CHAPTER 1 - The Waystone's Call (1 of 3)
Miles took his very first steps upon the surface of the earth, leaving the burning wreckage of a small skiff behind. The human stumbled ever so briefly into the countryside before his legs finally gave out. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, coughed up smoke from the burning wreckage of his stolen escape craft, and rolled onto his back. Cracked ribs ached against his shallow breaths as he struggled to taste fresh air once again. Arms outstretched, Miles watched the dark smoke of the skiff billow into the tangerine sky.
Freedom.
It hadn't set in yet. Miles clutched at the grass and soil beneath him, digging into the earth--the real, genuine earth. He brought up an organic clump of actual dirt and grass that overflowed in his hand. It was slightly damp, with a fresh smell that tickled his nose as he let it fall through his fingers. The clump vanished, revealing the horizon behind it.
Far way against the orange sun floated the silhouette of the Hourglass high city. It took the shape of its namesake; like an upside-down mountain, the massive city hovered just above the peak of a lonely mesa. Miles had never seen his former home from a distance, and when he laid his eyes upon it, the voices in his head suddenly resurfaced.
You did it.
You've escaped.
You're finally free.
Miles let an uncontrollable euphoria wash over him as the voices continued congratulating him. A smile stretched across his face, transforming into a relieved laugh as he gave in to exhausted delirium. He clutched at the star pendant that hung around his neck, knowing now that he had the chance to find the one who had given it to him so long ago. The feel of the cool metal in his hand comforted him, and he tried to grant himself a well-deserved rest for just a few more moments, but the ethereal voices would not let him enjoy it for long.
Get up, Miles.
You must push on.
They are coming.
Miles whimpered. He tried to shake the voices from his mind, but they continued to accost him from every direction, just as they had for the past two years. Mentally and physically exhausted, he couldn't resist them. He relinquished his grip on the pendant, pushed himself up, grit his teeth through the pain in his chest, and began to stumble forth into a new world.
The lonely, abandoned valley stretched out for dozens of kilometers in every direction from the Hourglass. Ancient crumbling concrete structures dotted the landscape, overgrown by nature and transformed into lush, green monuments sticking up from a sea of wild wheat. The voices echoed from every direction across the ancient plain, as if the ghosts of the ruins themselves were urging him forward.
Follow my voice.
Someone is waiting for you.
They will take you to safety.
"I know," Miles muttered in annoyance. The voices had interrupted his worries for the small group that had helped him escape the Hourglass. He hoped beyond hope that the furred folk, who had used holographic cloakers to take human forms, had found a way to slip back into the shadows. They were supposed to have accompanied him, handing him off to another smuggler who would take him somewhere he could begin his search for who he had lost. Instead, they had practically thrown him on the escape skiff when the plan fell to chaos, telling him to 'follow the call.'
They'll be okay.
Keep walking.
Don't look back.
Miles hesitated, nearly pausing to defy the voices and look back at his former home. In response the voices escalated into visions. They flickered into existence ahead of him, like a weak broadcast emerging from static on an antique television screen. Miles gasped in recognition when a figure finally came into focus, but as quickly as the person appeared, they flickered out, leaving only the weight of the star on his neck, and the fading taste of blueberries.
"No, come back." Miles said. "Please come back." But the vision was gone, replaced by shadows cast by the last sliver of daylight.
The vision sapped his will to carry on as the shadow of night fell upon the plain. He leaned up against an old, dry tree. His legs burned as if they had melted into lava. For just a moment, thoughts of turning back intruded within his mind. He thought of repenting for leaving the Hourglass, falling to his knees at the gates and begging the enforcers to let him back in.
But the ghost of his suffering in that oppressive city urged him onward, filling him with the weight of purpose.
"No," Miles whimpered. "Never go back. Can't ever go back."
With that small burst of resolve, Miles managed to organize his thoughts just enough to search his surroundings for somewhere he could collapse into sleep--or at the very least, to pass out. He fingered his pendant as he scanned the area. An ancient fossil fuel station stood next to an asphalt road, almost entirely reclaimed by nature, but the brutal concrete and rusted out rebar of the human structure felt too alien and unwelcoming, as human things always had. Instead, Miles spotted a dark grove across the plain. The voices urged him toward it, as if the lush oaks and pines themselves were calling his name.
