The Source- Origins

by A J Witt

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Neeta took the risk. “Do you wear lipstick?”

  “What?”

  “It just looks like you could use some.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Here, let me show you.” The Adept went about her usual drill, pulling the leather sachet from a pocket and using it to fill her transformed tube of lipstick with ground herbs.

  The ingenious little piece of machinery left Criss rather impressed. “You know I could arrest you for that.”

  Neeta smiled. “Shame, I just had it sent in for Source refinement.” She held out the tube. “You first.”

  The agent hesitated, looking around the cemetery to make sure they were alone. She snatched the apparatus from Neeta’s hand. Criss had only smoked once or twice in her life, but the day's circumstances justified the transgression. After inhaling, she passed the tube back to Neeta who took a few puffs of her own. The two women looked at each other and burst out laughing. That they were standing in the middle of a cemetery made no difference at all.

  “The first time I met her,” Neeta said, musing on the lipstick.

  “Yeah?”

  “I knew I’d be with her forever.”

  Criss giggled.

  “Even though I also knew,” continued the Adept, “she had a million lovers, just like me.”

  “I guess I’m one of a million, now?”

  “More like one in a million.” Neeta sat down on a headstone. Wait, what did I just say? She was feeling it, which only meant conversations would get stranger and stranger. The Adept marveled at the herbs’ effect. You’re eager to speak up, to become more involved. Before you recognize it, you feel you’ve been talking for twenty minutes, and the other people are just sitting there listening, or not listening. You don’t know what you said, whether it was too loud or too soft, whether it even made sense. And then, suddenly, you want out, fast, and—

  “Hey, let me ask you something,” said Criss.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did we both get locked into our cabins? Like, actually?”

  The Adept took a second to consider the simple question. “Yeah … yeah, I think we did.”

  The women laughed again.

  “What the dread?” Criss exclaimed. “Why can’t I successfully lock someone in a cabin for once?”

  “Beats me, feels like people have been locking me in cabins my entire life.”

  “Do this, do that.” The agent shook her head. “It’s not fair.”

  “Life’s not fair. You think there’s ever been a female preceptor?”

  “Never mind a female chief,” muttered Criss. “Gods only know who they’ll bring in to replace Aiden. At least with him, I could tell he cared. And … and I never showed him any gratitude.”

  The two women sat in the cemetery for quite some time before recovering a portion of their senses and walking back to the center of Portown. The Golden Auralus was busy. Not unexpected since the tavern offered one of the few forums of entertainment in the city. Smaller eateries near the waterfront looked appealing, so Neeta and Criss strolled in their direction. As the two women crossed the road, they were stopped by a recent acquaintance.

  “Hey!” shouted Ruan. The personal attendant was at the sticks of a standard rental SPC.

  Both Neeta and Criss walked over.

  “Just wanted to offer my condolences,” he said.

  The agent acknowledged his sympathy.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help,” Ruan added, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Hollow words. Criss seized the opportunity. “Where are you headed?”

  Biting the inside of his lip, the personal attendant cursed himself for stopping. “A small village.”

  “Which one?”

  “You won’t know the name.”

  “Try me.”

  “Tuka.”

  “What direction is that?” Criss asked.

  Ruan pointed east.

  “Can we hitch a ride with you?”

  “Hold on a second,” interjected Neeta, and she pulled the agent away from the SPC. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m hunting those brothers down and bringing them to justice.”

  “Yeah, you already mentioned something about that.”

  “Good, now you’ve heard it twice, then.”

  Neeta sighed. “Not if I find them first.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m supposed to bring them back with me to the Academy.”

  “Looks like we’re in a conflict.”

  “How do you even know they’re going to this Tuka, or whatever it’s called?”

  “I don’t,” said Criss. “What I do know is that the docks are on the eastern edge of Portown. They definitely didn’t come into the city, which means they took one of the roads going east.”

