Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles Read online

  “Hmph.” Y set the bracelet down with a clank, and sighed. “Want to know what I think? I think that YOU should be grateful for having something like that just handed to you, spoiled princess. The rest of us have to grovel and scratch our ways to the top.”

  The fog had dissipated, and the yellow envelope was starting to slip out from under Tide’s arm, but Tide didn’t notice. She’d been fuming. Embarrassed. Frustrated. And in the midst of those emotions, her eyes had returned to the sad boy. The boy marked by red.

  She allowed herself to be distracted by the oddity that was his presence.

  “Scratch your way to the top of what, Y?” she said half-heartedly. “You’re going into landscape artistry. It’s not exactly a cutthroat field.”

  “Landscape sculpture! It’s totally different!”

  “Right,” murmured Tide. “I always forget how much you hate painting. How is playing with clay better, again?”

  Y’s expression turned dry. “How can you not know this? Working with your hands to mold something is a lot more creative than simply picking up a brush and wibbling it around on a piece of paper. I mean, even my four-year-old cousin can-”

  But Tide still wasn’t paying attention. Y noticed, and she let out a groan.

  “Tide! Honestly, pull your eyeballs away. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Tide didn’t know the answer to that. There was no fog to muddle her up. It was all her. She was letting herself be muddled.

  “He looks content,” mumbled Tide. “Even though he’s sad, somehow it’s like he enjoys being sad. Does that make sense?”

  “Ish! I told you, IT’S CREEPY. Something made from the unsteady emotions of a person? Something that makes flesh from smog in the air? They’re probably just accumulations of the dead skin cells that fall off our scalps in the middle of the night.”

  The yellow envelope fell to the ground, and it broke Tide’s Second-induced spell. She wrinkled her nose. “Eew. Bad image, Y.”

  “What? It’s true . . . probably.”

  “My, my. With so much knowledge stored inside your skull, it’s a wonder your grades aren’t better. Not that I can really blame your professors for giving you low marks once they realize you you’ve been following them around in your free time.”

  It was still before lunchtime. Tide’s playful backlash was a little too sarcastic for Y’s fragile pride.

  “Geh! C-come on, already,” said Y, scowling. “Forget about your gawking. We’re going to be late.”

  It was at that moment that the young princess realized that they were, indeed, in danger of being late. She dropped to her knees and scrambled to retrieve the envelope that had floated just out of reach. Its contents remained intact.

  Y shot the key bracelet another thoughtful look of appraisal, the recyclables merchant shot Y a disapproving frown at her ultimate dismissal of his wares, and Tide shot one last inquisitive glance at the boy who was a Second.

  The Second took no notice of any of these things. He closed his eyes and let himself be dead to the world.

  Not creepy. Tide was certain of that, even if she wasn’t certain of much else.

  The two friends hurried to make up for lost time. They left the Second and merchant the way they’d been. They left them both and continued on their journey. Tide walked with a determination equal to Y’s as together they carried on through the market district.

  But there was something wrong with Tide now. Wrong, Y might’ve said, though Tide herself would have viewed it the anomaly as ‘different’ had she even been aware of the sensation. Different. Changed. Awakened. The fog had left its mark on her.

  Now as they traversed the dingy, metaled city, Tide’s eyes were locked on one color: RED. Blood red. That color continually found the eyes that were Tide’s – each time upon a neck that had never been born. The stained red of Seconds caught her eye. Whereas she’d found them unnoticeable on all days preceding that Sunday, she now spotted them with vigor. Her eyes snapped from Second to Second, and she realized for the first time that there were many among them.

  Seconds were everywhere.

  “Yeah, there are lots of them now, aren’t there?” Y read her thoughts.

  “Wha-? Er- yeah. There are. When did that happen?”

  “Dude, you are so sheltered.”

  Y left it at that. Caring not, or perhaps being a good friend, Y said nothing more on the subject.

  Without speaking, they carried on. They knew the path well. They’d traveled it repeatedly on their training trips out of the city. Tide held the yellow envelope tightly – fearing another hapless drop – until, in the space somewhere between a secondhand clothing store and an imported organics shop, they reached their destination.

