Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles

by Brindi Quinn

  “You dumbo! Of course I’d choose you! Yes, I’m guilty. Yes, I feel bad for not remembering my own fiancé, for Pete’s sake! But I’m also selfish. I’m super selfish! There’s no way I’d let you go! You’re actually worried about something like that?”

  Rye frowned. “Well . . . I mean, gosh! Yeah! It’s like finding out your girlfriend used to be in love with your brother or something.”

  “Girlfriend?” Tide mouth turned a little goonish, and it forced the frown from Rye’s face.

  “Ho! Wow! What’s with that perverted look?” He pretended to shield his eyes, but the goonish face lingered.

  “I’ve never been a girlfriend before,” said Tide.

  “Except for that you have.”

  “Not that I can remember!” It was true, though, she supposed. She’d done this all before. With him. With Foster. And then another thought crossed her mind. A thought that nearly stopped her heart: Say all of this craziness ware true. It would mean that she and Foster had been . . . Supposedly, they’d been lovey-dovey. Supposedly, they’d been engaged. So then . . . What all had they . . .? What if they’d –

  “EH?! WHAT IF I DID?!”

  “What?!” said Rye. “What’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing.” She hadn’t meant to cry out like that. “Phew. Just got lost in my head.”

  “Spaz. Come on.” Rye hooked an elbow around her neck. Then he buried his face in the top of her head and sighed. All of the heavy stuff was gone. He loved it. Being with her was better than anything. Being with her made him whole. For that, he’d fight to exist no matter what.

  With Rye’s face buried in her hair, Tide’s heart pulsed – it raced against nothing – and then the princess did something unexpected. Something intuitive. She leaned into the boy that’d never been born, looped her arms around his back, and hugged him tightly.

  “Uh?” said Rye. But he was grinning stupidly.

  They stood that way a still minute before continuing along the road to Dentra. The morning had been a success. Rye was significantly more chipper than before, and even the spastic princess found it easy to ignore the looming mass of uncertainties that darkened their auras.

  Thus, the Second and his princess walked hand in hand, happy to be at least partially alive.

  When they finally arrived in Dentra, Rye’s giddiness reached a new high.

  “All right, buddy!” He threw his arms around Tide in another of his unintentionally suffocating hugs.

  “Yup. ‘Buddies’. That’s us,” gasped Tide. “Just a couple of buds.”

  “Whoops.”

  Once Tide caught her breath, Rye hurried to take her to the place he’d researched. He’d found an old ticket stub in Foster’s things a few weeks ago and had been drooling to go there ever since. He was excited, yes, but more than that, he knew that Tide would appreciate it. Each time conversation turned to the world beyond St. Laran, her eyes seemed to lift a shade. That was why he was sure:

  She’d love it.

  “Here we are!” he said as soon as they stumbled into Dentra’s warehouse district. He gestured like a magician to the colorful scene before them.

  “Whoa!” cried Tide. “What is it?”

  “It’s a bazaar!” explained Rye. “Isn’t it SO great?”

  “A bazaar, huh?” Tide’s mouth drifted open as her eyes scanned the entirety of the place.

  It was great. In a space cleared of buildings – a several-block-long run – dozens of varying size and color tents had been set up, lively and loud, against the stark backdrop of cranking, steaming St. Laran. Without regard for the dirty east-to-west running streets, the tents were patterned in diagonal rows and connected by flagged strips strung from tent point to tent point, creating a stunning visual of uniform chaos.

  Bororore chains that were guarded by a costumed security team roped off the area. Outside of those chains, life was average; within them, the air was alive with jabber and excitement and an obnoxious tinkling of bells.

  “They came from the wild south!” said Rye, wiggling and inching toward the gate. “I guess they tour the mech cities in the summer. They’ve been here for a few weeks already, but they should have some good stuff left!”

  Tide, too, was inching, hands clasped at her chest, eyes starry. “The wild south?! Really?! Omigod! I love things from the wilds! Do they sell shells? And plants? And bark?!”

  “Bark? You want bark?”

