Beyond Oblivion

by Daryl Banner

  Tide realizes Chole can’t speak openly in front of Dag. “Dag.”

  He lifts his head. “Y-Yes?”

  “Go into the bathroom and close the door until I tell you to come out,” commands Tide.

  Dag gives it one withering glance, then says, “B-But you … you only just used it before … before our guest arrived. It’s … still a bit—”

  “So be grateful for the warmth I left in there for you, and fucking stay until I tell you to come out. I won’t ask you twice.”

  Dag rises from his seat, moves across the room, then lets himself into the bathroom with a grimace. The door shuts softly.

  When Tide brings his gaze back to Chole, he finds Chole’s face wrinkled with concern. “Couldn’t he have simply … stepped out onto the street for a moment?”

  Tide shrugs. “He’s my inferior. It keeps him obedient, the way I treat him.”

  “Your inferior …” Chole gives one curt nod, then dismisses any more talk of it with a shrug. “Anyway, I’ll be quick. While the Queen of Sanctum failed to oblige me, it led me to realize that I may have been hasty in judging our fellow beacons of power down here in the Lower City. Perhaps we’ve allies on all our sides that we might make better use of, if we all united … against this new Sanctum Queen.”

  Tide feels two steps behind him in thought. “F-Fellow beacons of … what?”

  “The King of the Free Folk, for one,” says Chole.

  Tide’s forehead screws up. “You mean the ninth? You mean the people of my home ward? And the Greens people?”

  “Well, they are technically separate people—the ninth folk and the Greensfolk—but they work together side-by-side. And they’re led by one such King Arrow, my intelligence tells me.”

  “So … we’re going to talk to them, now?”

  “Not just them.” Chole brings a finger to his nose, then begins to tap the side of it, giving Tide an eyebrow-lifted, knowing look.

  Tide, as usual, is too thick to follow. “Who the fuck else, then?”

  Chole takes a breath, then says, “The other Queen.”

  What Tide then experiences is something like a deep, dark hole that opens up within his chest. It sucks inwards, pulling at his heart and his lungs and his bones until there’s hardly a thing left but fear.

  “N-N-No,” he stammers at once, curses himself for stammering, then more boldly states, “No.”

  “She’s been my enemy for a long time,” Chole points out. “The Queen of the Abandon—”

  “You don’t know her.”

  “I am certain as anything that she is no friend of that girl in the sky, either,” Chole presses on. “And sure, the pair of us may not be an ideal partnership, as we have had our past quarrels, what with her sending people to assassinate me, or spy upon my wards, and so on.” He gives Tide a smirking lift of his eyebrow. “But as they say, the enemy of your enemy is your friend, and it’s as good a time as any for us enemies to hold hands in thwarting the biggest enemy of all: the sky.”

  “You don’t know what that Q-Q-Queen is cap—” Tide swallows down his fear, furious with himself for letting it out so easily. “… that Queen is capable of. She made me murder my friend in front of her. She m-m-made me …” Tide clenches shut his eyes. He can’t even speak properly anymore. Fear has an icy, unrelenting hold on him.

  Chole comes forward and places a hand each on Tide’s arms. It makes Tide open his eyes upon the boyish, freckled face of Chole, his messy red bangs hanging half over his left eye. “My friend, I am not intending to bring her back here. I am not intending on bringing anyone from the twelfth ward into our Coalition. All I’m doing is requesting an audience, the same sort we made of Queen Erana.”

  Tide narrows his eyes. “You mean … a surprise audience?”

  “What better way to keep them on their toes than to invite oneself through the enemy’s back door? I know precisely the secret way into the twelfth, thanks to your intel you provided so many months ago, as well as what my spies have told me. Yes, I have spies,” he goes on in response to a pinch of surprise on Tide’s face. “I have spies all over the slums, each and every ward, even the volatile sixth. My spies from the twelfth had shed light into that dark ward.”

