Outlier: Reign Of Madness

by Daryl Banner

  Tide decided to stay. Dog hasn’t done anything strange or made any perverted requests, so Tide has to assume that he’s relatively safe. Also, if that isn’t good enough, Dog seems willing to do just about anything Tide asks of him. If he wasn’t so sure that Dog would enjoy it too much, he’d make the boy take off his muddy boots and rub his feet like some lowly servant, for as sore as they are from his endless days of walking the outskirts of the first.

  “What you working on?” Tide spits out from the couch.

  Dog lifts his eyes. “A garment,” he answers simply. “I have but only three of my own, as the rest I trade and sell for food and other necessities.”

  Tide smirks. He’s been wearing the same shirt he’s had since he left his apartment and got roped into the Abandon by Scorp. It had only received a periodic cleaning every couple of days in the channel of water that served as a border between one part of the eleventh and the twelfth, halfway to the Wall. Tide lifts an armpit to give himself a sniff. Dog watches.

  “I need a new outfit,” says Tide. “My clothes are worn and those who were chasing me know what I wear.”

  Dog blinks. “Y-You want me to … to make you one?”

  “Yeah. Quickly, too. Whatever you got there,” Tide decides with a lift of his chin. “Use it to make me something.”

  He glances down at the garment he was working on, then stares at his materials, calculating. “I, uh … I’m going to need more. This was going to be a shirt for me. The size is … it’s too s-small for—”

  “Make it work for me, then.” Tide stretches on the couch, then snatches the last apple out of the bowl. “Gonna need more of these.”

  Dog nods quickly. “I can get more. I haven’t yet taken my ration for the day. I thought I might skip, but—”

  “Your ward gives out daily rations?” Tide blurts. “And you don’t take them?”

  “Just sometimes. See, each household gets their own ration of food. And, well, as you can see, I live alone. I have no family. So I like to be generous and … leave more for others to take, others who are more in need.” Dog lets the garment he’s working on rest in his lap. “And it’s not the ward that gives us the food. Not exactly. It’s the Slum King.”

  Tide grunts his understanding. “Slum King. Yeah, I’ve heard of this fool.” He chuckles under his breath, tossing the apple into the air and then catching it. “Unless he’s got the means to take the glow from my skin, I don’t give two shits about no Slum King.”

  “Where did you get the glow?”

  “Don’t know.” Tide slurps on his water, then lets the cup rest on his belly again. “Don’t remember.”

  “I’m sorry. No one seems to care for or mind the glow of others anymore. It isn’t a sign of a criminal anymore, not since Guardian has disbanded.”

  “They haven’t disbanded. There’s a group of them still operating out of the eleventh.”

  “Oh.” Dog has taken a knife to his threads, reworking the shirt he’s been making for the past several hours. Tide smirks, watching him work and wondering if he’s having to redo work in order to make a shirt that fits Tide’s big frame. It doesn’t make him feel any pity; it amuses him. Maybe when he’s finished making me a shirt, I’ll pretend it isn’t good enough. Tide might enjoy testing the patience of his friends too much. He wonders what Dog’s breaking point is, and how soon he’ll find it. “Well, that’s news to me,” he says with a little shrug. “No Guardian roams these parts, I can assure you.”

  “Consider me assured,” grunts Tide, tossing the apple in the air again. He miscalculates the throw, so he uses his wind to guide the apple a bit to the left so that it lands in his palm.

  Dog must have felt it. “What was that?” he murmurs, checking the window at his back.

  “Wind. My Legacy.” Tide puffs up his chest, then pulls another wind through the room for good measure. It takes more effort to pull on the air in a closed room, but he manages anyway. Maybe he’s able to draw the wind through the cracks in the door, or a cracked window he isn’t aware of. Dog’s hair dances for a second as the wind drifts by, causing his posture to straighten. “What’s yours?”

  “Oh. Um …” The boy seems to shuffle uncomfortably, his eyes dancing around his work, as if praying that something will happen to prevent him from having to answer.

  This intrigues Tide all the more. “Come on. Tell me.”