  “Well, I don’t know! Maybe! Come on!”

  Giving in to their desires, they gave up on inching, and full-out sprinted the rest of the way instead. They bought their tickets from a table at the front and eagerly entered the spectacular world that was the wild south’s bazaar.

  Upon entering, the source of the bells became instantly apparent. Each tent’s entrance was lined not with a door flap or beads, but with strands of tiny bells that alerted tent owners of the coming and going of customers – customers who were dull-looking in comparison to the tents’ attendants, for in contrast to the city-styled St. Larans, all of the travelers from the south were dressed in gaudy, strange attire. Both women and men wore billowing, skirt-like capris of multicolored patches and sparkling rock dust that shimmered when they walked. On the top, the men wore cuffed collared shirts of muted tones, while the women wore scantily pieced shirts of laces and strips that barely counted as clothing, accompanied by cloth-stripped sandals of equal scantiness.

  “I think I know why you wanted to come, Rye,” Tide muttered wryly, eyeing one of the particularly heavy-breasted women.

  Rye smirked. “Should we buy you one of those shirts? Eh? Eh?”

  “No. Way.”

  “Heh.”

  If the sparkly, patchwork costumes weren’t enough to identify the southerners from the city-folk, there was something even more striking about the strangers. Wild-born men and women alike shared a trend of painting their nails and teeth with a glowing white substance that was almost too bright to look at comfortably and resulted in creating a strobe-like effect whenever one of them spoke.

  “What’s the point?” said Tide.

  Rye shrugged.

  There were none that skimped on the fad, and Tide’s eyes, that loved to lock onto red, adjusted to the event by picking out each flash of white they encountered.

  As a whole, the southerners were jolly, jovial, welcoming, but they were also a little intimidating because every once in a while a group of the white-mouthed travelers would burst spontaneously into song. And they weren’t just lullabies or simple tunes. They were full-out chorus numbers – songs Rye and Tide had never heard before – with multiple parts of varying pitch and tempo, and the foreigners knew them all by heart. What was more, there seemed to be a game amongst the group, where one person would start a random line or note from one out their collection of many songs, and the rest would catch on and join in faithfully until the end. These outbursts almost never started at the beginning of the song, but whether at mid-line or mid-word, the travelers never failed to meet each other.

  It was intimidating, but more than that, it was like watching a moving entity made up of many auras; a composition of spirits; a joining of breath. It was something amazing.

  “I want to live in the wild south,” mouthed Tide, awestruck.

  “Me too,” said Rye. He hadn’t stopped beaming since arriving in the place. He was thoroughly proud of Tide’s reaction to everything. A pat on the back was deserved for being able to discern her tastes.

  “I can’t believe Jobe had to leave something like this behind!” said Tide.

  “Yeah,” said Rye, “but this is just one part of the south, you know? It’s like a narrow slice of the spectrum of what’s out there. His part could have been totally different. He could’ve grown up in a salty seaport or something.”

  But a ‘salty seaport’ still sounded great to Tide. “I’ll have to ask him,” she said.

  But for now, there was something more alluring to be concerned with. Without delay, the duo began ravaging the tents.<
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  The first one they entered was an accessory shop that the fashionable Rye loved. Leather strips were sold as adornments to be wound around the arms and legs. Necklaces of driftwood and shell and bone pieced together in interesting minimalist patterns could be worn separate or in layers. Pins and rings made of old shirt-buttons and polished rocks were displayed in mesh cases along the tent’s tables.

  Rye and Tide left with a pouch full of souvenirs.

  “Okay, Rye. If the next shop is like that one, you have to hold yourself back. We won’t be able to carry it all home!”

  “Whatever! You bought more stuff than I did!” said Rye.

  “Well, I am a girl, you know.”

  “Sigh. Sigh. So that automatically gives you rights to more arm space?”

  “Yes. Hell yes. But I’ll share with you.”

  Rye grinned. “Dealio!”

  Lucky for their remaining arm space, the second tent was nothing like the first. It was filled with those scanty dainties worn by the wild south women.

