Outlier: Rebellion

by Daryl Banner

  “ALIVE!” he screams, breaking into laughter.

  Athan grabs him firmly by the waist, directs the slum boy to his lips like returning home. Eyes close and they’re one piece of the same body again, breathing in hushed, desperate chokes. Their hands don’t know what they’d rather grab, clutching at each other almost awkwardly, a hand on a shoulder, then around back, then gripping an ass, then an arm … Nothing quite smells or tastes like anything at all this close, but whatever Wick tastes or smells of, Athan can’t get enough.

  Suddenly, Athan grabs Wick’s hand. “Want to jump the next building together?”

  “That sounds like a terrible idea. What if one of us stops suddenly, or—”

  “Stop worrying! Just run and jump!” Athan starts pulling, Wick is running, they’re both running, and the edge of the building looms closer and closer. Feel that charge inside? How it tells you that you can make the leap? They hit the edge, leaping. That you’ll survive? They land on the next roof.

  “Keep running! Keep running! Keep running!”

  Laughing maniacally, they keep on and on, yelling into the empty, powerless wind. All the buildings around them dark and dead, and together, they’re as alive as the sun. Five buildings later, they stop, collapse at the edge and stare down into the alley, grinning drunkenly. Lying on their stomachs, Athan nudges Wick with a shoulder. Pressed against him, he whispers, “If I’d known this was waiting for me, I’d have jumped sooner.”

  Wick turns to him, staring at his lips thoughtfully. “Do you know who did it? Do you know why?”

  “You mean who blew up Lord’s Garden?” Athan gives a shake of his head, no. “But it wasn’t with a bomb, surely. They don’t exist anymore. The King’s sworn it. A bomb is the most dangerous thing, the deadliest device to a civilization so limited as us. If we destroy this little place we have on the Planet, there will be nothing left.”

  “Kings lie,” Wick replies, “and Marshals too. All Kings and Queens are made from lies and killings, the greater ones from greater lies and greater killings.”

  “Not King Greymyn. I’ve met him, in fact.” Athan searches for more to say, gripping the rough gravel of the rooftop. “Oh, and there’s Janlord, the Marshal of Peace. He’s kind and wise. If you’d only meet him! He’s been Marshal of Peace for three Kings and a Queen—The Slum Queen Atricia, have you heard of her?”

  “Yeah, I know her story. Born in the slums, cheated her way up, up, up to the throne. Then she ruled with lies and fake promises of helping her slum brethren, only to grow drunk and rich with power. Scores of men passed through her doors … Lust Queen, Lonely Queen, Rag Queen … She had tons of names. But she’s only proving my point that even a person from the slums can be tainted and ruined by the riches in the sky.” Suddenly, Wick sighs and pushes a hand to his face. “I’m sorry, Athan … I don’t mean to … to sound so—”

  “No, no.” Athan puts an arm over Wick’s shoulders, hugging into him, their faces brought close again. “Don’t apologize for anything. I’m so finished with apologies … Servants who tiptoe around truths, a sister and a brother who can’t say an honest thing.” Athan’s gaze drops. “Maybe the sky’s more full of liars than I realized.”

  Wick puts lips to Athan’s, surprising him. His kiss both calms and excites him, a chemical explosion that revives his cock anew. And they say bombs no longer exist …

  “You’re no liar,” Wick whispers into Athan’s ear when the kiss ends. “But maybe you should be.”

  “What?”

  “The other people … The other members of Rain … They don’t trust you because you say you don’t know your own Legacy. Maybe you should pretend to know it. Maybe you should … make up a Legacy.”

  Athan frowns in thought, considering. “I … I don’t like the way deception feels. I really don’t.”

  “Trust me, it’ll work. They need to gain your trust, otherwise you’ll just be the Sanctum boy they caught. I need them to see you the way I do.”

  “And how do you see me?” Athan grins at him. The squirming look on Wick’s face, forcing him to answer this question, brings him deep delight.

  “I see you with my eyes. That’s how I see you.” He smiles smugly, proud of his wit. Clever slum boy. “And I think, well … I think you should consider what your Legacy really is. We all have one, even you.”

