Citadel: The Concordant Sequence

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Child?” asked Legacy, peering back at her from a few paces ahead.

  Her brief daydream faded. “I think I remember before… Something scared my parents and they brought me to the place they worked, made me get in that tank. But I thought that was a bad dream.” She explained going to school for-seeming-ever, and the nightmares about being dragged down the corridor.

  “I do not understand.” Legacy took her by the hand and resumed walking.

  Kiera squinted into the wind, trying to make sense of a dark sprawl in the distance. A ruined city, skyscrapers twisted and fallen like dead trees. “This place feels like a bad dream, too. What’s real?”

  “Perhaps you describe the world as it was before Cloudfall.”

  The wind picked up, lifting her hair off her back and releasing sweat trails down her back. Moving air felt wonderful and cool. “What’s Cloudfall?”

  Legacy raised his arm in a grand gesture at the nothingness. “It is when the things that were became no more, and that which is became.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  He gave her a concerned look. “I am sorry, child. How?”

  “You’re speaking in nonsense and I don’t think I’d make that up in my dream.” She frowned at the sand, no longer showing any evident trail of his earlier footprints. “Are we lost?”

  “I am not lost.” He grinned. “Do not fear. I promised him I would see you safely to the Citadel.”

  “What year is it?”

  “I understand you are asking for an expression of time, but I am unfamiliar with the answer you seek. I shall ask him when we reach my cave. He may know.”

  “He who?” She scratched at her forehead, pulling a few stray strands of hair away from her face.

  “The one who sent me to find you.”

  “Who is he?” asked Kiera.

  “Him.” His voice sounded deeper than usual, laden with reverence.

  Exasperated, she sighed. “Does he have a name other than he? What is he? God?”

  “I have never heard him referred to as God, no.” He bowed his head. “He is sometimes known as Thread Alpha, but I was commanded never to speak the name to any but the Child of the Earth.”

  “You’re sure I’m this child you’re looking for?”

  He smiled broadly. “I am.”

  “How can you be so sure?” She squinted up at him. “And what am I going to do? I don’t have any weapons, or training, or armor… nothing. At least you’re gonna give me clothes. And I’m only eleven.”

  “I do not know exactly the means by which you will awaken the sleeping titans, but you shall leave a mark upon this world that generations will remember.”

  Kiera rolled her eyes. “No pressure then. This even sounds like the games I play. I am so having a nightmare.”

  “The world is trapped within a nightmare, and you shall awaken it.”

  “Yeah… right. So, what am I dreaming about? What are people like here? Is this place dangerous? You don’t have any guns or swords.”

  “People are only trying to get by.” He chuckled. “Most live in villages. Closer to the Citadel, they cling to the old ways. Near the Torment, they are more wild.”

  “Wild… does that mean they’re dangerous?” She smacked her tongue a few times, parched. “Can I have some more water, please?”

  “Soon. We must make it last. And not always. Wild in that they live in the ways the ancients did, long before the society that brought down the clouds.”

  “Oh… primitives.” She glanced sideways at him. “Like you?”

  Legacy let go of her hand to pat her on the back and pull her into a brief one-armed hug. “Like us.”

  5

  Three Merchants

  Kiera walked at Legacy’s side for a few hours, debating with herself what seemed the more likely nightmare: that her parents dragged her to a secret medical facility in the middle of the night and she woke up in a wasteland, or that she’d been in sixth grade for a lot longer than one year. Glitches nagged at her. The single tree waving in the breeze, the kid with the bottomless soda, the way even Ashleigh had been acting weird.

  “Legacy?” She stopped walking, reaching up to feel at the back of her neck.

  “Yes, child?” He faced her.

  “Will you look and tell me if I’m hurt?” She turned her back to him, head bowed, and let her arms go slack at her sides. Facing the school nurse in her underwear had been mortifying, but for some reason (perhaps lack of choice) she felt at ease with him.

  Calloused fingers brushed at her hair. He picked at the back of her neck, which sent a mild thread of pain into her skull. Not enough to cry out, but she cringed.

