Outlier: Reign Of Madness

by Daryl Banner

  “Did you find them?” comes Aphne’s voice.

  Forge sees a bird fall from the sky. Forge watches that bird, his heart falling apart as it plummets. I have seen that bird before. I saw it when I was confined to the Catacombs.

  His eyes flap open and he turns his head. A great hallucination opens up before his eyes as he watches an ocean break apart in front of him, its torrents pouring into the halls and rushing down the rows of tables. It is not Fire that is our undoing, nor is it Earth; it will be Water … and a grim lack of Air. Forge stares at the imaginary flood. Why do the figures shift so fast? Why can’t he keep up with them?

  “I’m too slow,” he whispers, a realization.

  Aphne looks off in the same direction, confused. “Too slow?”

  “I’m just one calculator. I need more, if I’m to lead us into any future where we survive. I need four. I need sixteen. I need two hundred and fifty-six. I need—”

  “You have them,” she says, slapping a hand onto his shoulder with more force than necessary. “Here. Everywhere. The people of the Keep, they’re yours. What will you do, Forge?”

  “Delegate,” he answers at once, then turns a squinted eye at her. “And it’s called the Undercity, you sorry sack of shit.”

  Aphne smirks appreciatively, a glint of amusement finding her eyes. “Your people of the Undercity.”

  “I will speak the words of the King of Bones,” says Forge. “I will tell them what he told me. Everything. I will keep no walls between us and our people. They won’t fear me, but instead, fear what I fear.”

  “No walls. We are not Sanctum. We are the city beneath the city beneath the city.”

  “And I will assign positions of power to them. Respect. Courage. Usefulness. The people will feel valued. They must feel valued, because they have been put here due to a Sanctum that did not value their lives. These people have been thrown away.”

  “Thrown away like scrap meat,” Aphne agrees, incensed.

  “I will give them a purpose. I will value them because we are all valuable, every last human life down here, every single one.”

  “We will value them. Yes, yes. Go on, Forge. Keep on.”

  “I will delegate a person to man the mines. A person to man the electricity. A person to man the food stores, and the halls, and the armory, and the forges …”

  “Man those forges, Forge. Yes! And what’s in our future? What are we preparing for?”

  At her question, Forge blinks, and in that single blink, a world flashes before the darkness of his mind. It is a world with three Kings in the slums, a King in the sky, and a King underground. It is a world of five that battle on and on, but he doesn’t know yet what they fight for. Is it peace? Is it domination? Is it fear?

  Whatever it is, it makes him certain of one thing. That singular fact straightens his posture and makes him calm at once. King of the Undercity. King of Keeping. The Underground King. The people will not put up a fight. They are looking for me to step up. Even the ones who fear me need my guidance. They trust in my sight, even if I don’t trust in it myself. In this moment—and perhaps only in this moment—the math is suddenly quite clear to Forgemon Lesser.

  “Forge?” Aphne’s eyes flicker. “What’s in our future?”

  “Me,” he answers. “I am our future.”

  0226 Ruena

  It happened when a short, spunky girl appeared in front of her cell. The girl almost looked like a boy with choppy green hair that’s so short, it nearly seemed buzzed at the sides. A red tattoo crawled up the left side of her face, contrasting with her pale complexion. Ruena was entirely confused by her arrival, her hands withdrawn to her chest to give herself a bit of modesty before this girl.

  “Hello,” said the girl with a cocky smirk on her petite face. “I’m Quin. The pleasure’s yours to meet me. Are you ready to be brought before the ruler of Atlas?”

  Ruena stared at her dubiously. “You are one of his Chaots?”

  There was a click, and then the Quin girl pushed the barred door of her cage open. “This way.”

  “I am naked,” Ruena stated indignantly. “At least give me the decency of—”

  “You are mistaken,” returned Quin.

  Ruena frowned, then peered down at her body. A long silken gown now covered her. It was a green color, like the Quin girl’s hair. Ruena looked up, confounded.

