10.

 

Altair wakes us an interminable time later.

"Wake up! Now!"

I bolt upright like a stepped on rake, my heart hammering, a million terrible scenarios blasting through my mind at once. 

Have the Children found us?

Did something happen to Traylor? 

"What's wrong?" I ask, breathless.

Altair simply shrugs. "Nothing. It's time to go." A hint of a smile curls onto his lips.

"That's not cool," I grumble, scowling when I see a similarly mischievous look on Traylor's already woken face. 

Are these two conspiring against me now?

We munch quickly on the very last of our rations, and Altair mentions something about hunting and foraging. 

"Hunting's all on you," I say to him, "but foraging I can manage. I've worked in the Glass Gardens long enough to know what's edible."

Altair nods, actually seeming impressed. "Let's get moving," he commands. 

Traylor and I obey. 

I don't know how long we've been asleep, but I feel more refreshed now than I have in a long time. Maybe Altair felt bad for marching us so heavily this past week.

Maybe the man has a heart after all.     

We make it to the road, pausing to make sure the way is clear, then continue just as we had the day before. We go on for a few hours in silence, simply enjoying the morning. 

"Any sign of trouble while we were asleep?" I finally ask, coming up next to Altair, matching his stern pace for the first time today. The mountains are not far off now, seeming to stretch infinitely to the sky. We'll be in the foothills in less than an hour, I estimate.

He shakes his head. "No, but I do not believe we are out of hot water yet. Before we left the road yesterday, I lost the trail of that man's horse."

"You mean the coughing man?" I ask to clarify.

Altair nods. "I think he may have taken a path off the road, but I cannot be sure." There are multiple animal trails leading into and out of the grasslands along the road, but most are barely wide enough to accommodate a man, let alone a destrier. "Trackers cover themselves well,” Altair explains, “guiding their horses where they know a track is less likely to print." His words make me nervous. Until now, I’d considered Altair to be infallible; that nothing could genuinely harm us while we are in his presence. It turns out, unfortunately, that he is human, after all.

"Should we be concerned?" I ask, feeling a bit more anxious.

Altair shakes his head. "No. I do not think it will be a problem. In fact–"

KRAKOOOOM!

Something crashes into the dirt directly between us, sending up a spray of rock that I'm forced to shield my face from. Altair whips around instantly, pushing myself and Traylor behind him. His hands are a blur, producing the deadly throwing stars I'd seen him use only once before. Seconds later, the coughing man and his horse emerge from the tall grass a half mile down the road, holding something high and clear over his head.

A shooting iron.

The man lowers the weapon and points it directly at us. This time, the ground next to Traylor explodes in a pulverized hail. The man lets forth a spine tingling wail and kicks his destrier in the ribs, urging the animal into a charge. Altair holds his ground while Traylor and I begin to slip in the opposite direction. The horse keeps coming, and Altair raises his arm to fire a star. I sense that this is going to be over very quickly. Without warning, the coughing man pulls his horse to a sudden halt, still a good distance down the road. Altair lowers his arm and stands erect.

"He is just out of my range and he knows it," he says in a defeated tone. He watches as the man raises the shooting iron once more. "RUN!" Altair bellows. We do, dashing headlong down the road toward the Spine of the World. Altair remains at the rear, trotting behind just me. I hear another shot, but it doesn't seem to come near. I slow a bit and let Altair catch up to me.

"Shouldn't we try and lose him in the grass or something?" I ask, gesturing to the tall vegetation lining the road beside us.

"With our quarry on a destrier?" Altair replies in a mocking tone. "He'd be able to see us easily while we’d be left blind."

"Oh," is all I can come up with.

Altair frowns. "Don’t worry. I don’t believe he means to kill us. I think he merely wishes to corral us. Elsewise, he would have shot us down already."

"Corral us?" I ask, still running. "Where?" Ahead, the mountains are a lot larger than last I'd looked at them.

"A trap," Altair states matter of factly, adding nothing more. I almost put the brakes on, but Altair doesn’t falter so I keep up to him. Traylor, though his legs are short, has little trouble keeping up as well. He's used to people chasing him around Krakelyn, the little bastard.

I raise my eyebrows at Altair. "You know there's a trap up ahead and you're leading us straight to it?" There has to be something I'm missing, but Altair only nods, pulling away from me. "Thanks for clearing that up!" I call. I hazard a look back, seeing the man on the horse now trotting after us casually, not coming up on us like he very well could. He sees my scrutiny and aims the shooter but doesn't fire.

Altair is right. This man is simply coaxing us onward.

I look forward again to see that Altair is way ahead of us now, an indistinct blob on the horizon.

"Is he leaving?" Traylor asks, the panic prevalent in his voice.

"No," I say, trying to sound confident. "He must have some trick of his own waiting up ahead." I hope the words sound genuine, because saying them certainly doesn't feel that way. We've slowed to a brisk jog and the coughing man slows his mount accordingly, keeping us in range. I've lost sight of Altair, but the road is coming to a rise and he's probably just on the other side of it.

"Come on," I urge Traylor, pushing our pace just a little harder. I start to puff. I can feel the air getting thinner. We must be getting close to the Bleaklands. Where is Altair? We crest the rise and what we find halts us dead in our tracks.

It's not Altair at all. 

A massive canyon lies before us, the first real influence the Spine of the World has on the terrain in this area. The canyon is spanned by an equally massive bridge, constructed of Sentinel logs and metal rivets scavenged from Forerunner artifacts. At the bridge's entrance, a posse of six men, all atop destriers of their own, waits for us. Shouts rise up at our appearance and the men point, two pulling out shooting irons, the rest producing bows or clubs. My heart wants to leap from my chest.

Altair, where are you?

As if in response, I hear a twig snap beside the road and a familiar, lanky shape appears from behind a leafy broadwood tree. It's Altair, carrying a strange object I've never seen before. It's clearly metal, but painted a dull grey with a curious tube-like attachment coming off the top, terminating in an equally curious triangular apparatus.

"Come! Quickly!" Altair orders. Traylor and I dash into the grass next to the tree without a word. Altair starts running and we follow him, out into the grass, headed toward the canyon's edge. The shouts and cries behind us are growing louder and angrier. I quickly glance back to see that the posse had gathered at the top of the rise where we left the road. 

The coughing man is with them. 

More shouts are produced, and then the men are following us into the grass. My adrenaline boosts and I want to push harder, but Altair is keeping the same pace, never panicking.

I'll have to get him to teach me how to do that sometime.

We're coming up on the lip of the canyon now and, for the first time, I realize that we're headed for a potential dead end. Unless Altair has a way for us to get down the cliffside, these men will run us down in a matter of minutes! The grass ends abruptly at the rock, about ten feet from the edge. Altair waits for us to catch up to him then pushes us ahead, running along the cliff away from the bridge.

"What are we doing?" I call back to the man. I look down into the canyon only when I dare, the height otherwise dizzying. It seems as deep as the mountains are tall, a tiny, sinuous blue line marking a stream at the bottom. From what I can tell, there's no way down other than falling.

"Just keep running!" Altair calls back, still lugging that bizarre metal tank with him. I huff, but don't question it. He hasn't led us astray yet.

The ground begins to slope upward, rising higher in rocky steps. A massive report issues behind us, the step I'm bounding over exploding into rocky shrapnel. I scream but keep going, turning to see Altair whipping one of his Assassin stars at the man who'd just fired his iron, taking his horse in the throat. The man and animal topple as one. The other men take his place.

We can't win this, I think, slowing a little.

Then I'm slowing more.

It's not an intentional thing. I literally can't keep pace, finding it harder and harder to draw breath. Traylor, just ahead of me, seems to be in a similar state. I look back, my head swimming through jelly. Altair is behind us, waving for us to keep going as long as possible. The men on their horses are taking aim with their weapons.

Then something weird happens.

Their horses start dropping.

As if there are carpets being drawn from beneath their feet, the horses begin to tumble to the rock, one man sent reeling over the cliff. I can't hear his screams though. I can't hear anything. It's as if my ears are stuffed with cotton. My vision is blurring too. I look down and realize I'm not running anymore. My face is on the ground.

"You did it!" an indistinct voice admonishes, a blurry shape pulling me over onto my back. "You did it." The shape pushes something over my face and, with a hissing crackle, air rushes into my lungs. The sensation is sweet but overwhelming.

I black out. 

 

 

 

 

11.

 

"She's coming around," a high pitched yet familiar voice says, shaking me. "Hey, you alright, Juno? Can you hear me?"

I open my eyes.

Traylor is leaning over me, grinning like an idiot. I scowl at him hard. "Yup, she's alright," Traylor says with a smirk.

I sit up.

The world swims across my vision. Disoriented doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling.

"Careful," another voice says. "You're gonna wanna watch your step up here." It's Altair. I can't see him, but his voice comes from the left. I turn my head that way and find I'm leaning against a wall, cold and smooth, pulling myself up against it. I get to my knees and sway, falling over in the other direction. My hands grope but find nothing as I tumble headfirst, the rest of my body following–

I stop.