But before Miles could follow, his senses froze him in place.
A terrible feeling gnawed deep into Miles' gut. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes locked forward. He felt his ears twitch in deep study of every surrounding noise. A rustle in the grass. The sound of breathing. The crackle of electricity.
Run.
Miles dove. A shock baton smashed against the tree trunk, shattering the dry bark that would have been his skull had he not just barely sensed the stalker. Adrenaline snuffed out the pain and exhaustion. His legs turned solid once more. He rolled from the dive and bolted like prey from the ambush of a predator.
"He's heading north!" the Hourglass soldier shouted. A cacophony of voices erupted behind him, spurring Miles' every nerve.
To the grove.
Past the trees.
To safety.
Run.
He scrambled through brush and into the grove's tree line. Taser shells blasted against the tree trunks around him, missing his body by inches, filling the night with a chorus of sputtering electricity. An enforcement skiff roared above the trees, violently shaking and snapping branches like the vicious winds of a storm. A spotlight poured through the canopy and forced Miles to weave between tree trunks and vault over fallen logs in desperation to shake the blinding light.
Suddenly, the trees ended just as the voices had promised. The environment changed all at once. Massive piles of discarded machinery now rolled across the landscape with nothing to obstruct the spotlight that fixed itself upon him. Miles ran through the paths between the scrap piles, vaulting over long-dead robotics and crumpled appliances. The ground became uneven with metal scraps that shredded the soles of his shoes and bit into his feet. He hardly noticed, drunk on fear and instinct like a crazed animal desperate to survive the hunt.
A clearing opened up in the machinery, but before Miles could search for his next exit, the skiff surged ahead of him. It glided through the air on its broad side and shined the spotlight directly in Miles' face. Blind and startled, his ankle slammed with a sickening crack into a piece of machinery. It sent his body careening through the air, and when he finally tumbled back to the earth it was to crash into what felt like a pile of jagged metal teeth.
He writhed on the pile of metal, hyperventilating as half a dozen soldiers spread out in an arc before him, taser guns at the ready. The skiff landed in the clearing behind them, blowing sharp metal particulate out in a circle and forcing Miles to shield his eyes. They struggled uselessly to adjust to the blinding spotlight that had stayed trained upon him. More dark figures stepped off the skiff, long coats spread out like demonic wings at their backs.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Miles struggled to obey the voices, but a boot landed hard on his chest, forcing him down into the sharp metal. He cried out, feeling the cracks in his ribs strain against the weight.
"Stupid kid," the Hourglass enforcer spat. He blinked twice and the communicator on his ear lit up. "Runaway secured. Still non-compliant. We’re returning to the Hourglass."
"No," Miles protested, but the enforcer ground his boot down harder.
"Shut up!" he said as Miles cried out in pain. "You know what an embarrassment this is to your family, kid? Parents can't even keep their own son from going native. What a joke."
The man looked over to two of the guards at his flank and jerked his head at Miles. "You two, get him on the skiff."
The two enforcers gave confirmation and grabbed Miles under his arms.
"No! Let go of me!" Miles cried, struggling as they lifted him. He twisted in their grasp, managing to break free and throw a single flimsy punch that nearly broke his knuckles on the enforcer's steel helmet. A shock baton instantly slammed into his back with such force that it knocked the wind out of him. His bad ankle hit the ground, and the second explosion of pain sent him falling back into the pile of scrap. This time, his head hit something hard. He heard the crack of his skull. A boot slammed down on his arm, snapping the bone like a toothpick. Miles cried out in agony.
"Quit it, damn you! Kid's not one of them beasts. He's VIP! You kill him it's your ass."
The enforcer continued to bark orders at his men, but Miles couldn't understand anything he said. Any lingering spirit of defiance gave way to an freefalling exhaustion. His world began to go dark. The trauma sent his pain and exhaustion collapsing into rubble with the rest of the scrap.