  “This way,” repeated the girl, walking off.

  Ruena rose, mystified by her sudden clothing, but she gave it no more mind as she fled the confines of her cell. Following the Quin girl, she descended the steps of Cloud Tower when she had expected to ascend them. When they were crossing the ruined courtyard of Cloud Keep, which used to be beautiful and rich with squares of flowers and wide expanses of polished tile, Ruena assumed Impis was at the Crystal Court.

  But then the Crystal Court came and went, and there was no Impis. They passed a few figures on the street, but none of them even bothered to turn their head. Ruena was dumbfounded. What was going on?

  “Where are we going?” asked Ruena as they reached the road lined with obsidian. The two of them were coming up onto the edge of it that was broken off in the blast that took out Lord’s Garden.

  Quin took a sharp turn and led them to a parked caravan, its door wide open. “Inside,” the little one commanded.

  Ruena slipped inside the chrome vehicle. When the door shut and no Impis was inside, she became thoroughly confused. There was only a driver. “Where is Impis? Where are you taking me?”

  “To the ruler of Atlas,” answered Quin, “like I said.”

  And then the vehicle launched forward and thrust itself over the edge of the obsidian road—and the Lifted City.

  Ruena felt weightless. She screamed, clutching at the harness that secured her to the seat. A million regrets and countless dreams flew past her face as her hair danced and the first sparks of electricity since her confinement to Cloud Tower fired in her fingers.

  Through the nose of the caravan, Ruena watched the slums race toward them. And then she saw a figure toward which they were plummeting—a boy on the ground with his hands outstretched, as if prepared to catch a ball that his father had thrown.

  The boy caught the vehicle in his hands with ease, the whole thing balanced in the air for one brief, delicate moment, and then he set the vehicle down softly upon the ground.

  “Incredible,” hissed Ruena, still gasping for breath.

  Quin pushed open the door and led the Almost Queen out of the caravan, abandoning it in that plaza, which still carried the destroyed remains of Lord’s Garden. Quin, Ruena, the boy who caught the vehicle midair, and the driver walked in a unit. Piles of soil and mounds of dirt lay everywhere they stepped, sprouts of flowers and tiny weeds growing from them in careless coils and tendrils and tiny confused fronds.

  But also littered over the square were bodies. Countless bodies. Some were intact. Some had blasted apart. Boys. Girls. Women. Men. Elderly. And others entirely indistinguishable. What sort of horror had they happened upon?

  “One for each day you weren’t found,” answered Quin as they walked through the plaza of corpses. “One for each day that no one turned you in … since that fateful day that the Mad Marshal took your rightful throne.”

  Ruena was shielding her face from the foul fumes of decay, but now her eyes stung with the threat of tears. She was responsible for all of this carnage? Her heart fell through the world. Each day, a life was taken … while I was fucking Rone and kissing Erana and ignoring the world I was supposed to protect.

  Quin needed no shield for her nose. Smirking, she said, “If you prefer not to see them at all, I can help with that.” When Ruena’s eyebrows pulled together, not understanding, Quin demonstrated by giving a nod at their environment. In an instant, all Ruena could see was a plaza filled with grass from end to end—no corpses, only big pretty flowers. She even felt the warm kiss of sunlight, despite it being in the dead of night. “Illusion is my Legacy,” answered the girl to Ruena’s b
ewildered eyes. “The silk you think you’re wearing, another sweet illusion. I’m full of them. But where I am taking you is no illusion. What you are about to see is very, very real.”

  When they made a wide turn down a dark alley where the road dipped down to a lightless tunnel that yawned open like a great, terrible mouth, Ruena felt deep misgivings. She was away from the Mad King and far from that cell in the King’s Keeping, but where was she headed? And was it a worse fate?

  Halfway down the tunnel, they reached a small door. Quin put a key to its lock and opened the way. There was another long passage, a staircase, another staircase, and yet another long passage that the four of them traveled. Ruena asked no questions, feeling the spark of power in her ready fingertips. She knew that if danger dared to come her way, she would be quick and able to defend herself. This was not Cloud Tower, and her electricity was at full charge.

