The Human Experience

Five-Quarter P, day 15, 3413.

It’s been a half P since my operation, but I’m not any closer to figuring out this whole emotions thing. Last evening, I kissed Del for the first time. It didn’t last long, but it left me feeling strange. Like I had gas or something. I spent the rest of the night trying to make myself burp. What was it? Fear? Excitement? Somehow, I think it was more than that.

Only fools suffered for love, and Delia Alister was no fool. She didn’t need anyone to fulfil her. Fulfilment came from inside. Other people were obstacles, roadblocks on the way to freedom.

She sat at her boudoir and gazed into the mirror, trying to remember the last time she’d cared enough to really see herself. Rhoswen had insisted on styling her hair according to the latest Helm fashion, and Del now grimaced to find Neria staring back at her. She shook her head and the chains jingled, flashing here and there between coppery waves.

Her fingers fumbled with the makeup brush as she dipped it in a case of chalky powder and swept it across her cheek. A few more strokes and her freckles were gone, her high-coloured complexion ashen like the Vangardian standard of beauty. Next she dabbed on brown eye-shadow, smeared violet gloss onto her lips, and painted the appropriate markings from her right eyebrow to her cheekbone. The combination of strokes and dots marked her as a working-class Rathian.

She laughed. A painted fool! Did women really do this every day? Stars forbid you had to scratch your eye or blow your damned nose. The linking blackthorn hands that made the mirror’s frame seemed to lock tighter, enforcing the Helm theme of restraint.

What the hell was she doing? Del slumped back in her chair. This wasn’t the time for playing ‘real woman.’ She had to figure out what she was going to do. Jesreal’s words resonated with her more powerfully than ever:

Tell me you weren’t planning to compromise tens of thousands of Infected humans so one man could stop moaning over his sister’s death?

Was it true? Was Orcadis really going to corner the Infected at their destination and destroy them? Would Hector again be his vessel of death?

She’d had a plan. She’d been going to implement it before the Alignment. It was simple: get the remote from Orcadis, destroy it to free Hector, and escape through the passage Jesreal had shown her like last time. Then Hector would go back to being Lykus without having to lead the Infected into Orcadis’s death trap.

Now, though, Del wasn’t so sure she wanted to risk her life for that piece-of-shit man. After all, wasn’t it possible that Orcadis was right? What if the Voices really were instructing the Infected to plan an apocalypse for the Alignment? Then they really would have to be...well, neutralized, as Orcadis put it. Townspeople spoke of the Voices being Tychon’s messengers, come to take the planet back for him. Others said they were here to deliver humanity’s chosen people to safety before Pyrrhus went supernova. Others still thought it a suicide cult, for all those who wanted to take their own lives before the Alignment did.

But whatever the theory, the link between the brother kings, the Alignment, and the Voices was uncanny.

The Star-Gods were bright, their state divine

But when twin murdered twin they crossed a fine line.

Cast out from above, turned mortal from sin,

For they could not love, not even their kin.

Once more the siblings will meet, again will face down,

Either learn how to love, or fight for the crown.

Tychon, Amaris, and Pyrrhus align,

While mother Delmira sheds tears for their crime.

If men have been true, learned from this sad tale,

There is no reason for their souls to quail,

But if old crimes repeat, old wounds made to bleed,

Then men will recall what they did not heed,

And when twin murders twin they will face their last deed.

Or however that hocus-pocus bullshit went. But bullshit or not, it was one hell of a coincidence. What was the chance that identical twin princes would be born in the Alignment’s shadow? What was the chance that one would kill the other before the fated day of judgement?

Now Del’s focus had changed. Instead of focusing her efforts on one man as Jesreal had said, she’d redirect her attention to humanity. First she’d have to learn what Orcadis planned. If Jesreal really was going to send a bombed ship to Amaris, Del would stay put and let him blow the operation. Only if the Infected were innocent would she risk herself to steal the remote and free Hector.

A rap at the door shook her from her meditations. Belred sometimes checked up on her, though he called it ‘seeing if she required anything,’ and Rhoswen often came to whine about her training, but other than that Del never had visitors.

She opened the door and a chill swept through her. Well, speak of the devil.

Greathelm Orcadis Durant wore a silver wreath of two open-fingered hands clutching his temples, connected with a band at the back of his head. He had no cloak, his white tunic laced up with metal links was dirty, and his gardening trousers looked grass-stained at the knees. A trail of muddy footprints followed him down the hall.

He smiled his straight, brilliant smile. “Goodness me, Neria, what’s the occasion?”

