Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (16 page)

"He Judged her," I whisper, tears welling up.
 

Ursa nods. "If he didn't, your whol
e family would have fallen, especially with your Father being the High Deacon and all."

I shake my head, feeling anxiety at the terrible decision my
Father had had to make. "Who did it?" I ask, anger suddenly rising to replace the sadness.

"Who did what, Juno?" Ursa asks, confused.

"Who ratted my Mother out?" 

Altair shifts uncomfortably, moving for the first time since the ride began.
 

Ursa eyes the man warily. "I don't know, and it really doesn't matter, Juno," she says. "What's done is done."

"Well that's a bloody copout!" I protest, raising my voice a little too high.

"Ursa is right," Altair interjects, putting a hand on my shoulder as he moves beside me. "Knowing won't bring your
Mother back. It will only make you grow bitter and hateful toward the person who did it. Trust me, I know."

I scowl at Altair hard. "You sound like you know who it is." Altair rolls his eyes. "Well, do you?"

Altair nods reluctantly. "Your Father has told me, but it doesn't matter, Juno. The person responsible has suffered for it. Trust me in that."

I huff, and even Traylor's in on the argument now. "We deserve to know!" he wails. "I'm with Juno on this!"

Altair crosses his arms. "I'm sorry, guys, but this is something you're better off not knowing. That's my final word on it. Okay?"

I stick my tongue out at Altair, and Traylor laughs. I get up and join my brother on his hay bale, both looking outside again.
 

The landscape has changed dramatically in the few hours since our journey began. Lush tropical vegetation has given way to bleak
stone outcroppings covered by occasional shrubs and moss. With a gasp, I realize that the sun is actually getting lower on the horizon! I've never seen it this low in my life!

We really are headed
to Everwinter, land of eternal darkness.

This Engie only travels to the Fringes
–the last bastion of Eversummer civilization. It is said that mutants who are discovered in Eversummer often flee to the Fringes before they can be Judged, seeking sanctuary in the far flung villages where the rule of the True Body Plan is less oppressive. 

Less oppressive, but not absent.
 

The Engie's shrill horn suddenly sound
s; three long, hard blasts. The warning repeats. "What does that mean?" I ask, whirling back toward Altair and Ursa. They both look clueless, however. I glance over to one of the other corners in the car where a pair of mutants is quickly rummaging through a rucksack, producing a familiar looking tank and mask.

Air!

"I think we're entering a patch of Bleaklands!" I announce, turning back. Altair looks despondent, but he relaxes when Ursa pulls out her own portable breathing cylinder.

"I don't know how much longer this tank will last," Ursa announces, "but we can share it and hopefully make it through the Bleakpatch. It shouldn't take long for the Engie to cross it."

Unless it's a really big one
, I think but don't say.

We wait and, indeed, as the Engie enters a steep walled canyon, the air becomes noticeably thinner, harder to breathe. Traylor takes the first shot of air, followed by me, then Ursa herself. Altair holds off for the moment. It's still possible to breathe, but it's growing more difficult.
 

His face is going purple.

The Engine continues and we each take a few more breaths, Altair only taking one for every three we take. Ursa shakes the cylinder, her eyes fearful. We don't talk, as that would waste air, but the implication is obvious. Our supply is getting low.

I look over and a few of the other passengers are passed out completely. There's nothing that can be done for them until we're out of this though. The scruffy looking mutant man and his companion are fine, sharing their tank with regularity. We're rationing as best we can, but we're all growing weaker.
Bleaker
.

Three more blasts of the whistle.

We're outside the patch!

Altair springs to his feet, nearly stumbling, grabbing the sliding door on the car an
d flinging it open. Air rushes in. There's not much of it at first, but the breeze grows steadily stronger. Breathing becomes easier. Altair collapses by the door, exhausted.

I see movement.
 

I turn to see the scruffy man and his companion getting up. I grow tense, ready to call out to Altair, but the men are only going to the other people in the car, offering them their air.
I smile broadly at the gesture. It seems there still are good people left in this world...

I hear a sharp cry of pain and turn again to see the scruffy men wailing on the unsuspecting passengers, kicking them in the gut and face. Their victims go limp. I push up off the hay, readying myself for a confrontation, but my head swims. I fall to my knees immediately.

The scruffy men go over to the other corner where two more mutants, a man and a woman are stirring. They converse with the newcomers who get to their feet, their own breath tank now visible among their possessions. The new group of four share a laugh, then turn toward us.

These people are working together!

I hear a pained grunt and turn to see Altair stumbling weakly to his feet. With each breath I feel my strength returning, but it's not fast enough. Traylor and Ursa are like me, prone on the ground. Ursa is offering Traylor the last breath from her tank.

"No need to get up," one of the men sneers at Altair, landing a boot square in the man's stomach.

"NO!" I call out in protest. Another of the men laughs, grabbing me by the hair and pushing me down. Ursa and Traylor are likewise handled roughly. The bandits start going through our things.

"Spit ashes!" I curse at the one that grabbed me, actually spitting at the man.

"Enough!" the man counters, raising an open palm and slamming it hard against my cheek. Instantly, I feel the dried fruit and mud paste crack against my skin, falling away. 

My disguise.

"What the bloody ashes is this?" the man asks, kneeling down to take a closer look. He reaches out and grabs my cheek, peeling away more of the mask, revealing the unblemished skin beneath. The man's face goes pale as he stands upright, hand to his mouth. "You... You're not a mutant," he says in shock. "You're... You're..."

