Who Will Hold the Universe

Hot tears streamed down Jairo’s face, blurring his stage makeup and stinging his eyes as eyeliner washed over the waterline. Oskar.

Oskar.

Oskar.

He hadn’t lost one for so long. Years. They’d put every possible measure in place, done so much work with each candidate to prepare for the sacrifice. Oskar was aware of the risks. But Jairo had hoped that if Oskar didn’t come back, it would be because they’d succeeded. Because they’d repaired the Arch, the portal in the plane between lives, and Oskar had gone on, his shard the final piece.

Jairo would know if the Arch was fixed. They all would. The soulshard wounds in their chests would ease, and the mood now would be jubilant.

Either Oskar had chosen to die, pointlessly, or things were far worse than they’d feared.

‘Oskar,’ Jairo whispered, his voice hoarse. The work lights were back on overhead, the strobes and movers and coloured washes dimmed to black, the fire snuffed with blankets. On the other side of the curtain, bass thumped from the DJ system. With grim expressions, the cast and crew struck the set, fetched road cases and lowered lighting bars, keeping the noise below the music volume. Someone swept away the ashes.

They were right. The best thing was to clean up and bump out. To linger would only invite awkward questions and create more work for Melarie. And crowding around Jairo to offer assistance was a waste of energy. If he couldn’t save Oskar, no one could.

Jairo knew too that they bustled around him to give him time, give him a sense of space without leaving him alone. A patch of quiet, comparative to the furtive activity.

Jairo wished they’d all stop.

With a deep inhalation, he gazed down at Oskar’s pale, expressionless face, and slipped his hands away from Oskar’s head, cradling the young man’s cranium so it wouldn’t smack onto the stage. Jairo released his breath, the expired air squeezing from his chest with a silent call for help to no one, and he wondered if, perhaps, this was the last time.

He hadn’t known Oskar, not really, not half well enough to be crouched on a hired stage with the boy dying in his arms. He hadn’t known any of them. Every one of his cast and crew had done this dance, thrown themselves on whatever form the sword of their H’nsla took, wanting to die, if only for a moment. For the cause.

For humanity.

All with the promise that he would bring them back, and he’d believed he could. But what if he’d been lucky, if some greater god somewhere had turned to him every time, helping, if it wasn’t Jairo’s power at all? And today, they had decided he’d pushed too far, or a bigger problem demanded their attention.

Maybe Melarie was right. Maybe Dark Star Productions was that god, and tonight, they were busy.

A sob clawed its way up Jairo’s throat. He hadn’t imagined it would hit this hard. Hadn’t imagined the stage would feel like sand beneath his knees, that the flurry around him would be like the tearing wind of a thunderstorm, over a young man he hardly knew.

Perhaps his sister had been right – no. Even now, he didn’t believe that.

‘Jairo!’ someone called from the wings. Betsie, by the bellow. Time to go. Kneeling, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Oskar’s body, tucking it around the boy’s shoulders as if he were only sleeping.

Oskar’s eyelids fluttered open.

Jairo froze, hands still on Oskar’s shoulders. ‘Oskar?’

Oskar coughed. ‘Hi.’ He coughed again, deep, wracking heaves, and Jairo helped him roll onto his side, propped up on one elbow. Wonder swelled up from his stomach, filling his chest. Jairo was a god, a god of gods if he believed his sister, but there must be a higher power than even he. Someone answering his cries for help.

‘I’m sorry.’ Oskar’s eyes were wide, the whites showing around the top of his brown irises, and his voice trembled. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

Jairo squeezed Oskar’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right.’ His voice was hoarse.

Tears leaked from Oskar’s eyes now, tracking through the ash and foundation on his face. ‘But I failed.’

Jairo shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Oskar shook his head too, words tumbling. ‘I tried so hard, and it didn’t work. I didn’t even reach the Arch.’ He swallowed, his expression turning nervous as he stared at the ash-smeared black of the stage. ‘Not without it grabbing me. It might have worked if I’d gone closer. If I’d let it get me.’

Jairo sighed. ‘Oskar.’

Oskar shuddered, but he kept staring at the stage. ‘I should have died. It’s a risk I was supposed to take.’

‘Oskar, look at me.’

Oskar lifted his eyes to meet Jairo’s. Jairo hoped he looked steadier than he felt. Oskar was alive. That was important. But they’d failed. Again. Again and again and again.

Jairo ran a hand through his hair. At some point in the evening, he’d lost his hat. ‘You did well.’ He cleared his throat and forced strength into his voice. ‘It’s not for nothing. Now I know we need a stronger shard to finish it.’ He smiled. ‘You were great tonight.’

Oskar gave him a half-smile in return. ‘Really?’

Jairo reached out and ruffled Oskar’s hair. ‘Really. But I’m afraid you’ve missed your curtain call.’