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The Disciple knew it was a bad idea from the start. Even as she rode in the back of the wagon, the smell of rotten wood and unwashed flesh choking her, she understood what a terrible idea it was. She had been informed of the pirate’s location by an anonymous tip, some whisper shrouded in darkness behind a nameless tavern. It was by no means trustworthy, but she had little to lose anymore.
The wagon creaked and spat as it wobbled along the old cobble road. The trip had been nearly three days, with frequent stops to bring on even more of the stinking, unhappy cargo. The inside of the wagon was stained a deep ochre hue and caked with filth and blood. Those who did not have garments of their own bore the marks of their servitude in the form of scabs and blisters. The Disciple wore a robe of plain black, with a hood that only just covered her shock of dirty, tangled hair. Moons after she had escaped the bounties remained. To show her face in this town of thieves would no doubt be suicide.
Two months of running, running from the imperials, running from bounty hunters, running from the men who had taken her friends and her family away from her, and she had nothing to show for it. She could not run forever. The E%cutor had spared her, but the other highbloods would not be so kind, and any one of the slaves in the caravan would have sold her for their own freedom in an instant.
The Disciple clutched the Leggings from under her robe. The dark red stains of his mutant blood had congealed and crusted over, and the fabric had become rough and frayed. They were her only reminder of what she had had not so long ago. A mother, a brother- these were relationships that were once alien to her, but he had shown her the true way. Now he was gone, and with it he had taken that sense of remembering what nobody else could. She had never learned what had happened to the ψiioniic, and didn’t care to imagine. As a child she heard tales of the lowblood boys who were taken away to pilot the ships, and even then she understood what that “piloting” entailed. Now he was gone as well.
But one still remained in the wake of such grief and destruction. The Disciple shuddered to think what she had endured, but at the very least there was a chance that she might still be alive. That would have to be enough. The Disciple hugged the leggings tighter to her chest, closed her eyes, and allowed herself some respite.
The hardened, sun-baked soil burnt her knees. They had come for them in the early morning, descending upon the camp in droves. The E%ecution Grounds had been hastily constructed, and all that kept them from escaping was a cordon of vengeful onlookers, lowbloods and highbloods alike. They had taken him first, but even as she waited to feel the sting of point though flesh, she still heard his last shrill, angry cry echo in her ears. She felt the hot, stinging tears run down her cheeks and then they were all upon her, biting, scratching, their hate manifest in the way they dug their disgusting nails into her skin, and then she knew she was lost.
She jerked awake as the trailer lurched over the cobblestone road. They were nearly there.
She lingered outside the door of the tavern. Her shroud had allowed her to pass with some semblance of anonymity. None of them, not the street vendors hawking their questionable wares, nor the strange, gruff men who smelt of salt and rotten swimbeasts, had paid her any mind. She was one black hood in a sea of them, forced by circumstance out of a name and an identity.
The rotten, moldy wood of the tavern door creaked and flexed under the touch of her hand. This whole city was caked in that same rot, as if the sea had washed over it by night and then receded at dawn. As she stepped through the threshold, the stink of ammonia filled her nostrils. Five lowbloods sat around a table, intent on their game of cards, their dirty black garments streaked with yellow and orange. Others milled around the tavern with foaming mugs in their hands, their voices straining to be heard over the noise of the others. At the bar a tall, lanky woman stood. Her hair was streaked with green, and she stood proudly with a sure smile on her face. The Disciple hastened her walk to the bar and sat down.
“First time in town?” she asked, leaning over the bar. “Never seen you before.”
The Disciple did not respond, only nodding her head in silence. Was this who she had arranged to meet?
“You ought to be more careful, you know. Any of them would squeal on you in an instant.”
The Disciple tried to feign a look of confusion, but the barkeep didn’t even bother looking up from her cleaning.
“Yes, I know all about you. I know who you are, and I know what you’re here for.” Her long, black hair fell over her curled horns, hiding a slight smile. Her perfect, slim hands which showed no sign of being worked with continued at a constant pace.
“I could bring you to any number of bounty hunters who would gladly take you to the proper authorities. Their crimes would of course be forgiven, having brought such a high-value specimen to their doorstep. Do you know what they would do to you?” she said, and abruptly looked up from her cleaning. “Come with me. Now.”
The Disciple froze. The woman’s demeanor had changed in a moment, and her face now reflected only open hostility.
“Well?”
“O-okay, just please don’t say anything.” she replied.
The barkeep turned and walked toward the back door with her new captive in tow.
As soon as they were in the back room and out of earshot of the other workers, the barkeep turned to face the Disciple. Unmarked bags and crates were scattered around the windowless room.
“Sit down.”
“Who ARE you?”
The words had been very quick, out before the Disciple realized what she was saying. They stood for a moment with nothing but the sound of raucous laughter to temper the icy quiet. A smile spread across the woman’s face.
“Of course this must all be rather confusing for you. You may have noticed that I’m not exactly a thief or a pirate’s wench, hm?”
The Disciple continued to stare, but she paid her no mind.
“Suffice it to say that I know what you’re here for, and I want to help you find it.”
She paused, folded her arms, and gave another small smile. The Disciple did not respond.
