by Marc Mulero
"What do you mean? You're speaking like-" Blague paused when a thought interrupted his speech.
Could he mean he has the DNA of another, too?
"It was your mother, Blague. It was her consciousness that caused me to lower my blade. It was her will."
Here, in this moment, Blague saw himself in his father… in the same fashion Endok must have observed him, trying to convince someone else of something particularly insane. Only now could he see the craziness in it, when the words were coming back at him.
“But, how could that be?” Blague asked, reversing positions completely. "How could one consciousness be connected with someone else’s? The Ayelan shot, all it does is increase the rate of regeneration of cells. It’s a hellish experiment that costs the life of one to extend the existence of another.”
It was as if he didn’t want to believe it, out of fear - a truth that perhaps his mental faculty was not ready for.
“And how do you think that is, my son?” Orin asked, watching Blague plummet into a state of distress. “How do you consider that one’s existence could be prolonged?”
Blague shook his head, “I don’t know wh-”
“The shot encases the essence of the donor. You emerge from the procedure with the collective will of two souls fueling one vessel.”
“Even if all of that were true,” he squinted skeptically, “the chances that my mother’s and Elaina's DNA were both eligible for a successful Ayelan shot are a million to one."
"There is a group that has been at this far longer than your brother has. They have less limitations and are of fewer agendas. Your chase as a young man was warranted. You were close, but the Quake intervened.”
He knew… the entire time, he knew that I was searching for something more. And now I stand here with both of my parents staring back at me through one set of eyes.
"My mother…" Blague turned to face the picturesque view, "she disappeared so long ago. I barely remember her face."
"She remembers yours. She is with me right now." Orin smiled contently.
The image of his parents in Auront resurfaced again.
"Dual consciousness. You were both watching me when I escaped the smoke…"
"We never stopped, Blague. And now, Elaina lives within you."
The Sin Leader looked to the ground, not quite sure how to process what he was being told. He then looked up at his father, feeling utterly lost for the first time in decades.
"Why would she agree to it?" Blague asked.
"Your mother was terminally ill. Neither of us had strong faith, so we both shared a pivotal moment, to seek out the Society. From there, a new journey began."
"So you’re saying I still have a chance to reconnect with Elaina, then?"
"It could take years, or even a lifetime, but don't give up."
A voice projected through Blague's radio, but he quickly turned it off; his chance to finally get some answers was not something he was going to impede on.
Orin put a hand on Blague's arm and said, "DNA is the essence of our consciousness. That's where our memories and cognition reside. The brain is a tool to project the self and store memories. Two people can live as one in a single body. Seek out the Society and expand your world. By the end of it all, you will find peace and will be able to better lead your people."
"I’m sorry, it’s going to take me some time to process all of this," Blague said, cradling his head.
Orin nodded and repositioned himself back into his meditative stance. "Farewell for now, my son. Remember, you are not alone.”
A new sleekly-designed cargo ship treaded the Pacific. It was on a straight course for Death Valley in Old California, with the thump thump thump of anxious footsteps pacing along its deck. A light cloak masked her Sin identity, covered her knife ring and confined her reach, leaving her feeling trapped like a mental patient in a straightjacket. She hated the boundaries of being on a “wooden board” floating amid the vast sea. Helpless. Powerless. And everything itched, as if something were on the verge of going awry at any moment. This bled through her body language to make her presence most unwelcoming. Sweeping crew members ducked quickly to shimmy from her path, others lowered their voices when she passed by, but they all earned a scoff anyway.
Milos, however, was more excited than she had ever seen him. Struggling to reach over the protective guard rail, he crept up onto his tippy-toes to point at the residue in the water, asking Victor Doran – the man who was admitted into the Senation Sin community by the late Briggs – what this and that was. This weathered soul rested leisurely beside the boy like an ethereal guardian angel with arms folded over the top bar, happily explaining all that he knew of the open world.
