Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles

by Brindi Quinn

  Nero pushed the buzzer’s call button twice for yes.

  That was good. The silence had been enjoyable, but too much stillness put the inventor on edge.

  “I’ll send them in,” said the secretary.

  A moment later, Nero’s daughter’s ex-fiancé entered the room. Following closely behind was a vacant Second.

  “Foster?” The king pushed himself to his feet. “What are you doing with Rye?” It was concerning. The wispy Main was a lot less wispy than the last time he’d visited, and the book in his hand was closed. It could only mean that he’d taken full control of the soul he shared with Rye. “You aren’t considering changing your mind again, are you?”

  “Did you watch them at all yesterday?” said Foster.

  “I checked in. That’s all I do now. She’s strong enough to be her own form. Probably from mingling with him.” Nero gestured to Rye.

  “Well, I watched them,” said Foster. “And they encountered a seer from the wilds who had something interesting to say.”

  “Oh?” Nero said. But he knew what was coming.

  “Nero, tell me the truth. If I let Rye stay, will my mated soul path with Tide be off from here on out? Because if it will, I don’t know that I could-”

  “That would be true,” said Nero. “If she were the real Tide.”

  ~

  “You’re being a real bore, Tide! Can’t you even be a little excited about this?” The fake Tide was giving the real Wynona the cold shoulder, and the real Wynonna was none too happy about it. “You’re no fun like this. You know that, don’t you?”

  But there was nothing the young princess could do about it. Her concern for Rye was eating away at her; keeping her from enjoying the glamour of the mark she was about to undertake with Jobe. “Rye,” she mumbled, looking at the dust moon that was becoming dustier and dustier with each step taken. Or maybe ‘foggier’ would have been a better word.

  Either way, the heavy haze was coming. Just as the geezer had promised, it was coming.

  There was no stopping it. It was tonight or never.

  Together, the huntress and her flawed neighbor made their way to the enormous scrap heap that was the Gustway Peak.

  ~

  “In doing what I’ve done, I’ve already warped your paths,” continued Nero.

  “What are you saying?” said Foster. “That it’s too late?”

  Nero nodded.

  The king’s nonchalance about the whole thing put Foster off. “Even though you knew that would happen?!” hissed the gray boy. “You didn’t have the right!”

  “Of course I didn’t. But a mourning father will do anything to save their children.”

  Foster slumped. So it was true. Their paths would be off from here on out. This would be the last time he and his soul mate would meet as they were supposed to. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to help them after all.

  But then a grain of hope came.

  “Cheer up, Foster,” said Nero. “I haven’t messed things up for you that badly. I’ve given collateral to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Collateral?”

  The demon that wasn’t in the room laughed.

  ~

  “Oy! ‘Bout time you showed up, girl!”

  Jobe stood at the bottom of the scrap mountain where a coating of fog was making it difficult to see much of anything, including the mound’s middle and top. The hunter’s headlight was on in full force, but it might’ve been doing more harm than good. Having that brightness reflected against the fog only seemed to amplify the whiteness even more.

  “Hey!” said Tide, sifting through the haze. “It’s not like I’m late!” She motioned to the girl at her side. “This is Y, photographer extraordinaire. Y, meet Jobe.”

  “Hi,” said Jobe.

  “Hi-ya!” said Y. “Trust me, I’ve heard LOTS about you.”

  “Cool,” said Jobe, but he wasn’t all that concerned with the orange-haired girl. He was more distracted by his partner, who was looking quite emo. “Whoa! Dang, girl! What’s with the gloom?”

  Y groaned. Another Rye gush session was inevitable. Sure enough –

  “It’s Rye,” said Tide. “He’s gone.”

  Y groaned again.

  “Has he, now?” Jobe grinned. “Well, that’s good.”

  “Jobe!” Tide punched him in the pec.

  But while Tide was pouting, Y’s eyes were opening. Wide. Impressionable.

  She hadn’t seen the longhaired climber since that day in the Weighted Dome, and she hadn’t had a chance to see him up close ever. And now that she had . . . She saw that his hair was fluid. His body was toned. His jawline was sharp. His face was scruffy. He was . . .

