When Heroes Die

“When waking up in an unknown bed, examine the environment before the people. If there are chains and bars, you can be sure they are villains and you are soon to be rescued. If there aren’t, you will need to rescue yourself.”

– Eudokia the Oft-Abducted, Basilea of Nicae

“We’re almost there, Theo, you’re doing fine.”

He was panting hard, the exertion of jogging with me still something he hadn’t fully adapted to yet. It had taken some time, but he was almost there. It surprised me, none of the other Chicago Wards would have been willing to stick with me for my morning runs for so long, and yet, he was still pushing on.

“It’s… funny…” He began, then cut off.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Three months running, and I’m still holding you back.”

“And I’ve told you before, it’s fine. If you weren’t willing to do this, I would be stuck on a treadmill instead.”

I felt him flagging with my swarm, and I slowed myself down to match. We had, after all this time, got ourselves into somewhat of a routine. The shadow of the Sears Tower loomed ahead of us and, once again, we pulled in closer to the buildings on our left. We were avoiding another cyclist who seemed to take it as a given that we would be the ones to move out of his way. I eyed the rows of unmanned bicycles parked to our right, thoughts of Brockton Bay once again flashing wistfully through my mind.

“You miss it too, don’t you?” Theo asked quietly, coming to a stop.

“Miss what?” I asked.

“The Bay,” he replied.

“Yeah.”

Nothing more needed to be said, really. Despite the many months I had spent here, Chicago still didn’t feel like home. It was too large, too busy. People were awake at all hours, and there was never a time when they weren’t getting in my way. No matter how early it was that I woke up, there would always be somebody else doing something. I could never have the city of Chicago to myself, not in the way I could claim a piece of Brockton Bay.

“You ready to keep going?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

We picked up our pace again, starting the beginning of our return trip. The better Theo became at keeping up with me, the longer we ran to compensate. Another week or so like this, and he would be matching the pace I wanted to set.

The scratchy feeling of something hairy against my skin was the first thing I felt upon waking up. Next, came the odour. Pungent, oily, the smell of unwashed bodies. I wrinkled my nose. It must have been a prank of some sort, but for a prank, this was really going too far. I would need to tell Grace this was…

Memories started coming back to me, flashes of experience. The fight with Jack, Scion’s rampage, the end of the world. The fight on the oil rig, Eidolon’s death. Running through empty metal corridors, trying to find something, anything that could give us an edge. And then, the step off into the abyss. I remembered.

The world, no all the worlds, viewed from an omniscient perspective.

I remembered me, gradually slipping, losing myself. First my control over myself, then the ability to recognize faces, then names, then body language. Bit by bit, piece by piece, I had gradually fallen apart.

A memory came back to me. The aftermath, mere moments after Scion had died. Me standing there and watching a crowd celebrate, unable to see it as anything more than a threat display. I choked back a sob.

There was more, though. It didn’t simply end there.

Being confronted by the Faerie Queen and stepping through a portal. Then there on the other side, a woman in a white dress shirt and suit pants. Contessa. We had talked then. Somehow, I had still understood her, and she had asked me a question, then, she had offered me a choice. A final look at the night sky, before the welcoming darkness. So why, then, was I awake?

This hadn’t been the choice that I made.

The chirping of a sparrow broke me out of my thoughts.

My back was cramped and my throat parched. Whatever I was lying against made for a poor pillow. I reached up to clear out my eyes, then realized my arm ended in a stump. Awkwardly, I reached with my other arm, then stiffened.

Vaguely, I had the sense there was somebody else nearby.

I opened my eyes. I blinked rapidly, the harsh light of dawn cutting into them, and waited for them to adjust.

At first, I wasn’t sure exactly what they were taking in. I seemed to be on the back of a wagon, on a dirt road, out in the middle of nowhere. The wagon was hitched to what seemed to be two brown mules. The back half, where I was, was under a shaded roof. The front was exposed to the sky above.

My vision roamed further, taking in my surroundings. It was blurry fields of grass as far as the eye could see. A few lonely trees dotted the landscape, breaking up what would otherwise be an almost featureless view.

Where was I? This didn’t look like any place I knew.

The aches I felt were from resting against a stack of cut logs that were stacked to one side. Opposite me, there was a random assortment of goods that looked like it belonged at a flea market. I was wrapped in what appeared to be a scratchy cloak, but was otherwise completely nude. I felt a sliver of fear lodge itself deep in my chest.

Had something been done to me while I was asleep?

Almost absently, I reached towards my swarm, then realized to my dismay that it wasn’t there.

After a bit of thought, I realized that it didn’t surprise me, although it still stung. I figured I should be dead, not having my power was the least startling part about this. So why was I alive?

That, more than anything else, made the reality of my situation start to set in. I clamped down on my emotions as best as I could, but found my leg twitching nervously. Frustrated at my inability to maintain control of myself, I changed my focus, looking for something I could use to defend myself.