Lesh wandered past them, mind on fire, the schematics of the ship’s structure melding with what was in front of her. Her second go around allowed for more pondering of how things could go wrong, how she would deal with a Hiezer ship invading theirs. Would she brighten the glowing green light traced around the ship’s edges to try and blind them? Such a stupid thing, this light, calling attention to them… but everyone said this was the only way to keep safe, to broadcast that this was a cargo vessel. Pfft. Maybe she would kick the ship into the highest gear, rear it onto its side like a whinnying horse, and ram the threat – it was pointed and sturdy enough. Any attack would be a death sentence on the crew below though, for those who worked underground where the engines were churning. She shook her head, understanding the effort to thwart suspicions, to keep ragged Sins with blue marks hidden until the time was right, but couldn’t keep herself from thinking it would all end badly.
Morn intercepted Lesh's pacing with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. "This is what I was born for," he said, flashing one side of his trench coat.
Varying metals were strapped to it, displaying what he had to offer to the merchants of Death Valley.
Lesh rolled her eyes. "Maybe this time you won't let a teenage girl get the best of you."
"Hah!" Morn pulled his cloak back to his chest. "Twice in one life I reckon is unlikely."
"Not with a temper like yours," she bantered back.
Morn tilted his head and reluctantly agreed with her. He motioned to Milos and Victor. "You let the boy board. It's good for him to see more of the world."
"He has a better shot at survival now, but he's still a kid."
"Well that's why he's on the second run and not the first. Speaking of which, we have nearly double the supply this time ’round. Those boys 'n girls were eager to trade up then. Gotta make 'em happy this time."
"Is Victor's contact going to show up or just send more low-level traders?" she asked.
"Beats me, sweetheart. Let's go ask 'em."
They strolled over to Victor and Milos as the shore of Death Valley appeared on the horizon.
"What's the status of the contact?" Lesh asked bluntly.
The man pulled away from his conversation with Milos. "Artie radioed me fifteen minutes ago. We're on schedule," he said before bowing his head. "Now that I think of it, he did hang up rather quickly..."
Morn grimaced, biting down on his toothpick while Lesh’s face became flustered.
"And you didn't think that was worth bringing to my attention?" she said sharply.
"There was nothing to consider! It’s just… he was a bit quiet for such a chatty guy." Victor’s eyes shifted to avoid turning to stone.
His old leather jacket scrunched when he pushed off the railing in the same fashion as his decaying brain turned on - he began to recall the conversation with his old friend, rerunning it over and over, his face becoming more drawn on each replay, stringy hair suddenly looking more weathered than usual.
At that moment, Lesh turned toward the Valley, which was now less than a thousand feet away.
"We have to turn this boat around," she announced, rushing toward the staircase leading toward the crew. "Turn it around, now!"
Just then, Victor's radio buzzed. "Victor, forgive me. They knew about your disappea
rance… the Hiezers… they tapped my radio," Artie said solemnly. "I would never have betrayed you, but they have my children!"
Morn and Milos’ faces froze in fear.
"I’m so sorry, my friend. Rest well knowing that your family is alive. The Hiezers have them in militant duty." Artie failed at trying to rationalize the betrayal.
Two missiles shot into the air from beyond the Death Valley shore. A trail of smoke twisted behind the propelled artillery as it shifted in their direction.
Half of those on deck were oblivious to the sound resembling air being drained from a tire, but Lesh knew better. She untangled herself from her cloak and clomped down on the floorboard with each desperate stride. Milos lifted his head in terror to see his teacher skidding to a halt in front of him. He protested with arms held out before being hoisted high into the air with no lifeline. She was less kind to Victor - two booted feet dropkicked the man overboard, sending him twisting down uselessly into the water. Morn leaned speechlessly over the guard rail to watch his friends fall while Lesh flipped up to grab him too, but it was too late. Missiles soared into both ends of the cargo ship, exploding sections of it to pieces in an instant, and launching Lesh and Morn chaotically into flight. Long, wooden shards snapped and caved down to bury the crew members working below, crushing those who were risking it all for the Sins.
