by Ain Soph
I turn away from Isoline in annoyance and sigh. I’m not irritated with her, but I’m disappointed in myself. At this point in my career as a mercenary, I should be a lot more calm and collected, but instead I find myself making excuses for my behavior. I could have left her behind- but I needed her to show me the way. It’s always been against my rules to work with partners- but what would trying a partner out hurt, just once? Usually on missions, I liked to keep to myself, and this particular mission was no exception. I rely on my mental focus to keep myself sharp in dicey situations. I can’t fault myself for agreeing to help her though. Isoline knows my weakness: information on the Scarlet Reapers. I hit a dead end long ago, and working with the Remnants wasn’t helping me as much as I thought it would when I first signed on to be one of their mercenaries. I’m in dire need of any information anyone has to offer, and although I know there’s a chance Isoline could be lying about her knowledge, I’ll take my chances. Even though bringing her along is stressing me out, it should be a simple mission, and if she knows anything that could lead me one step closer to them, the reward will be worth all of this effort.
Even after the disappearances started, the Scarlet Reapers remained an obscure, extremist group most people didn’t even think existed. I used to be among the fools who thought the Reapers were nothing more than a boogeyman’s tale, but that was long ago- before the Reapers came for my own family. I don’t have hard proof or evidence. When I tried to tell people the Reapers took my parents, I was met with looks of pity- as though I was having a psychotic break. But I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. I know the Reapers took them, and I plan to find out why- and then, I plan to stop them.
My parents’ disappearance was simple. They took on a rogue mission for a militia I can’t even remember the name of anymore. We lived in a small village on the outskirts of a militia called Timberwood. My parents though, weren’t content with accepting only the missions Timberwood offered them. Even after becoming mercenaries, they were still terrified of returning to the days when our family was among the impoverished. So, my parents decided spend half their time in Timberwood and the other half as rogue mercenaries, accepting any missions that came their way. I’m sure they had their own standards of what they’d accept and what they’d refuse, but I don’t know for certain. I just know how I’d rather think of them in my memories.
Because of their work as rogue mercenaries (a position Timberwood had no idea my parents had placed themselves in), the militia refused to launch an investigation after they failed to return home to my sister and I. Mercenaries disappeared all the time; it was dangerous work. Usually, they were killed on whatever mission the militia had tasked them with, and that’s what Timberwood tried to tell me. They could have been murdered by Artifs, other rogue mercenaries, or even violent militias lacking any sort of code of honor, but Timberwood was among the militias who believed in the Reapers and I knew, even as they were lying to my face, that they knew exactly what had happened to my parents. Perhaps they just didn’t want to further break the heart of a twelve year old girl. No one knew where the Reapers took the people they kidnapped or what they did with them. If your family was taken by the Reapers, it was best to just tell yourself they were dead. It wasn’t like you were every going to see them again.
Somehow, the tiny girl shuffling her feet beside me, with her serious, drawn face and tightly clenched fists, discovered my weakness, the thirst for knowledge that drives every fiber of my being. Isoline knows I’m on my own private search for the Scarlet Reapers, a mission separate from anything I do for the Remnants, and she offered me a sweet, dangling apple of knowledge if I helped her. I’m half tempted to press her for information on how she heard about me in the first place, but there would be time for that later- after I got my information. Furthermore, I don’t even know how she came by information on the Reapers in the first place. Part of me is actually envious that she managed to possibly find something about them that I don’t already know. But I’ve already tried asking Isoline where she got her knowledge on the Reapers, and so far her lips have been sealed. Again though, I’m not too concerned. I just have to wait her out. Eventually, I’ll have my information and then I can press her harder. Until then, I just have to play the game.
My search has hit enough dead ends that I’m starting to lose my faith in not only the mission, but myself. It’s disconcerting to find myself in such a desperate position, but for years, searching for the Scarlet Reapers has been my only purpose in life. Somewhere along the way, everything else just ceased to exist. And somehow during that time, searching for the truth behind the Disappeared became the justification for my existence. I have nothing left to live for except for finding the Scarlet Reapers, but as long as I never give up on finding them, I’m alive.
“Luxem?” Isoline’s sharp tone draws me out of my thoughts. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s a sound that carries on the wind and reaches my ears as though it’s in a hurry. I can feel her small, fragile arm now threaded through mine and I swallow nervously. I’m too caught in the past, in my memories. I didn’t even notice we were touching or that she was walking so close to me. More and more lately, I’ve been reminiscing during missions. I hoped that I would stay more alert with Isoline by my side, but with how distracted I’ve been this entire time, I was liable to get both of us killed. I have to focus myself if I want the mission to be a success.
I unwind my arm from Isoline’s and shake away the sweat that gathered in the crease of my elbow. Holding on to me may make Isoline feel more at ease, but the summer season was in its final throes and the sun’s heat was unbearable. Sticking too close together was making me uncomfortably warm. My mother probably would have scolded me if she saw me in this moment. Isoline doesn’t seem like the affectionate type; she must be extremely nervous to actually grab onto me. I know that my mother would have told me to provide Isoline with whatever comfort I could to put her mind at ease. Even after becoming a mercenary, my mother still had a gentle nature that dictated everything she did. She probably would have taken Isoline by the hand and merrily escorted her safely to the manor. Unfortunately for Isoline though, my mother isn’t here, and I’ve never been one for comforting.