  “It appears you’ve been bitten by a bloodfly.”

  “I have no idea what that is.” She touched the spot again, poking at a tiny scab.

  “There is some dried blood on your back, but the injury is small. A bloodfly is”―he held his thumb and finger an inch apart―“an insect about this big. They feed on blood, but are quite rare here. They are one of the few creatures the Torment does not kill.”

  Kiera shivered at the idea of a mosquito that size. “Umm, eww.”

  She sighed as they resumed walking. Heavy cloud cover dimmed the sun enough to prevent the sand from burning her feet, though it remained hot. Thick, humid air made the day miserable and left her covered in sweat. Legacy didn’t perspire much, but an odd mushroom-like smell clung to him. He no longer held her hand, but she hovered close at his right side, a half-step behind.

  The news had often detailed wars fought between countries, or sometimes even inside the military forces of the same country. Sometimes the reporters told of large corporations hiring mercenaries to protect against violent eco-terrorists or hostile soldiers. Yet, with all that horror on the news, her suburban home never once experienced any sign of trouble. Everything had always been normal.

  A nauseous feeling stirred in her gut. Those reporters’ increasing fear that the Earth was in trouble and humanity found its very existence in peril fit more with the fleeting memory of her worried parents forcing her into a bath of slime. Could a needle into her brain have plugged her into a simulation? But if that terrifying night―and this world―were real, that meant two things, one horrible. First: the school had been false as well as her best friend Ashleigh. How much time had passed? How long had she been floating in ooze? That at least explained why the people in white coats hadn’t let her keep her underwear on: she’d have had to go to the bathroom while in the tank. Thinking of that made her scrunch up her nose in disgust.

  Of course, if her suburban life had been a lie, that meant something far worse than this wasteland―her parents had been killed.

  Tears ran freely at the memory of the bloody marks on the floor by the other tanks. All the rest had been empty, so why did whatever happen spare her? Why did the tank flush her down the drain rather than open to let her out? Had the killers still been there? Maybe she’d survived only because the killers couldn’t open her tank.

  Her game system had spoken directly to her. Everything started to feel too much like she’d already woken up.

  No. This is the nightmare! My parents aren’t dead.

  Kiera forced the idea from her thoughts, wiped her face, and looked up. Legacy had gained distance due to her slowing from grief. She jogged to catch up, still sniffling, but refused to give in to despair. Three possible realities, and the one she wanted most to be true made the least amount of sense.

  They walked for a few hours before squeaking and rattling came from the distance ahead. Legacy glanced toward it, but didn’t show any signs of fear, so she kept going. In minutes, the clattering grew louder, and a bald man somewhere in his twenties walked up over the top of a sand hill not too far to the right. A glint flashed in front of his bare chest, a trinket, gold and shiny dangled on a chain around his neck. Furry black shorts covered his legs to the knee, and he carried a weapon that resembled a crossbow made out of metal scraps. Behind him followed two mor
e men of similar age. The next in line had a grey plastic square held to his chest by wires, an attempt at armor. A scrap of black fur hung from a cord around his belt, serving as a loincloth. He carried an axe made from a speed limit sign.

  The third man wore a skirt of tire treads and gripped a set of handlebars, though rather than a bicycle, they attached to a metal pole connected to a rickety cart full of metal boxes and plastic crates. Mountain bike tires held the wagon up off the sand. Most of the noise came from a collection of mismatched junk in plastic crates, shifting with the motion of the uneven wheels.

  A spike of embarrassment hit Kiera at having three more strangers in view. She edged left to hide behind Legacy, who kept going in the same direction.

  “Oy!” yelled the one with the crossbow. “Wanna trade?”

  She breathed a small sigh of relief.

  Legacy slowed and muttered, “Well, perhaps some water would be good… if they have it to spare.” He approached the men, with Kiera reluctantly following, and stopped a few paces away. “Do you have enough water for trade?”