As darkness began to close in, Miles saw something he would only come to understand later. The metal piles surrounding the clearing shifted one by one. Landslides of scrap slid down the piles of machinery. The soldiers in the clearing whirled to assess the threat. Massive angular shapes emerged from the rubble. Dozens of metal shadows reached out toward them. Flashes of light filled the night. The pounding of gunfire. The scent of blood and oil. Bloodcurdling screams, cut short.
But Miles couldn't comprehend it. All the stars went out and all the voices went mute as the broken human succumbed to unconsciousness.
***
"Sometimes I wish I was never born. Or, at least that I wasn't born here."
"Well, I'm glad you were. I don't think I could make it in the Hourglass without you."
Unconsciousness transformed into a fitful sleep, and Miles dreamed of conversations held long ago in the Hourglass. He watched the stars, defying the city's curfews and letting his mask down for the night, talking about things he could never say to anyone else.
"I feel like I don't belong. Like there's this discomfort that I just can't pin down."
"Well, if you figure it out, let me know. I'm as confused as you are."
Memories that so often made for a fitful night's sleep suddenly calmed him instead. He tasted blueberries, watched the stars, and held his companion's hand. As they leaned closer to each other, sounds from the waking world began to bleed into his dreams.
"I need a doctor out here. Now!"
"Multiple fractures. Head trauma. He's unresponsive."
Miles felt himself being lifted, carried, and strapped down, then lifted up again. Someone placed something heavy and cold up his head. Reality struggled to pull him from the depths of sleep. The waking voices grew closer and louder, drowning out the soothing memories with a sad and anxious voice.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"I should have gotten there sooner."
Miles pushed the waking world away, slipping back into one final dream, but this time no soothing memories greeted him. Instead, Miles once again found himself in that graveyard of machinery. The air tasted thick and suffocating. He whirled, searching for something to explain the inexplicable anxiety welling up inside of him.
A figure flickered into existence at the edge of the clearing, just as it had in the ancient plain. He looked down at the ground, statue still. Miles gasped as the bodies of the enforcers appeared at his feet, bloody and lifeless. He felt a warmth on his hands and looked down to find them stained with blood.
"No, wait," Miles said.
The figure didn’t even meet Miles' eyes. He just shook his head and turned away.
Miles ceased to breathe. "Please," he called. "I didn't mean to."
The figure turned his back to Miles and began to retreat into shadow.
"No! Come back! Please don't leave me again!"
Miles ran but couldn’t get any closer to the figure. He reached out, calling his name and fighting against the dense darkness closing in all around. He swung his fists as if to fight it off, but it felt as though he was trying to push through molasses. He panicked and flailed as he slowed to a halt, punching and kicking in a struggle for air.
"Hey, please stop! You're going to hurt yourself. Miles, wake up!"
Miles' eyes snapped open to that feeling of falling which so often follows a nightmare. Panic soon gave way to confusion as he found himself lying in a bed, covered by a blanket and mercifully free of pain. Morning light met his eyes, but it was not the fluorescent light of a Hourglass reeducation ward. This light shone golden and warm, and his eyes easily adjusted to it. It lit the amber wood of the small room in such a way as to give the place a radiant glow. Miles looked up to see the light streaming through a window above him. Puffy white clouds rolled lazily through the sky above, rather than down below.
This wasn't the Hourglass.
"It was just a dream," said a voice.
Miles looked to the side of the bed. Any doubt that he wasn't in the high city shattered completely when his eyes met not those of a human being, but of a tiger. His species was unmistakable, with row upon row of those characteristic black stripes crossing his burnt orange and white fur. Miles' fearful breathing seemed to cease all at once as he stared into the tiger's emerald eyes, too stunned to speak.
"I'm sorry I had to wake you up," said the strange tiger, his speech making him appear all the more real. "You shouldn't be moving so much right now. Your pain's masked, but you're still hurt."
Miles stayed silent, watching with fascination as the tiger spoke. His voice was soothing and reassuring, with the smallest suggestion of a purr in every word, as if speaking deep from the chest.