  Tide grabbed Rye by the hood and pulled him out.

  “Are you sure, Tide?” pouted Rye. “I saw one over there that would look way cute on you!”

  “Moron.”

  “Heh.”

  The third tent sold pants. The fourth carried cloth headbands. Neither of those drew much of the pair’s interest, but at the fifth, Rye and Tide stopped to enjoy some genuine southern refreshment. There, jugged juice made from fruit, grown not in a conservatory but in a grove, could be purchased for a hefty sum.

  “It’s kind of spendy, but we HAVE to try it, don’t we?” said Tide.

  But Rye was already buying two jugs.

  “Omigod!” said Tide. “It really DOES taste so much better!”

  “Right?”

  The gleeful pair turned slightly less gleeful when they realized the burden there would be in buying and carrying a few jugs to go. With woeful glances they left the shop and continued to the next. That one sold oil. The next, to Rye’s delight, had tea. Diagonally they made their way across the bazaar.

  By the time they reached the far side, Tide and Rye’s arm space was taken up with filled pouches, their energy was wanting, and the amber sun hanging low in the sky cast long shadows across the tents that were broken only by the gleaming smiles of the wild-born stragglers. The place was cleared out for the most part, and the air was without song – as it had been for some time – but the Second and girl had resolved to visit every tent before returning home – a promise made during one of their more enthusiastic moments – so it was with a reluctantly dutiful march that they made their way to the last one.

  The one in the back corner. The one whose bells were still.

  They entered, and it was empty. Or so it seemed at first.

  “Hello?” called Tide.

  “Hello.” In a rigid chair to the back of the tent was a small boy too short to be seen over his table.

  “Uh, hi?” said Rye, letting the belled curtain fall behind him. “Is this place closed?”

  “Nope,” said the boy. His voice was raspy. Eerily raspy for a child.

  “Oh,” said Tide, glancing sideways at Rye. “What do you sell here?”

  “My services,” said the boy.

  Rye placed a hand on his hip. “Your . . . And those are?”

  “I give advice.”

  “Ha!” said Rye. “Advice, huh? How many credits does your ‘advice’ cost?”

  “It depends.”

  “Ur, okay.” Rye turned to Tide. “Should we? Or?”

  “Sure, why not? Last one and all.”

  “All right. For last one’s sake. We’re in, kid!” said Rye. For Tide, he was trying to muster pizazz.

  “Come,” said the boy.

  Tide and Rye obeyed. Aside from the boy and his table, the tent was practically empty. There were two basins of some of scented liquid to either side of him, but without much light from outside to light the interior, the only thing visible with much clarity were his teeth. Those bright, Cheshire teeth. They were creepy. Both Tide and Rye thought so, but they hid it and settled into the seats across the table from the child.

  “Your wrists,” he said.

  “Wrists?” said Tide.

  The boy nodded. “Put them on the podium next to each other.”

  So it wasn’t a table. It was a podium. Tide wasn’t really sure of the difference, though.

  The unsure customers flipped their arms – Tide’s right, Rye’s left – wrist-up and placed them before the strange boy. He closed his eyes and put two fingers to each of their arms.

  Tide and Rye exchanged skeptical glances.

  “Nice,” said the boy after a moment, his voice grainy and dull. “I haven’t seen it here yet. It’s more rare than you’d think. Although, with the size of this planet, maybe it’s something special for you to find each other.”

  “Find each other?” said Tide in a hush. She was still skeptical, but for some reason, she was afraid to break his concentration.

  The boy opened his eyes. “Twin souls.”

  Rye was quiet.

  “Twin souls?” said Tide.

  “Also known as soul mates.”

  Tide didn’t get it. “Soul-” she started.

  “No charge for you.” The boy cut her off. “I’m too excited.” But his voice and demeanor were anything but excited. He looked like he was ready for a nap. “And also, I feel bad for you ‘cause your soul paths are off.”