  When a final set of heavy doors parted to reveal a long, long chamber, Quin and the two others stepped aside. “The ruler of Atlas awaits you,” said the green-haired girl.

  Ruena made her way into the chamber as the doors shut at her back. She was alone now, except for a single person standing at the far end of the hall, awaiting her. It seemed no light touched anything in here except for the figure at the end, this so-called ruler of Atlas. Ruena continued down the path, prepared to release her electricity at the first sign of anything amiss. The pale light from the brazier at the end of the path danced, and she walked toward that light with power in her every step, swallowing the fear that kept creeping up.

  She reached the end, and three stone steps separated her from the tall figure, who was turned away and cloaked in a great white hooded shroud.

  “I have waited so long to see you again, Ruena,” said the figure.

  Ruena sucked in air. That voice. This can’t be …

  The woman turned and drew back her hood, revealing herself. Her familiar pale hair and her sharp, pearl eyes met Ruena’s.

  In the next instant, Ruena charged up the steps and wrapped her arms around the tall, frail body of her Aunt Kael Mirand-Thrin, whom she had thought she’d lost forever. Kael returned the embrace, her bony arms hugging her niece tightly.

  “How?” breathed Ruena, desperate to know where Kael had been all this time. “Why?” Ruena worried this was still some cruel illusion from the Quin girl. Could she really trust that her long-lost Aunt Kael Mirand-Thrin, former heir to the throne of Atlas, was actually alive? She survived the fall from Lord’s Garden? She’s here?

  “We are doing a great work here in the Abandon. It is a great work with which I will need your help.” The women pulled apart to look into each other’s faces, the shadows bouncing around in the pale light from the burning brazier at their side. “We are awakening a power, Ruena, a deep and stirring power that will give us the upper hand. The greatest of upper hands. We will be invincible.”

  The words inspired her as much as they frightened her. “What is it, Aunt Kael?” she asked.

  “He needs his body reunited, of which we’re only missing one piece,” her Aunt Kael explained. “He needs eyes. Lots of them. And he needs our undying support and loyalty. And together, all of us, the three of us, we will rule Atlas. We will be all-powerful. Me and my pearl statues. You and your storms. And him …”

  “Him …?”

  Kael put a hand to Ruena’s back, guiding her to a door behind the brazier. It yawned open, as if its hinges had not been replaced or oiled for six centuries. Beyond it, there was a large dome-shaped chamber. It was like a great tomb, torches hanging on the walls that brought carvings in the round, smooth ceiling to life. In its center, there was a platform upon which rested a large stone coffin with a tall crown sitting upon it.

  When Ruena was brought to its side, she found herself staring down at the gaunt, eyeless face of a man. A blanket of gold covered the rest of his body, and a crown perched on his stomach.

  Ruena had read her histories. She knew the line of Kings that preceded her grandfather, all the way down to the first. Is this that first King? Are the ancient rumors true? “Aunt Kael, is this …”

  “The Twice King,” answered Aunt Kael with a grin of pride. “Soon to be the Thrice King.” She leaned into her niece’s ear and whispered, “Atlas will be ours. Oh, we have such great work to do, my Ruena. Such great, important work yet to do.”

  0227 Tide

  Tide stands in a tiny closet, five square feet, which would be dark if it weren’t for the pink emanating from his bare torso. He glares at the wall with his arms folded, sulking. Everything is ruined. He’ll never return to the Queen with his prize, Gin, whom he can’t even be certain survived the angry mob.

  And even if she did survive, what will she think of Tide? He had betrayed her. He’s still not even completely sure why he did. Was he really trying to spare the King’s life? Or was he just trying to spare hers?

  There’s movement outside his door. Tide stares at it, waiting and wary. “I’ll speak to him alone,” comes a voice on the other side.