  “This is a mistake.” Tide shakes his head, his face still brought close to Chole’s by the young man’s hands gripping his arms. “This is a worse mistake than climbing a mess of weeds into the sky. You might not come back alive. She’ll … She’ll turn you into a fucking statue. You’ll just be another t-t-trophy in her h-h-hall of horrors.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “She wants me dead.” Tide is shaking in his boots. He can’t be still. His nerves are unraveling like a slippery ball of string. “She said it so. Any who turn their back on the Abandon forfeit their life. She has eyes in the city, too, spies and eyes and shadows. If you go there, she will kill you, and then she’ll come for me.”

  “I won’t let that happen.” Chole squeezes his arms. “I won’t.”

  “You have no control of what she does. You don’t know her … her reach. She’s capable of anything.”

  “If she was, do you not think you’d be dead by now?” counters Chole.

  I’m already dead. I died when I sucked the air out of Scorp’s lungs. He feels wind pulling on the hairs of his arm. All the windows are closed, so he can’t imagine how his Legacy might be summoning wind, unless it’s the very air in this house that his fear is desperately stirring like the stew in that pot not five feet away from him.

  “I know you’re worried. But you needn’t be, my friend. Come, come, we’re being stupid and silly about this. She’s a smart woman. She will recognize the genius of an alliance between us. And part of our deal will be immunity for you and whatever she might deem a transgression. You’ll be taken care of, my man. And so will I.” Chole lets go of Tide’s arms, gives him a light pat, then adds, “I’m not going alone. I’ll be bringing with me many shields to protect myself from the Dark Queen and her plethora of cronies. Didn’t you ever wonder why Queen Erana’s mind-reader couldn’t touch our minds?” Chole winks. “Work smart, not hard, and the City falls into your palms.”

  The Slum King moves to the front door, then stops with his hand upon the doorknob. He turns right then and gives Tide a long and steady look.

  “It may also ease your mind to know that I have eyes on the streets in all four of our wards looking for Gin. Some claim to have seen her in the fourth, so it is my belief that she is running away, not scheming to murder either of our like. I believe we are safe.”

  He wouldn’t believe he’s in danger if he had ten slummer’s knives to his throat right now. He is an oblivious child with dreams in his eyes.

  “Think about what I’ve said regarding alliances and enemies. I’ll be making plans with the others before we depart for the Abandon. You know where to find us.” Chole bows. “Good day, my friend.”

  When the Slum King departs the house, Tide still finds himself holding his breath. He can’t seem to move, paralyzed. It’s as if the Queen has found him at long last, and she’s already picked out a spot in her long, dark hallway deep in her fortress to store him.

  Behind him, the bathroom door slowly creeps open, and from the corner of the room comes Dag’s soft voice. “I … I heard the most of it. I-I’m sorry. Sound travels in this little place of mine.”

  Tide still stares at the door where Chole left. He is silent.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Dag goes on, “but … p-perhaps he has a point …? Perhaps this Queen of the Abandon will serve better as a … as a friend. Friends don’t hurt other friends. And then we’ll—”

  “Shut up, Dog,” says Tide almost quietly, before bending over and pushing the heavy crate back in front of the door. He sits on it with a grunt and stares ahead at nothing. Dog, or Dag, or whoever he is now, makes no further comment as he pads softly back to the little counter and slowly resumes stirring his pot.

  0299 Link

  Ames, as it turns o
ut, has found himself in quite an unusual arrangement.

  Once again, Kid and Link find themselves staring, unseen, into a bleak, unkind room with a person strapped to a chair—an older man with flecks of grey at his temples and light brown, thinning hair. He is naked.

  But this man is not being experimented on by doctors.

  Kendil stands in front of the man, fully clothed, his black hair tightly parted to the side as if styled by a Lifted fellow, and his eyes are upon the man with strict intent.

  “I-I-I swear, I … I-I don’t know,” the man cries.

  Behind Kendil stands four figures in the back of the room. A pair of twins, dark of skin and hair, and wearing matching bodysuits that glue to their every slender, womanly contour. Next to them, the ever-calm and gentle figure of Peacemaker Janlord.

  And next to him, lastly, stands Ames with the gadget upon his hand, into which he taps and squiggles notes with a fingertip. Now and then, he peers up, listening and observing the exchange.

  And this exchange is nothing kind. “I-I swear …” the man bleats on. “I heard of n-n-no strange and p-powerful girl. I promise I—AH!”

