Andrea Höst - And All the Stars

She frowned at this apparent non sequitur, and behind her the boy who was not Fisher held out a hand as if to brush fingers against the back of her neck. He’d stopped too far away to make this possible, but the angle of reflection made it seem that they’d touched. She could not begin to describe his expression.

I’m going to push," he said, barely audible. "You will react. But I am glad, Madeleine. Thank you for the courage to do this."

Turning sharply, Madeleine drew breath to speak, and let it out in a gasp as a hammer-blow of emotion struck her. Grim determination. Fear. Fury. And wound through it all a fine, cutting thread of concern.

"S-stop!" This was not like the Core’s assault. She was not drunk, defenceless. The storm of identity collided with roiling strength, and it took everything Madeleine had to hold back an automatic blow. "Th–!"

He struck again, intensifying the assault, and the roil of power Madeleine contained hit back. Not tangled with a shield, as had happened on the beach, but a blast of pure will, of self, and it was like a starburst, a sudden blooming of white and blue, and for a moment before her stood a boy, and above him a Moth.

Then the light went out of them both, and they crumpled to the floor.

"Stop," Madeleine repeated, and dropped to her knees.

Fisher lay on his back, eyes open, blank. The Moth – Théoden – was just behind him, a crumpled kite. She’d killed them both.

The tower was silent. Neither Moth nor boy moved. Madeleine knelt, at a complete loss, unable to understand why Théoden would tell her to think of Nash, then–

Groaning, she scrambled forward on hands and knees. When a Moth left a Blue, the Blue died. There’d been no stories of a Blue living through the end of possession. But when had any Moth tried to revive one? CPR was an obvious thing to attempt, but Madeleine had a better example. A leech Blue, needing a daily dose of energy to survive. Théoden had all but drawn a map.

How much? A thread? A jolt? Surely not the crushing blow which had struck them down. She pressed her hands together on his chest, and measured out a dose of desperation and panic, channelling it into him, the whole of his body shifting in response, as if he were a balloon inflating.

Lifting her hands, Madeleine scanned him anxiously for any sign of change. His eyes had shut, but he was so still. Should she try again, flood him with energy, or shift to CPR? But then his head turned, just a little, and his eyelids cracked. His chest rose as he drew in a slow breath, life returning as gently as waking.

Madeleine drew back, suddenly unable to touch this boy she had undressed, this stranger she had kissed so thoroughly. She looked instead at the crumpled creature behind him. A flattened paper lantern.

Easing over to kneel beside that alien shape, Madeleine studied the network of fading blue lines which suggested an almost humanoid figure. But it was a pattern on a kite, no true body. No eyes, no limbs, no heart. She held out her hands anyway, placed them over a central point. Her palm sank into a chill surface, and she drew it back. Then, trying to keep to the very surface, Madeleine sent out a measure of confusion and regret. With it came gratitude, and a deep note of stronger emotion. Briefly the blue lines took on a brighter hue, which almost immediately faded.

Tears wouldn’t come. The need for them was a tight pressure in her head, her chest, but Madeleine was at the bottom of a well, and everything was distant. To her right Fisher lifted a hand, turned it to study the palm, opened and closed it.

"What did you do with that food?" he asked, still lying on his back.

"…second floor freezer."

The words came out tiny, squeezed past the lump in her throat, but he seemed to have managed to hear her, sitting up, then standing in a single, fluid motion. He didn’t turn, paused only a moment to stare out at the Spire, then circled left along the outer wall of windows.

Everything inside Madeleine had snarled into a tight, vicious-edged lump, knotted beyond untangling. She watched the colour fade out of Théoden until, after what was probably a long time, or moments, Fisher returned. He stood very still, looking at the creature which had stolen his body then given it back.

Without comment he moved to Madeleine and held down to her a plate. Once-frozen chocolate cake, microwaved until the icing had melted and run. She had never felt less inclined to eat, barely turning her head enough to see what it was. Fisher hesitated, then took the plate over to the window, set it on the sill, and sat beside it.

"I know this is extremely hard for you…" he began, then stopped. Long seconds ticked by, and when he spoke again his voice was halting. "I have no idea how to feel about you. There is…I have a great deal of emotion for you, but I don’t know how much of it is mine. I suppose you – I – " He paused again, then changed tacks completely, becoming crisp and businesslike: "In around five hours the Core will return. There’s a great deal to do before that. Although it’s possible for me to manage it without you, the chances of success are much lower."

It made it easier to have him focus on the larger issues, to not go anywhere near how either of them might feel. And through the barbed wire wasteland which filled her, Madeleine had discovered a direction.

"I could do that for Noi, and the others, couldn’t I?"

"Yes." His relief at her response was obvious. "In fact Noi is the crux of the plan, since she’s been taken by one of the Five."

"Does this plan include some way to get out of this tower?"

"We jump off."

That was enough to make her turn to him, and she suspected it had been intended to. He was frowning at her, that angry expression she’d learned could mean whole layers of emotion. As soon as she let herself see him, this tall, skinny, very smart boy she’d found herself adoring, her wire-wrapped heart thumped and bled and she had to drop her eyes. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t face how much he remembered, how he felt, dared not let herself study him for differences, similarities. She would not look again.

"Tell me what to do."

Circling the upper turret of Sydney Tower was a walkway which led to two glass-bottomed platforms projecting over the edge of the main floors. The Skywalk. Madeleine and Fisher stood on the platform facing south-east, a light breeze exploring the vulnerabilities of their jackets.

"That hotel," Fisher said, pointing left and almost directly below. It sat on Elizabeth Street: two sets of terraced balconies joined by a rectangular main building, all with an uninterrupted view to Hyde Park and the Spire. An immense distance down. "Noi is in the section on our right. We’ll be going in through an access door from the roof. Aim for the left of the central building, beside that pool. The shape you practiced should give good control of speed and direction, but if you miss, head to ground level and meet me at the corner of Market and Elizabeth."

Even in her bruised and locked-down state, Madeleine could not simply jump off a building. Clutching the straps of her backpack, she peered at the array of roofs doubtfully.

"I’ll be going first." Fisher bent to study the beams below the glass floor. "Looks like this will be structurally sound without the railing, but stand back while I make a gap."

"I’ll do it."

Fisher hesitated, then moved away, silently acknowledging the power differential between them. He would need to save his strength.

The vertical sections of metal railing were thick and solid, but a couple of well-aimed finger punches easily took care of the narrow horizontal bar joining them. A tiny piece of metal remained connecting the bar, and bent easily as she pulled it inward. Then, stepping to one side, she held her arm over the railing and punched the clear main panel inward.