  “I’ve wondered.” Athan peers down into the alley, squinting at something far below. “Just haven’t noticed anything peculiar about myself … Haven’t noticed any certain amazing thing. I used to joke that I was lucky … I’m always lucky. Maybe luck’s my Legacy … Almost chopped off a few fingers once, had they been an inch more to the right. Almost drowned when I was little too, if it weren’t for the precise area I’d fallen into the water. But after years of emotional torment and yearning … I’ve crossed out my theory of luck. Besides, how’s that even a Legacy? Doesn’t fit into any of the classes.” He chuckles hollowly. “So if you have a more fitting lie for me, I’ll wear it. Otherwise, I’ll continue assuming I don’t have one.”

  Their attention is caught suddenly by voices echoing up from the alley. Two armored men are moving through it chatting loudly—or at least one of them is. A tall and skinny man heavy in gear, a greasy mop of hair eclipsing any sign of his face.

  “Guardian,” Wick whispers, wide-eyed.

  The tall one’s voice is difficult to understand, but Athan begins to pick out some words that bounce up between the buildings. “Spent years avoiding us,” he’s saying, “cleverly hiding in plain sight … buildings … in trees and storefronts, right under our noses … Come on, Lesser, it’s a pointless, fruitless mission. Hey, what’re you looking so glum for? … even Taylon knows it, fool for a man, he is … I take no orders from boys …”

  “We need to go,” breathes Wick, panicked.

  Athan studies his face, concerned. “Why?” he returns in just as hushed a voice.

  As they carefully and silently get to their feet, Wick seems to hesitate, his eyes lingering on the men in the alley. Finally, they pull away and rush off. “Jump,” Wick commands them this time, and over four buildings they go, hurrying back to the loft. Athan’s heart sinks … We are going back too soon. I was having so much fun and I don’t know … I don’t know when we’ll have this chance again.

  On the second to last leap, Wick slips, lets out an urgent, uncharacteristic yelp, and suddenly he’s hanging off the edge, fingers clasping desperately.

  Athan flings out his hand, clasps all of Wick that he can, shoulder and arm. “Pull!”

  He struggles, pulls, the both of them grunting and desperate. From sweat or fear or otherwise, Wick slips further, losing hold of half the arm he was clinging to. He screams out.

  “Pull, Wick! Pull, pull, pull!” He can taste the desperation in his mouth. He clenches his teeth and pulls, holding so tightly his fingers go numb. His arm goes numb, his shoulders …

  I need you. I need you to survive. You cannot fall.

  A new strength finds Wick, pulling and pulling more, and finally the slum boy spills over the brim. They fall into the gravel together. Wick heaves and heaves, Athan’s heart a mess of drums and anxiety.

  “Lucky, you said?” breathes Wick, nervously breaking into an airy sort of chuckle.

  “Are we even now?” Athan puts a calming hand on Wick’s shoulder as they lie there, both breathing in and out from the effort. “Life for a life?”

  For a good while, Wick can’t seem to say anything. His face is still shocked by the prospect that he could’ve, in fact, fallen to his death. That realization is not lost on Athan either, who watches the emotions play across Wick’s still-terrified face. They breathe together, slowly calming down.

  Finally, Wick’s lips break into the cutest, twisted little smile, looking almost the snarl of a puppy. “Except, I believe when I saved your life, I also knocked you out with an elbow to the face.”

  Athan smiles, relieved. “I don’t remember that part.”

  “You wouldn’t
.”

  Their faces meet again, and their hands discover new areas to grab. Wick reaches down low, and to Athan’s surprise, he finds his cock through the pants. Hearts beating, their eyes meet, as if startled to find one another, and with unsmiling eyes, he lets him grope and grope and grope. The boys grow more confident in their exploration of each other’s bodies, hands becoming more and more daring. He really likes how my ass feels. He brings Wick’s face into his with two strong palms, cradling his cheeks, he presses their faces together with such strength that, for the first time, he hears Wick moan. I made him do that … I made a boy moan. Athan grins into his lips, and they lose another healthy amount of otherwise useless minutes to each other’s misbehaving hands.

  “Think you can make one more leap?” asks Athan, gripping Wick at the shoulder and giving a squeeze.

  “Only because you’re here,” he answers.

