do? Helos knew she would pass from Bynimian before whatever she felt came to be. She didn't have the right to prepare Morena either. Morena's gifts were her own, granted from The Makers, to be utilized at a time that they were needed. Helos wasn't to break that bond, the one between a Var and The Makers, regardless of what her own Knowledge revealed.
And it had revealed nothing.
Only a sense that doom might come during her daughter's reign. A sense, nothing more. Morena was tasked with navigating that, just as Helos had to deal with any problems during her reign. The Makers allowed life and they allowed death, and when one's time in this place ended, others must carry on, must work out solutions to the problems they faced. Helos had known a little, but not enough to stop whatever happened.
Now her daughter was far away from her birthplace, completely alone if the single dot of light told Helos anything. So why was she allowed to see, if only to be pulled away, to be torn from helping her daughter? But there could be only one answer to such a question and Helos knew it. Perhaps she knew it the moment her eyes opened in deep space. She couldn't tell why Bynimian ended, but she knew it wasn't recent. She saw how far away Morena's light was, how far her daughter had traveled. That took time, lots of it. Something had brought Helos back from the dead.
Only The Makers possessed such power.
So was she traveling to them? To the creators of all that ever existed? The pull was extremely slow, no haste or urgency in it at all. Indeed, if Helos thought too intensely she could completely forget the movement.
It existed, though, underneath the surface of her thought, of her existence, dragging her to some inescapable… end? Helos didn't know, but she doubted that was the right word. One doesn't waken from death only to find it again by those who woke her.
She wanted to find her daughter, but no longer had any choice in the matter.
11
Present Day
M ichael stood before the creature . He was hesitant to call the creature a man—though there were similarities—the differences were too stark, and not just the wind like color floating around him. Michael had come to accept his own differences, though he didn't understand them. Something had changed, was still changing. Hell, the fact that he walked around in a gray world, himself the only color besides this creature in front of him, said a great deal about how much he had changed. He didn't know if it was a cellular thing, if his actual body was mutating, or if only the chemicals in his brain were changing—he only knew that the person he had been that night in the field wasn't the one now standing next to the grays.
Yet the thing hanging on an invisible cross in front of him was neither the person Michael had once been, nor the person he was now, nor anyone Michael had ever met. This thing was separate, a creature not from Earth nor from wherever the colors Michael saw on the other side came from. It had once been powerful, Michael thought. He was once powerful. Maybe the color whipping around him created that sense, or maybe the set of his body—completely immobilized but holding a stature that demanded others lower their eyes. Even now, the creature unconscious, Michael felt a pull to look away, that to look at the creature for too long might be disrespectful.
Still, he didn't avert his eyes.
He walked across a land that no human should see for this creature, for this magnificent, yet frozen being.
Why, though?
Why was Michael drawn to it? Why had Michael known that somewhere in this gray world the creature waited? And was it waiting? Is that why it hung here in the air, none of the grays dare touching it? Because it knew he would come?
Michael finally looked away, back to the circle of grays surrounding him, their translucent bodies revealing an infinite number of the same behind them. He turned around and looked back at where he came from. No path marked his passage, for
And it had revealed nothing.
Only a sense that doom might come during her daughter's reign. A sense, nothing more. Morena was tasked with navigating that, just as Helos had to deal with any problems during her reign. The Makers allowed life and they allowed death, and when one's time in this place ended, others must carry on, must work out solutions to the problems they faced. Helos had known a little, but not enough to stop whatever happened.
Now her daughter was far away from her birthplace, completely alone if the single dot of light told Helos anything. So why was she allowed to see, if only to be pulled away, to be torn from helping her daughter? But there could be only one answer to such a question and Helos knew it. Perhaps she knew it the moment her eyes opened in deep space. She couldn't tell why Bynimian ended, but she knew it wasn't recent. She saw how far away Morena's light was, how far her daughter had traveled. That took time, lots of it. Something had brought Helos back from the dead.
Only The Makers possessed such power.
So was she traveling to them? To the creators of all that ever existed? The pull was extremely slow, no haste or urgency in it at all. Indeed, if Helos thought too intensely she could completely forget the movement.
It existed, though, underneath the surface of her thought, of her existence, dragging her to some inescapable… end? Helos didn't know, but she doubted that was the right word. One doesn't waken from death only to find it again by those who woke her.
She wanted to find her daughter, but no longer had any choice in the matter.
11
Present Day
M ichael stood before the creature . He was hesitant to call the creature a man—though there were similarities—the differences were too stark, and not just the wind like color floating around him. Michael had come to accept his own differences, though he didn't understand them. Something had changed, was still changing. Hell, the fact that he walked around in a gray world, himself the only color besides this creature in front of him, said a great deal about how much he had changed. He didn't know if it was a cellular thing, if his actual body was mutating, or if only the chemicals in his brain were changing—he only knew that the person he had been that night in the field wasn't the one now standing next to the grays.
Yet the thing hanging on an invisible cross in front of him was neither the person Michael had once been, nor the person he was now, nor anyone Michael had ever met. This thing was separate, a creature not from Earth nor from wherever the colors Michael saw on the other side came from. It had once been powerful, Michael thought. He was once powerful. Maybe the color whipping around him created that sense, or maybe the set of his body—completely immobilized but holding a stature that demanded others lower their eyes. Even now, the creature unconscious, Michael felt a pull to look away, that to look at the creature for too long might be disrespectful.
Still, he didn't avert his eyes.
He walked across a land that no human should see for this creature, for this magnificent, yet frozen being.
Why, though?
Why was Michael drawn to it? Why had Michael known that somewhere in this gray world the creature waited? And was it waiting? Is that why it hung here in the air, none of the grays dare touching it? Because it knew he would come?
Michael finally looked away, back to the circle of grays surrounding him, their translucent bodies revealing an infinite number of the same behind them. He turned around and looked back at where he came from. No path marked his passage, for
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