Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (12 page)

Maybe the gods don't have that kind of power,
he thinks
.

He shakes his head.

The idea contradicts the very concept of an all powerful entity. All he knows is that these mutations are a blessing, and that the one responsible for them will be rewarded when the time comes.

"Welcome to the Children of Mutanity," Blaine
finishes, placing a hand on the individual’s shoulder, looking deeply into his eyes. He becomes lost in that gaze. "I know you will do great things in this new world. What is your name, Child?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by screams and shouts erupting from the gathered onlookers under the pavilion.
There are about five hundred of them here, but there are other sects all over Eversummer. And Blaine leads them all. Thousands of individuals, all looking for the same thing: stability in an unstable world.

"Blaine!" an exasperated voice calls out. He looks and sees the cr
owd parting as a ragged woman shambles toward them. At first, he takes the discoloring of her skin as part of her mutation–she is covered in boils–but realizes as she approaches that she is actually covered in dried blood and dark, puffy bruising. 

A large man standing at the stage
entrance cuts her off with crossed arms, his skin mottled and peeling as if from a bad sunburn. "You will address him as High Deacon!" the man insists, the woman falling to her knees before the platform.

"I have urgent news, High Deacon!" the woman pleads. The bodyguard turns to Blaine, who nods assent.

"What is it?" Blaine asks.

"I know w
here the last human is," she answers. 

The crowd erupts into gasps, which Blaine waves down.
 

"Go on," he allows.

"My party was ambushed by a group of thugs, just south of the Great Canyonway. I was the only one to survive. The last human was among them."

Blaine raises an eyebrow. "And what did the last human look like?" he asks, clearly skeptical.

The woman's demeanor brightens. "Short, thin, red hair, blue eyes, perfect skin. A
pure
human." 

The desc
ription kindles something within the individual, but he ignores it for the moment. 

"A pure
woman
," the newcomer adds. "They hijacked one of our plow machines and headed south, toward Venecici."

Blaine pauses, the silence
seeming to stretch on to infinite. "If this new world is to survive," he finally says, "we must eradicate any and
all
vestiges of the old." He pauses again, considering. "Has anyone here ever traveled to Venecici?"

The individual puts his hand
to the sky instantly. 

After all, he'd traveled to almost
all
the southern cities on ore runs for the mine. "I have," he says aloud. Other hands had shot into the air, but he’s already on the stage next to Blaine.

Blaine smiles. "You already prove yourself worthy, Child," he says. "Before we were interrupted, I asked for your name. I would hear it now."
 

The crowd seems on the verge of a collective breath.

"Jude," he replies with a smile that never touches his eyes. "I can take you to the last human."

Those eyes are nearly vacant.

PART II: THE SOUTH

15
.

Two days later.

"I love you, Juno Quinn."

"I...I..."

The tide
s rise higher, now coming up to and covering their ankles. When they'd arrived, the area around the Box was dry, soft beach sand. But the waves are getting bigger, more violent, even though there's no real wind to speak of at the moment.

One
wave rises up and crashes into Jude, causing his left leg to crumble, collapsing like a house made of sand. 

"No!" she calls out, reaching for him.
“NO!” But it's too late.

Another wave
strikes, this one bigger and foamier, causing Jude to crumble to a pile at his waist. He looks up at her, reaches for her, pleading. "Please, Juno. I love you!" He reaches for the Box, now half submerged, and his hand crumbles to sand when he touches it.

"I...love..." she begins. B
ut it's over.

A final wave washes over Jude'
s disintegrating form and, when it subsides, he's gone. She falls to her knees, screaming, grabbing handfuls of mud. "No, Jude! No!"

She feels a hand on her shoulder and spins, shrieking in surprise.
 It's Altair.

"Wake up, Juno," he mouths. "It's time to wake up..."

I open my eyes.

It's not Altair with his hand on my shoulder, but Traylor.
 

My little brother smirks
at me, eyeing the sweat dripping from my forehead. "That must've been a pretty intense dream," he says. "You were screaming and everything!"

I shake my head,
remembering the dream, but letting it fade. "That's weird," I say sheepishly, trying to act coy. "Did I say anything?"

"Just a name," Traylor replie
s, finally turning away from me, sitting back down on the other side of the fire.

"What name?" I ask, yawning.

"Jude," the reply comes, but not from Traylor.

Altair is
leaning against a brick pillar–one of the few structures still standing in these ruins–in relative shade. It's fairly dark in here, but the sun still blazes through cracks. Altair's got something in his lap. It takes me a second to realize it’s a pad of paper. A thin stick of charcoal, pilfered from the fire, rests in his right hand, sketching lines, smearing others. I can't make out the drawing from where I lay.

"Whatcha drawing?" I ask, sitting up fully now, changing the subject.
Altair makes a few final strokes then picks up the pad and turns it toward me.

"That's...
awesome
!" Traylor admonishes.

I, however, am at a loss for words.

The sketch is of me, asleep on the ground next to the fire. It's so lifelike, the details so real, I almost think I’m looking at one of those 'fotos' in my Father's study.

