AFTER NOON
This one may have been a poor choice.
The sense of him during passage was profound, both his strength and flaws. The island waited for him to wake, knowing that the time to choose a different one had passed. Time was the one element out of the island’s control.
Now the male was here.
The rest would be up to him.
In recent weeks, the island’s capacity for guidance and protection had shrunk dramatically, especially with the energy constantly directed toward the ones beyond the seam, an expenditure of electria both necessary and debilitating.
More precious electria had been required to sustain those humans already here.
The last of the island’s waning power had been needed to acquire four-legged creatures rather than two-, for the humans did not bring enough to sustain themselves. However, the behavior of such creatures and the humans’ reactions to them were as unpredictable as the humans themselves. Sometimes the humans saved the creatures, sometimes they killed them, their choices bewildering at best.
The island marveled at the humans’ capacity for compassion and cruelty in equal parts. It was amazed by the depth of love and hate and passion and callousness, of selfishness and selflessness. Never before had the island experienced such a range of emotion, such a boundless capacity to destroy, and also, to save. And to hope. Each arrival held a seed of faith—in themselves, in others, in their future, in something greater. Some seeds were larger than others, but all were to be nurtured, for with that growth came strength.
And the island needed the strength desperately.
But it would not take more than it needed, for there was strength in restraint, too. A strength born of free will, another lesson the humans had taught the island. Now, choice remained the island’s best hope, and of course, hope itself. Hope that the humans would see what must be done, both now and in the days to come.
The male stirred.
Withdrawing, the island waited.
* * *
Calvin groaned, his head clearing abruptly. Within seconds, he was on his feet, running.
Around him, black rock stretched for miles, an eerie land, foreign and silent. Rock as charcoal black as the soundless tunnel he’d just passed through, with a doorway he’d barely seen. He’d been stalking through the parking lot, pissed off at having to run laps after Coach called him out for slacking off, as if he hadn’t already proven that he was the best. The best sprinter, the best athlete on the team—the best athlete in the state, period. After all, he’d won the Mr. Football award as a junior, solid proof that he was the best. Hell, he was the best running back the state of Alabama had ever seen. He knew it.
He also knew that right now, he was seriously screwed; he just didn’t understand how, or why. Darkness had appeared in front of his face, then swallowed him whole. Darkness that had seared his skin like an invisible brand, so painful that when the fire turned to ice, it still burned. And it stayed unnaturally black.
And now he ran, across charcoal ground like an ancient firepit of giants. No matter he’d already run six miles before the air swallowed him, no matter that his thighs still ached. He pushed himself across the open rock, not sure where he was running to or what he was running from. He was six feet two, with muscles cut from stone, shaped by his father, a former defensive back for the Chicago Bears and the pride of Dothan, Alabama. He hadn’t been afraid to stand up to his coach, to tell him he was wrong. To tell Coach that he, Calvin Jackson, had the best legs on the team and Coach was damn lucky to have him anchor the 400-meter relay. He hadn’t been afraid, not then.
But now, as he ran over the rocks, he was terrified. He’d never been afraid, not like this. Despite the blue sky, all he saw was black.
Swirling blackness coursed through his head, a churning, seething darkness that seemed a direct reflection of his feelings in the moment the hot air engulfed him.
It’s not a coincidence, he thought with fear. I’m being punished.
And he ran on, desperately, not sure what he was searching for.
* * *
The one called Calvin certainly enjoyed the feel of flight.
He ran, his electria flowing through his veins and muscles and tissue with impressive force and endurance.
But the depth and breadth of the male’s fear was highly disappointing.
Fear opened the door to darkness; sometimes fear was the door. The island accepted the unfortunate possibility that fear would dominate this male, a counterproductive development. Fear wasn’t inherently negative, but with these humans it certainly could be.
Perhaps the island had chosen in error. Perhaps the island had been drawn to the wrong sort of strength. It had happened before.
But as the one called Calvin ran on, the island reserved judgment. Perhaps he would surprise the island. That had happened before too. Regardless, he was strong. And he was here.
Despite the new blood, the island still wanted her.
It needed her, the one called Skye. The island understood her like no other, as she understood the island.
But the island could not understand why she had not seen.
The island felt the weight of time, the inherent intractability of it. The island had reached for her over and over again, pushing the limits of both the barrier and her mind. Still, she remained frustratingly out of reach, even after the shift in power she had brought upon herself. It was a reality the island could not help but admire. Her force of will was strong as iron, forged in a cauldron not of the island’s making.
That must change, the island decided.
Her will must bend for the island, not against it. Because if she did not answer soon, the time for her to answer would pass and the consequences would be disastrous. The island’s reserves leached out like time, with time, bleeding power with each hour that passed. Soon the island would not be able to call her at all, or keep the seam intact.
Yes, the island decided, watching the male run, thinking of her. The time was now. A new card must be played. It would not be easy, or without pain, but the one called Skye was strong. She could bear it.
And so it would be.
With all the force it could muster, the island summoned the past to win the future. To win her.
Skye.