Amongst the fire and smoke, Morn's severed arm fell through the air and landed on the starboard of the sinking ship.
Chapter 5
The explosion propelled Lesh into the air amid debris, spinning her into a face-first tumble toward the open water. She smacked down against what felt like a wall of bricks, leaving her wilted in a momentary daze within a sea of cooling fireballs.
Seconds passed before an inhale of water lodged in her throat and forced her eyes open. In complete disarray, she thrashed about, not knowing which way was up. The impact would’ve knocked the average person out cold and into certain death, but Lesh was anything but common. Her senses leveled quickly, allowing her to reorient herself within the ocean’s strangling grasp, and panic dissipated once she remembered who she was.
The way to safety glowed. Blades of sunlight pierced the water’s surface and danced in its surf, illuminating a passage of bright green to swim through. Blood trailed her route, leaking from her rib cage like a shark bite, and large ship fragments crossed her path before falling to the seabed below.
All of the crew members trapped in the engine room… Victor, you dumb piece of shit, those deaths are on you.
Her head broke through the surface and a long gasp for air replenished her lungs. She scanned frantically for Milos, knowing that his life’s clock was ticking down. But there were no screams, no signs of life. Only clanks of wood atop the ocean’s rumble, and a curly black mop of hair floating alongside a familiar trench coat. She swam toward Morn with haste, hoping that the Hiezers hadn’t dispatched a helicopter to silence any survivors.
That boy's soul is tormented and cursed. It's a shame he never got his revenge...
Lesh treaded water and examined the grim scene before her, following streaks of multicolored ocean all the way to the pool of blood tracing Morn’s upper body. It petered out like an ink blot. So much blood.
“Shit,” she cursed under her breath, scrambling for a pulse. “Not dead yet.”
A grunt and a heave hoisted the dying man onto her back. Onward and quickly, arms gulped the water in the opposite direction from where the missiles were launched. She winced in discomfort as her knife ring dug into her back, as the wood lodged in her abdomen stung with every twist. Thankfully though, her adrenaline ran hot, churning her life’s blood to ignore strain and the weight of another body dragging her down.
After nearly ten minutes of swimming, the Sin assassin finally reached the shoreline. Morn’s deadweight intensified with each labored step out from the buoyancy of sea, compressing her aching joints and her groaning bones. But in truth, it was the mental anguish that tore at her, for she knew deep down how this would turn out. Morn coughed weakly over her shoulder, driveling blood, snot, bile, all running down her front was just the fallout. She snapped free when his chest spasmed, feeling it so close like it was her own back that twitched, before a gush of salt water sprayed from his mouth – a mechanical cry from his body before his eyes rolled back.
He's going into shock. I have to find help, fast.
Once ridden from the warm sea, she tossed the trader onto his back and tore open his trench coat. With a trrsht of wet cloth ripping like a spongy spider web, Lesh fashioned a makeshift bandage around his severed limb, tied at the elbow.
This is Terra and Yuprain territory. They must have a robotics shop around here. The wound is still fresh, so there's a chance they can make him whole.
She hoisted him onto her back again and turned to the ocean one last time in blind hope. Nothing. She would dive back if the waters would only give her a sign. But there was no boy, just broken wood and metal scattered along the sea’s surface. Lesh huffed and began walking hunched over toward the city of clay buildings resting beyond. The coast of Death Valley bustled with activity.
This isn't going to be easy. Hiezers are likely on duty or searching for stragglers from the blast. This hotheaded fool on my back is a dead giveaway. Not to mention, we're both soaked.