  “So you’re just going to drive with this random guy and hope you run into them?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did I already mention you’re crazy?”

  Ruan’s patience was wearing thin. “Are you two coming or what?”

  Criss ignored his question and turned back to Neeta. “Our best shot at finding them is now, when they’re still on the road, out in the open. Once they hunker down in some village, we’ll never see them again.”

  Recognizing the validity of the agent’s thought, Neeta nodded. “What about our conflict?”

  “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The sturdy SPC was painted a rich green hue. All-terrain tires with deeply grooved tread blocks delivered the traction to travel through any region of the Dominion. A spare, fastened to the back of the vehicle, was covered by a gray tarp matching the color of the open air seats. On the front bumper, a barbed-wire grille allowed wind to enter, cooling an impressive Source-powered engine capable of carrying occupants at remarkable speeds. Behind the driver’s seat, three rows of padded benches were bolted onto the chassis, each more elevated than the one ahead. And above it stretched a canvas tarpaulin that sheltered the travelers from sun and rain alike.

  His hands on both steering sticks, Lecarn maneuvered his one-of-a-kind SPC across the countryside. In the seat next to him was Edvon, behind them Sabine and Kyran shared one bench. As they rolled on uneven ground, everyone jounced around. It became an ever-increasing occurrence. Long gone were the lush and flat fields of wild grass surrounding the Portown metropolitan area. Instead, a light-colored clay, one which rose into dusty clouds as Lecarn raced over it, was extending to the horizon. Bushes were strewn about the wilderness, replacing the majestic trees that grew to towering heights because of their proximity to the Wimau’s nutritious waters. Yet the arid environment seemed well-traversed, with a number of tracks in the dirt creating routes leading to various destinations.

  A short while back, Sabine had turned around and watched the lonely port town disappear. We just managed to sneak off that ship. Now, we’re returning to the unknown … Riding in a Source-powered machine did little to comfort the young woman, though she preferred her new surroundings. Anything other than that dreadful cabin. Sliding over on the bench, Sabine leaned toward Kyran. “Where do you think we’re going?” She hoped the sound of the motor would keep her question from reaching Lecarn’s ears.

  “I—I don’t have a clue,” replied the Adept, distracted by the sensation of Sabine’s leg brushing against his and the warmth of her breath.

  “This is such a big carrier,” she continued, “he’s probably not alone.”

  “Uh-huh,” mumbled Kyran. He had barely registered the observation, all he wanted was to put an arm around Sabine’s waist to pull her closer in. His thoughts might as well have been prayers because they came to reality. At that instant, Lecarn hit another bump in the road, and the young woman was thrust into Kyran’s chest. The Adept helped back up an embarrassed girl, and she studied him for an instant, as if figuring out what to say. For Kyran, time had stopped, and he was conte
nt to sit there and stare back, enthralled by the beauty of her violet eyes.

  “Thanks,” Sabine offered.

  “Oh, umm, don’t mention it.”

  Lecarn shouted from up ahead. “Hold on! It’s about to get a little rocky.”

  “Timely warning,” muttered Kyran, and Sabine giggled.

  A small mountain came into view. It appeared to have a flat top, with steep cliffs surrounding it. A strange formation in an increasingly desolate landscape, the elevated tract of earth captivated the three companions.

  “It’s called a tepui,” Lecarn called out, sensing their piqued interest.

  “What does that mean?” asked Kyran.

  Edvon was ready. “It means—”

  “House of the Gods,” interjected Sabine.

  “Exactly,” said Lecarn, glancing over his shoulder.

  “How did you know?” Kyran wondered.

  “It’s in the Book of Provenance. Sometimes, we even refer to the Temple as a tepui. But … how? What is this place?”

  “Oh, there’s not much to understand,” said Lecarn. “Means nothing whatsoever, just a way of naming things, I suppose. There are thousands of tepuis around here, and trust me, there’s nothing special about any of them.” He spun around in his seat. “Are you an Overseer or something?”