“I told you before your best chance of survival was to stick close to me, but if we’re too close, you’re going to end up distracting me. We still don’t know if we’re walking into a dangerous area, and if we are, any distractions are likely to get us killed. I at least need both of my arms free,” I growl under my breath, trying to ignore the drop in Isoline’s expression as she presses her lips together and looks away from me. I want to apologize; I know she’s trying her best to stay strong and brave in an unfamiliar situation, but I can’t tell her I’m sorry. She needs to understand that we’re on a mission, and no matter if it’s easy or difficult, Isoline needs to stay on guard.
I walk ahead of her and Isoline follows a couple steps back in silence. I don’t know if she’s still upset about the scolding I gave her or if there’s just nothing else to say. She’s not much of a talker, and I don’t have much experience with interacting on missions. I turn around to ask her how much farther we have to walk, but Isoline instead jogs to catch up with me and points in front of us, recognition dawning on her face. “These are the manors that we were staying in. We’re in the right area; now we just need the right house.” I look past her outstretched hand to see rows of imposing three story homes precariously leaning inward toward the cobblestone street we’ve been walking on. Their stone exterior is crumbled and the wood that was used as decorative trim when they were first built is rotting away, spiderwebs covering most of the intricate detail. At one point I’m sure the homes looked luxurious with vibrant colors brightening the otherwise gloomy streets, but at this point, all of the colors were muted and faded. The neighborhood we arrived in looked more ominous than anything. Maple trees tossed deep shadows on the street in front of us, shrouding it in darkness though the sun still shone brightly overhe
ad. Weeds had already made fast work overtaking the stones under our feet, threatening to pull them below the rich, dark soil they rested upon. The soil actually looked like a granger’s dream. It was a shame it was instead overrun with weeds.
There are potentially several places where Artifs or dangerous humans could be hiding. My eyes sweep over darkened windows, the glass broken busted inward toward the house. I inspect the broken wooden frames around the elaborate, spiraling towers above us. If anyone or anything is looking out of the massive bay windows in the towers, they have a clear, bird’s eye view of both Isoline and I. Still though, Isoline’s mission is simple, and even with the possible hiding places around the neighborhood, I don’t think we have much to worry about. She just needs to retrieve an heirloom locket in one of the manors in front of us. From what Isoline told me before I fully agreed to help her with her mission, she and her family were a part of a group of nomads who chose to live outside of the governing militias in the area. Over time, they created roots in multiple places, but nomads never stay in one area for long. The neighborhood Isoline has taken me to is the last place she and her people lived in peace.
Unfortunately for the nomads, Artifs arrived at their neighborhood one day also looking for a place to lay down new roots. Usually humans and Artifs avoided one another as much as possible, but these Artifs were desperate, and their desperation made them dangerous. When Isoline fled the manor, her people scattering for safety, she saw friends and family lying dead in the streets around her. There was not time to think, barely enough time to run, and she left behind the one item that had meant the most to her- the locket she’s come back for, this time dragging me with her.
I breathe in the peaceful stillness of the streets and sigh in content. Judging by the lack of sound around us, it seems that the Artifs that ran Isoline’s people out of town are no longer here. Still, from where I’m standing I have no way of being absolutely certain they’re no longer here; I can only guess. If the Artifs are still living in the manors here, one wrong step would leave us at the mercy of their entire camp, and from Isoline’s stories, it doesn’t sound like they have much mercy to give. An Artif’s enhanced strength can do serious damage to a human with just one punch. If Isoline and I see any Artifs here, our best bet at survival would be to run.
I grab Isoline’s hand and run to the side of the closest house, pulling her down beside me to kneel in the soft grass. The ground around us is littered with pre war propaganda claiming the Artifs as terrorists. Ironically, next to it are advertisements from even earlier in time, for the latest model of Artif, promising absolute satisfaction or your money back. I’m surprised that papers such as these are lying on the ground of such a remote area. Not only was the location strange, but they don’t seem to be as weathered as I would have thought either. The papers have to be more than two decades old, but they look preserved. Most likely, they had fallen into the hands of different groups who appointed themselves the keepers of history- groups such as the Remnants. They dedicate themselves to keeping human history alive for future generations. As for the why the papers are abandoned on the ground beside an old manor home, I have no guesses. I suppose it’s possible they could have been the property of the nomads, though.