Something's snagged me by the belt, pulling me back. I come to rest against the wall again, seeing that it’s Altair that saved me. We're sitting in a cleft in a rock face, the floor a mere three feet wide from the edge. I lean out, guessing we're about halfway down the canyon wall. Above, a narrow chimney in the rock indicates that we’d actually climbed down here. I don't remember doing it.

"What happened?" I ask, still in shock. "How did we get down here?" The last thing I remember is seeing those men falling from their horses.

"The Bleaklands saved us," Altair answers nonchalantly.

"Yeah, and that iron lung of yours," Traylor interjects.

Iron lung? I stare at Altair incredulously, my eyes falling to the dull grey object on the ground beside him. Traylor goes to it, grasping the clear, triangular object at the end of the tube. He puts it over his face and twists a knob, a hissing crackle the result.

"See?" Traylor says, taking a mouthful of gas. "An iron lung! It lets us breathe when there is no air!"

"Okay, Traylor," Altair admonishes, going over to the lung and twisting the knob back shut. "It's not a toy. There’s a limited supply inside of it."

Traylor shrugs, stepping away.

"That's amazing," I say, recalling now that I had seen Altair put the mask over my face just before I'd lost consciousness. "Where did you come across such a device?" I ask, both curious and wary. This surely is an artifact of the Forerunners.

"It came from Everwinter," Altair answers, as if that was sufficient. "I always keep a few supply stashes ready in case I must travel across Bleaklands."

I take a deep breath, the air seeming just fine where we sit. "I can breathe. Does that mean we're out of the Bleaklands already?" I'm hoping I missed most of the trip whilst unconscious.

"The Bleaklands are everywhere," Altair replies through tight lips. "They cover the entire world, Juno, but only in patches. There is not one definitive area that one might call the Bleaklands. We’ve made it out of one patch, but there will be others."

"I see," I say, nodding. "You learn something new about the world every day."

"You can say that again," Traylor agrees wholeheartedly.

"The iron lung will get us through the worst of it," Altair continues, "but we should get moving again. Those men do not have iron lungs, but it will not take them long to get around the Bleakpatch once they have recovered."

I sag visibly. "So they're not dead, I take it?"

Altair shakes his head. "Only one met his end. They passed out once the air got too thin but, as I said, they will recover."

"Too bad," I grumble.

"Come on," Altair says, slipping the iron lung back into his pack. "Another day, maybe two, and we’ll be in the southern cities." With that, he disappears into the large crack in the wall, just wide enough to accommodate him. Traylor looks at me, shrugs, then follows suit. 

"I hate working with men," I say to myself, following Traylor into the crack. The shaft seems to stretch from the top of the cliff all the way to the bottom. Below me, Traylor and Altair are already down quite a ways, climbing the shaft as if it were a simple ladder. I mimic their movements and find the going fairly easy.

I look up a final time. "How the hells did you guys get me down here anyway?" I call after them.

Altair just looks up at me and smiles.

 

 

 

 

12.

 

"What do you think it is?" I whisper, leaning again to peer around the rock.

"I am unsure," Altair replies, shifting his position slightly. "We may be able to slip past them, but I fear what will happen if we are detected." 

I sigh audibly. Nothing's ever easy anymore.

We're finally coming to the end of the canyon.

After following the stream at the bottom for over a day, the rocky, sentinel pine covered faces of the canyon slowly gave way to scrub and stunted bushes. The air is getting warmer, the canyon walls now built of layered strata rather than solid blocks. The change happened quickly.

The deserts of the south are not far off now.

"What if we just blended in with them, you know?" Traylor speaks up for the first time.

I eyeball my little brother incredulously. "That'd probably be suicide, buddy," I reply in earnest. "These people could be Children of Mutanity." I pause and stare at the gathered mass at the mouth of the canyon. It can't be coincidence that they're camped out here. The canyon is the most direct route south from Krakelyn. Travelers have to come this way unless they want to pass over the Spine of the World, which takes weeks longer. "They don't seem like Children though, do they?" I add.

The little and only experience I've had with the Children of Mutanity hadn't been a positive one. Brainwashed, bloodthirsty savages, people who can't handle the fact that their gods had turned their backs on them. They've been living a lie their whole lives. Well, we all have. The difference is, I never believed in their gods in the first place. I can't imagine the Children holding a silent vigil in support of their cause, as the people camped out before us seem to be doing. The Children use fear to rein in their masses, and fear is seldom silent.

With a gasp, I suddenly realize what this gathering is. There's a lone spire standing near the mouth of the canyon and the people, a few hundred of them, are gathered right around it. I very much want to go down there and join them.

I elbow Traylor. "What do you think?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the crowd.

Traylor shrugs. "I dunno," he answers truthfully. "Maybe it’s–"

"Traylor!" I interrupt, nearly yelling. "There's a spider on your foot!" Traylor squeals instantly, bolting from our hiding spot behind an irregular boulder. Traylor hates spiders.

Too bad there isn't actually one there.

Altair curses at me, going after Traylor. 

Smiling, I use the opportunity to slip away, casually, headed straight for the gathering up ahead.

 

 

 

 

13.

 

I've got my hood pulled up all the way, obscuring most of my face, and I'm not the only one disguised in such a way. Plenty of others at the vigil are covered up. Though from what I can see of them–hands, chins–their skin is blemished and pockmarked. 

Mutated.

I suddenly feel naked, but I'm already at the center of the throng and no one has given me a second glance. I gently push my way to the freestanding rock spire around which everyone is grouped, finally discovering the truth of this silent vigil.

It's a vigil for the dead, for a world that no longer exists.

Around the fifty foot base of the spire, laid out with care, are flowers, wreaths, incense, and burning candles. Above these offerings, either carved into the rock or scrawled with chalk, is the names of hundreds of people–dead people–along with messages from their loved ones. 

"Why would the gods do this to us?" I hear a voice ask in despair. "Thou shalt not suffer a mutant to live... Ha!" A woman has just finished scrawling a name onto the spire, crying. "If the gods wanted us to kill ourselves as these people did," the woman gestures to the spire, "then why make us do it ourselves? They know the stubborn nature of humanity." She points theatrically to the heavens. "I won't do your dirty work for you! You hear me?" She yells it, but the crowd only murmurs, falling back into their self-deprecating stupor.

With a gasp, I realize that this is a monument to those who had killed themselves in accordance with our religion, the True Body Plan, after the mutations occurred. 

Thou shalt not suffer a mutant to live. 

These people killed themselves because of me, I think, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the tears. 

What would these people do right now if they knew the truth?

"It was all a lie," I say, surprising myself.

The pissed off woman whirls on me, her icy eyes seeming to bore a hole through my disguise. "That's kind of what I was getting at with my little speech there," she snaps at me sarcastically.

I shake my head, realizing all eyes in the immediate vicinity are on me. "Uh, yeah, I know," I stammer. "I just... I meant that sometimes it’s easier to believe a lie than to accept the truth. Religion is a form of control. Somebody in the distant past, probably one of the Forerunners, had a hate on for mutations and created a doctrine to reinforce that belief. Unfortunately, a lot of other people started believing it too."

The woman's face appears to melt before my eyes–and not because it's covered in tumors. The scowl she’d formerly been wearing morphs into a mask of pure astonishment. Sometimes I forget that I'm not like ordinary people. I'm the High Deacon's daughter! And as such, I’m privy to just a little bit more of the inner workings of our religion than most. 

I forget that sometimes.

"That," the woman manages to stammer from a slackly hanging jaw, "is very perceptive," she says. "One of the smartest things I think I've heard anyone mutter since the Final Judgment."

"Um, thanks," I say sheepishly.

The woman steps boldly toward me, hand outstretched. Her dark hair is falling out in patches. "I'm Bruna," she says as I take her hand timidly.

"June," I reply without thinking, modifying my real name slightly.

"Good to know you, June," Bruna returns in kind. She steps even closer, peering now directly into my dark hood. "You have the tune of a northerner in your accent," she says. "Are you from Krakelyn?"

I shift uneasily. "Near there," I reply, offering nothing further. Why is Bruna scrutinizing me so much?

"There is no longer a need to hide your face, June. Here especially. Having said something so profound earlier, I am surprised that you continue to do so. From your words, it is clear that you do not follow the old ways. Do you believe mutations to be an abomination?"

"No," I answer immediately, blunt and firm.

"Then, please, do not hide your face! It is so rare to find someone with such a high level of thinking. Think of the good you could do! If you were to preach your message about the faults of the True Body Plan, all the while keeping your face fully exposed, others might be inspired to abandon the old ways as well!"

Bruna stops talking, but I do not respond. I don't know how.

"Please, June," she says, "do not continue to perpetuate the lie. That is what got us in this mess to begin with!"

For the first time since meeting Bruna, I now notice the other people around me as well. They are mostly silent, but as they were all enveloped in their own personal griefs earlier, now they are enveloped in me. Staring at me. Looking back at all those expectant faces, something inside me lets go. 

These people need me...

I reach up to the hem of my hood, letting the rough spun material glide gently over my fingers–

KRAKOOOOM!!

