Bright Lights & Dark Secrets: A Sci-Fi Anthology

The Deus Islands [Part 1/3]

"You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," said Beckett Donnelly, planted on the cold wooden bench in his cell. "Fifty-six people. I knew the Deus Islands changed a lad, but fuckin' hell. You didn't even have the guts to kill a gnat before you left."

Beckett's cousin, the once esteemed Tobin Guthrie, took the cell beside him, divided by a dozen rust-covered bars. The former man of God had his hands over his neck, whimpering like a scorned child, trying his damnedest to yank his hair off his scalp. A blindfold hid his eyes, blue as the sea once upon a time. The last person who got a glimpse of them said otherwise, though they'd never live to tell the tale.

"I told you not to go, Tobin," said Beckett. "I don't know what they've done to you, but if you did all of that just to prove a point—"

"I wanted to make a difference, Beck," said Tobin, sighing as if the words leaving his tongue took his energy with him. "But that wasn't it. That wasn't me!"

"And what if it was?" Beckett scooted closer to Tobin's cell. "I've been in here longer than you. They say it's in our blood. We all reach this desire to kill at some point. Perhaps you've just reached yours. Even preacher men aren't safe, Tobe."

"I am not a killer!" Tobin shouted. He toned his voice down to a gravely whisper and said, "I am not you."

A small grin crossed Beckett's face. "Seems you are now. Like I said, it's in the blood. Not even your fault."

"Beck," said Tobin, all his energy transported away, "I didn't mean to lash out. Forgive me."

"Did you not hear me, Tobe? I'm not takin' it fuckin' personal. This is your new life." Beckett sat back. "You're farther from God than you thought you were."

This world will not destroy my faith, Tobin replied in Lochtish, a language Beckett hadn't heard the man speak since they were kids. He loved the harshness of it, the disorienting spelling, the way he could piss off a local Mundiman just by saying hello.

"Definitely don't be speakin' that around here," Beckett said. "Otherwise, prepare to have an orifice filled. If you're fortunate, which I completely fuckin' doubt, they'll let ya choose which one."

Silence in the room, though thunder growled in the distance beyond the walls.

"I know it's unfair, Tobe," Beckett said. "That's just how it fuckin' is."

His cousin didn't speak another word, neither in Mundi nor Lochtish. Hours went by, and rain fell upon Novus Mundi as the two prisoners fell asleep, a booming thunderclap wishing them farewell.

When the hem of the sun had peeked over the world's edge the following morning, Beckett awoke to a horrible sound repeated beneath his cousin's breath. He turned and saw Tobin with his neck crooked, as if dangling from a noose, his face red with streaks of dried blood and his nails digging into the seat in his cell.

Indevitatus, Tobin whispered. Indevitatus...Indevitatus...

"Tobe?" said Beckett.

Indevitatus...Indevitatus...

"Tobe, wake the hell up."

The words halted, but Tobin glared up at the ceiling, more drops of crimson seeping through his blindfold. He breathed as if pinned against the wall, harsh, agonized. He was crying? Laughing? Some repeating noise born from an uninhibited emotion. His body was there, but the soul and the mind, misplaced.

"Tobin!"

The former preacher man awoke with a scream. His face glistened with sweat and blood.

"Tobin, take off that blindfold," said Beckett.