  The yelp of pain comes as Kendil focuses his power upon the stark naked man, whose skin slowly begins to crawl with the kiss of visible frost and ice. He screams out and shivers and pulls at his restraints as the coldness creeps over his skin like a billowing mist.

  Then it seems to ease as Kendil relaxes, but the frost remains on the poor man’s skin. He shivers and cries and moans.

  “This can end,” Janlord tells the man softly. “All you need to do is relent your Legacy and let my lovely friends inside your mind.”

  To that, the twins each tilt their heads the same way. “I am still blocked,” says one. “Still blocked,” confirms the other. “Powerful and convenient,” says one. “Quite convenient, to keep hidden such—” “Secrets,” finishes the other. “Secrets, secrets, secrets,” sings the first in agreement, smirking.

  “I c-c-can’t c-control it,” the man tells them, now shivering and terrified. “M-My mind is … is … w-w-walled up. M-M-Mentalist …”

  “Yes, we know, we’re aware,” assures Janlord in a patient tone. “So if we cannot be allowed inside, you must tell us the things you’re withholding. It is very important that we are told everything you—”

  “I KNOW OF N-N-NO GIRL!” stammers the man, exasperated. “YOU’VE THE WRONG MAN! YOU’VE THE WRONG MAN! I AM INNOCENT! THE KINGSHIP IS KIND, THE KINGSHIP IS GOOD, SISTERS HELP ME!!”

  “The girl is dangerous,” Janlord goes on. “An Outlier who is out of Sanctum control, unlike my friend here, who is so expert in his … handling of you.” Janlord folds his arms. “You know what an Outlier is, I trust?”

  “SISTERS HELP ME!!”

  “The girl will bring ruin to the whole of Atlas. She is dangerous. What you know might save the city.”

  “SISTERS HELP—”

  The man screams out as, again, Kendil pours forth the burning, icy-white fingers of his Legacy without so much as touching the man. Even one of the twins gives a shiver and a wince as the man is subjected once more to a wave of misting frost that crawls over every inch of his exposed skin, building over the ice crystals already stuck there from before. What issues out of the man’s mouth after is nothing short of a whimpering, choked sob.

  Even the man’s own tears are freezing to his cheeks.

  “You could be looking at the last few minutes of your life,” says Janlord, “or … a warm, hot bath upstairs and a safe return home.”

  The man can’t make any more words. He only sobs and moans and whimpers, though each of his cries are choked and strained by all his effort spent in shivering.

  “Very well.” Janlord gives a nod at the twins, then a short nod at Ames. “We’ll let him have an hour’s peace before we return.”

  “A … An … An hour …?” breathes the freezing man.

  “Provided you’re still alive,” adds the Peacemaker, “we will see if you’ve a change of heart … and a loosening of the tongue.”

  The four file out of the room, leaving the shivering man alone with Kendil, who simply stands there with his arms crossed, leaning back against the wall with a foot propped up upon it. In the hallway outside the room, Link and Kid listen as the four deliberate. Just as it always happens after an interrogation, the twins say little while the Peacemaker tells his own observations to Ames, who records them onto the gadget with a quick tapping of his fingers.

  “We’ll return in twenty minutes,” Janlord states. “We don’t want to actually kill him, and twenty minutes in his state will feel like two hours, I’m sure. Oh, it’s so sad that it’s had to come to this.” He eyes one of the twins. “Is the Weapon—?”

  “Yes,” she murmurs, deadpan. “Subdued by chemical and by my mind.” “The boy has no desire whatsoever but to obey,” the other picks up. “And stay put,” the first agrees. “And do nothing at all,” says the other. “Until we return.”

  Janlord nods at the pair of them, sighs, then taps on the screen of Ames’s gadget. “I’ve a meeting to attend with Taylon after this. The boy should be here in my stead, but I suspect he’s grown bored with the likes of interrogation. The slums are far too interesting as of late, it seems.” Janlord winces. “This is a most uncomfortable job that I very much dislike. Ladies?” He gestures to the twins, then his robe sweeps its way down the hall as he departs.