A whip crack of sound, all too familiar to me now, cuts through the silence like a diamond bore. Every eye at the vigil is drawn to the source of the shot, where a now steady rumble similar to that of an oil-fired engine echoes toward us. Indeed, half a minute later, two yellow spinning lights, sitting atop two bizarre wheeled contraptions, appear through the leafless trees that line the road leading out of the canyon, headed straight for us. The vehicles are unlike any I'm accustomed to, but who knows what kind of Forerunner tech they've exhumed in the south? Father always says southerners are too lax when it comes to avoiding the old ways. The vehicles are identical, each with four wheels–two large ones at the back, two smaller ones at the front–green, tall, and fronted by a massive metal scoop which the pilots appear to be manipulating from the open cab behind it.

The fast traveling conveyances leave the road at the edge of the gathering, slowing not a bit, forcing the revelers to leap out of the way, cursing and screaming. I'm on the other side of the pillar, but my outrage at this disturbance is equal to theirs. The machines force their way to the pillar, pulling directly up to the natural object and placing their scoops against it, one next to the other. The cab of each vehicle contains two people, and I stand on tip toe in the now surging throng to see one of them raise a hand, yelling something. The engines of the machines whine loudly and spew forth great billowing black clouds as their scoops are rammed full bore into the pillar. 

My first thought is that there is no way these relatively small machines can topple such a massive natural feature. But within moments, it becomes clear that that is not the case. The rock near the base of the spire splits, then cracks, then topples over, sending more people trampling out of the way. It might have been my imagination, but I think I actually see someone try and push back against the other side of the pillar, trying to hold it up.

And then the person is gone.

With their cruel task over and done with, the four pilots of the two machines power down their engines, disembarking from their respective cabs. They're people, like any others I'd met in my life, three men and one woman, all covered in boils and tumors.

And they all carry shooting irons. 

The largest man, carrying himself like a leader, leaps atop the remains of the toppled spire and raises his hands to the sky like a preacher addressing a congregation.

"You people cling to the past!" the man announces without preamble. He gestures to the remains of the scrawled names on the rock. "You mourn for those that took their own lives when the gods turned their backs on us, but you should be rejoicing! The weak have weeded themselves out! Thou shalt not suffer a mutant to live? Ha!" 

I get a cold sense of déjà vu at this proclamation; Bruna and I lock eyes momentarily. This man is saying pretty much everything we’d talked about moments earlier.

"If the gods truly wished for a mutation free world, why would they create one that is full of them? Why not just start over? Why not destroy us? Such a thing makes little sense. No, what has become clear to us now, the Children of Mutanity, is not that we are being punished by the gods, but rewarded!" I should have known that these psychos are Children, I curse to myself. "The True Body Plan is mutations," the speaking man continues. "Brothers and sisters, it is our mission to ensure that the old world, the pure world, is left for dead, forgotten and buried. Thou shalt only suffer a mutant to live!"

Confused murmurs erupt from the crowd, the speaking man staring at them expectantly. Did he really think that little speech would be enough to make them forget where they came from? Until now, I'd had some hope that the Children of Mutanity were a local phenomenon, confined only to Krakelyn.

Some diseases travel faster than others, it would seem.

"Come!" the speaking man admonishes once more. "Brothers and Sisters, join us! Have no fear! You have only to embrace what you are! You are mutants! Do not hide it! If you wear a mask or hood, remove it, so that we may revel in what the gods have made us!" The speaking man gestures to his counterparts. Shooters raised, they move into the crowd, pulling away disguises with force where necessary.

I'm in trouble.

There are only so many people in the crowd, and few are willing to defiantly keep themselves masked against the Children. I watch them, striking an old man in the gut with one of their irons, ripping away his cloak. The man's face is weathered and severely wrinkled, but he has little more than a rash on his face. The Final Judgment was easy on him, it would seem.

"Now see here!" the speaking man announces, bringing all eyes to the old man. "A remnant of the pure blood! This man has hardly been touched by the Final Judgment!"

The crowd murmurs their angry disapproval of the speaking man's appraisal, but none are willing to stand up to those shooting irons. Not that I blame them.

"I condemn thee, pure blood! I cannot allow your purity to be passed on. Thou shalt only suffer a mutant to live!"

And with that, the speaking man levels his iron and pulls the trigger. The old man drops like a wet sack, horrified screams issuing from the crowd at the same instant. Without pause, the Children are back to work on the crowd. Nearly all the remaining holdouts have removed their disguises.

I'm the only one left. 

"You there!" the speaking man calls out, pointing directly at me. "Don't move!" I'm panicking. All eyes are on me. Bruna is urging me to remove my hood and be done with it.

Either way, I'm dead. 

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

My anger surges.

Haven't these people taken enough from me already?

They killed my Father.

My anger boils. Bastards!

"No!" I scream, bolting from their advance. I leap atop the fallen spire and, in one deft movement, let my cloak slip from my body, fully revealing my unblemished face. "You bastards killed my Father!" I scream. "You just try and take me without a fight!" The Children approach and I ready my legs to strike out. It's my own fault I'm in this mess, so I might as well try and make it somewhat worth it. 

The speaking man and his two cronies stop when they reach my vantage, staring up at me with wide grins. Their weapons are lowered, however. "You are a feisty one, aren't you?" the speaking man comments with a sneer. They don't move. What are they waiting for?

There's only three of them in front of me! I realize.

"Bloody ashes!" I murmur. "Where's the fourth–"

My words cut off as something hard, cold, and sharp presses into my throat. A blade. The sweet breath of the lone Child woman snakes into my ears: "Don't move, pureblood."

I don't.

Seconds later, the speaking man is next to me, staring intently at my face, running his dirty fingers across it. "Impossible!" he asserts. "This must be some form of trickery! A new method of painting the face, perhaps?" To my disgust, he spits on one outstretched palm and smears the result across my cheek, trying to remove the disguise he thinks I'm wearing.

The knife presses harder so I don't protest. 

He frowns at me deeply. "Release her," he orders the woman. I can feel her reluctance, but the woman finally relents, allowing full breath to enter my lungs again.

"What are you, pureblood?" the speaking man asks, his fingers running restlessly over the butt of his iron. "We have never found one so pure." He pauses, stepping close but keeping his hands to himself. "Are there more of you?" The lust is clear in his stare.

"No," I state, simple and blunt. "My name is Juno Quinn, and I am the last human." I step back from the speaking man and, hardly believing I am doing it myself, lift the bottom of my tunic top upward, revealing my flat, pale belly, and small, budding breasts.

All unblemished.

The gasps that issue from the crowd at that moment are nearly deafening. My eyes fall to Bruna, who's smiling up at me like I've just saved the world. A massive crash mutes the crowd, and I lower my shirt to see the speaking man snarling, holding a smoking shooting iron skyward but now leveling it straight at me.

"The last human must die," he says without emotion. In that moment, some of my Father's last words to me flash through my mind...

 

"We're sterile, Juno."

"You mean everybody, don't you?" I say. "Everyone who was affected by the Box is sterile."

Father nods. "Yes, Juno. It was confirmed at the Krakelyn Hospice about a week ago. Unless we find a way to reverse the condition, humanity as we know it will cease to exist within a century. Now you know why you and Traylor are so important..."

 

These people don't know the truth. 

They are doomed without me!

I open my mouth to speak but find no words. I have to impart how important I am to these brainwashed dummies!

"I... You... Don't..."

The speaking man's finger twitches on the trigger, my entire body shuddering in mimic with horrible anticipation. My only consolation is knowing that I am not really the last human. I have a brother. There's still Traylor, and as long as Altair gets him to this Ursa woman, there is still hope.

The speaking man's trigger finger has stopped twitching.

I squeeze my eyes shut around the tears. 

Here it comes.

THHHHUUUNNNKKK!

I hear a metallic clanking noise, followed by a brief but sharp exaltation of pain, neither having to do with me.

I open my eyes.

The speaking man has both hands on his neck, trying to stem a tide of blood leaking from a small but deep incision at his throat. On the ground in front of him, both the shooting iron and a familiar looking silver metal star lay like corpses drenched in blood. The speaking man's cohorts approach him with guns drawn toward the onlookers, demanding to know what happened.

I smirk. 

Altair's throwing star had been silent. Nobody knows what's really going on yet.

The speaking man, growing paler by the second, finally collapses from blood loss, falling face first off the fallen pillar. 

"Who did it!" the lone woman among the Children of Mutanity demands of the crowd. "Tell me who killed him or I swear to the gods I will open fire on–OW!"

Something, it looks like a rock, comes sailing out of nowhere, falling to strike the woman above her right eye. She swings her shooter in the direction of the attack, causing everyone in the vicinity to scream, run, and duck for cover.

"Who bloody did it!" the woman curses. Shouts erupt behind her, and she whirls once more to find her two remaining companions on the ground, being beaten savagely by a now rioting mob.

"NO!" the woman screams, opening fire, sending shot after shot into the nearly defenseless crowd. Bodies fall, blood spurts, screams erupt. The riot has turned into a stampede, but I'm out of the flow, still standing atop the toppled spire. The crazy woman's eyes find me and she snarls, swinging her weapon up in a last ditch effort.

Except it never gets there.