  The door opens, spilling in light from a single lantern that hangs on a nearby wall outside his room. The Slum King stands there with an armored man, who might be the other one from the address at the plaza. Tide stares at the two of them, his arms still folded and his eyes narrowed threateningly.

  “Hey,” greets the King cautiously. “I’m, uh … sorry about the … unfortunate circumstance. This was really for your own protection, since that crowd was pretty riled up by the assassination attempt. Is that what I should call it?” he asks, turning to his guard. “I still don’t know if that’s what it was. I was confused.” He turns back to Tide with a shrug. “You might be surprised, but it’s the first one I’ve ever had to handle. I was pretty sure by now that the Mad King himself would’ve sent down an envoy or two to end my little life.” He gives a tentative smile. “Do you, uh … wanna come out and join me upstairs for some juice and berries?”

  Tide doesn’t move, still staring at the young man, unsure what to make of him. Is the whole casual-acting thing a pretense? Or is it true to his nature? Tide can’t tell and that unsettles him.

  The King shuffles his feet, then turns to his guard. “Really. I said I’ll be fine. Thank you for your caution and your care. This man here won’t hurt me,” he assures the guard. Tide realizes with a start that he is the man the King refers to. “Really, you can go. Thank you.”

  The guard gives one curt nod, his helmet squeaking in the act, and then he heads for the stairs and is gone. The King backs away from Tide’s room, perhaps to give him more room to exit his little cell on his own accord.

  “It’s okay,” says the King lightly.

  Tide finally finds his voice. “Are you gonna execute me?”

  The King’s eyes go wide. “Uh … no. Definitely not. Why would I execute the life of the man who saved mine?”

  Tide’s breath catches. He thinks I saved his life. He doesn’t know I was working with the woman who tried to take his. Tide swallows, then gives a short nod and relents, stepping out into the larger room, which is lined with other closets and pantries. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s in some sort of windowless kitchen, counters of fruits and utensils strewn about. He wonders if he was being kept in a chamber that used to be a meat locker or something.

  “This way,” encourages the King, moving to a set of stairs on the other end of the room, ascending the steps two at a time.

  Tide follows cautiously, his eyes darting around. He sees a tall barrel of berries at the end of the counter. He pops one into his mouth as he walks by, tasting the crunch of juice upon his tongue as he follows the King up the stairs.

  Upstairs, the world grows twenty times brighter. An oak table stretches the length of the long room, which has many archways and doors that lead off to other areas of whatever building they’re in. A large window is built into the ceiling that stretches down the room, pouring the afternoon light over their heads. Light taps of water touch the glass, despite the sunn
y brightness coming through it.

  “Sunlight showers,” mutters the King lightly. “Well, that, or one of Impis’s Posse is pissing on our heads right now. Can’t be too sure. Come, come. Let’s chat.”

  The King sits himself on a random seat in the middle of the long table, not at the head of it. A bowl of berries sits next to a plate of sliced green-skinned apples that appear to have a spice sprinkled over them. After giving them a dubious look, Tide comes around to the opposite side of the table, sitting across from the King. He grabs a slice of apple and bites it with the corner of his mouth. It tastes sour as it crunches, feeling like little needles of pleasure in the corners of his jaw. The King tosses a few berries into his mouth, his elbows propped up on the table and making him look like a kid waiting for his mom or dad to serve him dinner.

  Tide can’t get over how young and … unkingly this King looks. He’s sure it shows on his face, slightly wrinkled with confusion.

  “So,” the King begins lightly. “The Gin girl. She traded places with my assigned guard today, and then she made a plan to fuse to my hand so that I wouldn’t be able to get away. Then, she was going to stab me in my heart. That would’ve been a shitty way to start my day, since I only have the one heart, and I do need it.”

  “I stopped her,” blurts Tide through his mouthful, feeling like at any moment, the King is going to turn on him and cast him back into some dungeon somewhere. He’s waiting for soldiers to flood into the room with swords and axes at the ready. His heart hammers and he can’t relax. “I stopped her. I saved your life.”