  “A cute guy!” she mouthed to Tide when she thought Jobe wasn’t looking.

  “Don’t bother, Y. He doesn’t like girls.”

  “Now, now, Ink. I never said I dislike girls,” said Jobe over his shoulder. He accompanied it with a haughty hair sweep.

  “Well, then: Don’t bother, Y. He likes Seconds.”

  “Gross! Shut it, Tide. No he doesn’t.” Y fanned her hands at Jobe. “I tell you, this girl’s obsessed with those things.”

  “Yeah,” said Jobe flatly, “what an idiot.”

  “I know! See, Tide? He understands!”

  “Hypocrite,” said Tide. The look she gave Jobe was deadly, but he didn’t catch it. He was too busy complimenting Y on her ‘enigmatic nickname’.

  Tide wouldn’t listen to it. If they wanted to flirt, that was fine, but they could do so later. She just wanted to get the climb over with. “Come on, Jobe. Let’s do this.”

  Jobe was reluctant. Of course he was. He couldn’t let the judge tell her anything compromising. There was still something buried – something BIG – and if Ink found it, there was a good chance she’d lose herself completely. If she did that – if she faded for good – then Ryon would be lost along with her. That was why he couldn’t let her complete the mark. The watered-down truth he’d given her was all she needed. With that version of things, surely Jobe would be able to reach his goal.

  “Are you sure you want to?” said the hunter. “I really don’t think the coot’s got anything new to tell you. And-”

  “It’s not up for discussion.”

  “Fine by me, girl. Just saying.” Jobe put a hand into his pocket where his blade waited, sharp and anxious.

  “I still don’t get why he wants you to do this sort of thing,” said Y, eyeing the fogged base.

  “Flair for the dramatic?” suggested Jobe.

  But Tide didn’t think so. She’d come to the conclusion that the judge was testing her. Testing her strength. If she were strong enough to overcome the obstacle, she’d be strong enough to take whatever information he had for her? Maybe. A secret about the nature of the soul. If it were true, it might very well be the thing needed to save Foster. Either that or it would be the thing that sealed his tragic fate. Tide didn’t want to think about that possibility, though. She just wanted to reach the top.

  “Shall we?” she said.

  “You got it.”

  Antique camera in hand, Y continued to scrutinize the mountain. “Wait. So, how am I supposed to take a picture of you guys if you’re just going to get swallowed in the fog?”

  Jobe, who wasn’t planning on reaching the top anyway, shrugged. “Just do your best, I guess.”

  But Tide was prepared. “I’m thinking it would be a good idea for you to turn the light dealy on the camera off. What’s it called again?”

  “The flash?” said Y.

  “Yeah, that. Turn that off. When we get to the top, I’ll turn on my light too.” She tapped the side of her goggles. “I’m hoping that the light at the top of the mountain will be enough proof for him. I mean, it should show through the fog, right? What do you think, Jobe?”

  “Excellent,” was his grit-toothed response. Ink was cleverer than he’d expected. Then again, he hadn’t really expected her to be clever at all, so maybe it shouldn’t have come
as that much of a surprise that she surpassed his expectations. “Fine. Good. Wonderful.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get it on, girl!”

  Side by side, while Y stood on the sidelines with camera prepped, the pair of hunters made a run for the colossal pile.

  ~

  “Exactly as I’ve said,” said Nero. “I’ve offered collateral to the dark thing that we created. I’ve offered him myself.”

  “What do you mean ‘yourself’? Your body? You’ve agreed to give your body, just like I have. That’s not much of a collateral.”

  Nero sighed. “No, Foster. Not just that. This will be my last rebirth.”

  “What?!” Foster’s stomach turned sick. “That wasn’t part of the plan!”

  “It’s always been part of the plan. Speaking of which, I haven’t forgotten your conditions for agreeing to go through with everything. You still want to see her, don’t you? You still want to let her choose?”

  Foster nodded.