  “Eh?” Tide was taken aback “Off? What do you mean off?” She glanced at the still silent Rye. ‘Off’ didn’t sound like a good thing at all. “Er- and what’s a soul path anyway?”

  But the boy ignored her. There was something more important to be said. There was a warning that had to be given before it was too late. “YOU,” – He pointed to Rye – “aren’t supposed to be born yet. And unless you go away, your paths will be off for the rest of your rebirths.”

  The princess let out her inner spaz – “Wha!?” – as her emotions quickly shifted from confused to frantic. She didn’t like where this was going. Not in the least. There was unusually strong power behind the clairvoyant boy’s words that was beginning to affect Rye in a negative way.

  “Go . . . away?” murmured the Second.

  “That’s right,” said the boy. “You need to disappear if you don’t want to piss on your future.”

  “Disappear.” Rye was already starting to drift.

  “No!” Tide grabbed Rye’s wrist and wrapped her arms around it. “You can’t say that sort of thing to a Second! Come on, Rye, let’s go!”

  “Sorry,” rasped the boy, “but I’m glad I saw you. Keep me in mind. I can help make him go away if you want.”

  But that was the last thing Tide wanted. Giving no response other than a fury of bells as she plowed through them, she yanked the turning-absent Second out of the tent. “Stay with me,” she told Rye. “You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re Rye.”

  Why was this happening? The entire day had been fine. Fun. Normal. A lapse into vacancy was the last thing she’d expected, especially if Rye really was feeling ‘stronger than ever before’. It didn’t matter. No matter how great the day had been, somehow that creepy child had been able to provoke Rye’s vacancy with just a few words.

  “You’re Rye.” Fevered, Tide told him so the rest of the way back, but Rye didn’t believe it until they reached her complex’s door, and only when they entered Tide’s unit at the near top of the building did he finally speak.

  “What did he mean by all of that?” he asked, pallid in the cheeks.

  “Just ignore him,” said Tide, latching the door behind her. It was impossible, but it felt like the vacancy was an entity that might follow them in. Like she could magically block it by bolting the door. “He was just a weird kid. Probably some horror attraction or something.”

  “Hm,” said listless Rye.

  “Sleep here tonight, okay? You can have the couch.”

  “Thanks.” And with nothing
more, he collapsed onto it.

  The princess watched him slip into uneasy sleep.

  Meanwhile, in the library with the secret room, Foster looked up from his blank-paged book. “Is that true?” he asked no one. “That if he stays, our paths will forever be off? No, . . . we’ll catch up at some point. We have to.”

  But he wasn’t fully convinced. The similarity between Rye and Ryon was proof enough that in the next life they were meant to be . . . But he’d never thought that allowing Rye to stay would have a negative effect on the future. He’d have to ask Nero just to be sure. Before he could give up completely, he had to know.

  “Sorry, Rye. I need to borrow you again.”

  Chapter 14: The Ultimate Mark

  The hunter reached for her, but the young girl’s hands wouldn’t work. They refused to trust him.

  Y was annoyed. “Just drop it, okay? It’s for the best. That THING shouldn’t leave the city anyway.”

  But dropping it was something Tide Yondo couldn’t do because she’d woken to find Rye missing again, and after the strange way their day had ended, there was no telling where he’d wandered off to this time.

  “You don’t understa-” started Tide, but Y was quick to cut her off.

  “I understand well enough, Miss Mechanical Princess. And it creeps me out! So either drop it, or I’m leaving and you’re going to have to go ask the bucktoothed bellman to take your photo!”

  Tide huffed an angry, horse-like outbreath through her teeth. She needed Y along. She couldn’t afford to push her over the edge.

  “Fine,” she said, straining herself to be cordial. “Help me get ready, then.”

  ~

  For the first time in days, Nero Yondo was alone in his office. His shiny-shoed friend was nowhere to be seen.

  Friend? That was a bit of a stretch.

  “Sir, your daughter’s fiancé is here to see you,” said his secretary through the buzzer. “And it seems he’s brought – now, I know this can’t be true, Sir – but it seems he’s brought Ryon. Does that sound right?”