  “Well,” said Y. “We’re here.”

  They were. Before them stood the Weighted Dome. A colossal architectural beast out of place in St. Laran. A sphere constructed solely from metals of old. The only one of its kind. It was where dirt-nosed scrap climbers turned in their marks, where reckless adolescents found their partners, and where people of any social standing could stand to make a few bucks. In short, it was a place Nero’s lawyer had forbidden the young princess from ever entering.

  But it didn’t matter because Tide wasn’t just an heiress. On that Sunday, she was a climber; and as a climber, she’d cast aside her father’s order in order to gain her rights as huntress.

  Scrap huntress Tide would soon be born.

  Somewhere, in a different part of the city, a boy with blue-ish hair was chewing the end of his glasses. For some reason, he felt strange. Stranger than normal, anyway. The fog surrounding the princess hadn’t reached him, yet he could sense a shift in things. The scales, which had remained quiet for the last two years, were starting to tip.

  The boy frowned.

  In his lap sat a box made from the remnants of old license plates. With a lifeless hand, he patted it. The tiny lock that held the box shut was securely in place; the key hidden somewhere the box wouldn’t be able to find on its own.

  For now, it was safe.

  Soon, though, the time would come when the box would need to be opened. The boy’s soul was wearing thin. The boy knew it. And so did a dark, lurking thing that was watching him. The boy felt its breath on his neck.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  The dark presence laughed.

  Chapter 2: The Weighted Dome

  To some, becoming a hunter was a pastime. But to the princess, it was her only escape. Little did she know, the demon was already watching her.

  “Did you see that, folks!? That one’s got promise, eh!?”

  Tide would’ve been happy had the judge’s eyes been upon her during the commentated praise. However, it was another girl the shrew-faced geezer had been watching the entire first round – a skinny girl who’d been dominating since the pistol’s fire.

  “Tide!” yelled Y from the stands. “Concentrate!”

  Tide’s black hair was tied into two buns. Her goggles were strapped. Her mitts were laced. She’d followed all of the same steps she always had, but something was different about this climb. She couldn’t seem to do the one thing Y urged her to do: concentrate.

  The rules of the Weighted Dome were simple. The first three to make it to the top of the giant sharded scrap heap at the center of the arena would be allowed to present their yellow envelopes to the wrinkled judge seated near the dome’s top. Making it to that stage was most important, but it wasn’t just about speed. If at any time a climber bled, that climber would immediately be disqualified. Thus, the goal was to scale the heap cleanly and skillfully before the other contestants. Carelessness was a climber’s worst enemy. From the top three, the judge would choose a pair by studying the contents of their yellow envelopes. In that way, one Sunday a month, a new partnership of climbers was chosen to join the ranks of the Weighted Dome’s professional hunters.

  Bystanders placed bets on which new climbers would make it. Their shouts filled the muggy ai
r and surrounded the young princess, who was struggling to make her way up. As it stood, she was fifth out of a group of ten. She really was better than that. She really was a shoo-in.

  But she couldn’t get her mind off that color.

  “Red.”

  Preoccupied, she wondered if there were any Seconds inside the Weighted Dome. Of course, those beings wouldn’t be allowed to join in the sport, but were they allowed to watch?

  Why did it matter?

  The fog. That was why.

  “TIDE?! He’s going to pass you! Pull your head out of your ass and CLIMB!”

  Tide was naturally scrawny, but extensive climbing routines had given her upper arm and back muscles she wouldn’t have otherwise possessed. Even so, she would’ve slipped to sixth if it hadn’t been for Y:

  “TIDE! COME ON!”

  Because of the on-looking girl’s frantic cries, the muscles in Tide’s shoulders began to react on their own.

  While the king’s daughter zoned out with thoughts of RED, her body did the work. With a well-timed heave she managed to cut off ‘Number Six’ before he could make it past her. Number Six let out a cry of disgruntlement that distracted careless Number Four. Looking back for a split-second, Four didn’t notice a sharp metallic edge of scrap until it had already pierced her arm. A trickle of blood ran down her elbow. It was small, but the blood scouters spotted it.

