nearly slipped off. Weakness was taking over.
“Hold onto me tight,” Stella instructed. “And, if you could avoid bleeding on my blouse? Red's not my shade.”
“What you talkin’ about? You look like you are auditioning for a ketchup commercial,” Thorn observed. “New foundation?”
“Exfoliative skin-peeling. Just left the spa.”
Thorn rolled her eyes. “Where are we headed?” Her weak voice gave away her state.
“Holiz first–gotta patch you up. After that? Domiz, the meatpacking district, in the City. There’s a…package you need to pick up there and take to the Commune in Pluriz. Sibyl will guide you. I’d help, but I need to get my nails done before my meeting with the Earth’s Council.”
“I’m not on your payroll, Preppy.”
Stella shot back a confident look. “Trust me, you’ll want to be.” With that, they sped into the portal between worlds, disappearing moments before it closed behind them.