Another silvery star streaks from the edge of my vision, slicing directly into the woman's hand, causing her to scream and drop the weapon immediately. Altair is there seconds later, holding more stars and a small, three pronged weapon. 

Where had he gotten that?

The woman sees Altair, bellowing in rage, and comes at him swinging, blows which the trained Assassin dodges with ease. She kicks and he lowers his body, raising his pronged weapon at the same time, her shin crashing into the sharp, unyielding metal. She screams and drops, holding a now gaping wound in her leg. She curses at Altair but he kicks her under the chin and she goes limp.

Unconscious, not dead.

The crowd has mostly dispersed, scattering in all directions into the desert, leaving everything in their camp behind.

Altair whirls from his defeated foe and stalks directly toward me, eyes blazing. "What in the name of the gods is wrong with you!" he roars, grabbing me harshly by the shoulder.

"Hey!" I protest. "Take it easy!"

"This is the least I should do to you!" he retorts, beginning to drag me back toward the canyon mouth where we’d been hiding earlier. A small, completely cloaked figure emerges at our approach. I sigh in relief to see that Traylor is safe. "Get over here, Traylor," Altair orders. "We have to leave... Now!"

"Way to go, Juno," Traylor quips, mocking applause. "What was that all about anyway? There wasn't really a spider on me, was there?"

My mind is the opposite of blank, a thousand million excuses flitting in and out of focus. The truth is, I really don't know why I snuck off to join the silent vigil. I really don't. I just... 

"These people were mourning their dead," I finally come up with. "They're the first people we've seen outside of Krakelyn that aren't Children of Mutanity. They had no agenda other than sharing their suffering, easing each other's pain. I needed to be a part of that. I..." I pause, tears welling then spilling down my face. "I haven't grieved for Jude yet."

The floodgates open.

The last thing I'd said was the truth.

I hadn't grieved yet, creating an emotional dam inside me, waiting to burst.

I love you, Juno Quinn… 

Jude's last words to me, again. 

I break down and cry, leaning against a nearby boulder as my legs turn to jelly. I feel Altair's close looming presence and turn, hoping to find some comfort or at least some empathy from the man. But all I'm rewarded with is a cold, hard stare.

"We don't have time for this, Juno," he says. My heart freezes, anger swelling. "Your little stunt will soon alert other Children within fifty wheels. We have to move. If we're lucky, we can stay ahead of the rumors this incident is likely to spread." Altair pauses, eyes downcast. "But I don't think we will be that lucky. Not now. We'd need to travel at racing horse speed and– What? What is it?"

I'm smiling now, my eyes having fallen on the area around the fallen spire. "Actually," I say, "I think we can do better than a racing horse." Altair and Traylor both follow my gaze.

"No way," Altair says. "Our goal is to remain anonymous, not bring more attention onto ourselves."

"Do you want to stay ahead of those rumors or not?" I retort with a smirk and a head tilt.

Altair sighs and Traylor lights up excitedly, seeing that the man has acquiesced. "Are we gonna get to ride in one of those Forerunner machines?" he asks with childlike glee.

Altair just stares at the tall, green machines with their heavy scoops on the front. "Bloody ashes," he curses.

 

 

 

 

14.

 

"The old world is dead," Blaine says, his black hair streaked white under the harsh spotlights the Children had acquired from nearby Apollyon. It's stifling under the canvas pavilion, where a crude wooden platform has been erected. "Embrace that fact and you will do well in the new," Blaine continues, gesturing theatrically to the three individuals kneeling before him on the stage.

One of the individuals, a man, looks up at Blaine with a smile, admiring the leader's charming charisma and flamboyant air. When you look at the man, you almost can't see the pulsing tumor that nearly swells his right eye shut. You only see a god. Blaine is a man you can look up to. A man you can trust your life with. 

"Rise, Children," Blaine says. 

The individual does as commanded. How can he not? He owes his life to Blaine. The Children of Mutanity had taken him in, made him realize that mutations are nothing to be feared but embraced. The gods had it all wrong–if they ever existed in the first place. If mutants truly are such horrid abominations, why would the gods turn every singly living thing on this planet into one? If a god wanted to destroy its creation, why not just do it? Why make your creation do the dirty work for you? 

Maybe the gods don't have that kind of power, he thinks.

He shakes his head.

The idea contradicts the very concept of an all powerful entity. All he knows is that these mutations are a blessing, and that the one responsible for them will be rewarded when the time comes.

"Welcome to the Children of Mutanity," Blaine finishes, placing a hand on the individual’s shoulder, looking deeply into his eyes. He becomes lost in that gaze. "I know you will do great things in this new world. What is your name, Child?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by screams and shouts erupting from the gathered onlookers under the pavilion. There are about five hundred of them here, but there are other sects all over Eversummer. And Blaine leads them all. Thousands of individuals, all looking for the same thing: stability in an unstable world.

"Blaine!" an exasperated voice calls out. He looks and sees the crowd parting as a ragged woman shambles toward them. At first, he takes the discoloring of her skin as part of her mutation–she is covered in boils–but realizes as she approaches that she is actually covered in dried blood and dark, puffy bruising. 

A large man standing at the stage entrance cuts her off with crossed arms, his skin mottled and peeling as if from a bad sunburn. "You will address him as High Deacon!" the man insists, the woman falling to her knees before the platform.

"I have urgent news, High Deacon!" the woman pleads. The bodyguard turns to Blaine, who nods assent.

"What is it?" Blaine asks.

"I know where the last human is," she answers. 

The crowd erupts into gasps, which Blaine waves down. 

"Go on," he allows.

"My party was ambushed by a group of thugs, just south of the Great Canyonway. I was the only one to survive. The last human was among them."

Blaine raises an eyebrow. "And what did the last human look like?" he asks, clearly skeptical.

The woman's demeanor brightens. "Short, thin, red hair, blue eyes, perfect skin. A pure human." 

The description kindles something within the individual, but he ignores it for the moment. 

"A pure woman," the newcomer adds. "They hijacked one of our plow machines and headed south, toward Venecici."

Blaine pauses, the silence seeming to stretch on to infinite. "If this new world is to survive," he finally says, "we must eradicate any and all vestiges of the old." He pauses again, considering. "Has anyone here ever traveled to Venecici?"

The individual puts his hand to the sky instantly. 

After all, he'd traveled to almost all the southern cities on ore runs for the mine. "I have," he says aloud. Other hands had shot into the air, but he’s already on the stage next to Blaine.

Blaine smiles. "You already prove yourself worthy, Child," he says. "Before we were interrupted, I asked for your name. I would hear it now." 

The crowd seems on the verge of a collective breath.

"Jude," he replies with a smile that never touches his eyes. "I can take you to the last human."

Those eyes are nearly vacant.

 

 

 

 

PART II: THE SOUTH

 

 

15.

 

Two days later.

"I love you, Juno Quinn."

"I...I..."

The tides rise higher, now coming up to and covering their ankles. When they'd arrived, the area around the Box was dry, soft beach sand. But the waves are getting bigger, more violent, even though there's no real wind to speak of at the moment.

One wave rises up and crashes into Jude, causing his left leg to crumble, collapsing like a house made of sand. 

"No!" she calls out, reaching for him. “NO!” But it's too late.

Another wave strikes, this one bigger and foamier, causing Jude to crumble to a pile at his waist. He looks up at her, reaches for her, pleading. "Please, Juno. I love you!" He reaches for the Box, now half submerged, and his hand crumbles to sand when he touches it.

"I...love..." she begins. But it's over.

A final wave washes over Jude's disintegrating form and, when it subsides, he's gone. She falls to her knees, screaming, grabbing handfuls of mud. "No, Jude! No!"

She feels a hand on her shoulder and spins, shrieking in surprise. It's Altair.

"Wake up, Juno," he mouths. "It's time to wake up..."

 

 

I open my eyes.

It's not Altair with his hand on my shoulder, but Traylor. 

My little brother smirks at me, eyeing the sweat dripping from my forehead. "That must've been a pretty intense dream," he says. "You were screaming and everything!"

I shake my head, remembering the dream, but letting it fade. "That's weird," I say sheepishly, trying to act coy. "Did I say anything?"

"Just a name," Traylor replies, finally turning away from me, sitting back down on the other side of the fire.

"What name?" I ask, yawning.

"Jude," the reply comes, but not from Traylor.

Altair is leaning against a brick pillar–one of the few structures still standing in these ruins–in relative shade. It's fairly dark in here, but the sun still blazes through cracks. Altair's got something in his lap. It takes me a second to realize it’s a pad of paper. A thin stick of charcoal, pilfered from the fire, rests in his right hand, sketching lines, smearing others. I can't make out the drawing from where I lay.

"Whatcha drawing?" I ask, sitting up fully now, changing the subject. Altair makes a few final strokes then picks up the pad and turns it toward me.

"That's...awesome!" Traylor admonishes.

I, however, am at a loss for words.

The sketch is of me, asleep on the ground next to the fire. It's so lifelike, the details so real, I almost think I’m looking at one of those 'fotos' in my Father's study.

"You're the last human," Altair says, noting my silence. "I thought it appropriate to immortalize you the only way I know how."