"You're the last human," Altair says, noting my sile
nce. "I thought it appropriate to immortalize you the only way I know how."

"Hey, what about me?" Traylor interjects, sounding honestly hurt.

"I was going to do you next, Traylor," Altair soothes. "Never worry. I just happened to catch your sister in a drawable pose first."

Traylor nods, seeming content with that. "What pose should I do?" he asks.

Altair shakes his head. "None for now. We need to get going again." He turns to peek around the red brick pillar. Traylor and I follow his gaze to where we'd parked the big Forerunner plow inside these ruins. Altair has already admitted that taking the plow was a good idea. We made almost a hundred wheels in less than a day yesterday!

We've
seen no one else on the road, so far.

Whatever this building had been formerly
, it was large enough to accommodate a dozen vehicles similar to our own. The roof over our heads is actually the floor above, miraculously still standing. This building once had multiple levels. We aren't sure if it was built by the Forerunners or a later civilization, but it's been picked clean of anything useful; we made sure of that before settling down for sleep. The only thing of note we’d discovered was a tarnished brass pole, standing on its own near the edge of the large main room. The floor above it had given way, so there was little to indicate as to what its purpose had been.

Strange indeed.

Altair is on his feet now, snuffing the fire out with his heavy boots. My stomach rumbles. We haven't eaten in almost two days.

Altair notices my discomfort. "We will be in the port cities in a few hours," he announces. "We will find all that we need there. We should arrive in Venecici by day's end."

"Thank the gods," I say with a huff. "Hey," I add, as if in afterthought, "since we're passing through the ports, do you think we could, you know, ask around, see if anyone's seen or heard from Jude?" I pull my lips in, seeing the look on Altair's face.

"You know we can't," he replies, a
ll business, as usual. He stalks over to the plow machine, climbs aboard, and starts the engine, letting it warm up. I sigh, feeling guiltier than ever. 

I love you, Juno Quinn...

"Maybe
you
can't," I say, under my breath, "but
I
can. Once we find this Ursa woman, and she does whatever it is she needs to do with me, then there is no
we
anymore. I will find Jude."

I start to pack up what little I have
left, thankful that the final leg of our exhausting journey is about to come to an end.

Thank the gods,
I think with a smile.
Jude, where are you?

16.

"It's you or him, Child Jude. T
here is no other way. This man is guilty of hiding his mutation–as if it is something to be ashamed of!"

Jude nods.

He knows everything Blaine is telling him is true. And yet, he hesitates.
Why?

It was wrong to be a mutant at one time, wasn't it?

He can't remember.

Things have gotten so hazy since joining
the Children of Mutanity. All he knows is that the world has changed. Mutations are now the norm, and any attempts to hide them from view are outlawed.

Thou shalt
only
suffer a mutant to live.

Jude raises the shooting iron.

"That's right," Blaine hisses into his ear, not unlike the snake in that old tale about the First Paradise. "This man deserves to die. All you have to do is squeeze the trigger."

The man in question is shuddering, on his knees before the gathering, eyes downcast.
Blaine's group of Children–one hundred strong here–had been traveling south along the Canyonway, coming upon this poor vagabond alone, his head and body completely covered by a hooded cloak.

Blasphemy
!

They had set upon him immediately.

Jude pauses a moment, feeling the weight of the shooting iron in both his hand and his mind. This is his first time holding such a weapon, and the power it entails overwhelms him. 

I hold this man's life in my hands
, he thinks, turning the weapon sideways, admiring the tarnished metal. He glances around.
I hold
all
of their lives at this moment!
I could kill any one of them right now! Even Blaine.
He gasps mentally at the audacity of such a thought.

Sure, he could kill them, but in turn he would be just as dead.
 

He wasn't the only one with a shooting iron here.

He looks down at the vagabond once more.

The man is sobb
ing now, naked. The Children have torn away his clothing, revealing a body ravaged by weeping sores and rotting flesh. The Final Judgment had been hard on him. 

A pity, but such was life.

It's not my fault this is happening…

"Look at me," Jude orders,
leveling the weapon at the man's head. But the man doesn't listen. "LOOK AT ME!" Jude is shocked at his own tone, but it works because the man finally looks up, eyes watery. "Do you deny hiding what you are from the gods?"

The vag
rant shakes his head. "I wasn't hiding anything!" he pleads in a wavery voice. "I was cold! I
had
to keep myself covered!"

Jude laughs, along with his comrades. "In case you haven't noticed,
good sir, this is the desert. It's
never
cold here."

The vag nods, desperate. "I... It's because of my mutations," he explains, still looking Jude in the eye. "My... My sores have become infected. I'm sick. I feel cold
all
the time."

Blaine eyes Jude warily. That
look seems to say:
You're not buying this crap, are you?

Jude scowls. "So you blame
your mutation for your blasphemy, is that it?" Angry growls erupt from the onlookers, but again the vag remains silent. "Mutations are the True Body Plan now," Jude continues. "Mutations are perfection. We all have sores, much as you do, but ours are not festering. It's called bathing, my friend. You should try it sometime."

More laughing from the crowd.