"Human," I finish for him between gritted teeth. "The
last
human." I look over at Traylor. One of the bandits–a woman–is poking at his mask now too.

The man above me has a knife in his hands, pointing it directly toward me. "Gods!" he exclaims to his companions. "Do you guys know what we could get for her! Aren't the Children of Mutanity looking for a human?"

The woman shrugs. "I thought that was just a story to justify their brutality?"

"So did I," the scruffy man agrees. "I
– Hey!"

The formless lump on the floor that had originally been Altair is
now a blur, hands striking the woman, then the man next to Ursa, taking them both down in seconds.

The man above me snarls, grabbing my arm and moving the knife toward my throat. "NO!" I scream yet again and, without thinking, put my full weight forward, striking his stomach with surprising force. He stumbles backward, straight out the open door of the Engie compartment.

But he's not alone.

He's got me by the tunic and doesn't let go, taking me with him as we fly off into oblivion.

21.

"Where'd you get the machine!" he demands, pressing the shooting iron hard against the woman's temple.

Her sobbing grows harder.

"I... I... My husband..." she mutters. "It was... He's a conductor at Venecici Station and..." She stops, having a brief episode of panic.

"Finish this, Child Jude," Blaine's voice snakes from somewhere behind him. Jude turns to make sure Blaine had actually spoken. Sometimes
–just sometimes mind you–he hears Blaine's voice inside his head.

This, however, isn't one of those times.

Jude nods, turning back to the woman. "Your husband accepted a plow machine as someone’s payment for passage aboard the Engie, is that right?"

The woman bobs her head up and down vigorously. "Yes."

"A bribe, you might call it."

The woman frowns. "No! Not like that! He
–"

"Credits are the only legal form of economic transaction," Jude interrupts. "It may be a strange new world we now live in, Marial, but even
that
has not changed. It keeps things fair. Credits were the basis of our economy and still are."

Marial nods at everything he says, appearing to agree wholeheartedly.

"So you see, if we let mutants like your husband take unscrupulous advantage of the situation, people get desperate. Riots break out. Then the Children of Mutanity would have to step in." Marial gasps. "And trust me, Marial, you don't want that."

The shooting iron still pressed hard to her head, Marial nods emphatically. "Of course, you are right," she agrees. "When Fabrial gets home, I'll... I'll make sure things are put right." She gestures to the Forerunner plow
–the same one stolen from the Children of Mutanity just days earlier–parked in a lean-to shelter behind Marial's house. Well, the house is more of a shack, really. He'd always hated coming to Venecici on ore runs from Krakelyn. The place is nothing more than a refuse dump.

Jude grins at Marial. "That won't we necessary," he replies. "I think he'll get the message loud and clear."
 

Jude cocks the weapon.
 

"No!" Marial cries, raising her shaking, tumor pocked hands as a shield. "How was Fabrial to know that the machine belonged to the Children? It was a mistake! T
hat's all! Just a simple little–"

BLAAAAAM!!!

Marial's cries cease as her corpse crumbles to the soil, blood pooling around her. A hand lands on Jude's shoulder, startling him. He nearly pulls the trigger again, but Blaine stops him.

"Good, Child Jude. Very good." Blaine pauses to stare at the corpse. "Very,
very
good. The last human will be ours soon enough." Blaine turns and gestures to his men looking on. "Bring him in!" he yells.

Blaine has a contingent of his twenty most faithful followers with him here
, the rest of the Children spread throughout the southern cities. The followers part as a man, hands bound behind his back and a knotted rag tied in his mouth, is led to the head of the gathering.

Fabrial.

The man screams through his gag when he sees his dead wife, falling to his knees before her sagging corpse. Blaine nods, and one of the men removes the gag.

"Bastards!" Fabrial screams, leaning against his wife for support. "Why? Why did you
–"

Blaine strikes the man without preamble, fire blazing in his dark brown eyes. "Your wife gave you up, Fabrial!" Blaine snickers. "She says you accepted this Forerunner machine as payment for a seat on the Engie. That is hardly ethical behavior for a man in your position."

Fabrial sneers, teeth bared. "Cut the ruse!" he screams. "This isn't about some bribe! What would men like you care if I– Ooomph!"

Fabrial is cut off as Blaine strikes him again. "We are
men
no longer, Fabrial," Blaine says, his tone severe. "We are
mutants
. And we are looking for the last human. Though you may not know it yet, one of the people who bribed their way aboard your Engie today was a human. A
pure
human."

Fabrial scowls. "Impossible! I got a good look at all of them and
–" 

Blaine strikes again.

"Thou shalt
only
suffer a mutant to live! You aided and abetted a human, allowing it to escape! The penalty for such a crime is death!"

Fabrial collapses totally now, falling onto his wife. "A world without humanity is a world I no longer wish to be a part of," he announces, turning aw
ay, eyes cast on his dead wife's face.

"Jude," Blaine says, turning to him. "Finish it."

Jude nods, raising the shooting iron still clutched in his right hand. Fabrial sobs, but his face is hidden against his wife's body, half buried. That makes it easier. It's getting easier all the time.

But this man deserves to die, doesn't he?

It was men like this that caused the mutations in the first place, right?

Who caused the mutations?

"What did they look like?" Jude suddenly blurts aloud, surprising even himself.

He doesn't expect Fabrial to respond, but the man actually does. "Who?" he asks, sneering.