  “OUT!”

  “Gaaah!” screamed a now ex-Four.

  “That’s right, Tide! Just like that!” cheered Y.

  With Four’s disqualification, Tide was the new four. Three other climbers were before her. Skinny Number One, a longhaired boy in second, and a noticeably-muscular girl in third. Wearing only a sports top and shorts, Number Three had several fans hooting for her for no good reason . . . or so Y had concluded.

  Tide wasn’t completely aware of what was happening, but her trained muscles continued to do what her brain couldn’t. Her hands gripped a safe, smooth piece of debris and used it to pull the rest of her body higher. Meanwhile, her right foot wedged itself beneath a rusted bar that looked to be a piece of an old flagpole – though it was too rusted to tell for sure. It gave Tide the proper footing needed to advance, and with it, her other leg found a higher up piece that looked big enough to support her weight.

  It was a miscalculation, though. The piece was loose, and with the pressure of Tide’s foot, became dislodged.

  “Ah!” Tide let out a small cry.

  Y held her throat. She was certain her friend had been scraped. Tide’s body, too, paused in anticipation. It’d felt a small pang. A small pang just along the shin . . .

  But there was no wetness to follow the pang, and in the end, no blood calls were made. Tide remained unscathed.

  “Phew!” Y coughed and released her throat.

  The dislodged piece fell beneath Tide’s body, which had already set course for a safer route, and tumbled down a ways, bouncing along the side of the heap. Number Seven was unlucky enough to get struck.

  “OUT!” came the blood call.

  “Whoo-hoo! That was all you, Tide! . . . TIDE?! LOOK OUT, YOU IDIOT!”

  In the nick of time, Tide’s body swung out of the way of a large piece of scrap that’d been dropped from above.

  “Red,” muttered the princess that still wasn’t paying attention.

  “NICE!” commentated the geezer judge, and this time he really was referring to her.

  But it didn’t matter, scrawny Number One was almost at the top, and longhaired Number Two wasn’t far behind. Tide’s body was making up for lost time, but Number Three wasn’t in any sort of passing range. She’d sized Tide – or at least Tide’s body – to be a variable threat, and as a strategic maneuver, had snuck around the side of the heap. Out of reach. Out of touch. Tide was going to be number four, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  “Hightail it, Tide! Pass up that floozy!” shrieked Y, drawing glares from a large portion of Number Three’s supporters.

  “F . . . flooz . . . HUH?!” When Tide finally snapped out of it, it was too late.

  Number four wasn’t going to get their envelope opened by the judge. Number four would have to try again after a three-month’s probational period. Number four was a loser.

  But then something happened – something unexpected and miraculous – that shielded Tide from loserhood.

  Just as Number One was pulling herself onto the heap’s crown – a flat shining platform at the top of the dome – Number Two, who was right behind the skinny climber, grabbed a serrated piece of pipe that was jutting out of the heap off to his right, and for no apparent reason, lodged it straight into Number One’s calf.

  “KYAAAAH!”

  Number One let out a scream and kicked at Number Two’s face, but the rest of the dome quieted and waited for the first signs of red.

  “OUT!”

  “NO!” sobbed ex-Number One.

  With that, the new number one pulled himself onto the platform in her place. The crowd erupted in cheers.

  “What the hell?!” said Y. “He was already in the top three, so why’d he-?” But it didn’t matter; all that mattered was that Tide was now in the top three, and that number four was too far away from her to pose any real threat. “GO, TIDE! CLIMB!”

  The crowed cheered even more when muscled, sports-topped Number Two reached the platform.

  “ONE SPOT LEFT,” said the judge.

  That spot was for Tide.

  Determined, she climbed the last leg of the heap faster than she’d climbed any other part of it. The fog was gone from her head, and the only red she could see was the red left by ex-Number One’s calf. It dripped over the edge of the platform, staining the topside of the heap crimson. Tide didn’t care and plowed right through it and onto the shimmering top.

