And ninety-three million miles away, the sun itself fell into sorrow, inexplicably dimming by one hundredth of one percent, henceforth and forever.
Of course such events have never been seen by human eyes, because a true extinguishing has never happened in the history of human life on earth.
Until now.
In the living world, these impossible events would be seen as signs—although no one would agree as to what they were signs of. Global warming? The Second Coming? Solar collapse? Armageddon? The living would come up with endless theories to argue, because the living were exceptionally good at arguing, especially when no one knew the answer.
In Everlost, however, the effect of a mourning universe was very simple and very clear. It was a silent wail that echoed through every soul, culminating in a powerful twinge of pain—yes, pain—deep in every Afterlight’s gut. And with that pain came a sudden awareness that something undoable, something irreparable had occurred.
Awareness.
Few things are more powerful than awareness, and it resonated within the sleeping, dreamless souls of all spirits in transition between the living world and Everlost. The sudden spark touched every Interlight regardless of how long they had slept, and jarred them all back to premature consciousness. It was a Great Awakening borne from one of the most profound pangs of mourning ever to be felt by the universe.
The Interlights in Milos’s bank vault all sat up, wondering where they were, and how they got there.
The Interlights in the arms of the Neon Warriors, who had left the Alamo that very morning, were suddenly walking on their own two feet, and asking lots of questions.
And in a glass coffin, a girl dressed in glorious green opened her eyes and smiled.
“Well, now,” she said to herself. “Let’s see what I’ve missed and what still needs to be done.”
. . . While in a lonely chamber deep beneath the Alamo, a Wurlitzer jukebox, without coin or question, began to play ‘Eve of Destruction.’”
PART FOUR
Mary Rising
High Altitude Musical Interlude #3 with Johnnie and Charlie
London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down . . .”
Sing-alongs, Johnnie-O had decided, were invented by the darkest forces of evil as hell’s ultimate horror.
“London Bridge is falling down . . .”
Johnnie was convinced that whatever memory of a brain he had, had been eaten by big fat everworms, and all that remained were the ghosts of swiss cheese holes.
“. . . my fair lady!”
And maybe cobwebs.
There was no telling how many journeys they had made around the world. Now, thanks to the gravitational tweak the giant deadspot had given them, each revolution left them a few hundred miles farther south. They were spiraling toward the equator. Eventually they would pass it, and wind up spinning in circles at the south pole.
“Take the keys and lock her up, lock her up, lock her up . . .”
With no contact from any of their friends on the ground since that fateful day Mary attacked the train, they had no way of knowing who had won that battle. They could only hope that their sacrifice was not for naught.
“Take the keys and lock her up . . .”
For many weeks now, looking out of the windows had provided no solace. Deadspots were few and far between, and the sight of them was nothing more than a cruel tease from a cold world.
“. . . my fair lady!”
Yet even with his Swiss-cheese, cobwebbed, empty head, Johnnie-O still didn’t reach the same absolute mindless, happy, sing-along stupor that Charlie had found.
“It’s gotta mean something, don’t it, Charlie? The fact that I’m not a complete blithering idiot like you?”
Charlie’s answer was just a vacant smile, and another verse.
. . . But halfway through that verse, a shadow swept across the bulkhead.
“Wait! Did you see that?”
Charlie must have, because he actually stopped singing. At first Johnnie thought that it might be a living-world airplane cutting through their airspace, but as he rose to look out of the window, he saw something flash by. A colorful flash of feathers, and a powerful beat of wings—and then another, and another.
“I think they’re angels, Charlie! The angels came to save us!”
In a moment, he could hear what could only be dainty angel feet setting down on the silver surface of the airship above them.
For the first time in a very long time, Charlie made eye contact with Johnnie-O, and together they sang, “Off we go . . . into the wild blue yonder . . .”
CHAPTER 29
The Great Awakening
Mary could see faces looking down on her, although it was all quite distorted due to the bottles, eyeglass lenses, and random glass objects that made up this strange box she found herself in. Her pallbearers had placed her on the ground and now just stared at her. Mary pushed on the lid, but it wouldn’t give, so she turned to the pallbearer with the sweetest face.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but would you be so kind as to undo the latch?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He knelt down, fumbled nervously with the latch, then pulled open the lid.
As soon as Mary stood up, about half the Afterlights knelt before her respectfully, as if they had been in the habit of doing so. The other half just stood about, looking lost, confused, and startled by living-world traffic that barreled past them.
At first she assumed the kneeling Afterlights were the children she had gathered, but none of their faces were familiar, and there were only about a hundred. When she had been so rudely dragged back to the living world and summarily killed by Milos, there had been close to a thousand.
Mary quickly surmised that the confused ones were all Greensouls—new arrivals to Everlost who had all just woken up from hibernation. But why had they all woken up at once? Clearly something out of the ordinary had occurred here.