  “And you know who she’ll choose, don’t you?”

  Foster nodded again.

  “Then why?”

  “Because I love her,” said Foster. It was too much to take. He bent forward and buried his face in his hands.

  The disillusioned king and his son-in-law that never was, shared a moment of despairing silence.

  “So do I,” said Nero. “So do I.”

  ~

  The Sunday after the king’s daughter turned eighteen, a heavy fog invaded her kingdom.

  The princess rejoiced her turning year because she did not know the truth. Had she known the truth, she would have wept, for it wasn’t her first time turning eighteen.

  Her first eighteenth had been spent in darkness; her second buried in fog.

  That same steam-fog birthed by the cranking and creaking and turning of St. Laran surrounded the girl’s body now as she strategically climbed her way up the Gustway.

  In the midst of the whiteness, planning ahead was pointless. There was no way to tell what was coming, so Tide’s body had to leap solely on intuition from ledge to ledge, broken appliance to broken appliance, dead tire to dead tire. Still, she did so with acrobatic grace.

  Jobe watched, always one tier below her, with blatant appreciation. Even if her existence meant the disappearance of Ryon. Even if he didn’t particularly like her. He couldn’t keep from feeling impressed by the girl who in some ways had become his friend. He had to admit, there was a certain pleasure in tormenting her that was stronger than most. There was a certain special rush the dark part of him got to see her quiver. And there was a certain amount of guilt that always followed, slight but persistent.

  What did that mean? That he liked her after all? But that was only because she was Ryon’s Main. There were leftover feelings there. That had to be it.

  The blade in his pocket bounced against his leg. Just a little longer. He’d follow her just a little longer before acting.

  Tide was in a climbing trance. Her body swung itself to a hidden pole. It stopped there only a moment before jumping into a blinding patch of white. The steam was covering a platform. She landed there and drew in a breath of the thick stuff.

  “Stifling,” muttered the mouth that was Tide’s.

  Jobe, unable to take those leaps of faith, followed another way. He climbed using only what he could see. It wasn’t the most exciting of paths, but it took him up, straight and true. His hair was tied back by the red strip of fabric, but loose pieces found their way onto his face. He spit them away and continued up the mound.

  Y waited below. They were gone. Swallowed by the foggy darkness. She clasped the camera tightly, prepared to snap as soon as she saw the first showing of light on the Gustway’s peak.

  Tide’s body was sweaty. Jobe’s was drenched. The wet fog added to it, turning their hair damp and their mitted fingers slippery. Still, they climbed.

  “Oy!” called Jobe, when they’d reached the quarter mark.

  Tide’s entranced body didn’t respond.

  “OY! AIRHEAD!”

  This time she shook her head and looked below, but she couldn’t see Jobe through the fog. “What?” she said.

  “Stay there! I’m going to catch up.”

  Panting, Tide obeyed. Only when she stopped moving, did she feel the strain of the climb. Her lungs were on fire. She needed to spit. She waited until Jobe was within eyesight to do so, though, for fear of landing a gooey wad on his head.

  With heaving breaths, Jobe found a secure place to stand beside her. An old motorboat was wedged deep enough to offer a safe stopping point.

  “Shoot, girl! You’re like a robot! Don’t you need a break?” huffed Jobe.

  “Huh? Sure, I could use one.” Tide leaned against an automotive door and fumbled through her pack for a canteen. She looked above her at the remaining whiteness to be tackled. She was determined. Jobe watched her.

  “Ink,” he said.

  “Hm?”

  “You want this bad, don’t you?”

  She did. She wanted it very badly. “Of course,” she said. “If climbing this heap could provide a clue for saving Ryon, you’d be the same way, right?”

  Jobe scowled. “Coming from you, that’s-”

  “I know,” said Tide. “I’m sorry. I get it. You hate me. Me being here means that he isn’t.”

  “Obviously.”