Almost absently, I reached down to my side for the nanothorn. Then I realized, once again, that not only was there no nanothorn, I also had no right arm.

Right, Taylor.

I looked more critically over the paraphernalia and spotted what seemed to be a dagger, buried inside a sheath.

I moved across on my hand and legs, careful not to make a noise. The damp chill of morning dew was clammy beneath my palm, the cold biting into my skin. The shuffling felt awkward like this, my balance was off. After grabbing the hilt, I fumbled with it a bit, trying to pull it out. My frustration mounted.

Come on, Taylor, you can do this.

I hated how vulnerable I felt, how I couldn’t distract myself by burying my attention in my swarm. It had been so long, I had forgotten what it felt like to not have my power at all.

Finally successful, I examined my find. It was broad at the base and about the length of my forearm. For some reason, the person who made it didn’t fashion upon it a guard. Unfortunately, that meant if I wasn’t careful and my hand slipped, I would be down a couple more fingers and regretting what happened. Upon looking closer, I guessed it to be made of steel, although the make seemed to be poor.

I wasn’t left-handed, and that was the only hand I had remaining. That meant when handling the dagger, I would need to be more cautious than usual.

I gave the collection of junk a second look, hoping to find something better. I couldn’t seem to find an alternative. Looking at it, I grimaced.

It will have to do.

I climbed to my feet. The wagon creaked, I stilled. With a better vantage point, I could now see down below, directly over the sides. To the left of the wagon, was a small circle of stones surrounding the dying embers of a fire. Just making their way into my field of vision, two legs clad in leather jutted out, from near where I imagined the front wheels were.

Carefully, I made my way to the front of the wagon. One of the mules turned and looked at me, I eyed it warily. It snorted, dismissing me, then turned away again.

Gripping the hilt of the dagger tightly, I slowly, hesitantly lowered myself to the ground. Then, I made my way towards the man.

My first impression of him did much to soothe my concerns. He was short, much shorter than me, and had a mop of long, curly brown hair adorning the top of his head. His face was tanned, handsome, in a somewhat effeminate way. Despite his height, I suspected him and I were about the same age.

He was clad in leather from top to bottom, with a somewhat rugged looking coat covering what seemed to be a chain vest. That, more than anything else, threw me off.

I remembered, when I had controlled Clairvoyant, the view of all the many versions of Earth that there were. Not all of them had been as developed as Aleph and Bet. There was a possibility I was stuck on a less developed world. A world that was perhaps hundreds of years in the past. I hoped, as unlikely that it was, that he was simply Amish rather than the alternative.

It was hard to tell past the armour, but he didn’t look muscled, and I suspected violence was not something he was well accustomed to. With his head resting against the wheel and drool trailing down the side of his mouth, he wasn’t particularly intimidating. I didn’t really want to consider what he had planned for me, but I thought that, despite my missing arm, if it came down to it, I could probably still win the fight.

Now to wake him up, I’d put the point if the dagger right beside his neck, then give him a shake. I’d need to straddle him to prevent him from simply overpowering me, but -

“You never learned to ask for help when you needed it,” Tattletale said. Her voice was almost accusatory. “I mean, you ask when you approach other groups, and it’s like you’re holding a gun to their heads as you ask, or you ask at a time when it’s hard for them to say no, because all hell’s about to break loose.”

A flash of memory, an ugly feeling settled in my gut. I shook my head. No, this was different. I was alone, I had no power. If it turned out the man was hostile, and I hadn’t taken the initiative, there wasn’t really any way I could recover here.

“I keep on asking myself the same questions over and over again,” she said. “Maybe you can answer. Was it worth it?“

I stared down at my hand. It was shaking, but it wasn’t from fear.

“Would you do it all over again? Knowing what you know now? Knowing that you end up here, at gunpoint?“

“I… know I’m supposed to say yes,” the words made their way past my lips. “But no. Some-somewhere along way, it became no.”

“Just about everyone comes to this crossroad,” she said. “Some get seventy years, some only get fifteen. Enough time to grow, to take stock of who you are. Enough time to do things you’ll regret when you run out of time.”

“Don’t- don’t regret it. Was- had to. Saved lives. But I would do different, given a chance.”

Another memory, another stab of guilt. I stopped, halted my train of thought. Then, I started to consider.

This wasn’t an opportunity to do it all over again, at least, I didn’t think so. There was no Scion to kill, no world to save. Either by luck, happenstance, or Cauldron intervention, I was somehow still alive. That didn’t mean, however, that I shouldn’t treat it that way.

If I keep making the same mistakes, I will only pile up more of the same regrets.

So I stopped, breathed in and started to consider. The world seemed to still as I did so.