Oh, gods! My face. She threw up her hands and scrubbed her makeup off with her sleeves.

Orcadis lowered her arm, frowning as he wiped her cheekbone with his thumb. “Yes, you really mustn’t cover up your freckles. There’s no reason to cover any part of who you are, my dear.”

Del elbowed his hand away. She rubbed her cheek to get rid of the tingling sensation that had lit the skin he’d touched. “What else can a prisoner do but play dress-up?” she snapped. “I’m fucking bored.”

She waited for his eye-twitch at the curse, but Orcadis only gave a tired smile, making her feel predictable and her anger desensitizing. “What is it? What do you want me to do?” she sighed.

The Greathelm turned and she noticed the basket exploding full of flowers on his arm. Soft lilac and fragrant lavender, hydrangea clusters and tulips and wild roses – a thousand sweet scents wafted over her.

He drew a trembling black orchid from the bunch and offered it to her.

Del crossed her arms. “Really?” She ignored the barbed pangs that launched through her heart at the sight of the flower. It was midnight black, an intergeneric hybrid Orcadis had created specially for her after she’d told him that ‘Neria’ meant ‘black flower’ in Old Rathian. She looked accusingly up at the man who had once been everything to her. It wasn’t fair of him to make her relive this lie. Hector may never have engineered fancy flowers for her, but at least he’d been real.

Orcadis cradled the rejected orchid against him like a wounded boy. “Ah, yes...Lykus. You needn’t worry. It’s a gesture, nothing more. Every once in a while I collect a flower for every lady at the Keep, from my garden. Everyone gets her favourite. Only a token, so they know their Greathelm hasn’t forgotten them.”

Only a lie, so they think they’re special to you.

“Well, you should know I hate orchids,” Del lied. She tucked her hands firmly under her armpits.

But what was she doing? Hadn’t she resolved to pull Orcadis’s tongue and figure out once and for all what he knew about the link between Voices, Alignment, and apocalypse? She leaned awkwardly against the doorway, giving her head a brief shake to clear it. “Look, I’ve been here a few weeks and you haven’t given me one update. How are Hector and the others doing?”

“Come, I’ll get you Solmay’s progress reports.”

She followed him down the corridors, almost jogging to keep up with his long, ambling strides. Orcadis unlocked the double doors to his quarters and told her to wait, disappearing inside.

But Del slipped inside after him, not sure how she planned to go about getting him to talk. A fire roared behind the grate to the right, giving the room a hazy red glow that matched the maroon carpet. As her eyes adjusted to the smoky semi-darkness she saw black curtains drawn over the windows. Shadows from the fire danced against the walls, making the landscape canvases along the walls waver like images in water. There was one floor-to-ceiling oil painting of anthurium flowers, and vertical silver stripes ran down the walls like bars.

“Cozy,” she snorted. “Where’s the slit in the door, so the guards can give you your plate of gruel?”

“I like to be reminded that freedom is an illusion, for my thoughts and feelings are not only my own,” he muttered, rummaging through folders on his desk.

Orcadis returned to her with the file. She took it but didn’t open it, tucking it under her arm instead. How to go about this? What to say?

“Can I have them back?” Del said. She blinked. What the hell?

“Have what...?” Realization flashed in his eyes. “Ah. That’s not how it works, Neria.”

“Not the memories where I learned important information, or whatever. I know you won’t give me those. The ones with the murder.” She swallowed the trembling lump in her throat. “I want to remember the man I killed.”

Orcadis’s eyes softened. She hated that. People’s eyes should reveal how they are. Del loved Lykus’s eyes for that reason – they were frightening and feral, like him. Orcadis’s eyes were warm. They were compassionate.

They lied.

“You hadn’t known him well. A teacher at your school, one who for turns had been trying to convince your parents you were a hazard to the other children.”

He was right. “But I want to remember. I want to know what he looked like, how I killed him, and what the voices in my head told me to make me kill him.”

“What good can come of that?”

“Truth.”

He sighed. “Once a memory is gone, it’s gone. I can create a new one for you, but there’s no way to bring an old one back.”

Del’s throat tightened again and she looked down, rubbing the makeup smudges off her sleeves. This had absolutely nothing to do with the Voices or apocalypse. Or had she used the need to gather information as an excuse to confront Orcadis about what had dominated her thoughts for turns?

“And when, uh,” she cleared her throat, “when you strapped me to your memory machine for whatever I’d learned about you...what did I do?”