  “But, Jobe-” – Tide’s hidden conviction began to spark – “that’s even more of a reason for me to do this! You might not think the judge knows anything, but what if he does? He said it’s about the nature of the soul. To tell you the truth, I really like Rye, but I don’t want to let Foster die just like that! Rye says I’m being self-righteous, and maybe I am, but why settle? Why can’t I shoot for saving everyone?”

  Jobe was yet catching his fleeing breath, but Ink had fully recovered, and she was rambling a trail of optimistic garbage that Jobe didn’t want to hear. But then she said –

  “Including Ryon!”

  – and he was caught.

  Tide continued, “If he was created from my negative emotions – if he was a split personality of mine – then I want to meet him! I want to thank him for shouldering the burden of living during that time! He was only around because I couldn’t handle my mother’s death, right? He did me a favor! That’s why I really believe that Seconds aren’t curses! They’re blessings! It’s so dumb that there has to be a struggle between Main and Second! Once something’s born, they should be allowed to live!”

  Jobe was frozen. She believed something like that? “But Seconds aren’t born, Ink. You know that much.”

  Tide shook her head. “You don’t believe that. How can you? Of course they’re born!”

  Jobe moved his hand to his pocket. His fingers wrapped themselves around the blade’s hull. “I guess.”

  “Anyways,” said Tide. “Let’s keep going. If we stop too long, all of our adrenaline will die.”

  “Uh. Yeah.” But Jobe didn’t move. His fingers were shaking. They were stuck around the blade. They wouldn’t move.

  He watched her spring away. “Damn.” He’d missed his chance. He’d hesitated. “DAMN!”

  But that was okay. There was plenty of climb left. He retracted his hand. A moment of mercy had overcome him, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake. Ink’s climbing had something to do with the death of someone close to her. Those had been the judge’s words. Never had the coot mentioned Ink’s mother specifically. That had been a detail filled in by the desperate girl herself. That was why . . . The more Jobe thought about it, the more Jobe knew: He couldn’t let her hear what the judge had to say. ‘The death of someone close to you’. He couldn’t let Ink hear it because the old coot could have very well been referring to her. To the first Tide Yondo. And if that was the case, he had to make Ink bleed.

  With new resolve, Jobe hopped up the pile after her.

  ~

  “How much longer do you have left, Nero?” said Foster.

  “Not long,” said Nero, staring
out into the abyss that was his kingdom.

  “Is that your indirect way of telling me to hurry?”

  “You could say that.”

  Foster pulled off his glasses and began to clean the right lens before saying, “Fine. Do you mind if I stay with you here?” He nodded at Rye. “I’m going to release him, and he’ll probably be confused. It would be nice if you’d clear things up for him.”

  “Very well,” said Nero. “I’ve been hoping for a chance to speak to the boy that managed to solidify my daughter anyway. Have a nice nap.”

  Frowning at Nero’s blatant praise of Rye, Foster settled onto the leather loveseat at the side of Nero’s office and opened the book he’d been holding so tightly.

  “Your turn, Rye,” he whispered.

  . . .

  The boy lost in darkness heard a familiar voice. He blinked. He was in an unfamiliar place. An office? His blurred eyes scanned the area, but failed to make sense of anything.

  “Hello, Rye,” said a man with peppered hair.

  Rye cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “Where am I?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was in an office? “Where the heck did lame-o Foster send me this time?! Stupid Fos-” He clasped his mouth. AGAIN he’d been careless enough to share the name of his Main with a stranger. It was okay. Rye felt strong. His knees bent in preparation to deliver a defending kick if necessary.

  But that sort of thing wasn’t necessary in the least.

  “Don’t worry, Rye,” said the man who was Nero. “You’re safe. I’m not a pervert.” He laughed in remembrance of the fax he’d mistakenly read. “You’re accustomed to reawakening with perverts, aren’t you? That’s just Foster’s sense of humor, I suppose.” He laughed again, but it turned into a wheeze.

  “HUH?” Rye allowed his flabbergastedness to show.

  The king ignored him. “My name is Nero. I’m Tide Yondo’s father. And that, my boy,” – Nero motioned to Foster – “is your Main. What’s it like to see him in the flesh?”