Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (11 page)

Confused murmurs erupt from the crow
d, the speaking man staring at them expectantly. Did he really think that little speech would be enough to make them forget where they came from? Until now, I'd had some hope that the Children of Mutanity were a local phenomenon, confined only to Krakelyn.

Some diseases travel faster than others, it would seem.

"Come!" the speaking man admonishes once more. "Brothers and Sisters, join us! Have no fear! You have only to embrace what you are! You are mutants! Do not hide it! If you wear a mask or hood, remove it, so that we may revel in what the gods have made us!" The speaking man gestures to his counterparts. Shooters raised, they move into the crowd, pulling away disguises with force where necessary.

I'm in trouble
.

There are
only so many people in the crowd, and few are willing to defiantly keep themselves masked against the Children. I watch them, striking an old man in the gut with one of their irons, ripping away his cloak. The man's face is weathered and severely wrinkled, but he has little more than a rash on his face. The Final Judgment was easy on him, it would seem.

"Now see here!" the speaking man announces, bringing all eyes to the old man. "A remnant of the pure blood! This man has hardly been touched by the
Final Judgment!"

The crowd murmurs their angry disapproval of the speaking man's appraisal, but none are willing to stand up to those shooting irons. Not that I blame them.

"I condemn thee, pure blood! I cannot allow your purity to be passed on. Thou shalt
only
suffer a mutant to live!"

And with that, the speaking man levels his iron and pulls the trigger. The old man drops like a wet sack, horrified screams issuing from the crowd at the same instant. Without pause, the Children are back to work on the crowd. Nearly all the remaining holdouts have removed their disguises.

I'm the only one left. 

"You there!" the speaking man calls out, pointing directly at me. "Don't move!" I'm panicking. All eyes are on me. Bruna is urging me to remove my hood and be done with it.

Either way, I'm dead. 

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

My anger surges.

Haven't these people taken enough from me already?

They killed my
Father.

My anger boils.
Bastards!

"No!" I scream, bolting from their advance. I leap atop the fallen spire and, in one deft movement, let my cloak slip from my body, fully revealing my unblemished face. "You bastards killed my
Father!" I scream. "You just try and take me without a fight!" The Children approach and I ready my legs to strike out. It's my own fault I'm in this mess, so I might as well try and make it somewhat worth it. 

The speaking man and his two cronies stop when they reach my vantage, staring up at me with wide grins. Their weapons are lowered, however.
 "You are a feisty one, aren't you?" the speaking man comments with a sneer. They don't move. What are they waiting for?

There's only three of them in front of me!
I realize
.

"Bloody ashes!" I murmur. "Where's the fourth–"

My words cut off as something hard, cold, and sharp presses into my throat. A blade. The sweet breath of the lone Child woman snakes into my ears: "Don't move,
pureblood
."

I don't.

Seconds later, the speaking man is next to me, staring intently at my face, running his dirty fingers across it. "Impossible!" he asserts. "This must be some form of trickery! A new method of painting the face, perhaps?" To my disgust, he spits on one outstretched palm and smears the result across my cheek, trying to remove the disguise he thinks I'm wearing.

The knife presses harder so I don't protest.
 

He frowns at me deeply. "Release her," he orders the woman. I can feel her reluctance, but the woman finally relents, allowing full breath to enter my lungs again.

"What are you, pureblood?" the speaking man asks, his fingers running restlessly over the butt of his iron. "We have
never
found one so pure." He pauses, stepping close but keeping his hands to himself. "Are there more of you?" The lust is clear in his stare.

"No," I state, simple
and blunt. "My name is Juno Quinn, and I
am
the last human." I step back from the speaking man and, hardly believing I am doing it myself, lift the bottom of my tunic top upward, revealing my flat, pale belly, and small, budding breasts.

All unblemished.

The gasps that issue from the crowd at that moment are nearly deafening. My eyes fall to Bruna, who's smiling up at me like I've just saved the world. A massive crash mutes the crowd, and I lower my shirt to see the speaking man snarling, holding a smoking shooting iron skyward but now leveling it straight at me.

"The last human
must
die," he says without emotion. In that moment, some of my Father's last words to me flash through my mind...

"We're sterile, Juno."

"You mean everybody, don't you?" I say. "Everyone who was affected by the Box is sterile."

Father nods. "Yes, Juno. It was confirmed at the Krakelyn Hospice about a week ago. Unless we find a way to reverse the condition, humanity as we know it will cease to exist within a century. Now you know why you and Traylor are so important..."

These people don't know the truth. 

They are doomed without me!

I open my mouth to speak but find no words. I have to impart how important I am to these brainwashed dummies!

"I... You... Don't..."

The speaking man's finger twitches on the trigger, my entire body shuddering in mimic with horrible anticipation. My only consolation is knowing that I am not
really
the last human. I have a brother. There's still Traylor, and as long as Altair gets him to this Ursa woman, there is still hope.

The speaking man's trigger finger has stopped twitching.

I squeeze my eyes shut around the tears. 

Here it comes.

THHHHUUUNNNKKK
!

I hear a metallic clanking noise, followed by a brief but sharp exaltation of pain, neither having to do with me.

I open my eyes.

The speaking man has both hands
on his neck, trying to stem a tide of blood leaking from a small but deep incision at his throat. On the ground in front of him, both the shooting iron and a familiar looking silver metal star lay like corpses drenched in blood. The speaking man's cohorts approach him with guns drawn toward the onlookers, demanding to know what happened.

