by Brindi Quinn
A few miles away, in the city of St. Laran, a young Second stared at the sinking sun. It was a lonely feeling – the transition from day to night – but it was also a welcome feeling. Loneliness could be filled, and that made it something worth having. At least, that’s what the young Second had always felt.
“My name is Rye,” said the Second. And he felt rooted.
A man with shiny shoes approached. “What are you doing here, Rye? Isn’t it a little late for you to be out?”
“I don’t really know,” responded Rye. “I haven’t seen him in a few days.”
“Seen?” said the man. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”
“Oh. Er, I suppose you’re right.”
The man folded his arms and let out a whistle. Then he said, “Well, if you ‘see’ him, let him know that Chuck stopped by the library today.”
“Chuck? Do you mean Charles?”
The shiny-shoed man nodded. “Yes. Charles.”
“Did he ask for me?”
“No,” said the man. “Only him. Only Foster.”
The loneliness pulsed at the mention of Rye’s Main. The man saw the change in the Second’s eyes. He asked, “How have you been feeling, Rye?”
Rye stared into the orange horizon. “I think . . . I think need a distraction.”
“What sort of distraction?”
“I met someone. And she’s alive. And . . .”
“You know her from before?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Just be careful, Rye. Until you remember everything, be careful.”
The man that was Nero’s lawyer turned and walked off, leaving Rye with only the stretched shadows of the skyscrapers to fill the void.
Stories above, in one of those towering complexes, Y’s eyes were looking upward to the night sky that was just starting to form. Orange to azure, azure to sapphire, sapphire to black. The transition from day to night was painted, blended and seemingly seamless. The blackest part was where Y’s eyes rested. The blackest part was where she allowed herself to ask a question that had been bothering her for too long:
“Who are you?” she whispered.
She’d never muster up the courage to ask it to anyone but the night sky, though, and so the issue would remain a mystery forever in Y’s heart.
“Who are you . . . and who were you before?”
Little did she know, the princess’ hunter knew the answer.
Chapter 6: The Invisible Kiss
Her sheltered days hadn’t prepared her for the falling of her stomach. She was unready for it, and when it happened, it fell with an obvious crash. But she liked it. The boy liked it, too. It made him feel alive. It took away the hollowness.
The aftermath of their first hunt left the pair of newbies with mixed feelings. They’d turned their eggs in to the dome, gotten a few credits, and taken the next mark from the lady with too much lipstick. For their next task, they were to defeat a tartaroise – a shelled beast that inhabited the shallow mines. Jobe would’ve been ecstatic if that had been their first hunt, but his hand was slivered and his skin was scraped, and the trickery of the first mark had left him ill-tempered. Tide, too, was wary. If such an ‘easy’ egg-retrieving mark had left them so beaten, then what would a really-for-real mark be like?
Jobe had instructed Tide to await his fax. That had been three days ago. Tide understood; Jobe needed rest – What good was a climber with an injured hand? – but she was growing restless. Y’d stopped by to see her the day after the bird-fiasco, but the art student had been busy with school since then, so Tide was alone. She was bored, and so she slept. A lot. So much so, that she missed it when Nero came home, awaking only to another of his notes.
She cleaned her goggles, relaced her mitts, and patched her pack. Then she cleaned her goggles again. Seeking diversion, she pulled the small treasure box from behind her armoire. Beneath an odd little key on a chain, there was a wrinkled napkin. Rye’s napkin.
Tide pulled it out and held it to her face.
“Rye, huh?” she said to no one.
The day outside her window was cloudy, but she wasn’t sleepy anymore. She was ready for something, anything, to happen.
“Rye . . .”
Tide pulled out a fresh piece of paper and scribbled a note.
Rye, I don’t know if you remember me or not, but we met last Sunday. That thing we talked about . . . That thing you want to learn . . . would you want to give it a go today? Let me know. I can meet you by that café if you’re interested.