A girl wakes up naked, alone in a wagon belonging to an unknown boy. From the outside, what did the situation look like? To me, it sent all kinds of warnings. In my time with the wards, I had had with criminals of all types, and not all of them were thieves and murderers. I forced myself to look for another explanation, though.

How did the girl get there?

Say the boy was a traveller. He was on the road, heading to his destination, and then he found her, unconscious, stranded somewhere along the road.

He could be well-intentioned, realizing that I was probably in trouble, he could have decided to help. If he found me in such a vulnerable state and wasn’t able to wake me up, it might have been the best choice.

Alternatively, he could have darker intentions for me.

How did I wake up?

I wasn’t bound, and I didn’t think I had been touched in any way. If he had been planning to take advantage of me, he certainly didn’t plan well. He had slept on the ground, leaning against the wheel of the wagon, and left the wagon itself to me. That couldn’t have been comfortable. All of those actions spoke in favour of the other option, that of the well-meaning traveller.

The question burning in my mind was whether to wake him up gently, or wake him up at the point of a knife. If he wasn’t friendly, and I woke him up without the threat, his armour would make ensuring my safety much, much harder. I mulled it over for a moment.

Or I could just leave.

That was an option, but I didn’t think it was a good one. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t even know when I was. The chances were, the boy did. Either way, it seemed like talking to the unknown kid was my best bet.

Waking him up at the point of a knife when his intentions had been noble would cost me goodwill. Goodwill, on the other hand, was something I could earn back. I could apologize if that was the case, but it was the safe play.

Alternatively, I could wake him up without the implied threat.

If I was wrong in my read of him, if he was actually hostile, I would be giving away my only advantage for the chance to make a good first impression.

I frowned. I didn’t like the conclusion I had come to.

Doing better meant making different choices. It seemed like, on reflection, I had just talked myself into making the same choice. On the other hand, not every choice I made, was a choice that I regretted. If he wasn’t trying to take advantage of me, if he was genuinely a good person, I would do my best to make this up to him.

My resolve reaffirmed, I decided to act.

First, I reached up, careful not to poke myself with the knife and unpinned the cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground. With what I was about to try, I couldn’t risk myself getting caught in it, and trying to pin the buy down was chancy enough with only one hand.

Then, I moved.

Straddling him to pin him down, I positioned the knife close to his neck, but far enough away so that he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself on waking up. He stirred. I raised my stump and tapped his head with it, finally waking him up.

He blinked, the drowsiness quickly fading from his eyes.

“Who are you and what were you going to do with me?” I asked, pushing the knife in closer.

He opened his mouth and began to speak. And then, an ugly problem reared its head. One that I hadn’t considered, but really should have. I didn’t understand a word that he said.

It was funny, really. The idea that I wasn’t on Earth Bet had occurred to me, it seemed likely, even. The idea that the person I was planning to interrogate wouldn’t speak English, however, had not. Now, we were at somewhat of an impasse. We couldn’t really negotiate, because we had no way to talk, and I had already gone and made a poor first impression.

Great work, Taylor.

His caramel eyes, I noted, were averted and his cheeks had a reddish tinge to them. What had him embarrassed? It wasn’t like I had breasts.

The braying of one of the mules interrupted my thoughts.

Do better, don’t make the same mistakes.

I decided, then, to give him a chance. I had probably got off on the wrong foot and made a mess of this, and that was entirely my own fault. Something told me, though, that even now, he didn’t mean me any harm. Slowly, I lowered the knife and placed it on the ground, then, picking up the cloak, I stood up and backed away, covering myself in the process.

Picking up the knife and moving slowly towards the cart, he found the sheath and put it away. Awkwardly, I followed behind. He turned around then.

Now, how to proceed?

“Taylor,” I said, pointing to myself with my index finder. Then, pointing at him, I waited.

“Olivier,” he replied, with a tone that came across as half amused.

Now to determine if that was his name, or something else.

“Male, Female,” I continued, pointing at him first, then myself. He did the same in turn, using two words I didn’t recognize.

Great, now hopefully, sometime today, we can have all of this figured out.

Slowly, we continued. Mule, wagon, knife, cloak. Each time, I made the effort to commit each word to memory. Ten minutes in and my stomach rumbled, my hunger making itself known. Both of us paused, then he pointed at the wagon, enunciated a few words and proceeded to point at the ashes between the stones. From context, I realized he wanted to pause and cook something to eat. I nodded.

Sitting and waiting on the side while he cooked left me feeling restless. I tried to offer to help, but after the third time of him turning a stern eye in my direction, I decided to leave him be. I wasn’t used to feeling useless like this, and it frustrated me.

He looked my way again and his face softened. Then, he started to talk again, pointing to objects as he worked. I gave him a small smile in thanks, relieved to have a task I could focus on.

Point, speak, repeat. You can do this, Taylor. If I kept telling myself that, then maybe I would start to believe that everything was fine.