Prophet of Pathways: Excerpt
There were no flames or winged devils. No ‘lake of fire’, or any of that bullshit. Nothing like he’d heard from those weirdos going door to door, passing out pamphlets.
“Meridian,” Tagen whispered.
Another passerby bumped into him. Hot fury shot through Tagen, and he brandished the dagger. Where the hell was Alexis, why couldn’t these people leave him alone? Was there any food around? Stiff with tension, he took a deep breath and stuck the dagger into his pocket.
Why had Alexis killed herself to come here?
Afraid to stand still, Tagen ambled along with the crowd. People of every age and ethnicity occupied Meridian. Many dressed like semi-nude clowns or possessed metallic, steam-powered additions such as claws, clockwork hands, or chest grills. Others genuflected before images of the clown woman he’d seen on the poster.
Rubbing his hands again, he wondered what had happened in the alley with the Gutter Knights. His fingertips encountered pits along both palms, so he stopped and examined them. Dark lines were carved there, ending with the cut across either wrist. Like he had mutilated his hand and slit his veins in one uninterrupted cut.
Pacing in a circle, Tagen tried to control his frustrated breaths. He’d committed suicide to find Alexis! The memory was spotty—she’d lain on the floor, blood spreading from her body, drowning the Tarot cards scattered around her.
Yes, Tarot cards. The one in her stiff hand had showed a city of light. She’d wanted to come here, where only the dead could go—but why?
Try as he might, nothing came to mind. He blinked against the rain drizzle.
The people around him all acted alive. He knew he was dead.
“We’re all dead!” His laughter petered off into a whimper. “Don’t you know?”
People shoved past him.
“Where’s your devils?” He clawed at his eyes. “Where’s your fire? Goddamnit, answer me!”
Everyone ignored him.
“Alexis?” he asked no one in particular. As more people walked past, Tagen sought her face among them.
“Alexis? Alexis!” He pushed through the crowd, eliciting curses. Shaking with desperation, Tagen turned in a circle and wrung his damp hair.
“Alexis--?”
“Shut the hell up.” A large man shoved Tagen into a gutter. Brackish water sloshed over him. A sob crept up his throat.
He’d known what he would face, once the blade had opened his wrists. He’d been prepared. But this place was beyond any nightmare, any--
“You should watch where you’re going, ‘dead man’,” a female voice said.
Tagen stared up at a slim woman covered in white grease paint. Purple diamonds were drawn under her eyes, resembling tears. A torsolette hugged her body, colored in a faded purple diamond pattern. A three-pointed jester’s cap dangled from her head, with a shock of blonde hair beneath it. She held a rusted square box in both hands.
“Who are you?” He tried to focus on her blue eyes and not her fishnet-clad legs.
“Andromeda. What’s your pitch?” The box in her hands transformed into a floating head. It had glowing green eyes, a copper jester’s cap, and a clockwork jaw. Small steam jets kept it aloft.
“Um, Tagen. What’s that?” Looking Andromeda over, he flinched when she caught him ogling. What was wrong with him? Alexis needed him, not this person.
“Khyran, a Mecho jack-in-the-box.” Andromeda studied him. “You’re not a regular kinker ‘round here, are you?”
“What?”
“Let’s find a food joint, and we’ll talk,” she said. “I know you’re starved.”
“Why should I trust you?” Tagen asked.
Her eyes hardened. “Because you’re new. And you don’t know the take.”
“Meridian,” Tagen whispered.
Another passerby bumped into him. Hot fury shot through Tagen, and he brandished the dagger. Where the hell was Alexis, why couldn’t these people leave him alone? Was there any food around? Stiff with tension, he took a deep breath and stuck the dagger into his pocket.
Why had Alexis killed herself to come here?
Afraid to stand still, Tagen ambled along with the crowd. People of every age and ethnicity occupied Meridian. Many dressed like semi-nude clowns or possessed metallic, steam-powered additions such as claws, clockwork hands, or chest grills. Others genuflected before images of the clown woman he’d seen on the poster.
Rubbing his hands again, he wondered what had happened in the alley with the Gutter Knights. His fingertips encountered pits along both palms, so he stopped and examined them. Dark lines were carved there, ending with the cut across either wrist. Like he had mutilated his hand and slit his veins in one uninterrupted cut.
Pacing in a circle, Tagen tried to control his frustrated breaths. He’d committed suicide to find Alexis! The memory was spotty—she’d lain on the floor, blood spreading from her body, drowning the Tarot cards scattered around her.
Yes, Tarot cards. The one in her stiff hand had showed a city of light. She’d wanted to come here, where only the dead could go—but why?
Try as he might, nothing came to mind. He blinked against the rain drizzle.
The people around him all acted alive. He knew he was dead.
“We’re all dead!” His laughter petered off into a whimper. “Don’t you know?”
People shoved past him.
“Where’s your devils?” He clawed at his eyes. “Where’s your fire? Goddamnit, answer me!”
Everyone ignored him.
“Alexis?” he asked no one in particular. As more people walked past, Tagen sought her face among them.
“Alexis? Alexis!” He pushed through the crowd, eliciting curses. Shaking with desperation, Tagen turned in a circle and wrung his damp hair.
“Alexis--?”
“Shut the hell up.” A large man shoved Tagen into a gutter. Brackish water sloshed over him. A sob crept up his throat.
He’d known what he would face, once the blade had opened his wrists. He’d been prepared. But this place was beyond any nightmare, any--
“You should watch where you’re going, ‘dead man’,” a female voice said.
Tagen stared up at a slim woman covered in white grease paint. Purple diamonds were drawn under her eyes, resembling tears. A torsolette hugged her body, colored in a faded purple diamond pattern. A three-pointed jester’s cap dangled from her head, with a shock of blonde hair beneath it. She held a rusted square box in both hands.
“Who are you?” He tried to focus on her blue eyes and not her fishnet-clad legs.
“Andromeda. What’s your pitch?” The box in her hands transformed into a floating head. It had glowing green eyes, a copper jester’s cap, and a clockwork jaw. Small steam jets kept it aloft.
“Um, Tagen. What’s that?” Looking Andromeda over, he flinched when she caught him ogling. What was wrong with him? Alexis needed him, not this person.
“Khyran, a Mecho jack-in-the-box.” Andromeda studied him. “You’re not a regular kinker ‘round here, are you?”
“What?”
“Let’s find a food joint, and we’ll talk,” she said. “I know you’re starved.”
“Why should I trust you?” Tagen asked.
Her eyes hardened. “Because you’re new. And you don’t know the take.”