  Sabine held her breath. Am I? She felt Kyran put his hand on her knee. “No, I’m not.”

  Lecarn nodded. “Okay, then. Not like I care either way.” Pulling back on one of the steering sticks, he carried on with his explanation of the tepuis. “They’re pretty cool from a geological perspective. Rain and wind have eroded the weaker rocks, leaving behind the stronger ones in a column. That’s why they don’t have gentle slopes like other hills or mountains, you see?”

  “That’s, like, really cool.” Kyran pretended to be intrigued. He was focused on the fact that Sabine had yet to swat away his hand. The Adept pulled it back, worried he might make her uncomfortable. Little did he know his gentle touch had given the young woman exactly what she needed in the awkward moment.

  “It will be cooler once you climb it,” Lecarn continued. “One like this? You don’t even need any ropes.”

  “What?” Edvon echoed his companions’ sentiments.

  “I’m just messing with you!” Their driver laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re camped just at its base.” From a young age, Lecarn had been fond of teasing people. Perhaps it had been a way of coping with the death of his mother, or maybe it was just part of his natural temperament. Regardless, his harmless pranks had more often than not gotten him into trouble. Especially as he grew older, when the consequences of his actions increased in severity, until they culminated in a monumental breaking point. The once-Noble forced himself to expel the painful memory from his thoughts for the second time that day. The SPC was nearing the base of the tepui, and Lecarn slowed down before coming to a stop.

  Edvon counted five figures around a campfire, three of whom were sitting on a makeshift bench. A large map of what appeared to be the Dominion lay flat on a foldable table, punctured by several pins marking specific locations. In the background, several heavy-duty tents, identical in size and color, were clustered.

  A woman with dark-brown hair tied in a tight ponytail dispensed of any pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Why did you bring three?”

  Lecarn grinned, as if he had been expecting such a question from her. “Why not?”

  “We don’t have room for another. That’s why.”

  “Will you calm down, Zoel? I’m sure we can make it work.”

  She stood up, her leather pants clinging to well-sculpted legs. “Make it work in a tent other than mine.” Zoel spun around and disappeared into one of the canvas shelters.

  Another picked up where she had left off. “You’re an Overseer, aren’t you?” The man was tall, with a bony face and a distinct hook nose. His long dark coat, black turtleneck sweater, and sleek onyx hair made Sabine hold her breath.

  “No,” Lecarn answered. “She isn’t.”

  “Anymore,” added the man.

  Sabine was stupefied. “What … what makes you think I am?”

  “Oh, I’ve had quite some experience with that vile institution.”

  “I can think of better terms than vile,” shouted Zoel from inside her tent, causing the nefarious looking man to smirk.

  “All right, enough,” interjected Lecarn. “These people are part of our team now. Might I remind you of your origins, Xavier?”

  The man named Xavier opened his mouth to protest, but coat twirling, he ducked into another tent. An awkward silence ensued.

  “Well, you got to know two of the more charming members of our group. In any event, my name’s Fionne, and that’s Wick, and that’s Gavin.”

  Sabine took a moment to examine the hosts. Fionne, an older woman, had trimmed white hair curling around her ears and neck. She seems pleasant, at least. To her left was Wick, and he too appeared eager to welcome the new arrivals. He was young, with dirty blond hair covering part of his eyes. This often forced him to run a hand through it or jerk his head. Wick’s brown eyes darted back and forth as he observed the newcomers. Who are these people? Sabine looked at Gavin, the last camper of the bunch, who was leaning against a simple yet sturdy wooden staff. He had a leather hood over his head, a patchy gray beard, and a brown sack slung over his shoulder. Sabine frowned as she caught Gavin staring at Kyran. The Adept had also noticed and was ignoring the old man. What’s going on here? She watched an uncomfortable Kyran give Gavin a sidelong glance. This is so weird!

  Zoel had re-appeared from her tent. “I can’t believe this is the best you could find.”