-Ink
Tide sent the note through the cranky machine, and then she regretted sending it through the cranky machine. And then she grew nervous. And then that nervousness turned into annoyance. The longer she waited for a reply, the more the annoyance flared, but in actuality, negativity like that wasn’t even warranted. She really only reviled the delayed response as an attempt to cover her own embarrassment.
“Seriously! How long does it take to return a fax?!”
Tide looked to the cuckoo clock on the wall for an answer, and her forced annoyance retreated back into nervousness. Only two minutes had passed since she’d sent it. A third minute crawled by before the cranky machine began to turn its wheels.
Rye is out. I’ll give him your message.
-F
Tide reread the note at least three and a half times.
“F? F . . .” She had a strong suspicion of who the note was from, and for some reason, it made her heart pound obnoxiously loud in her ears. She had no business asking, but that bothersome curiosity took hold once more. She wrote:
I’m sorry, but who is this?
This time, the response was instant.
Foster.
Just as she’d suspected. The curiosity sought to move Tide’s hand to pry further, but Tide held it in check. It would’ve been abnormal and rude for her to ask more of the stranger.
“Foster: Rye’s Main. Seconds: People born from the despair of others.” Tide rambled to the fax machine. “Are they half-people? Or are the Second and the Main equally whole? It depends on how you view the nature of things like the ‘soul’ or the ‘spirit’, I guess.”
With nothing else to do, Tide settled onto the floor and took another nap. She awoke to the fax’s angry creaking.
Tide (I refuse to call you ‘Ink’),
Yo! I so hope it’s not too late! You were talking about climbing, right? You mean it?! You really want to teach me some of your mad skills?! I’m game if you are!
Can you come now? I can be there in ten.
-Rye
P.S. You’re goofy. Of course I remember you.
Tide’s heart began its obnoxious beating again. She reread the note, and then looked out the window. The sky looked no different than when she’d gone to sleep. The clock, however, read two hours later.
“I’m going to get fat if I keep this laziness up.”
The hands that were Tide’s were as excited as her pulse. They were shaking. Thus, her note of response was far less neat than the others.
I’m on my way.
-Tide
Tide threw her hair into two buns, collected her things, and left the boring apartment for a new adventure.
The young girl was nervous; her stomach excited. The way they’d left off had been awkward and intense, but that made their second encounter that much more exciting. There was also something dangerous about meeting with him. A boy who’d never been born. A boy her father’s lawyer would surely condemn. A boy surrounded by mystery.
But when Tide arrived at the café, she realized just how normal the Second boy was. There was no mysterious atmosphere around him. There wasn’t any danger either. Only brightness.
“Yo! Tide!” Rye ran to her sporting a full-toothed beaming smile. “You came! At first I thought it was a trick or something!”
“H-hey, Rye.”
In the midst of his confident aura, Tide was doubting herself. Rye sensed it.
“Oh!” he said. “Don�
��t worry. This’ll be fun. I promise, okay?”
It didn’t take long for Tide’s eyes to settle on Rye’s tattoo. The redness therein sought to pull away her attention. Rye noticed, and he threw up his hood to cover the marking. That was better. It helped Tide concentrate.
She smiled. “Right. Thanks for coming. Truthfully, I was kind of bored.” She bit her lip to push away the embarrassment that was again rising.
Rye stared at the olive-eyed, dark-haired girl before him and blushed. “You look cute!” he blurted.
“What?!”
“Whoops!” Rye put a hand over his mouth. “There I go again! Sorry! Just ignore stuff like that!”
But Tide’s neck was hot.
“So . . .” Rye sought to move along the awkwardness he’d caused. “Er, w-where are you taking me, sensei?”
Still embarrassed, Tide looked past him at an uninteresting piece of litter that’d taken up residence on the sill of a nearby window. “I was thinking we could go to the Gustway,” she said.
Rye’s eyes widened. “For real?”