  “OVER!” the judge’s voice boomed.

  And that was it. Before Tide could even really wrap her head around the fact that it had begun, round one was over. The top three stood together, panting. They’d done it. But while each of the winners should’ve been concentrating on their victory and recovery, the longhaired boy who was the new number one was doing something strange. For some reason he was . . . staring at Tide with a corrupt sort of smile on his mouth.

  Or maybe that was just her imagination, for when she looked at him again, the smile was gone, and he was doubled over, panting with the rest.

  The disgruntled cries of the lesser contestants rang from the bottom of the heap, but none of theirs were as loud as Y’s happy cheers.

  “YOU DID IT, YOU ZONED OUT IDIOT! YOU ACTUALLY DID IT!”

  But it wasn’t over yet.

  “The top three shall now enter the judge’s chamber,” said one of the blood scouters.

  The second and final round had yet to begin.

  There was a loud buzzing sound from above, and the interior of the Weighted Dome began to shift. From one of the walls above the spectators, a series of mechanized planks moved into place away from the wall and to the edge of the heap’s top platform, forming a bridge-like catwalk that connected the heap to the far side of the dome where a long window shielded the rest of the dome from the office that was the judge’s. Even through the glass, his geezerly eyes pierced the three finalists.

  The three recovered. Sports-topped Two was first to make a move for the catwalk. Tide’s fog was already slipping back in. It kept her there, bent over, even though the breath had already returned to her tired lungs. She stayed that way until –

  “Oy!”

  – Number One grabbed her elbow and yanked her to her feet.

  “Huh?” Tide blinked at him.

  “Come on,” the boy said, voice hushed. “I didn’t stab that chick for nothing, did I?”

  “What’re you-?”

  “MOVE IT! MOVE IT!” chanted the crowd.

  Number One released her arm and stepped onto the planks after Sports Top. Tide watched him go. Something was off. Number One was acting like he knew her? But she didn�
��t know him. She was sure she didn’t. But she was also dizzy, and that dizziness made her question her surroundings . . . and herself.

  “MOVE IT! MOVE IT!”

  Tide was last to move onto the catwalk.

  Y narrowed her eyes at the lagging princess. “Good grief! What is WRONG with that girl? Oh well. GO, TIDE!”

  Tide’s feet carried her across the bridge. Number One’s back was to her. He released his long mane from its ponytail and allowed the strands to fall freely around his shoulders. Like dust, thought Tide. Shiny, flowy, dusty hair. Trying to keep from losing balance along the narrow walk, Tide watched it shift from side to side. Shiny. Flowy. Dusty. Shiny. Flowy- The boy felt her stare on his back. He looked behind him and gave another of his corrupt smiles.

  “Whaaa?” Y let her mouth fall open. This time she’d seen it too. Or maybe she hadn’t. She couldn’t be sure.

  Not wanting to warrant another creepy glance, Tide kept her eyes to herself the rest of the way as she followed Sports Top and Number One across the dome and into the judge’s office.

  The geezer was even more geezerly in person. “Ahhh, yes!” he said to the noisy crowd. He eyed the three finalists up and down. “Two girls and one boy! Excellent, eh? For those of you who’ve forgotten your binoculars, we’ve got quite a group today!”

  Tide didn’t like the way the geezer’s eyes lingered.

  “Really,” continued the judge. “A good-looking group of young people! We have a strong, solid boy with a mop the color of ash as our firstplaceman!”

  Tide raised a brow. She wouldn’t be fooled. Number One’s hair was definitely more dusty than ashy. But then again, maybe that was due to the fragments of fog that yet remained behind her eyes.

  The crowd didn’t care about the judge’s choice of words. They let out another cheer.

  “Our second placer?” continued the judge. “Well, I’m sure even those of you without binoculars could see that she’s . . . Well, congrats!”

  Down below, Y gritted her teeth at the judge’s near-usage of the word ‘busty’.