  She peered around him, eyeing the men, not quite ready to trust them. The gleam at the crossbow-carrier’s chest turned out to be a Burger King medallion on a thin chain. His companion’s ‘armor’ chestplate looked like the side of a Dell computer―it still had the logo in the middle. If she hadn’t been terrified this world could be real, she might’ve laughed at them for looking ridiculous.

  “I was going to suggest a different trade,” said King. “All your useful stuff in trade for me not giving you an arrow.”

  Kiera squeaked. Crap!

  “Oh, and the kid, too.” King smiled.

  Her cheeks warmed with blush, but she stepped out from behind Legacy. “I don’t have anything for you to steal. Nothing at all.”

  “S’okay, child,” muttered Legacy. “I can handle these punks. When the fightin’ starts, you run, right? I’ll find ya.”

  “We don’t want to take your stuff, kid,” said King. “We takin’ you. You make fer good tradin’.”

  Daddy! She took a step back. Her mind leapt to the cop speaking to her class about avoiding dangerous strangers, and these three appeared quite dangerous. Screaming for help wouldn’t do much out in the middle of a desert, which had the crippling problem of a significant lack of authority figures. They want to kidnap me!

  She crept backward.

  “Dare you?!” roared Legacy, waving his arms. “This is the Child of Earth. You shall not interfere with her destiny!”

  Kiera backed up more.

  “Stop.” King pointed the crossbow at her. It looked like a hunk of scrap, but the bolt loaded in it was longer than her whole arm. “I don’t like running.”

  “You won’t shoot me,” said Kiera, her voice shaking. “I-if you shoot me, you can’t sell me.”

  The other two men roared war cries and ran at Legacy. Dell raised his axe for a head-splitting swing, but Legacy caught the handle and bashed his plastic-covered forearm into the man’s face. Dell staggered, but didn’t let go of the axe. Legacy also kept his grip, the men grappling for control. The one in the tire skirt flung himself airborne into a flying tackle that wrapped his skinny body around the larger old man. Legacy took a step back from the weight of the hit, but kept his footing and tossed the man to the ground.

  Kiera backed up another two steps, staring at the point of the bolt. He won’t shoot me. He’s only trying to scare me. Her heart raced. This had to be the nightmare part of the nightmare. Maybe she’d wake up soon!

  “Firestone,” yelled Dell. “Go low!”

  The man in the tire-tread skirt dove at the old man’s legs while Dell kept yanking on the axe. After Legacy hurled Firestone aside like a small boy, he shoulder-rammed Dell, managing to get the axe away from him. When he raised it, King pivoted and fired his crossbow. The long aluminum bolt pierced Legacy’s right bicep and lodged, protruding from both sides, the tip bloody.

  Kiera screamed and ran like hell.

  Behind her, the grunts and groans of fighting continued, fading into the distance. Her feet hit the silt hard, kicking dust everywhere as she fought for traction. Like trying to run on the beach, she got tired fast, struggling not to fall over.

  Growling came up behind her.

  Screaming louder, she reached down deep inside herself for more speed, lost to total panic. Thumping footfalls closed in. Her lungs burned. Sweat got into her eyes, stinging. She kept pushing her legs to run faster, but the man continued gaining ground.

  His shadow stretched out beside her. Rapid breaths sounded at her right ear. She yelped and veered left in a sudden turn, but he grabbed her in a two-armed bear hug, hauling her up off her feet. Shrieking, Kiera kicked and flailed. Sweaty arms on her sweaty skin slipped easily. The Burger King medallion pressed hot into her back, near burning. His bear hug became a chokehold as she slid down, too slippery to contain. Snarling, Kiera twisted, but before she could bite him, King jumped on top of her, pinning her to the dirt and wrestling until he trapped her arms to her chest with another bear hug.

  “Ngh… Get off me!” she shouted. “Help! Someone help me!”

  With a grunt, King dragged her upright, and then off her feet. He squeezed her wrists together, crushing most of the air out of her lungs from how tight he held on. Legs free in the air, she kicked and struggled as he carried her back toward the other two men. Legacy lay unconscious, face down in the sand. Dell rummaged the old man’s satchel, taking several bottles of water and a plastic pouch holding what appeared to be yellow dish sponges.