I smirk.
 

Altair's throwing star had been silent. Nobody knows what's really going on yet.

The speaking man, growing paler by the second, finally collapses from blood loss, falling face first off the fallen pillar. 

"Who did it!" the lone woman among the Children of Mutanity demands of the crowd. "Tell me who killed him or I swear to the gods I will open fire on
–OW!"

Something, it looks like a rock, comes sailing out of nowhere, falling to strike the woman above her right eye. She swings her shooter in the direction of the attack, causing everyone in the vicinity to scream, run, and duck for cover.

"Who bloody did it!" the woman curses. Shouts erupt behind her, and she whirls once more to find her two remaining companions on the ground, being beaten savagely by a now rioting mob.

"NO!" t
he woman screams, opening fire, sending shot after shot into the nearly defenseless crowd. Bodies fall, blood spurts, screams erupt. The riot has turned into a stampede, but I'm out of the flow, still standing atop the toppled spire. The crazy woman's eyes find me and she snarls, swinging her weapon up in a last ditch effort.

Except it never gets there.

Another silvery star streaks from the edge of my vision, slicing directly into the woman's hand, causing her to scream and drop the weapon immediately. Altair is there seconds later, holding more stars and a small, three pronged weapon. 

Where had he gotten that?

The woman sees Altair, bellowing in rage, and comes at him swinging, blows which the trained Assassin dodges with ease. She kicks and he lowers his body, raising his pronged weapon at the same time, her shin crashing into the sharp, unyielding metal. She screams and drops, holding a now gaping wound in her leg. She curses at Altair but he kicks her under the chin and she goes limp.

Unconscious, not dead.

The crowd has mostly dispersed, scattering in all directions into the desert, leaving everything in their camp behind.

Altair whirls from his defeated foe and stalks directly toward me, eyes blazing. "What in the name of the gods is wrong with you!" he roars, grabbing me harshly by the shoulder.

"Hey!" I protest. "Take it easy!"

"This is the least I should do to you!" he retorts, beginning to drag me back tow
ard the canyon mouth where we’d been hiding earlier. A small, completely cloaked figure emerges at our approach. I sigh in relief to see that Traylor is safe. "Get over here, Traylor," Altair orders. "We have to leave...
Now
!"

"Way to go, Juno," Traylor quips, mocking applause. "What was that all about anyway? There wasn't really a spider on me, was there?"

My mind is the opposite of blank, a thousand million excuses flitting in and out of focus. The truth is, I really don't know
why
I snuck off to join the silent vigil. I really don't. I just... 

"These people were mourning their dead," I finally come up with. "They're the first people we've seen outside of Krakelyn that aren't Children of Mutanity. They had no agenda other than sharing their suffering, easing each other's pain. I needed to be a part of that. I..." I pause, tears welling then spilling down my face. "I haven't grieved for Jude yet."

The floodgates open.

The last thing I'd said was the truth.

I hadn't grieved yet, creating an emotional dam inside me, waiting to burst.

I love you, Juno Quinn
… 

Jude's last words to me, again.
 

I break down and cry, leaning against a nearby boulder as my legs turn to jelly. I feel Altair's close looming presence and tu
rn, hoping to find some comfort or at least some empathy from the man. But all I'm rewarded with is a cold, hard stare.

"We don't ha
ve time for this, Juno," he says. My heart freezes, anger swelling. "Your little stunt will soon alert other Children within fifty wheels. We have to move. If we're lucky, we can stay ahead of the rumors this incident is likely to spread." Altair pauses, eyes downcast. "But I don't think we will be that lucky. Not now. We'd need to travel at racing horse speed and– What? What is it?"

I'm smiling now, my eyes having fallen on the area around the fallen spire. "Actually," I say, "I think we can do
better
than a racing horse." Altair and Traylor both follow my gaze.

"No way," Altair says. "Our goal is to remain anonymous, not bring
more
attention onto ourselves."

"Do you want to stay ahead of those rumors or not?" I retort with a smirk and a head tilt.

Altair sighs and Traylor lights up excitedly, seeing that the man has acquiesced. "Are we gonna get to ride in one of those Forerunner machines?" he asks with childlike glee.

Altair just stares at the tall, green machines with the
ir heavy scoops on the front. "Bloody ashes," he curses.

14.

"The old world is dead," Blaine says, his black hair strea
ked white under the harsh spotlights the Children had acquired from nearby Apollyon. It's stifling under the canvas pavilion, where a crude wooden platform has been erected. "Embrace that fact and you will do well in the new," Blaine continues, gesturing theatrically to the three individuals kneeling before him on the stage.

One of the individuals, a man,
looks up at Blaine with a smile, admiring the leader's charming charisma and flamboyant air. When you look at the man, you almost can't see the pulsing tumor that nearly swells his right eye shut. You only see a god. Blaine is a man you can look up to. A man you can trust your life with. 

"Rise, Children," Blaine says.
 

The individual does as commanded. How can
he not? He owes his life to Blaine. The Children of Mutanity had taken him in, made him realize that mutations are nothing to be feared but embraced. The gods had it all wrong–if they ever existed in the first place. If mutants truly are such horrid abominations, why would the gods turn
every
singly living thing on this planet into one? If a god wanted to destroy its creation, why not just do it? Why make your creation do the dirty work for you?