  And so Wick fights the fear one last time, making the final (and shortest) leap back to their home building. Throwing open the roof hatch, Wick slides down the ladder first. Athan lingers a moment on the roof, studying the dark, big thing eclipsing the beautiful burning blue of the sky. I’d never before appreciated the sky as much as I do now.

  Just then, the whole world seems to brighten, little squares of light flickering in the dark faces of buildings all around like shimmering teeth, bursting to life.

  Ah, the power’s back! Athan grins into the returned light and strum and color of slums alive, now viewed—instead of above them—among them.

  0034 Kid

  She races through the streets like a big beautiful beast with a fiery tail the length of Atlas is chasing her, because that’s what she believes, and when a girl’s invisible, she can believe whatever she damn well likes.

  It’s the beast from the last book her mom read her. The beast that tore apart the world and flipped over cities and cast apart the oceans. Actually, it didn’t happen like that; her mom was kind enough to explain that fact after reading the fantastical tale. The way the world came undone is a far sadder, far crueler, far more selfish story that doesn’t involve diverting the blame to an innocent, massive monster. “The real massive monster was us,” mom whispered, “and we were far from innocent.”

  Kid has finally arrived at the Wall. She thought it’d take her many more days, but after the power came back, she hopped a train that shot her like a bird to the end of the city where her house still stands. The house in front of which she now stands.

  She’s pretty sure, like the last dozen times, she won’t get enough courage to actually approach it. So many terrible memories. Daddy dying on the welcome mat. The men who moved like smoke and stole everything. Daddy was dumb to just open the door, invite them in to kill him dead. He told her to hide … hide …

  Warm light spills like chicken broth from the upstairs windows where she knows the children play. She sees their silhouettes dancing. Light like a bread oven’s from below … That’s where mom and dad cook dinner, Kid’s sure of it. Her mouth salivates at the dream. It’s nightfall and the crickets are whistling like mad, but not in there. Only sweet songs and familial love fill the rooms.

  Shut up, crickets!—I wanna hear mommy and daddy and the kids. She forgets how loud the crickets get this far out where no trace of the Lifted City’s shadow touches.

  Then suddenly she’s in front of the door.

  She takes a breath. Do it, she eggs herself. Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it. She knocks. Done it … Now don’t disappear. The door opens. Just as dumb as her daddy, the man peeks left, peeks right. But she’s gone invisible, and he does not see her. Kid could be a killer and it’s no matter, the man is too dumb to be afraid. Door closes.

  She smells dinner so deeply her belly hurts, her toes shake, her fingers wiggle. Do it. She knocks again. Don’t disappear. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—

  The door opens. Daddy looks down, seeing her.

  Kid tries to smile, but can’t. The intoxicating scent of dinner floats about her nose and fills her with longing. She tries to lift a hand to wave, can’t, too weak.

  “Why, hello there,” says the man.

  “I’m—” Kid’s eyes flit nervously about, unsure what to say. She’s so good at lying, she’s so observant, she’s so quick … but at this moment, dinner’s aroma dominates even her street smarts.

  “You’re …?”

  “Down the street,” she finally says. “That way. I’m locked out of my house and—and daddy isn’t home for lots of time.”

  “You’re locked out of your house? Dear,” the man says. “That’s quite a problem. What about your mom?”

  “She dead.”

  The man swallows. He looks left, looks right, unsure what to do. Stupid man, she thinks, squinting at him. I’m a little girl, and little girls need caring. Let me in.

  Then the mommy appears, drops her gaze down. “Oh,” she says, her brows lifting. “Hello, little girl.”

  “She’s from down the street,” daddy explains. “She can’t get in her house—locked out. No one can get her in for a while.”

  The mommy crouches down, eye-to-eye with Kid. “Little girl like you needs something in her belly. We’re about to have dinner. Why don’t you come in, eat with us, and we’ll have you back home when your mom or dad are back, yes?”

  The stupid man leans in, whispers, “Her mom’s dead. I think—Clara, look at the girl—I think she’s homeless. We should contact the—”

  “How’s Landy?” Kid asks, recalling the name of the boy who lived next door to her, who should still be there. “We played together a lots. He smells.”