"Hey, what about me?" Traylor interjects, sounding honestly hurt.

"I was going to do you next, Traylor," Altair soothes. "Never worry. I just happened to catch your sister in a drawable pose first."

Traylor nods, seeming content with that. "What pose should I do?" he asks.

Altair shakes his head. "None for now. We need to get going again." He turns to peek around the red brick pillar. Traylor and I follow his gaze to where we'd parked the big Forerunner plow inside these ruins. Altair has already admitted that taking the plow was a good idea. We made almost a hundred wheels in less than a day yesterday!

We've seen no one else on the road, so far.

Whatever this building had been formerly, it was large enough to accommodate a dozen vehicles similar to our own. The roof over our heads is actually the floor above, miraculously still standing. This building once had multiple levels. We aren't sure if it was built by the Forerunners or a later civilization, but it's been picked clean of anything useful; we made sure of that before settling down for sleep. The only thing of note we’d discovered was a tarnished brass pole, standing on its own near the edge of the large main room. The floor above it had given way, so there was little to indicate as to what its purpose had been.

Strange indeed.

Altair is on his feet now, snuffing the fire out with his heavy boots. My stomach rumbles. We haven't eaten in almost two days.

Altair notices my discomfort. "We will be in the port cities in a few hours," he announces. "We will find all that we need there. We should arrive in Venecici by day's end."

"Thank the gods," I say with a huff. "Hey," I add, as if in afterthought, "since we're passing through the ports, do you think we could, you know, ask around, see if anyone's seen or heard from Jude?" I pull my lips in, seeing the look on Altair's face.

"You know we can't," he replies, all business, as usual. He stalks over to the plow machine, climbs aboard, and starts the engine, letting it warm up. I sigh, feeling guiltier than ever. 

I love you, Juno Quinn...

"Maybe you can't," I say, under my breath, "but I can. Once we find this Ursa woman, and she does whatever it is she needs to do with me, then there is no we anymore. I will find Jude."

I start to pack up what little I have left, thankful that the final leg of our exhausting journey is about to come to an end.

Thank the gods, I think with a smile. Jude, where are you?

 

 

 

 

16.

 

"It's you or him, Child Jude. There is no other way. This man is guilty of hiding his mutation–as if it is something to be ashamed of!"

Jude nods.

He knows everything Blaine is telling him is true. And yet, he hesitates. Why?

It was wrong to be a mutant at one time, wasn't it?

He can't remember.

Things have gotten so hazy since joining the Children of Mutanity. All he knows is that the world has changed. Mutations are now the norm, and any attempts to hide them from view are outlawed.

Thou shalt only suffer a mutant to live.

Jude raises the shooting iron.

"That's right," Blaine hisses into his ear, not unlike the snake in that old tale about the First Paradise. "This man deserves to die. All you have to do is squeeze the trigger."

The man in question is shuddering, on his knees before the gathering, eyes downcast. Blaine's group of Children–one hundred strong here–had been traveling south along the Canyonway, coming upon this poor vagabond alone, his head and body completely covered by a hooded cloak.

Blasphemy!

They had set upon him immediately.

Jude pauses a moment, feeling the weight of the shooting iron in both his hand and his mind. This is his first time holding such a weapon, and the power it entails overwhelms him. 

I hold this man's life in my hands, he thinks, turning the weapon sideways, admiring the tarnished metal. He glances around. I hold all of their lives at this moment! I could kill any one of them right now! Even Blaine. He gasps mentally at the audacity of such a thought.

Sure, he could kill them, but in turn he would be just as dead. 

He wasn't the only one with a shooting iron here.

He looks down at the vagabond once more.

The man is sobbing now, naked. The Children have torn away his clothing, revealing a body ravaged by weeping sores and rotting flesh. The Final Judgment had been hard on him. 

A pity, but such was life.

It's not my fault this is happening…

"Look at me," Jude orders, leveling the weapon at the man's head. But the man doesn't listen. "LOOK AT ME!" Jude is shocked at his own tone, but it works because the man finally looks up, eyes watery. "Do you deny hiding what you are from the gods?"

The vagrant shakes his head. "I wasn't hiding anything!" he pleads in a wavery voice. "I was cold! I had to keep myself covered!"

Jude laughs, along with his comrades. "In case you haven't noticed, good sir, this is the desert. It's never cold here."

The vag nods, desperate. "I... It's because of my mutations," he explains, still looking Jude in the eye. "My... My sores have become infected. I'm sick. I feel cold all the time."

Blaine eyes Jude warily. That look seems to say: You're not buying this crap, are you?

Jude scowls. "So you blame your mutation for your blasphemy, is that it?" Angry growls erupt from the onlookers, but again the vag remains silent. "Mutations are the True Body Plan now," Jude continues. "Mutations are perfection. We all have sores, much as you do, but ours are not festering. It's called bathing, my friend. You should try it sometime."

More laughing from the crowd.

"Go spit, you bloody fools!" the man screeches through gritted teeth. "Do your worst! I am ready for the end."

"I just hope you are ready for what comes afterward," Jude retorts. And, without a second's more hesitation, he pulls the trigger. The shot is deafening, the vag collapsing in a splash of blood and brains. 

It’s over.

He should feel elated. He'd done the Children's good work, hadn't he? Then why does he feel...nothing?

"Well done, Jude," the familiar baritone of Blaine proclaims with a hearty slap to the back. "You are becoming more a Child of Mutanity than I'd ever hoped for. When we find the last human, I want you by my side when I pull the trigger!" He turns away then hesitates, turning back. "Who knows? If you keep this up, I might just let you do the deed yourself."

Jude gapes, jaw wide. "Th-thank you, High Deacon!" he stammers with a bow. He can't believe it! Back in Krakelyn, he'd been a nobody. Worthless. And now...

He'd be a world hero if he killed the last human!

Still, something isn't right. Inside of him. He feels something at the back of his mind, irritating, like a sliver. A question keeps forming in his thoughts, and every time it does, he pushes it away, suppresses it. 

Who caused the mutations?

It isn't a question he has the answer to yet.

But he will, eventually. The last human will know. And Jude will make them tell. That itch is strong at the moment but, like the question, Jude forces it down. They are getting ready to move again. He doesn't have time to dwell on it.

If Jude had been in normal frame of mind–a sane frame of mind–he might have known what that itch meant. 

But, of course, he wasn't.

That itch was guilt.

 

 

 

 

17.

 

"Is that it? Is that Venecici? Did we make it?"

Altair shakes his head, but I'm hardly disappointed.

We're in the south!

The road is surrounded by tall, thin trees with broad leaves at the top. A vague impression of tall buildings can seen between them intermittently. A warm, salty wind ruffles and cools the shaved sides of my head, whipping the rest of my hair all over as Altair slows down the Forerunner plow machine. There are other people and vehicles on the road now. Lots of them, in fact. All eyes are immediately drawn to our ride, but it’s hardly the only oil fired engine out here. We don't stand out too much. 

Not yet, anyway.

"Better cover up," Altair suggests. 

Traylor and I do so reluctantly. 

None of the other travelers we see are covered, all openly exposing their mutations to the sun. The Children of Mutanity must have a strong presence here.

Altair points dead ahead. "What you see through the trees is the city of Apollyon,” he says, “but we won't be traveling to it. We will use the Coastway, bypassing the cities themselves until we reach Venecici. It is the safest route, Juno."

"Oh," is my reply. I see Traylor's disappointment mirroring my own. We're in the south and we can't even explore!

It hardly feels fair.

"You can still enjoy the view though," Altair offers, guiding our vehicle off the Canyonway, avoiding a grouping of travelers stopped at the intersection. They're reading a large wooden sign with directions to the various ports. I know from my Father's map of the world that the southern cities are technically separate entities, but they occupy nearly the entire coastline, blending and melding together. Disputes over land arise constantly.

I don't have time to read the whole sign, but my eyes are quickly drawn to Venecici, an arrow pointing in the direction we're headed. Apollyon is the central community, with the other cities spreading out from it in either direction along the coast. Venecici is furthest east.

The road–the Coastway–rises dramatically ahead of us, cut directly into the side of a sandstone wall rimming the beach. We can't see much at first–the trees are still thick here–but as our sputtering vehicle begins to climb, the trees fall below us and I realize Altair's last words–"You can still enjoy the view"–were not quite apt enough.

I am flabbergasted by the view.

Traylor too.

Living in the north my entire life, I'd met many people from the south. I'd heard the stories that they actually live in structures left over by the Forerunners–a blasphemy in Krakelyn–but nothing prepared me for what I was about to see. From everything I'd been taught as a child, and comparing it to what I’m seeing now, it’s a wonder my Father's men hadn't waged war on the south.

The thought makes me smile.

We reach the highest point in the road, the coastline visible for miles around. A white sand beach extends along the waterline as far as the eye can see, boats and ships just snowy flecks among the blue. Behind the beach lies civilization.

Lots of it.