  Dog fiddles with his fingers. Then, after yet another moment of mindless sputtering, he manages to say, “Food. Feelings.”

  “Food? Feelings? The fuck kind of Legacy is that?”

  “I can put feelings into food.” He looks down at the fabric in his clutch. “This one time, I really wanted to visit all the gardens of the sixth—you know, right where the Greens ends. I was just nine years old, and my mother thought it a dangerous journey for us. See, we lived in the third. It would have involved a long train ride. Finally, I poured all my compassion with a pinch of recklessness into a grape, which I put into the salad she was to have for a middle-night snack. By morning, she changed her mind and we went to the gardens.”

  Tide tosses the apple into the air, catches it again. “I see. So you make people feel whatever you want them to feel … as long as they eat the food you put your feelings into.”

  “Yes. You’re correct. You’re so quick to understand.” Dog smiles, running two slips of fabric through his instrument.

  Tide feels his face pinch with appreciation. Living in a house with a lonely guy who’s infatuated with him and offers him constant flattery might be the best thing to have ever happened to Tide. He tosses the apple once more, catches it, then brings it to his mouth.

  And then he stops, staring at the apple. He stares at it long and he stares at it hard. A thought cuts deep into his chest.

  He’s on his feet in the next instant, the apple dropped to the floor. Dog looks up just in time to witness Tide grabbing him by the shirt and lifting him up off the ground. Dog yelps as Tide roughly pins him to the wall by his shirt, his feet dangling. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO THOSE APPLES, DOG??”

  The boy can’t seem to speak, so overwhelmed with Tide’s quick reversal. “I didn’t—I’m—I was—Listen, I—!”

  “ANSWER ME.”

  “Happiness!” the boy squeals out. “Laughter! Wholesomeness! I swear, I’d already put feelings into them long before you came through my door! I swear it! Only good feelings!”

  Tide reflects on precisely how he felt when he ate the very first apple. Indeed, a feeling of giddiness had coursed through him. He’d attributed it to the fact that he was hungry and had just gotten sick from the meat and peppers doing a cruel job to his bowels. Is that why he feels so good in this boy’s house? Is that why he decided to stay, flooded with so-called wholesomeness and mirth and glee?

  Can he even trust his own feelings right now?

  “You fucking manipulated me,” Tide decides, his face an inch from the boy’s, his voice low and gravelly and deadly serious. “You knew if I ate those, I’d be more keen to stay.”

  “I-I-I-I knew you’d be … b-b-be happy,” he manages to respond.

  “Happy.” Tide huffs in the boy’s face, causing his brown tuft of hair to jump. “What would make me happy, Dog, is if I found a girl named Gin and brought her back to where she fucking belongs.”

  The boy tries to even out his breath, despite being pinned with his feet off the floor and his back to the wall. “G-Gin? You’re looking for … for a girl named Gin?”

  “That’s what I said, wasn’t it? Or was I speaking in some weird second ward language you can’t understand?”

  Dog licks his lips, his eyes zeroing in on Tide’s, and he responds gently and meaningfully. “I … will help you. I will help you find this Gin girl. I just want … I …” His eyes turn wet. He stops struggling. “I just … want you to be happy. And … healthy. And …” The boy lifts his neck, swallows, then finishes. “And safe.”

  “You’ll help me find Gin?”

  “Yes.”


  “You’ll ask around? Do whatever it takes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need her alive,” Tide presses on. “And I need her so that I can keep my life. Otherwise, I’m dead. You fucking understand? Dead.”

  A look of concern crosses the boy’s face. “I … I didn’t realize …”

  “You knew I was in obvious danger since I ran through your door a day ago. Wasn’t that much clear? I’m here for that girl Gin. That’s my fucking purpose, and then I’m out of your hair. To hell with your Giving that doesn’t give shit.”

  The boy nods. “Gin. I got it. The girl.”

  Tide lets go of Dog, letting him drop back to his feet. He moves back to the couch and finds the apple on the floor where he ditched it. He palms it and turns back to Dog. “And I want clean fuckin’ fruit. Your Legacy is never going to touch my lips again. You understand?” The boy quickly nods his understanding. “Good. Now go fetch, Dog.”