Orcadis didn’t answer and she flicked her gaze up to find him with his back turned, the fire’s glow picking up the silver threaded through his hair. Thought-energy rippled around him. Strange. Orcadis never let stray thoughts pass. They didn’t even make sense. They read like the ramblings of a drunkard, and Orcadis wouldn’t drink if his life depended on it.

“Believe it or not,” he finally said, “you weren’t angry. You asked me to leave you one remnant of your experiences: the suspicion not to trust or rely on anybody.” Orcadis turned, shrugged at her. “I did.”

She fought the heat that rose from her nose to her eyes. “You know, you really should guard your secrets better. If a stupid teenage girl can find you out twice, I’m amazed nobody else has.”

“It was not the same secret both times. The first was not political. It was personal. In fact...” The muscles in his jaw tensed, and Del saw his fingers flex with the urge to indulge in a tapping ritual. “In fact, I probably needed those memories wiped more than you did.”

Well then he should have wiped his own damned memories. The energy hummed around her again, still indiscernible and vague. Trapped, she picked up. Trapped and angry.

What the hell did he have to be angry about?

Orcadis rubbed the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth, know that was the only time I’ve ever modified your memory against your will. I’m truly sorry to learn you’ve been living for six turns with the idea that your entire past was a lie. I only ever touched one memory without your permission. Just one. Everything else was true.”

“No, it wasn’t.” The lace of her sleeve ripped in her tense fingers and she glared up at him. “It became a lie the moment you betrayed my trust. You took more than one memory away, Orcadis. You took them all, because after that none of them meant anything anymore.”

Betrayed, moaned the thought-energy that breezed over her. How? How could you? We were...so close...once...betrayed...

Del squinted at him. What the hell did he mean, how could she? The wavelengths buffeted her harder, mostly nonsensical, only their hurt and rage breaking over her clearly. She backed toward the wall-hanging of anthuriums, not sure if he wanted her to feel this or if he was just going mad, spewing the pent-up thoughts he’d kept locked for turns.

“So you took away the boy I raised,” Orcadis said. “You took Lykus away, turned him against me, and for what? So he could fall into the trap of that Tillian spy Padon sent to seduce him?”

The words made her forget about the thought-energy. Ouch. Her swelling throat threatened to choke her as the firelight flashing in Orcadis’s eyes turned cold. He instantly looked apologetic, stepping up and cupping her hands in his. His rough, calloused palms were unusually gentle. “Didn’t I tell you you’d never find anyone more devoted to you than me?”

Del couldn’t move. She tried not to breathe his scent – fresh rain and earth and herbs, just as she remembered. Her heart crashed against her ribs until her chest ached.

Betrayal...betrayal...

The air was thick with the thoughts. Del’s head reeled from them and the terror of Orcadis’s proximity. She tried to untangle them.

Orcadis...Enver...false brothers. Helms must...destroyed...must be destroyed...imposter king...I’m the true king!

She pulled her hand free and the files beneath her arm slipped to the ground. Del staggered back until she hit the canvas of the anthurium painting. Those weren’t Orcadis’s thoughts, she realized. There was someone else here, someone...

Her eyes flitted around the room, from the logs spitting in the fireplace to the mahogany desk, searching for the source of the wavelengths.

Behind the anthurium painting.

“Are you alright?” Orcadis said, hesitating.

He couldn’t feel it. Somehow the great and powerful Iron Fist wasn’t picking up these indistinct signals and she was. Del reined her thoughts in, forced a smile. She walked to the other end of the chamber to get out of his sensing radius so she could string her plan together. “There’s one more memory I want gone. Can you do that?”

Orcadis raised an eyebrow and she cursed herself, knowing her flustered state had made her rash. “You’re giving me access to your memories? Do you not fear I’ll take the information you overheard that night? About the treason?”

“That’s what I want,” she invented, grappling for an excuse. “Maybe ignorance really is bliss. Without that memory I don’t have to live with the fear that the Helms are going to strangle me in my sleep. It’s as I said – I don’t care about you or your politics. Just take the memory and let me get the hell out of here. There’s no reason for me to stay any longer.”

Orcadis downcast his eyes. “As you wish.”

“Let’s go. The sooner I leave this hellhole the better.”

They walked to the memory-alternating chamber in silence, Orcadis no doubt thinking she was doing this to get back at Hector or something. In the meantime Del kept her resolve stony, trying to curb her fear at the thought that the man behind the wall was the real King Serasta.

And if that mangled lisping creature sitting on level six indeed was Enver, if Del could free Serasta and plant his ass back on the throne, Orcadis was finished.