I gasp, staring in wonder at a massive metal tower so tall it must surely scrape the sky. The structure is skeletal, having been outfitted with hundreds of glass windows at one time. Now, only a handful of the panes remain intact. The rest are probably broken, vandalized, or scavenged for other projects. It’s said that the Glass Gardens in Krakelyn are constructed of Forerunner glass, but I've never seen a building like this one in the north. Through the open window frames, I see movement within. Despite it being mostly wide open, people are living in that tower!

"They're living in a structure built by the Forerunners!" I blurt, finding it impossible to mask my disbelief.

"The most affluent of Apollyon's citizens live near the top," Altair offers, my own tour guide. "Most of the glass is still intact up there."

I look and see that he's right.

The sight sends memories of home flooding to me. My family, the most affluent in Krakelyn, had lived in the fanciest Manse, atop the highest hill in the city. And I’d always been ashamed of that fact. What made us better than anyone else?

Well, Father always says I have an inflated sense of morality.

The rest of the city of Apollyon radiates outward from the tower in spokes, the buildings becoming more destitute as one leaves the coast. There are other towers, other Forerunner constructions, but none quite so lovely. Further down the coast, a white tower rises like a stalagmite from the earth, terminating at a jagged point where it had broken off. The whole thing looks made of milky glass, or diamond maybe.

"They call it kimberlite," Altair chimes in, noticing my scrutiny of the building. "A very rare material, nearly indestructible. It does have one weakness though that few know of. That's why this one is broken, all these centuries after the Forerunners built it."

"Bloody ashes," I whisper under my breath. This tower is nowhere near as tall as the first we'd just seen and, though breathtaking, seems a little less lovely for that reason

"That tower marks the city of Losang," Altair says, continuing his guided tour as we continue along the Coastway. The traffic here has ground to a trickle, especially compared to the clogged arteries we can see down below. It's mostly pedestrian traffic, mixed with the occasional oil fired machine or horse-drawn cart.

We pass the kimberlite tower.

"This is a separate city?" I ask, skeptical. "How do you know? Everything just runs together down there!" I already know that fact from my Father's map, but I'm hoping Altair might add to that knowledge a bit.

Altair shrugs. "It’s a problem for the cities. Growth has been almost nonstop for as long as anyone can remember. New routes through the Bleaklands are discovered all the time, drawing northerners down to the booming commerce." He shrugs again. "Progress."

"And I thought Krakelyn was a busy place," Traylor speaks up from behind us. There's only two seats in the vehicle, so he’s making do in the back of the cockpit. Age before youth.

Altair lets out a noise that might have been a laugh. "Traylor, this is only a fraction of what these cities used to be."

I look down again, seeing the congested streets and milling crowds. "Are you serious?"

Altair nods. "Just as in Krakelyn, there were mass suicides and murders after the Final Judgment. Almost half the population was gone overnight."

"Bloody ashes," I mutter. I see smoke near the outskirts of Losang. There seems to be a riot going on.

"Children of Mutanity," Altair says bitterly.

I lean out the cab just a bit to catch a better glimpse of the chaos. "How can you tell?" I ask, unconvinced.

Altair shrugs. "Who else would it be? The southern cities have the most dedicated Watchforce in all of Eversummer, the one thing that the separate cities share amongst themselves." Altair pauses to clear his throat. "No one usually messes with them, but that’s who they’re fighting with, I think."

My eyes go wide. "But... Why? How can such an insane group of people exert so much influence?"

Altair sighs, his shoulders sagging. "How indeed. People were scared after the Final Judgment, Juno. The gods turned their backs on us. Nobody had answers, but the Children had order. They filled the niche of authority left vacant when our religion failed us. Most people just wanted to get back to some sort of stability, and the Children provided that.” He shrugs sheepishly. “Sort of.”

I finally pull my eyes away from the cacophony, disgusted. "I hate this new world," I say.

Altair says nothing.

The Coastway brings us over more ridges and down a few valleys along the cliffs. Finally, after passing more Forerunner towers and congested cityscapes, the road dips severely, running down to ground level once again. Dead ahead, the last city on the east coast appears: Venecici. The whole thing is built in steps, wedged between two massive cliff faces in a box canyon. There are large buildings visible, probably Forerunner constructions, but nothing near as grand as in Apollyon.

"Is this place safe?" I ask as we approach, noting the generally run down appearance of the city. The buildings are mostly stucco and thatch constructions, painted in different fluorescent colors at each level.

"As safe as any other coastal city," Altair insists. "Appearances can be deceiving, Juno."

"They can also tell the truth," I quip back with a smirk. Altair just shakes his head.

Venecici rises ever higher as we get closer. My eye is immediately drawn to the structure at the very height of the city: a cylindrical building, domed at the top. It reminds me of the grain silos on the farms outside Krakelyn. There's something sticking out of it, like a giant eye-seeing lens.

"What is that?" I ask, pointing. "Is that where we're going?" We're supposed to be headed to a laboratory of some sort, to find this Ursa woman; this domed silo looks scientific enough to me.

Altair shakes his head. "That is a skytower," he says. "It no longer functions, but was once used to observe the heavens. It's a museum now."

"Oh," I say with a slouch, somewhat disappointed. The skytower is the only interesting looking building in this city. I'm about to ask more, when Altair suddenly guides our ride off the main road, following what could only be described as a cattle trail through the dense green foliage growing here.

"Um, where we going?" I ask, ducking as a broad green leaf almost slaps me in the face.

"We have to go the rest of the way on foot," Altair responds. "And I'd rather not leave this machine where the Children of Mutanity might find it. Despite our quick arrival, I am certain word of our escape is not far behind us."

"Are there Children here?" I ask, paranoia prevalent in my tone.

Altair sighs, watching the path ahead of us. "Juno," he says, "the Children are everywhere now."

 

 

 

 

18.

 

After ditching the plow machine in the jungle, Altair leads us back up the path and onto the Coastway. We join the general cacophony of pilgrims going about their day, trying to blend in. Very few people are covering themselves now that the Children of Mutanity have effectively outlawed the practice. Traylor and I stick out like sore thumbs. Luckily, Altair came prepared.

Using a kit in his pack and a few juicy fruits he finds in the jungle, he creates a thick paste, grayish, that dries quickly in clumps, adhering to our unblemished skin like face paint.

We look like mutants!

Well, mostly. 

Anyone who takes a really close look might not be fooled, but it's good enough for our needs at the moment. That doesn't mean I'm not paranoid though. Every eye that glances our way is a potential threat, and I eye the person right back as an intimidation tactic. It doesn't always work that well, but it doesn't matter. We've been walking the dusty red road for an hour now and no one's raised any alarms. We’ve even seen a group of Children pass by on a horse drawn cart, but they don't even gaze our way.

And that's fine by me.

When the road finally reaches the mouth of the box canyon Venecici sits upon, the dirt gives way to streets of layered brick. It was probably pretty, at one time, but now the bricks are cracked, heaved, or missing, making for often treacherous footing. Traylor almost trips more than once, shaking some of his disguise loose–a white patch is revealed on his cheek. Without preamble, Altair spits, the wad landing directly on the exposed spot. He steps over to my brother and immediately begins working the fluid into the dried stuff still on his face.

"Eww!" Traylor recoils, but Altair is done before he can finish complaining. "That's disgusting!" 

I nod my agreement, but can't help but giggle.

"Come on," Altair states, without emotion. Now that we're almost to our destination, he's all business again. Pity. It almost seemed like there was a personality inside that gruff exterior for a time.

We're led down the main thoroughfare a short distance, lined with bustling shops and hawkers much like the Mainstreet Bridge in Krakelyn. The people we see are all openly showing their mutations, some even flaunting them. I'm still not used to that. The streets are dirty and unkempt, garbage lining the gutters. Was it like this before the Final Judgment? Going by the shabby clothing, skinny bodies, and generally low hygiene I'm seeing around me, my guess is that it was.

The Final Judgment just made things worse.

Altair guides us down a narrow alley between buildings. It's darker than I'm used to and my anxiety ramps up. I jump at every shadow that seems move. Of course, we pop out on the next street without incident. I'm looking forward to basking in the sun again, but Altair doesn’t follow the street, instead crossing it and entering another alley. I curse but Traylor seems to love it.

We go on this way for a bit, winding a short way up some streets, mostly using alleyways. By the time we're about halfway up the steps of the city, we finally come to a dead end. We've reached the canyon wall. Altair keeps moving without a word. It’s even narrower here than in the alleys and my claustrophobia kicks in hard. I use some breathing exercises one of the servants at home taught me.

By the time I have myself somewhat under control, we’ve come to a stop. We're between the back of a squat stucco building and the canyon wall. There's a cleft in the wall here and, as I examine it, I realize that it's not a natural formation but a cut, the sides perfectly straight. Altair steps into the cleft and disappears, the darkness nearing total.

"Come on," we hear him call after a few moments.

Traylor shrugs and steps in without hesitation. "Gods deliver me," I grumble, following too. It's cold and moist inside the cleft, the sound of dripping water a constant echo.

"Where are you guys?" I ask, my voice bouncing around me.

"Here," a voice answers from directly behind me.

I jump, heart pounding, seeing Traylor's dim silhouette in front of the entrance.

"You little rat!" I yell, lumbering toward him. Traylor laughs and lets me catch him. "Where's Altair?"

