Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds) by Justus R. Stone Page B

chest.
    “Pridament,” Gwynn tried to control the anxiety in his voice, “I lied. I need help. Can I meet with you?”
    A moment of silence on the other end. Despite Pridament’s affection for Gwynn’s parents, he had to be weighing the pros and cons of getting further involved with their insane son.
    “Where are you now?” Pridament asked.
    Gwynn made a frantic search for street signs.
    “Queen and Highway 10.”
    “There should be a strip mall on the corner. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop there in ten minutes. OK?”
    “Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”
    Gwynn snapped his phone shut and crossed the road to the strip mall. It took him a while to find the coffee shop. It wasn’t even big enough to qualify as a hole in the wall, the kind of place that stayed open through sheer force of will. Inside did little to inspire him to sample their pitiful display of pastries and doughnuts. Someone had pasted mirrors on one wall in a sad attempt at making the space appear larger. Perhaps it would work if someone cleaned off the grime. The parts of the walls that were painted had numerous chips and scratches. Gwynn shuddered at the thought using the washroom.
    Gwynn ordered a large coffee. Not that his nerves needed any caffeine. But being the only customer, he didn’t feel comfortable sitting without having something.
    The lone employee seemed far more interested in a phone conversation than her workplace.
    Within five minutes, Pridament arrived. He ordered something and joined Gwynn at a back table.
    “I remember this place being a lot nicer.” Pridament said.
    “Maybe twenty years ago.”
    The older man laughed. “You might be right. Still…” He sipped his coffee. “The coffee tastes just as good.” Pridament adopted a serious air. “How can I help?”
    “When I met you the first time,” Gwynn’s voice wavered with anxiety, “you started telling me a story. I need you to finish it. I’ve been seeing things… I… I’ve been feeling out of control. I need to know what’s going on.”
    Pridament leaned forward and rested his head on his steepled fingers. He remained silent, his eyes probing Gwynn, who squirmed in his seat. After a few minutes, he leaned back and shrugged off his jacket.
    “Perhaps the first thing you should know,” Pridament pushed up his sleeve. Symbols similar to those on Gwynn’s arm formed a circle around Pridament’s forearm. “You aren’t alone. What I’m telling you I’ve learned because I’ve lived it as well.”
    Gwynn inspected the symbols on Pridament’s arm.
    “Why do mine cover my entire arm? At least yours just looks like some crazy tattoo.”
    Pridament gave a dry chuckle.
    “Among our people, you’re considered the lucky one. Mine is incomplete. I’m just a Fragment. Yours is the full deal; a Script.”
    Gwynn tore at his already tangled hair.
    “Let’s get something straight. I’m losing my mind, okay? I’m not interested in riddles or names. I just want to understand what is happening and how I stop it.”
    “You don’t stop it.” Pridament’s eyes held compassion, but his voice left no room for negotiation. “This is who you are. Before, I started telling you about the history of our people, but I’ll cut straight to the chase. The symbols on your arm are the story of creation.”
    Gwynn sighed and let his arms flop on the table. His coffee shuddered as the table wobbled on the uneven floor. Why couldn’t this just be like going to the doctor and handed your diagnosis? ‘Gee, Gwynn, you have freakitis. You’ll grow three heads and die alone in a cave.’ Done. Simple. Straight forward.
    “You can’t make this simple, can you?”
    Pridament shook his head. “Nope.”
    “Fine.” Gwynn waved his hand. “Keep going.”
    Pridament cleared his throat. “What do you know about the soul?”
    Gwynn blinked. “What?”
    “The soul. The energy within you.”
    “Wait.” Gwynn’s voice elevated. “First you tell me some nutso story about being a god,