“Thank you for the warm reception,” she said. “But there’s no need to kneel.” The kneeling Afterlights reluctantly rose to their feet. “Where is everyone else?” she asked. “Where’s the train?” But no one would field the question.
“Yeah . . . about the train . . .”
Mary turned to see a familiar face at last. “Jill!”
“Hi, Mary,” Jill said. “Uh . . . long time no see?”
Mary stepped out of the coffin and went to her, grasping her hand. Jill, she knew, was not an affectionate girl, but Mary believed everyone could benefit from a warm greeting. “It’s good to see you,” Mary said. “I have so many questions.”
“Yeah, me too!” shouted one of the newly awoken Greensouls. He was rapped in the arm by one of the more respectful Afterlights.
“Quiet! Show respect before the Eastern Witch.”
The Eastern Witch, thought Mary. Not a title she cared for, but for the time being it would do, if it brought her this level of respect.
Another Afterlight came up beside Jill—a strange one. He wore no shirt and his oddly colored muscular body bore spots and a velvety sheen. His eyes were vaguely nonhuman and where other boys his age might be sprouting facial hair, he was sprouting whiskers. Mary would have laughed, but he seemed way too serious for laughter.
“Jill, please introduce me to your friend.”
Jill opened her mouth to speak, but the spotted boy spoke first.
“My name is Jix,” he said. “And you should not be awake.”
“Well,” said Mary as politely as she could under the circumstances. “It appears that I am, doesn’t it.”
“It was not meant as an accusation, just a fact.” Jix said. “Things will change now. The three of us should talk.”
Mary studied Jix closely. “Are you the leader here,” she asked, “or some sort of mascot?” The question was meant not so much to belittle him, but to gauge his confidence. If he bristled, he was weak and easily manipulated. But if he let the insult roll off his back, then Mary would have to carefully finesse this relationship.
Not only didn’t Jix let the insult bother him, he chose to answer the question in a way that gave no answer at all, which meant that, in his own subtle way, he was a force to be reckoned with.
“They fear me because they know what I can do,” Jix said.
“And what can you do?”
“Skinjack.”
“Is that all?”
He offered her a very cool, catlike smile. “What greater power is there?”
“Hey! What about us?” chimed in the same loudmouth Greensoul from before. “Is anyone gonna tell us what’s going on?”
The other Afterlight hit him again, harder this time.
“All questions will be answered,” Mary announced. “Just as soon as mine are.”
Mary looked around to take in her surroundings. They were standing in the middle of a street on the outskirts of a city. By the look of it, they had been marching away from the city. Living-world traffic would occasionally barrel right through them, causing great distress to the Greensouls, who were yet to understand any of this. She turned to address all the Afterlights.
“Thank you all for taking care of me in this difficult time,” she told them. “Now I think it’s best if we all go to a deadspot to sort everything out, for I can see so many of you struggling to keep yourselves from sinking into the living world.”
“Back to the Alamo basement?” suggested someone. Well, at least now Mary knew what city they were in.
“No,” said a girl toward the back of the crowd. “There’s a closer place. I was one of Avalon’s scouts. I know all the deadspots in this city. There’s one just south of here.”
“Wonderful!” said Mary. “Lead the way!” The girl, thrilled to suddenly be important, marched off and everyone followed.
Mary walked with Jix and Jill on either side of her. “Now,” she said to them, “why don’t you tell me what happened while I slept. Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
“All right,” said Jill. “But you’re not going to like it. . . .”
The deadspot was a miniature golf course that had been bulldozed by the living world, thus crossing it into Everlost. As it came with a fully stocked ball shack, the Neons, who had been sequestered in the Alamo for so long, were more than happy to entertain themselves playing a few rounds of miniature golf. The Bopper made all the Greensouls act as caddies, as if this were some fraternity initiation.
Jix and Jill sat in the shadow of the pint-sized windmill as Mary processed everything they told her. She began to make some decisions, although she didn’t share all of them. Not yet, anyway. The hardest thing to swallow was the news about the train, and how so many of her children were lost.
“Only some of them were pushed down,” Jill told her. “A lot of them just scattered.”
“Well,” said Mary. “We’ll just have to gather them back, won’t we?”
Although Jix did not respond, Mary could tell that he was not pleased by the suggestion.
Milos was apparently still in San Antonio looking for her. She was pleased by this, if only because she might have a chance to reprimand him for the horrible job he had done . . . but then, perhaps she should be more gracious and charitable to him. After all, Milos had courage and loyalty enough to bring her back to Everlost by his own hand. She could still remember the intense pain of his cold steel blade in her chest—indeed there was a tear in her dress in that exact spot over her heart—and she remembered the conflicted look in his eyes when she died. She also remembered the joy in his eyes when he tackled her from the tunnel. He was clearly in love with her, although her own feelings toward him were still not entirely defined. She did love being loved, though. As for whether she could forgive him for losing so many of her children . . . well, she supposed she wouldn’t know the depth of her forgiveness until she looked into his eyes again.