"Something is wrong," a familiar baritone answers out of the darkness. Altair joins us seconds later. My eyes have adjusted somewhat, and I can now just make out his face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Your Father assured me that there would be lights here,” he says,” leading to a door at the end of the tunnel. I found the door, but it’s locked up tight. This place has been abandoned."

I eye Altair warily. "Are you sure this is where we're supposed to go? This hole in the wall?"

"The laboratory is inside," Altair explains. "A lot of, um, secret research took place here and needed to be secluded. There is only one way in or out. Your Father gave me a key." Altair holds up something small and metallic, just visible through the dim. "It doesn't work. The lock has been changed."

"Well, that's odd," I admonish with a sigh. "So what do we do?"

Altair slips his pack off his shoulders, beginning to rifle through it. "Ah!" he says after a time, pulling out a small black pouch. He opens it, revealing a tiny coterie of metal instruments.

Lockpicks!

Traylor knows what they are too. "Can I watch you?" he asks, full of glee.

Altair shrugs. "There will be nothing to watch. It's pitch black down at the door."

"Can you even pick a lock in the dark?" I ask. The contemptuous look I'm rewarded with is all the answer I need. Altair disappears once more down the tunnel. Traylor and I do follow, keeping one hand on the wall as a guide. Altair stops us and we quickly hear clanking as he goes to work. I can't see a thing. The tunnel has a slight curve to it, so that now the light of the entrance is no longer visible.

Time stretches on. More than once I hear Altair curse to himself. Finally, a loud clanging echoes in the void and a shaft of light, soft and white, appears out of the dark. Altair swings the door wide, a hallway stretching before us nearly as dark as the tunnel itself. A square of light from a room at the end gives us just enough to see by. I can see now that the door itself is actually a massive metal bulkhead, a flywheel mounted to it. Altair picked this thing open? I'm shocked, but unsurprised. There seems little that this man cannot do.

"You two wait here," Altair orders, producing a pair of his deadly throwing stars from each of his sleeves. "Just in case." I nod, but Traylor looks like he wants to protest. I silence him with a deathly glare. 

Altair moves on without us. 

He stalks calmly, his large boots hardly making a footfall in the gloom. I get the vague impression of other openings along the hallway–other doorways–but Altair barely gives them a cursory glance. 

His sights are locked on the room with the light.

He reaches the room, peeking around the corner, then slips inside. Nothing happens for a full minute. I hold my breath, anticipating. This was supposed to be a safe place for us, but at the moment, it hardly feels that way.

A silhouette appears at the other end of the hall.

For an irrational moment, I think it's someone other than Altair, but then the shadow starts waving to us. "Come on," his voice floats.

Traylor and I exchange a look then move, mimicking Altair's stalking movements but creating much more noise than he did. I see that all the doors along the hall are closed, presumably locked. Most are labeled, and my curiosity is peaked. 

I don't even know what half the words mean:

 

BIOHAZARD

CAUTION: LIVE SPECIMENS

CHEMLAB

GENETIC RESEARCH

DNA EXTRACTION

MUTATIONS: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

 

My heart pounds harder with each new sign I read. 

Mutations! They worked on mutants here! 

I can't help but wonder if Father knew what this place really was. Mutants were to be eradicated without prejudice in the old world. Experimentation like this would certainly violate the laws of the gods. Father would never send his children here if he knew the truth. Would he? How well does he know this Ursa woman anyway? Well, it would seem that Ursa has skipped town, because this lab is deserted.

We reach the lighted room and Altair guides us inside.

The place is a disaster.

The room is large, lined on one side with long metal tables covered in various instruments, glass containers (a rarity), and specimens. A few of the tables are overturned, the floor covered in glass shards and biological materials.

"These aren't, um, dangerous, are they?" I ask as Altair leads.

Altair shakes his head. "I don't know, but I don't think so." He gestures to a desk tucked into one corner of the room. A path has been cleared to it through the debris field. "Someone has been using this place recently," he says.

I huff. "Maybe they left because of the mess," I interject.

Altair shakes his head again, moving toward the desk. "Why would they bother clearing a path then?" he asks.

I throw my hands up in the air. "How should I know? I don't know this Ursa woman any better than you do!"

Altair says nothing, taking a seat at the desk. Piles of paper are stacked haphazardly all over it. Next to the desk, wooden cubbies are used for filing the papers, just as chaotic. On a shelf above the desk, I see the only objects in this place that haven't been tossed about: a series of fotos. I gasp. They're the only fotos I've ever seen outside of my Father's study! The first depicts a woman who might have once been beautiful, with sleek black hair and bright blue eyes. Her face is marred by a bright red, virulent rash, cheeks swollen. The second foto depicts the same woman. She still has the rash, but now her face appears to have grown a sort of grayish scaling. The third shows the woman again, and this time she's got massive boils on her forehead, looking ready to erupt at a touch. The last foto is much the same, though now the woman's face appears to have cleared up somewhat. 

Had she cured some of her mutations? 

Was this Ursa?

"What do these letters mean?" Traylor's voice startles me out of my reverie.

I look over to see him studying a sheet of paper on the desk. It’s covered in a series of lines of varying thicknesses, each labeled with a different combination of the letters: ACGT. There is text stamped near the top of the page, but the only words I can make out are GENOME and DNA. I've heard these words before in school, but I hardly remember what they mean anymore.

Science of the Forerunners.

I gasp, snatching the page from Traylor's grasp

"Hey!" Traylor protests.

"My gods," I say, breathing heavily. "This is Forerunner stuff! Forbidden knowledge! If my Father knew about this..."

"He won't," an unfamiliar voice intrudes from behind.

I whirl, but Altair's got me beat, on his feet in milliseconds, throwing stars at the ready. A large wooden object comes flying out of the dark, swung by a creature I've only heard about in stories: an Everwinter mutant.

What else could it be?

The thing screams, swinging its club straight for Altair's head. The young man ducks without flinching, falling to the floor in the splits, one leg in front, one leg behind. I'm astonished. Even I can't do the splits! Altair lashes out with one closed fist, striking the attacker squarely in the sternum. The creature drops its weapon and stumbles away, gasping.

It crashes over to a table at the far side of the room, sweeping everything off with horrible, grey-scaled arms. It takes me a moment to realize that the thing is actually searching for something. I look at Altair. He's on his feet again, eyes glued to his adversary, not approaching it. The creature finally finds what it's looking for–a small cylinder of some sort–and raises it toward its mouth. Altair raises his throwing stars, in case this is another weapon of some sort. A soft hiss issues from the cylinder and the creature stops hyperventilating immediately, breathing normally once more.

It's a breathing device.

"Those won't be necessary," it waves at Altair in a shockingly normal voice. A female voice. "I thought you were intruders. Vandals." 

Altair relaxes and the woman does likewise. She turns fully toward us for the first time and I gasp as I have done so many times since arriving here. “You're Ursa, aren't you?" I say. The woman nods. Her face is much like the fourth foto above the desk, though the boils and tumors are starting to rise once again.

"Who are you?" she asks, becoming more serious. "And how in the name of the gods did you get in here?"

I defer immediately to Altair, letting him take the lead. "Are you in danger?" the Assassin asks, deftly sidestepping the woman's questions. "Your laboratory has been ransacked."

Ursa looks around as if noticing the carnage for the first time. "This?" she asks with a laugh. "No, no, nothing of the sort. I did this. I was in the process destroying my research when you people interrupted."

"Um, yeah, sorry about that," I offer with a genuine smirk, trying not to laugh at the woman's indignation. I'm still holding the sheet of paper with the strange lettering all over it. "Your research... This is Forerunner stuff, isn't it?"

Ursa waves it away with a scoff. "It was. But I never should've gotten involved. My greatest fear was that the technology would fall into the wrong hands. And now it has."

"What do you mean?" I ask. I look over at Altair, but his expression appears clueless. And Traylor... 

Wait, where did that little bugger go?

Ursa points to her face, then to ours. "The mutations," she admonishes. "They're my fault."

It feels like my heart has stopped in my chest. "Y-you're fault?" I stammer. There were only two people in this world that could be blamed for the mutations, and I'm one of them. The other is probably dead. 

Gods damn you, Jude.

Ursa seems to sink into herself. "Yes, I, um, we used to do experiments here. On mutants. We were looking for a cure. I was looking for a cure." Ursa pauses, gathering herself. "You see, I've always been a mutant. I was born one. Oh, not as you see me now. Most of my current mutations are self-inflicted. Trial and error, you might call it."

My jaw nearly hits the ground. "You experimented on yourself?" My astonishment floors me.

Ursa nods timidly. "Mutants are, ahem, were outlawed in Eversummer, as I'm sure you know. Thou shalt not suffer a mutant to live. That made it nearly impossible for us to acquire test subjects. So I volunteered myself."

"Why weren't you killed before?" a voice floats from the back of the lab. We all turn to find Traylor, nosing about–as I should have known he'd be doing.

Ursa looks startled, but I try to soothe her. "Sorry, that's my little brother. He doesn't know the meaning of tact."