  “Will you stop it?” Fionne snapped.

  Wick was in agreement. “We have Xavier for that.”

  Zoel laughed. “I’m not being a downer, just a realist. These three can’t get the job done.”

  “Well, he seems pretty strong,” said Wick, pointing at Edvon. “And anyway, Gavin doesn’t look the most redoubtable, yet we know that’s far from the truth.”

  The comment gave Zoel some pause. “True. Old man, you might not talk much, but there are few I trust more to cover me when things go sideways.”

  “That’s why,” Lecarn declared, “you never judge a book by the cover, especially when it comes to—”

  And then, it clicked in Edvon’s head. The reference to a job. The remote campsite, all-terrain carrier, strangely assembled crew. These people, they’re …

  “—bounty hunters.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Crushed bricks and splintered wood, scattered vegetation torn to shreds, smoldering SPCs, walls of homes reduced to mere rubble. Fragments of a once-thriving village devastated beyond comprehension. “What happened here?” the commandant asked to no one in particular.

  Gorgios remained motionless, staring at the eerie reminders of life lost. Even the Overseers under his authority kept quiet, and observing the unimpressionable hit squad at a loss for words was as peculiar to Rex Ruga as the sight that had turned them into mutes.

  Pluto elected to submit his point of view. “Looks like there was a raid.”

  Shooting her guide a nasty look, the commandant strode toward the carnage. Perhaps they are trackers after all. She had been wondering whether Joss and Pluto were ushering them around like a pack of balbaks, because there was no coherent explanation behind their decision-making process. Left here, straight ahead through this village, bang a right there. With not so much as a trace of the Adepts since their departure from Portown. Blindly following others was not one of Rex Ruga’s assets, a straightforward fact that merely intensified her growing frustrations with the failing mission.

  Now, the would-be trackers had spotted something. And Gods is it morbid. Probably some Noble experimenting with his new toy. A sign lying in the dirt caught the commandant’s attention. It was charred like everything else, yet she could make out lettering in faded colors. Inn. The Overseer thought back to the Golden Auralus
in Portown and to the conversations she had overheard about incidents occurring aboard Ocean Star, specifically the murders of both the ship’s captain and the chief of the Battalion himself. And apparently the two Adepts were involved. There was something bigger going on, though Rex Ruga had trouble figuring out exactly what that might be. Do I need to pay the Main Complex a little visit? The agents were obviously on the right path. How’s it linked to these village attacks?

  “There’s something wrong here,” said Gorgios.

  “Is that so?” she retorted. “You mean other than the apocalyptic destruction?”

  The large Overseer huffed. “Yes.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “There are no bodies.”

  The commandant frowned upon realizing the soundness of her Master of Arms’ observation. “You’re right.”

  “Maybe they all burned?” suggested Pluto.

  “No.” Gorgios shook his head. “We would see the bones. And smell the charred flesh.”

  “Ah, of course.” Pluto shot Joss a dubious look, one that made explicit his desire not to know how the behemoth was so well-versed in such matters. “Maybe the village was already abandoned? After all, who would choose to live out here?” The comment elicited snickers. “Come to think of it, they probably killed each other, out of boredom.” Now in full entertainment mode, the performer had most Overseers chuckling. He cracked several more jokes, a few prompting even Gorgios to smirk.

  Rex Ruga ignored the others as they laughed and chatted in the heart of the fiery ruins. What took place? The question was alarming given the freshness of the attack.

  “And that’s the last time she ever talked to me!” exclaimed Pluto, the others howling with amusement. “Mind you, whenever she—”

  “Quiet!” Rex Ruga screamed. “Everyone!”

  The Overseers stood at attention.

  “You two.” She pointed at Pluto and Joss. “Where are we going?”

  “Come again?” asked the articulate performer.

  “I’m paying you six thousand coins. Tell me where to go.”

  “For what?”

  “For the Adepts, by Gods!”