Lesh weaved through the narrow blocks without care for stealth. Yuprain construction workers lugging wheelbarrows slowed their pace to stare and Terra builders took a break from barking orders to watch the strangers stumble through. Morn’s bouncing legs knocked free some rolled up parchment and measurement tools, raising even more unwanted attention. She cursed under her breath, unsheathed a knife from the bottom of her ring with one hand, and propped Morn up with the other.
My luck is going to run dry at any moment.
"Lady, you look like you need some help," a construction worker said from behind.
Lesh concealed her knife while turning to see a young man with a hardhat and a giant set of pliers resting over his shoulder.
"Point me to the closest robotics shop."
The man expressed sincere sympathy for the lost woman. "I’m sorry, but the closest shop is four miles southeast of here."
Lesh spun back and mumbled, "Don't die, you Southern idiot."
Another two blocks were behind her. Sand everywhere, in her eyes, in her mouth, drying both out like cinnamon. It reminded her of that terrible city Clestice… only hotter. “Fourteen more to go,” she huffed, every step gathering a new set of suspicious eyes that acted as added weight. Her chances of making it out alive were depleting quickly.
Carefully, she maneuvered away from black masks, behind wider bodies, ducked under taller heads. Another block, another road to head east. That’s all that mattered. But then she stopped so abruptly that a citizen bumped into her.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
She ignored it, focusing only on the Terra woman that caught her attention. Short, caramel-colored hair ended at the woman’s tanned neck, and below that, a silver object sticking from her backpack glimmered in the sun’s rays. Lesh’s jaw tensed. Her path was now clear. It was a prosthetic leg… perfect. An engineer.
She plopped Morn against the side of a clay building, his body uselessly kicking up dust and soot upon its landing. Whatever cover the Southerner had provided while on her back was now gone - dripping gore and a ring of knives exposed the assassin for what she was, yet she abandoned caution all the same. The only secret that had to remain at this point was the Sin tattoo shining through her attire, so she held her arm like she was injured, and weaved through civilian obstacles like a bat out of hell.
Lesh grabbed the woman by her shoulder and spun her around. "Excuse me… you need to help that man over there. His wound is fresh. He's not going to make it otherwise."
Startled, the woman looked at Lesh, and then to Morn, whose blood was dripping through the cloth covering his stump.
"Either cauterize the wound or give him a meta
l arm,” Lesh said, making her uneasy. “Either way, I'll pay you and protect you. But there's no room to doubt your decision."
“Protect me?” The woman contemplated Lesh’s words before responding. "I'm just a journeywoman and my facility is nowhere near here. I don’t kno-"
“Improvise! There’s reward in it... precious metals worth well more than the cost of the procedure. We just need to move. Now.”
The woman inched back, palms showing. “Y... you’re obviously not from around here. It’s not about the money, ma’am. I’m not thinking of how much I can ring you out for. It’s more about, well, you know,” she motioned to Lesh, “the risk.”
Lesh, huffed. “A fucking obstacle on every corner.”
“As soon as I leave the public eye, you could slit my throat for all I know.”
“This is life or death, sand dweller. Where’s your sense of duty? I’m begging you.” She grabbed her arm.
“Shit…” She backed away, pondering, conflicted. “You’re right.” The woman’s apprehension suddenly morphed into determination, amber eyes glinting with purpose. “My master prepared me for times like these… strangers, people in need. He would want me to help you… so that’s what I’ll do.”
"Lesh." She offered a hand.
The woman extended her own and said, "Farah. My home is a few blocks away, so hurry."
Lesh rushed to grab Morn and then followed closely behind her new ally. They scrambled across the scorching ground, past stucco walls and through an alleyway that revealed a barren desert in the horizon. Farah evaded craftsmen and women, brushing against sweaty bodies to slip through.
Lesh took a different approach. She sprinted in a straight line, nearly bowling over every worker in her way. Morn dipped in and out of consciousness after each harsh bump, grunting along the way. His face grew pale from blood loss, and green veins protruded from his gaunt face. The clock was ticking.