"You've been asleep for three days. Do you remember what happened? You were supposed to rendezvous with us after leaving the Hourglass, but your skiff's engine gave out."
The revelation that the tiger was part of the same group which had smuggled him out of the city should have made him feel relieved. He had found them. He was no doubt safe. But instead, the tiger's words sparked memories of the machine graveyard, hitting him like a cargo skiff. He heard the machinery and the gunfire again, and he imagined that something had gone terribly wrong in their attempts to recover him. His stomach twisted. The dream of their corpses littering the ground appeared behind his eyelids with every blink. His hands felt wet with blood. A chill sent ice into his skin.
"Are you okay?" the tiger asked. "Can you speak?"
Miles trembled. He opened his mouth but found that his mind couldn't string words together, much less force them out. He averted his eyes, feeling stuck like a clog in a pipe. The only words running through his mind: My fault. My fault. My fault.
The tiger frowned and tilted his head. "You're overwhelmed. I get that. Take your time. But I need to show you why you shouldn't get out of bed or move around too much, okay? You're hurt pretty bad." The tiger tapped a claw on his wrist-bound device. Its screen glowed suddenly, and with a few more taps a light shot up and out of it, spreading into a vivid blue hologram depicting the skeleton of an arm.
"This is syncing with the reconstruction bandages we put on you." The tiger pointed to the arm's radius bone. "You have a fracture here. See? But the good news is it looks like the bandage has set the shards back into place already. It just needs to grow together now." Apollo tapped his wrist again. The view switched to Miles' ribs. "Luckily that's the worst of it. You have a few broken ribs, too. And a small skull fracture. Probably gave you a hell of a concussion."
Miles' eyes gravitated upward to the weight he suddenly realized rested upon his head. It was a brace of some sort for that skull fracture, no doubt. He reached up with his good arm to feel at it.
"Ah ah, don't touch that," Apollo said, jerking as if Miles were about to touch a hot stove. "You don't want to knock that thing off your head right now. Trust me." Apollo turned off the wrist device. Its hologram shrank back as if the light was being sucked down a drain "It's going to take a while to heal all of that. A few days, at least. So try not to mess with the hardware or have too many more bad dreams, okay? You're safe now. I promise."
Miles just stared, causing the tiger to cock his head. A momentary look of worry crossed his face.
"Do you understand me?"
Though too overwhelmed to speak, fear of awkwardness demanded a response. Miles simply nodded, which must have been reassuring, because the tiger's shoulders relaxed and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good. That's good. For a second I thought that concussion took a bigger toll than we thought." With that settled, the tiger stood up from his chair at Miles' bedside. "I'm gonna get you something to eat. You should be able to keep food down now, so let's see if we can--"
Miles reached out with his good arm and grabbed the tiger's paw in his hand. The tiger froze, looking back at the human with those wide, emerald eyes. For a moment, Miles didn't know why he'd done it. His hand seemed to move on its own, with the emotions only catching up a few seconds later. Whether out of fear, trauma, or something else entirely, he wanted the tiger to stay. Needed him to stay. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, or to let go of what he had finally found. He squeezed the tiger's paw tight and looked up into his eyes.
"Don't go."
The tiger sat down on the edge of Miles' bedside, keeping his hand held. The comforting weight of his tail fell across Miles' middle like a delicate hug.
"I'm not going anywhere for a while, alright? I've been assigned to take care of you, and I'll only be gone for a moment. You're safe here."
The tiger smiled and gently lifted Miles' shaking hand from his paw. He padded to the doorway and looked back. "Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you my name, huh?" He smiled, showing his pearly fangs. "I'm Apollo. Just call if you need me, alright?" He left, the room tail swaying low as he went.
A pit grew in Miles stomach as he watched Apollo go, despite logically knowing he'd return. Even those few moments alone with his memories made him feel unsafe, and he wondered if he'd ever recover from that terrible, lonely fear.
He reached for the pendant around his neck--the last thing he had to remember by--but he found only the empty bare skin of his chest, and the soft beat of his heart.
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