Ursa nods, granting Traylor a smile. "It's a valid question," she admits. "The world would be a better place if more people asked questions, young man." Traylor blushes, despite himself. 

Ursa sighs. "I was lucky," she explains. "I was able to hide my mutation most of my life. It was nothing major anyway, and my parents were free thinking types. They never bought into the True Body Plan dogma."

I laugh to myself, louder than intended.

"What?" Ursa asks, seeming offended. "What is it?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, it's nothing. It's just... I really wish my Father was here to see this."

"Dogmatic, was he?" Ursa asks.

I nod emphatically. "You could say that. He's the reason we're here. He sent us."

"He sent you?" Ursa echoes, the disbelief plain on her face. "If you don't mind my asking: who is your Father, young lady?"

"Jonathan Quinn," I reply without hesitation. "High Deacon of Krakelyn."

Ursa nearly chokes on her own breath, coughing violently all of a sudden. "Did... Did you say…Jonathan Quinn?"

"Yes," I confirm. "He sent us here because he thought you could help us. You see..." I turn to Altair, who nods for me to proceed. Gently, I pull at the grey matter that is plastered all over my face. My mutant disguise. It peels away with some difficulty, but I manage to get one cheek uncovered.

"I'm Juno Quinn," I say with a smirk. "And this little bugger," I wave dismissively, "is my brother, Traylor." Traylor gives the astonished Ursa a wave from the back of the room, fiddling with something. "And we're not mutants, Ursa. We're the last humans."

"J-Juno? Traylor?" Ursa mutters to herself in astonishment. She stares at me then spins to look at Traylor. She stalks calmly over to my little brother, going to her knees beside him. She pulls at his disguise, revealing a small patch of unblemished skin.

"Gods deliver us!" Ursa mumbles. She runs her hands all over Traylor, feeling his skin, his limbs. Traylor looks exceedingly uncomfortable. I smirk at him openly. Ursa then pulls something from an inside pocket of the long doctor's coat she wears.

We don't see what it is before it's too late.

Traylor screams and takes off, disappearing out the door and down the hall.

"Traylor!" I scream, but I know he's long gone.

My eyes fall to Ursa who's standing there stunned, holding an empty syringe in her right hand like a shooting iron. Altair is already out the door, chasing after my brother.

"I'm sorry!" Ursa begs. "I just... I just wanted a blood sample! I need a sample. If you two are as pure as you say you are... I may very well be able to cure the mutations! All of my other samples were tainted by the Final Judgment."

I put a hand on the strange woman's shoulder, shaking my head. "It's alright. Come on, we gotta go find him. He can't have gotten far. Traylor, um, had a bad experience with needles when he was younger. He HATES them." Thinking quick, I find Altair's pack and root through it, finding some of the leftover paste he'd made. I apply it to my face quickly, remasking myself.

Ursa sags, as if she should have known. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," I comfort her, "we'll find him. Let's just hope he doesn't draw too much attention to himself." Despite everything, I like Ursa. She feels like someone I can trust.

"Let's go," Ursa agrees, and she leads me out of the lab and back into the streets of Venecici.

 

 

 

 

19.

 

It's about two hours later when Altair finally finds us.

Traylor follows close behind him, eyes puffy and red from crying, washing away some of his disguise.

We're in an alley just off the mainstreet.

"He was nearly halfway to Apollyon when I found him," Altair jibes, ruffling the little guy's hair. Traylor just shrugs sheepishly.

"You alright, buddy?" I ask, but Traylor doesn't want to talk. "He'll be fine," I say. "Just give him some time. He acts like a baby whenever this happens."

"Shut up!" Traylor finally fires back.

"Just callin' it like I see it," I retort. "You're getting a little old to be acting like this, Traylor."

Traylor shakes his head. "Eat ashes," he grumbles.

"Enough," Altair intercedes, but it's Ursa who prevents it turning into a full blown fight.

"I'm sorry, Traylor," the woman says, kneeling down next to the little boy. "I should have asked you first if I could take your blood. I was just... I don't have a lot of interactions with regular people, and I was so astonished that you and your sister are still pureblooded that I acted without thought. I do that sometimes. Can you forgive me?"

Traylor seems taken aback but finally nods.

"Good," Altair announces through gritted teeth. "Now let's get back to the lab. We need to get to work on this cure as soon as possible."

"You are right, of course," Ursa agrees. She leads us back toward our new home for the time being. "Let's see... Oh, I wish I knew you guys were coming!" she muses. "I wouldn't have destroyed some of my equipment!" She pauses. "No matter, we have what we need, I think." She eyes me and Traylor, almost hungrily.

What a weird woman.

Altair maintains the rear as we walk. I slow my step to fall in line with him. "What happens now?" I ask. "When this is all said and done, if we find a cure, what happens? Will you take us back to Krakelyn?"

Altair nods, though reluctantly. "Eventually, yes. The cure will have to be proliferated first, and we have to be sure that it works. Once you and Traylor are no longer the last humans, it will be safe for you to return." He hesitates. "That could still be a long time yet, Juno."

I sigh. "Yeah, I kinda figured. I just wanted to confirm it with you, that's all. I– What the bloody ashes?"

We've just come out of another alley, a few blocks over from the canyon wall and Ursa's lab.

There's smoke.

Just beyond the final buildings, a thick black plume rises. 

"Gods!" Ursa screams, resorting to a dashing lunge.

"Ursa, wait!" Altair orders, but the woman doesn't listen. "Gods dammit! Come on!"

Altair starts running and we follow.

The smoke overwhelms us as we get closer, breathing getting harder. Traylor starts coughing and Altair orders us to stay back, getting out of the smoke. We do so as he pulls off his shirt, revealing a rippling, rash ridden body, decorated in the strangest tattoos I've ever seen. I realize with a gasp that the scrolling images are words. The Ten Tenets, the basis of my people's former religion.

Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Mutant To Live.

The phrase coils from Altair's shoulder down to his wrist. The other nine Tenets are all there as well, inked on his skin.

Altair quickly wraps his tunic across his face, forming a breathing mask that I have trouble believing will be very effective. But Altair doesn't share that concern. With a last look back at me and Traylor–hiding in an alley–Altair disappears into the smoke. We stare at the spot he'd left for a full five minutes, neither of us saying a word.

The tension and anxiety are nearly unbearable.

I feel a pulling at my sleeve. "Juno," Traylor finally speaks up in a meek whisper, "should we go after him? He's been gone a long time."

I nod my agreement. They really should have been back by now. We wait just a little longer, and then I can't take it anymore. I start pulling my tunic top over my head.

"What are you doing?" Traylor asks, as if he doesn't know.

"What do think?" I snap back, in no mood for nonsense. "I'm going after–"

Something appears out of the smoke.

Altair!

He's holding Ursa up under one arm, half dragging the poor woman to safety. She's coughing, but it sounds more like choking. The pair makes wet squishing sounds as they move, and I look down to see that, indeed, their feet are wet. It takes me a second to realize that they've been inside the entrance tunnel to the lab. Water runs perpetually off of those walls, soaking the floor. They leave eerily accurate water footprints on the white stone walkway. My eyes are drawn to another set of footprints, likewise leading out of the smoke, past our hiding spot and disappearing around another building. The prints are bare foot, leaving behind a distinct six-toed pattern.

Six toes? I gasp.

They're identical to the ones Jude and I found on the beach back in Krakelyn. Did the same mutant set fire to Ursa's lab?

Altair and Ursa finally make it to the alley and we all move away from the smoke completely, the footprints slipping from my mind. Ursa collapses against the wall, sliding down the stucco into a puddle on the ground. She doesn't seem to notice. She coughs some more then pulls that same breathing cylinder from her coat pocket, taking a shot of air. Her coughing ceases almost immediately.

"I gotta get me one of those," Traylor admonishes with a smile for the woman.

Ursa smiles back weakly. "Hard enough it was to find this one," she says, her words confused and backward. Traylor deflates a little. "Don’t worry, you can use it if you ever need to," she offers. Traylor brightens up again.

Once Ursa's strong enough to get back on her feet, Altair gets right back to business. "Do you have a contingency site here?" he asks.

Ursa shakes her head. "This was the contingency site," she mutters bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

Ursa sighs hard. "This was not my original lab. This operation was much bigger at one time. We had an entire building to ourselves, with dozens of scientists working together." Ursa pauses, clearing her throat.

"Does it still exist?" I ask, devastated that my journey isn't over after all. However, I'm surprised at my own determination to carry on.

Ursa shakes her head, then nods. "Well, yes, technically it still exists. But we had to abandon the place years ago. There's no telling what has become of it now. When it was discovered what we were doing, the mutants drove us out."

"Mutants?" I ask, skeptically. "Um, just where was this lab?" I think I know the answer, but I'm scared to hear it.

Ursa hesitates, dropping her eyes. "Everwinter," she says finally. "The other lab is in Everwinter." My jaw hits the floor. "I just can't believe this happened," Ursa cries. "Who would do such a thing?"

We're all at loss for words.

Altair looks unmoved, but that's normal for him.

Traylor, astonishingly, smiles. "Everwinter?" he asks. "That's like, where the really bad mutants live, isn't it?"

 

 

 

 

20.