The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [130]
“No, think. You knew better once. For a moment. I tricked you into forgetting. At the time, I hoped it would never come to this.”
And then Adrienne did remember— everything she had glimpsed—and it all made sense.
“I made it,” she said.
“Yes. We don't know how. You made your son, too. I had no part in either.”
“Impossible,” Metatron said.
“Perhaps. But it is so.”
“Enough!” With a sudden extension, the figure of Red Shoes became the serpent wrapped around the world, whipping out. The monochord whined in protest.
But Adrienne's vision was racing ahead, now, the secret knots that bind the world unraveling before her eyes, showing her everything she needed to know. She gripped Nico's hand tighter.
“My son …”
“I see it all now, Mother,” Nicolas said. “I see what you must do. What we must do.”
She was trembling violently. “I can't.”
“You must,” Sophia whispered, Euler whispered. “He will end it all if you don't— destroy creation. You must.”
“But it will kill my son.”
“Yes.”
Nico looked up at her, and suddenly he was not the child she had nursed but the Sun Boy, twelve years old, the same little smile on his face.
“They used me,” he said. “They took me from you and then lied about it. I don't care for that. So never fear, Mother, I shall start it.”
“Nico —” But then he yanked, and her own hand responded, and together they pulled.
And the universe shrieked a different note.
Oliver struck, his blade moving almost too quickly to see.
Almost. Crecy parried and sidestepped. Her parry was fast, and she feinted a fast cut, but her actual riposte was so slow a child could have dealt with it.
A child, but not Oliver. His speeding reflexes overlooked her laconic thrust as a real attack until it had buried itself in his forearm. He jerked in shock, not quite dropping his weapon. In that pause, Crecy changed tempo again, cutting with all the celerity she could muster.
He almost parried it anyway. There sounded the faintest belling of steel on steel, and then her blade bit through his collarbone, heart, and five ribs. She let go of the hilt and leapt away from him—needlessly. He dropped his own blade and tried to hold himself together by grabbing his shoulder.
“You're right, Oliver,” Crecy said, softly. “You are faster than me and stronger than me. But I am better than you.”
Oliver managed a weird little smile and a nod. His malakus appeared, twisted, and then went out as God seemed to blink. Panting, she stared around the room, which seemed somehow alien, as if she had never been there before. The opposite of déjà vu.
She shook the feeling, but things had changed. Oliver, still staring at her, fell forward on his face. The bald Indian and Tug lay in a very large pool of blood. Something had happened to Euler, too, for he lay on the floor, eyes closed. The Sun Boy stood where he had, rigid. His face was sweet, boyish.
He had no eyes. She reached to touch him and found his flesh had a texture somewhat like porcelain.
Adrienne, thank whatever gods might be, seemed unhurt, breathing normally. When Crecy patted her cheek, her eyes came slowly open.
* * *
Adrienne awoke, as she so often did, to Crecy's con cerned face.
“Veronique,” she said. “We still live.”
“Some of us do.”
“How is it—how—” Her right hand felt odd, heavy. She lifted it, and found she could not move the fingers.
“What?” And then she remembered. “Nicolas!”
“No,” Crecy said, placing her hands on her shoulder. “Do not. Somehow they—”
“No. We did it. It was my choice. I knew it would happen.”
“Knew what would happen? Adrienne, what did you do?”
She looked at her friend. “I destroyed the world,” she replied. “I destroyed—” And then a fist seemed to close on her heart, and at first she thought she was dying, as if her insides were cold-hammered iron made suddenly molten hot by the alchemy of a new world. She clutched at Crecy, buried her face on her friend's bloody shoulder, and cried. She cried for a very long time as the iron melted, and Crecy made soothing sounds and told her that she loved her, that everything