  “Put me down!” shouted Kiera, still kicking and squirming. “Get off!”

  King carried her over to the cart. “Stone, grab rope. This one’s a runner.”

  “No!” shrieked Kiera, bursting into tears and fighting harder. “Don’t you dare!”

  The man in the tire skirt jogged over to the cart and rifled among the junk. Screaming, she tried to punt the cart to knock it rolling, but King twisted her away from it. Firestone rounded the handlebar rod, approaching with scraps of rope in hand. She shrieked and tried to kick at him, but he gathered her legs and tied her ankles together despite her desperate squirming. As soon as the scratchy rope tightened, King flipped her over and dropped her on her chest in the sand. It took both of them to wrestle her arms behind her back. While King held her down, the other man bound her hands.

  She sobbed, squirming. “Please don’t do this… Let me go!”

  They left her lying there wriggling for a few minutes while picking Legacy clean of anything they might be able to trade. King even took his bolt back, and reloaded the bloody thing in his crossbow. She rolled around to sit up, too terrified and angry to be embarrassed, and wobbled to her feet after a few tries.

  King walked over and grabbed her after only three hops, scooping her up with one arm behind the back and one under her knees. “Don’t be scared, kid. We ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

  He carried her over to the cart and set her down on a steel-reinforced house door. The flatbed appeared to be made of two such doors somehow attached to a frame with four mountain bike tires. A plastic crate held bottles and cans to her right, others behind her had metal scraps, some knives, a rusted rifle useful only as a club, and many bundles of plastic tarp.

  Out of breath, she choked and gagged on dusty air, shaking, an inch from wetting herself out of pure terror. She tugged at the binding on her wrists, grunting and gasping as it pinched. “Ow.” The rope around her ankles looked ancient, like it should fall apart, but twisting her feet around didn’t do much more than hurt too, so she sat still.

  The men ignored her pleas and whines, loading Legacy’s stuff on the cart behind her. Firestone grabbed the handlebars on her side and pushed the cart forward. She stared over her toes at his back for a little while before twisting to look at Legacy, who hadn’t moved since she’d been caught. He didn’t even moan.

  She bowed her head, unable to stop shaking. Repetitious squeaking came from all four wheels as the cart
wobbled forward. The uneven wagon rocked her side-to-side, all the accumulated junk shaking and clattering. Kiera cowered in place, begging in her mind to wake up, for her parents to hear her screaming in her sleep and come check on her. They’d both be at work now anyway, assuming she napped in the middle of the day.

  Glitches. Feeding tube. Hospital nightmare. News stories of the world collapsing.

  No. This isn’t real. This is not happening to me. I’m not being kidnapped. She sniffled and cried.

  For hours, they walked in silence, approaching the ruins of a city. Crumbling skyscrapers came into view, though most had been so damaged they’d become piles of dirt with iron beams sticking out of them. She tested the ropes every so often, but they hadn’t gotten any looser. King meandered about up front, drifting left and right with a hand to his eyes, searching.

  “Easy, kid,” said Dell. “We ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

  She lifted her head and gave him a pathetic, pleading stare. “Please let me go.”

  He stuck one of Legacy’s water bottles out for her to drink.

  “You didn’t have to kill him.” She wept.

  “’Mon, kid. Gotta drink or you’ll get sick.” He poked her in the lip with the bottle.

  She drank as much of the warm plastic-tasting water as he offered. Not that she’d known Legacy much more than a few hours, but nutty as he’d been, she had started to like him. At least he’d been friendly, and had been willing to fight these men to protect her. He could’ve run away.

  “What are you going to do to me?” She shivered as all manner of news stories about missing kids came to mind. Most were never heard from again; some had been found dead. She trembled harder, almost throwing up the water at the thought she’d become one of those kids no one would ever find.

  “Trade ya for supplies.” King chugged down half a bottle.