  When the twins start to leave, one of them stops and turns back to Ames. “Aye, of course, but you must remember the agreement.”

  Ames looks up from his gadget. “Sorry?”

  “I heard your question,” she says after her sister has gone off to join Janlord at the stairs, where they disappear. “And my answer is, you must remember the agreement, and remember that you are not a free man, despite your many privileges and luxuries.”

  Ames is smart enough to hide his scowl. “I … am aware … of the arrangement.”

  “If you forget, then it’s back to the Keep with you for the rest of your sentence.”

  “I’ve not forgotten, and I’m … I’m not going back to that Keep.” Ames lifts his face to the woman. “I am doing all that’s been asked of me. I am watching the Weapon, sometimes feeding him. I am taking my notes. I am running my errands. Can’t you see all of that in my head as well? You, nor Janlord, nor the Banshee King himself, have any reason to send me back to that fucking hell.”

  The woman nods. “I pray it’s so, and …” Her eyes soften. “… and I sense it’s so. Though, with those brazen proclamations of yours, I also hear your doubts, and I hear your angers, and I hear your deep, deep, deep resentment of every single individual you work for.” She tilts her head. “Myself included.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t control my thoughts. I can’t control my …” He struggles for something that rides between honesty and lie. “I can’t control my raw emotions for this situation I’ve been unfairly put in.”

  “Yes, unfair, I see that, too. The conditions in which you were sentenced in the first place. A girl who can turn invisible? A boy who traveled with you back in time? You’re from the future and … so on and so on?” Her smile is wan. “I’m afraid a more powerful Psychist than myself or my sister has had their fun with your brain and your memories, my boy, for there is no such thing as time-walking. That’d be the worst offense of an Outlier’s power I can possibly fathom.”

  The look that Ames gives her is one of deep pleading, darkness, and absolute tempered rage. His eyes don’t blink, and his nostrils flare with frustration.

  The mind-reader, whether she reads any of his ire or not, simply regards him like a disconsolate child. “It is for your invulnerability that we keep you. Should the Weapon’s power get out of control—”

  “I cannot be harmed, I know,” drones Ames, nearly annoyed.

  The woman smiles. “I also heard your question just now, and no, I haven’t revealed your resentments to your superiors. I haven’t a reason to do so.” She tilts her head, all
her hair swinging to one side. “Yet,” she adds. Then the woman brushes past him and makes her leave of the building.

  Link stares after her, wondering how it seemed that, though she can read minds, she didn’t seem to sense Kid’s nor his own. Perhaps she never came close enough to hear his thoughts.

  Was he even thinking anything?

  Ames appears to be thinking of everything as he strolls back to the observation window, unknowingly standing at the opposite end of it than Link and Kid, staring in at Kendil against the wall and the shivering, blubbering man restrained to the chair. A storm of dark, frustrated thoughts seem to pass over Ames’s face.

  An agreement, thinks Link, staring at him. He’s been pulled from the Keep on an agreement to work for Sanctum.

  He never took Ames to be so clever. Or smart enough to score and strike such deals. Or stupid enough, depending on the deal.

  Link finds himself thinking suddenly of the time they spent together way back at The Brae. Washing clay bowls. Wiping down the benches. And the hours spent walking the endless, unknowable corridors of the Waterways. It feels like a lifetime ago, now. Perhaps I didn’t know Ames at all.

  0300 Forgemon

  This new fellow Geoff makes a lot of friends quickly.

  Forge watches from his usual spot in the Great Hall, seated atop a stack of crates, as Geoff mingles with the folk having their middle-day meal at the tables. Geoff’s two lovely sons are elsewhere being shown the foodstores, the cells that have been turned into personal living spaces (of which they have exactly seventy-seven unoccupied for the three newcomers to choose from), and the armory, in which the older son Kason is especially interested.

  As he watches the circle of men and women who’ve gathered around Geoff asking him questions and expressing their curiosities, he grows more and more frustrated by the second. Why? There is nothing wrong with Geoff, surely. He’s as friendly as they come. He has done nothing but wander through the Undercity making people feel happier in his presence just by telling a joke, introducing himself or his sons, and entertaining whatever conversations or questions he is invited into.