  “Oh.” The dad blinks, puts on a smile. “Yes, Land’s doing great. He’s doing—Ah, honey, isn’t he doing fine?”

  “Yes, he’s fine,” she agrees, studying Kid curiously.

  Kid can’t wait. She wants to do this the honest way, but patience only carries her so far. “I-I’m hungry.”

  “Come in,” the mommy insists. The stupid man simply nods, moves out of the way, and Kid finds herself entering her own house. She stops at the spot where her daddy died—her real daddy—and stares despondently at the clean, fresh, unstained floorboards. “Dinner’s this way,” the mommy says, ushering Kid into her own dining room, which is fixed up and looking so pristine that her eyes grow big. “Ester! … Julan! Down here! Dinner’s ready and we’ve a little guest!”

  Kid takes a seat, her legs dangling. Julan and Ester, the children whose silhouettes made them look younger than they are, come into the room and stop at the sight of her. Julan and Ester, two teenage boys, one with messy red hair, the other with messy blonde. They were so much smaller, weren’t they? Of course that was three or four years ago … Time tends to change people.

  “She’s from down the street,” the mom explains. “She’s eating with us tonight. Why don’t you, ah … Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself while I go get the rolls?” She smiles, her eyes sweet like candy, then disappears into the kitchen.

  The boys sit at the table and start to talk about a game they were playing upstairs, but seem to be involved more in explaining it to each other than to her. Kid just folds her hands and waits patiently for the food. Food, food, food, food.

  And then there is food. The daddy moans happily as he bites into a leg of meat. A leg of meat! Kid serves herself and, near to tears, she swallows a roll in two huge bites. The vegetables, they vanish from her plate like they never existed at all. A second serving, gone as quick. She lets go a burp or three, giggling—burps always find a giggle or two out of her—and only when her teeth have torn apart a second leg of meat does she realize the whole of the table has her worried attention.

  Slow. Like a normal kid. Like a very, very normal kid. She lifts a greasy chin to them. “Daddy doesn’t like meat. I never eated it.”

  The mommy smiles warmly, points. “Have you tried the—” Kid helps herself without using the tongs, grabbing a handful of—whatever it’s called—and bringing it to her mouth.
The crunches of her chewing crudely fill the room. “Ah,” says the mommy, her smile tightening. “And the verdict is …?”

  “Yums.” Kid laughs, helps herself to another happy handful. “Yums, yums, yums.”

  The dad leans forward, still working on his first little leg of meat. “So tell us … What was your name again?”

  Kid swallows her bite. “El … Ellena.”

  The mom giggles. “Ooh, that’s a pretty name!”

  “Yes,” the dad agrees, though his voice seems distant, brow wrinkled and pensive. “Tell us more. I’m sure we all wouldn’t mind learning about our guest from down the street.”

  Kid, grease all about her mouth, daintily puts down the now-emptied leg bone the way one might a splinter of delicate glass.

  “Well,” she starts, “I have three brothers. Their names is Link and … um, and Wickie … and Lions.” She swallows. “My daddy is an elec … elec … elec …”

  “Electrician?” one of the boys offers—Julan or Ester, Kid’s already forgotten who’s who.

  “Ya.” Ignoring the napkin by her plate, she wipes her mouth with the whole length of her arm, wrist to elbow. “He got the power back on. He’s my hero.”

  She puts more green in her face, more meat, more and more and more, and somewhere between her third helping and her fourth, the conversation’s found all else to fill itself with instead of her, and she minds it not at all. The boys laugh a lot, and she finds she likes the sound of their laughter. Especially when the mom smiles and then winks at Kid, as if to include her.

  This family … She could make a good time of them. They’re not her real mommy, not her real daddy, but it’s this very thing she so craves, more than candy and games and noodles. What a twisted work of irony, to start all over again with a new family … in her same old house.

  An hour or two later, one of the boys is trying to teach her a game in the den. “You put this here,” he’s explaining, “and then follow step three. Right here, see that? Step three. Go ahead.” Kid stares at the weird figures on the paper, then realizes it’s likely best not to reveal that she can’t read, as most her age can. The boy gives up and pulls out a bucket of building blocks, which involve considerably less instruction, and Kid enjoys that.