  0191 Link

  Faery’s hand is so soft and her touch, gentle. She holds his hand with such care that it makes him feel like he’s the most important person in all the Last City of Atlas. Maybe to her, he really is. He found her in the depths of the Waterways. He protected her, just like he said he would. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that Kid is the one who has protected them—her and her talent for being unseen.

  “I’m sorry for getting angry at you,” says Ames when they come to a stop near a busy intersection where people are bustling by with their sacks of groceries and wares from a nearby market.

  Kid nods. “It’s okay.”

  “My temper’s quick lately. I was so much calmer when I was at The Brae. The regular routines there kept me grounded, I think.”

  Link glances at Faery, who returns his glance with a shy smile of her own, her smooth head shining in the streetlight and making her eyes sparkle. He turns away suddenly, annoyed when his face starts to flush warmly. His hand that holds hers is so sweaty. Why is my hand so sweaty? The one that holds Ames’ isn’t.

  “Can we visit the eighth after we go to your house?” asks Ames. “I really want to see my mom again.”

  Link slumps his shoulders. “Ames …”

  “I’m serious,” he declares sternly. “And I won’t shout for her or do anything stupid this time. Even without Baal’s reprimanding, I know that what I did was wrong. I know I could do something really stupid and, like, erase my whole childhood.” He scowls at nothing in particular, his face wrinkled with frustration. “I just want to see my family again. I … I miss them. Don’t you miss yours, Link?”

  Link feels his chest growing heavy. “Of course I do. I miss them every damn day.” He lifts his eyes to Ames. “It surprises me, how fast you gave up Baron’s philosophies about letting go your past. A man named Gorde, you’d said, like your father was just some man you used to know. A woman named Pharis …”

  “I doubt—” Ames starts to say, then grows silent as a group of school kids move past them, laughing and throwing jokes at one another. The four of them squeeze tightly together, invisible. After the kids have passed, Ames resumes, but in a quieter voice. “I doubt any of the Brotherhood truly severed their hearts from their pasts.” He gives a curt, derisive grunt. “I bet they all were liars, just like me. I bet they cried for their families when Baron wasn’t looking.”

  “Come,” instructs Kid, and the four of them cease their chat as they cut across the intersection unseen and move in silence down the long winding street.

  Soon the buildings give way to houses which gradually become farther apart, lawns of sand and sparse grass set before them. They pass two brown-and-white vehicles on the road, which startles Link, since he hasn’t seen one in so long. It’s two houses down from one of those vehicles that Kid comes to a stop, staring ghoulishly at the little house before them.

  Link and Ames and Faery stand behind Kid, all their hands still linked, as they stare at the house. It is bigger than his, perhaps twice as big, but flatter. Two tiny dormer windows protrude from above the main front window, giving an indication of a second floor. The yard is full of grass cut short, only dying off near the street where it is more sand and stone. A wimpy tree grows near the front of the house, one of its branches resting atop the roof, as if it has its arm thrown over the shoulder of the house.

  “This is your home?” asks Link.

  “Ya.” Kid glances to the left, her eyes observing the neighbor, and then to the right, where there is a longer spread of grass and dirt, putting more distance between her house and the next one. She doesn’t say anything, staring pensively to the right until her eyes lift and observe the Wall in the far distance.

  Ames has been looking at the Wall this whole time, his face tightened with thoughts. Link gives him a small nudge, since their hands are still clasped, and Ames shrugs and says, “I’ve never seen it so close up.”

  “It’s big, isn’t it?”

  “Daunting.” Ames cranes his neck. “How did such a thing get built? I can’t even tell what it’s made of.”

  “I don’t know,” Link admits. “I always imagined there lived a great Queen or a King in our past who pushed out a tall slab of stone all around the perimeter of Atlas, protecting us from the Oblivion beyond. Or maybe it was a gift from the Sisters.”

  Ames turns suddenly to give Faery a smirk. “Well? Was it a gift from you?”

  To that, Faery furrows her brow, confused.