“Yeah, is that okay? It looks like it’s going to rain soon, so there shouldn’t be anyone out climbing there. It should be fine for us, though, because we’ll stick to the bottom, so if it starts like pouring or something, we’ll be okay.”
“Sweet! Sounds good to me!” Fully enthused, Rye took off down the sidewalk.
“Wait!” called the princess. “The Gustway-”
But Rye wasn’t listening. He tucked his hands into his baggy pockets and analyzed the skyline. “I hope we make it before it rains. It’s like, the sky’s dark and all, but the clouds aren’t really moving or anything, are they? It’ll probably just sprinkle if it decides to do anything. Well, either way, I’m pumped!”
“But, Rye!” Tide had yet to move from the café.
The Second froze and twisted around. “Er, what’s up?”
“Um, actually, the Gustway’s this way. Keep heading down there, and you’ll end up in the mines.”
“Oh!” Rye let out a sheepish chuckle. “Yeah? Uh, like I said, I’ve never really been there . . . I mean, I have but I haven’t, you know . . . well, whatever! Just lead the way, sensei!”
“Sure. Over here, er- young tadpole.”
“Heh.” Rye pursed his lips and winked. Tide’s nerves returned in full force.
Walking a few steps ahead of him, she led the Second out of the city and to the place where the mountain waited. As they went, she attempted to calm her pulse, which acted up each time she dwelled on the fact that the flirty boy was walking just behind her. Each pad made by his sneakers against the worn concrete reminded her of his presence. Each boyish exhale or throat clear reminded her of how tense the mood was. She wanted to say something, but it was no use. She was more than a little anxious this time around, and she could do nothing in her condition but keep on like that – self-conscious and silent. Rye, too, carried on that way – feeding into the tenseness – until, after several crawling minutes, he closed the gap between them.
“Gah!” he said, messing with the hair beneath his hood. “Sorry it’s so awkward now. My fault, I know.”
It was true. Things were awkward because of his blatant enthusiasm and forwardness. But it was also true that there was someone even more at fault. For letting her insecurities get to her, Tide was guiltiest of all. And she knew it.
The demon watched from afar. It had its own agenda for the young princess – an agenda in which Rye wasn’t included. With silent pleas, it urged her to shrivel. It pushed her to cower. But the princess was stronger than that, and she liked the quirky person next to her. She liked him enough to want to spend even a little more time with him. But to do that, she had to be social. She HAD to return to normalcy. That need was what finally overpowered her anxiety.
She glanced up at Rye from the corner of her eye. “You’re taller than I remember,” she said. And it came easily.
Rye sensed the rapid shift in mood, and it made him grin. “Gosh! You act like it’s been years or something. Ha! Reminds me of your note. ‘Not sure if you remember me . . .’ Listen, if my memory was that bad, I’d have a pretty hard time in life. True story.”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, sorry. I just felt so dumb about faxing you up out of the blue like that.”
“No, you know what’s dumb? Me. Checking my fax constantly for the last few days, hoping you’d actually send something. Lame, right?”
Tide didn’t think it was lame. She found it surprising . . . and cute.
“Awww,” she said, welcoming back the forgotten confidence. “You were waiting to hear from little ol’ me?”
“Heh. Well, I AM your biggest fan, so . . . Holy tomato sandwich!”
“Huh?”
“That’s it!” said Rye. “Right there!”
The peak had been blocked by ruined scrapers, but as the last one moved aside, the top finally came into view. An enormous pile of rock and metal, littered with forgotten appliances and other relics of an age past.
Rye was antsy. Even antsier than his other bouts of antsiness. “So cool!” he squealed. And he pulled Tide in for a hug. “Thanks, buddy! This is great!”