I look toward Isoline’s face and notice her eyes greedily scanning the papers on the ground in front of us. If she had never seen them before, then perhaps they belonged to the Artifs who had taken over her people’s camp. It’s uncommon to hear about Artifs who are historians, especially when their history could just be downloaded into their chips. There’s no need for them to hold on to physical copies of any information. Artifs are living in a digital age that surpassed humans long ago. Some groups of Artifs enjoy studying pre war propaganda and history books to better anticipate and understand human psychology during battles. I hope my initial interpretation of the silence is correct and the neighborhood was, in fact, devoid of any Artifs. A ruthless Artif camp armed with an array of knowledge is a formidable opponent. Most Artif camps live their lives defensively, protecting their hive with whatever means necessary, but there are rare groups, such as the one that attacked the nomads, that live their lives on the offense, seeking out human camps to destroy. I’m nervous for Isoline. I want our mission to go smoothly, but I’m starting to feel the first twinges of fear creeping through my veins. I curse under my breath, once more regretting allowing Isoline to come. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, but I know for a fact that I barely tried to convince her. An ego boost isn’t worth any loss of innocent life. How could I let myself forget the reason I don’t bring others on my missions? I don’t want the responsibility for their life, or the guilty conscience that comes with not being able to protect them. I know that guilt all too well. I don’t need it eating at me any faster than it already is.
I grab Isoline by both her arms and pin her against the wall of the house. I want to scare her, to force her to follow my every command, no questions asked; I want to save her life. Mercenaries train for years before they go on their first mission. Isoline needs to understand that this isn’t her mission; she’s just a tag along, and her decision to come with me could very well end up being the biggest regret of her life. “Listen to me, Isoline,” she widens her eyes and stiffens her body in surprise. The mission hasn’t even really begun and she’s already caught of guard. “I have no idea if there are Artifs in these houses. I want to say no. I hear the silence around us, and I want to let go of my fear and just say that we’re good to go. But the truth is that there is a fifty fifty chance we are going to find the manor your locket is in and there will be Artifs waiting in the first room we walk into wanting to kill us. If these papers here belong to the Artifs who destroyed your people, then they’re the type of Artifs who research tactics on getting the upper hand in human combat, who live their lives seeking out human camps to destroy, and those are the Artifs who hate us. So, listen to every word I say and follow every order I give you. I plan for us to make it out of here alive, no matter what we’re walking into.” I let go of Isoline’s shoulders and see her eyes boring in to me, jaw clenched, skin sallow. I think about the people she lost here and regret my wording. Isoline isn’t a mercenary, but she knows what these Artifs are capable of.
I know I didn’t give her anything inspiring or motivational to prepare her for the mission, but that’s not how mercenaries are trained anyway. I’m not sure I even know how to inspire her. The thought of preventing my own death so I could live another day, have another chance to find the Reapers, is always enough to motivate me. Still, I know Isoline trusts me to protect her, and I plan to get us both out of here in one piece, whether she takes my speech to her seriously or not. Isoline is an easy person care about, and I genuinely want her to find the locket and the mission to be a success. Her determination reminds me of my own sister. At the thought of my sister, I freeze, moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes. I blink and snap my eyebrows together in a harsh glare to gain composure, erasing any thoughts of my sister from my mind. I need to stay in the present. I would not be a mercenary who died because I lost focus of the mission.
“Which house is it?” Isoline clears her throat uncomfortably and points to a faded maroon manor with dingy white trim, and a large tower at the top with blacked out windows. It’s the tallest house in the neighborhood but it’s also on the complete opposite side of where we’re standing. I snap my head toward her in irritation, “What are you talking about? You told me the house was at the entrance of the neighborhood. Now all of a sudden you’re saying it’s near the back? We’re going to have to walk past every house in this area, dozens of windows that we can’t see into.” I thought Isoline was a poor liar when she tried to convince me she was a mercenary, but I obviously underestimated her.
Isoline rubs the back of her neck and mumbles, “I know and I’m sorry. I wanted to make the mission sound as easy as possible. I was afraid if it seemed too dangerous, you wouldn’t agree to it.”
“I should have had hones
t information up front. I would have approached the houses from a different angle.” I hiss my words between clenched teeth, struggling to keep my voice to a whisper. There’s a tall wrought iron fence around the plot of houses, closing it off from the outside world, but I still could have figured something else out. I’d faced more difficult terrain on previous missions. Now though, I don’t have supplies with me to climb over the fence and I have to figure out a way to get us to the other end of the street while I’m still unsure about whether any Artifs still live here.
I put my finger to my lips to keep Isoline quiet and pull her along the backside of the houses. If we stay on the outskirts, we’d at least be able to peak around and look for any signs of Artif activity, but we need an escape plan for if we’re spotted. Right now, our only escape plan is backtracking our steps and trying to make it out of the front gate. If we do end up swarmed by Artifs, the chances of us making it through the front was slim. We need to find another route. I scan the hills surrounding the neighborhood. They’re surrounding the manors on all sides, further separating the neighborhood from its surrounding area. I remember from our journey here, though, that on the other side of the hills, they slope downward toward a large, mossy forest with enough foliage to provide a quick hiding place. I creep farther along the fence, Isoline following behind me until I see a gap large enough for both of us to slide through. It’s a tight fit, but it gives us another option if we end up in a dangerous situation.