  “Ames, don’t mock her,” says Link, annoyed. “She’s separated from her family and got lost in the Waterways. Isn’t that the way of it?” he asks, giving her a questioning lift of his eyebrows.

  Faery looks at his eyes, and instantly a softness comes to her own. Link enjoys very much that he has a calming effect on the girl; it makes his own heart light. He watches as Faery visibly relaxes and lets on a smile, but she doesn’t answer his question.

  “I want to go in,” blurts Kid suddenly.

  Link was afraid this would happen. “If we go in, we still can’t be visible. You know that, right? You can see your parents, but we can’t let them see us. We can’t disturb time in any way at all.”

  “I understand.”

  Link glances at his other companions. “This goes for all of us. We have to keep our hands linked. Kid, you gotta keep us unseen, no matter what. Ames, this goes for when we visit your family, too.”

  The hardened expression on Ames’ face loosens when he hears those words, as if he believed he wouldn’t be allowed near the eighth again. “Yes,” he agrees at once, eagerness tightening his throat. “And yours too, Link. When we come to meet that man you once knew called Forgemon. I assume he’s your dad?”

  Link marvels at how good a memory Ames has. “Yes,” he says. “And a woman called Ellena. My mother. A boy called Anwick … Lionis. Halves. Aleks … my brothers.”

  Kid pulls on their hands, and the group move as an invisible unit toward the side of the house. Link assumes she’s directing them to a back door or a side window where they might more easily sneak in. Link’s suspicions are confirmed when they come around to the treeless backyard where a short back porch leads to a sliding glass door, which reminds Link of his own. Kid pulls the door open, as if she knew it would be unlocked, and the four of them enter.

  The small dining area they’ve entered into is empty. The living room that it’s attached to is empty as well. Coming around to the front entryway, and then to a narrow kitchen, and back to the dining area, they find the whole first floor empty.

  “Up,” whispers Kid, directing them to the stairs at the entryway. There are two rooms up here, one of which faces the back of the house—empty—and the other of which has the two dormer windows that face the street. It’s in this room that Kid lets go of their hands, moving to the window and staring out of it, her eyes faraway and misty. She seems to be confused, thinking about something intently.

  “There’s no furniture,” observes Ames with a frown.

  “Yeah. Empty.” Link is by the banister of the stairs, looking down
at the front entryway below. “Not even a fridge in the kitchen. Or a broadcast. Or—”

  “I doubt anyone lives here at all,” blurts Ames, turning to Kid, who still stands by the window. “Sure you have the right house?”

  “Yes,” she answers sullenly.

  Link glances at Faery, who stands in the doorway of the other room that faces the back hugging her body and staring toward the window, the mild light from outside touching her beautiful face and smooth head. Link feels his heart stirring as he watches her, his eyes taking in every inch of her body with curiosity.

  “So there’s nothing here,” says Ames impatiently. “Can we go to the eighth now?”

  Link snaps his gaze away from Faery. “I think we should stay here awhile. For all we know, Kid’s parents haven’t even moved in yet. Or maybe she was born elsewhere and her parents are living in an apartment deeper in the tenth right now. Maybe … I don’t know.” Link shrugs and faces an indignant Ames and a listening Kid, who’s turned away from the window at his words. “Maybe your parents moved here after some time when they figured they would need a bigger house and could afford it.” He looks from Ames to Kid and back again. “I’m just trying to brainstorm some possibilities.”

  Ames sighs. “So you’re saying we’re a few years behind. We can’t sit here for years waiting on Kid’s parents to show up. We’re running out of time.”

  Link is tired of the panic and the doom and the countdown. “We have ten years, Ames. We are not going to rush through all of this. There is plenty of time to do everything we want to do. We can see your parents a hundred times. We can watch ourselves grow up. We can do everything we want. Ten years is a long time.”

  “And you’ll be the fool still saying that when we have ten days left,” growls Ames, furious suddenly. “No one’s here. I want to go to the eighth. I want to go now. I abandoned my family too soon to chase a stupid dream with Baron Poe. I have time to make up.”