For Rye, the action had been absentminded. For Tide, it was a complete shock. He held her against his chest, and the cold metal of one of his cross necklaces pressed into her neck. His sweatshirt was soft. The air was muggy, but the fabric was light and soft and airy. The deep parts of his voice vibrated through it and traveled to her ear in a murmurous, lagging rumbling. Pulse accelerating rapidly, Tide took in a breath. Rye smelled good. Sort of like clean laundry. Or maybe sheets that had been air-dried.
Rye blabbed on about the mountainous view, but Tide wasn’t really listening, because while he was rambling, she was growing dizzy. The princess hadn’t much experience with guys. She’d never had a close male cousin or a neighbor or a friend like him, and there was something about having those long, solid arms around her back that made her want to be helpless – made her want to be rescued. She felt his chest rise against her cheek as he inhaled, and her heartbeat reached a dangerous speed.
“WHOOPS!” Rye threw Tide from himself. She stumbled backwards like a ragdoll, for her body had gone limp. “That was seriously so uncool of me! Totally just groped you there! I swear I’m not a pervert! I just got really excited . . . a-about the mountain, of course!”
Tide had forgotten to breathe during the latter part of the embrace. She struggled to catch her words. “No prob.” Then, fearing loss of face, she turned her back to him.
Now free from her line of sight, Rye took the opportunity to smack himself on the forehead. He was an idiot – an idiot that wasn’t used to hanging out with girls. He was treating her like a brother or something, and it was clearly making her uncomfortable. He’d have to try harder to keep his hands to himself . . . But she was so dang cute!
“Cool it,” he said under his breath.
Tide heard. “What?” she said.
“Er- nothing! C-come on! Let’s go!”
He took off in a gallop for the lofty peak. Tide watched him leave. Her neck was still warm. So was her skin. In truth, she hadn’t minded the impulsive grab at all. She’d enjoyed it. She watched Rye trot off, and her mind’s eye flashed to an image of his arms around her again – only this time, she saw herself embracing him back. Suffering loss of air, she gasped a gasp that was both obnoxious and unflattering, because in lieu of the stomach-dropping image, she’d forgotten to breathe again.
Rye glanced back at her. “You coming?”
“Get a grip, Tide!” she told herself angrily. Then to Rye, “Sure thing!” She hurried along after him.
~
“All right,” said Tide. “Now watch.” She pointed to a deceased automobile several levels up the metal mountain. “I’m going for that thing. That ‘automotive’ dealy. So basically, I’m going to scope the way up before I move. There’s a sharp thing there” – she pointed – “that I’ll want to avoid. That metal box thingy over t
here looks weak, so I’ll use it as a balancing point, but I won’t put my full weight on it, and-”
“Wait,” said Rye. “I thought you said you just kind of black out when you climb.”
“I do.” Tide grinned. “But I’m trying to teach you, right?”
“Oh!” Rye returned the grin. “Right.”
“Anyways, you’ve got a point, though. This might all be useless if my body decides to go up another way. I guess it’s better if I just show you.”
Rye had been resting against the upper half of a half-buried refrigerator. He pulled his knees into his chest and took a breath. “All right. I’m ready to be amazed.”
“Ah! Don’t say that! I’ll get nervous!”
“Okay, fine. I’m ready to be disappointed! Hopefully you’ll exceed my expectations! How’s that?”
“Uh. Fine. I guess, . . . dork.”
“Heh.” He gave her a goofy smile.
Tide pushed up her sleeves; she reached a mitted hand for a block a short distance from the bottom of the pile, pulled herself up, and then –
It was over.
She was on top of the car’s roof, and Rye was on his feet, mouth hanging open and hand against temple.
“Holy-!” he started.
The first of the raindrops fell.
Rye ignored them, but Tide looked up. A few of them fell onto her cheeks and slid down her chin, before dripping onto her dirtied shirt. Tide liked them. They cleaned away the sweat. No matter how warm they were, they felt refreshing.
“Tide, that was INSANE!”
“Phew. Really?” Hands on her sides, the princess looked down at him. She was out of breath again. It seemed like she was always out of breath. “How’d I do?”