“You realize whose ship you’re trying to break into, right?”
Several hours later the two of them stood at the end of the dock, the cold and unforgiving water lapping all around them. The Disciple was dressed in noble colors, the same color as the water that emptily taunted them both. The barkeep had changed into a plain red tunic and hood.
“I suppose that this is the end of the line for you.”
Her sad, knowing smile finally broke the Disciple, who had not spoken since they left the tavern.
“Thank you. I…” She paused to wipe a tear from her eye. She tried to speak more but the words didn’t come.
“Don’t worry. Be safe, please.” The lady in red turned to walk back down the dock.
“Wait.”
The woman stopped but did not turn. Her horns dripped with the heavy, acidic rain.
“Who I am really isn’t important. There’s a broken woman in that ship who needs to see you. She is important.” She then walked off the dock and soon blended with the crowd.
It had taken the Disciple nearly an hour to navigate her way through the ship. No doubt the captain had stolen it from the Empire- even after what must have been years of use, the Empire’s colors were still painted on every wall, its insignia on every door. She had not come across even one guard in her time aboard the ship, and the only noises came from the soft crashing of the waves on the ship. Now she stood at the end of a long hallway of cells.
She had been put in a cell all to herself. The other slaves had been packed together like canned swimbeasts, but she had her own. The Disciple shuddered to think why that was.
“Hello?”
A voice. It was a small thing, barely audible, but restrained and dignified even after all this time. She recognized it instantly.
“Is anyone there?”
Without a second thought she pushed the door open and rushed in.
The room was unlike any other in the hold. Gray light poured in from a window, illuminating the unpainted walls and scratched-up floor of the cabin. A lone figure sat on the cot, barely illuminated by the dull sunlight. Her once-beautiful skin was now scratched and blistered, her beautiful robes replaced with gray slave’s rags. Her eyes were closed and she sat with her back hunched.
“Please. Do not hurt me. I will give you whatever I can.”
For so long she had acted as a guardian, a teacher, and a mother to the Disciple. The idea of family had been so alien to her for her whole life, but the Dolorosa and the Signless had shown her the true way, and the Disciple had hated to think of her life without her. Now she faced her again in a very different light. Even after all she had gone through, the Dolorosa was still beautiful.
Her jade green eyes now rose at the lack of a reply. In one moment she had been reserved and obsequious, and in the next she was suddenly up off the bed, her scarred legs pounding on the floor, tears streaming down her face. All of her anxiety, all of her disappointment, all of her grief suddenly returned, and it manifested itself in the grip of her arms and her heavy, sobbing breaths. The Disciple responded in kind, and just for one moment the two of them were floating alone on the rotten, desolate sea. Hot tears streamed down the Disciple’s back, tears that had been held back for far too long. They stood unmoving for almost a minute before the Dolorosa fell back on the bed.
The Disciple sat beside her and saw how desolate her mother’s state truly was. The rags she had been given were unbefitting of the dignified way she carried herself, the way she ought to have been treated. All at once the Disciple wanted to communicate how she had missed her, how she had worried, how she would never abandon her again, but the words didn’t come, and she twisted her face in frustration and anger. The Dolorosa only put her finger up to her lips.
“I am here now. You are here now. Everything will be okay.”
When the Disciple’s expression didn’t change the Dolorosa pulled her close and allowed her to bury her head in her shoulder once again. Her hair had grown long and wiry from captivity but it provided comfort all the same.
“Shhhhh, my child, you’re safe now.”
The Disciple picked her head up, her anger suddenly resurfacing. “I don’t care that I’m safe! I care that you’re not.”
“This is the life I lead now. I did not ask for it, but we all have to live with what we have.”
“This is just wrong, you know that! What have they done to you?”
The Dolorosa could only nod her head. Her expression did not change. “I know it’s wrong. There is nothing I can do. If I escape, the imperials will find me, and the next time I am sure that they will not be so kind.”
The Disciple stood up from the cot, her shoulders shaking with rage. “Kind?! They’ve done no such thing. I know what they’ve done to you, how they’ve treated you! Don’t you want to escape?”
She picked her eyes up and looked at her daughter squarely. “She treats me well.”
“No, she does not! Don’t you see how she has you living here? And for what? What has she done to you?”
Now the Dolorosa’s voice began to choke, tears forming in her eyes yet again. “She is all I have anymore. She is the only one who can protect me.”
“And what about me?”
“You have to protect yourself. For the sake of both of us.” She stood up and walked to her daughter. She placed a rough, callused hand on the Disciple’s cheek. “Please, leave this place before you’re found out.”
The Disciple pulled her mother’s hand away and began to cry once again. “No. I can’t leave you like this, it isn’t fair.”
“You’ve lived long enough to know about fair. Fair is not what’s important right now.” Her face, just for a moment, became stern and collected again. She used to make that face when she was warning the two of them not to get themselves killed.
“I just…I don’t want to lose you again.”
The Dolorosa’s eyes lowered again. “You may never see me again, child.”
The Disciple leapt at her, clutching at her mother’s tattered tunic. “No, no, no! I can’t, I won’t!”
The Dolorosa only pulled her tighter. “You will. You will leave this ship and you will never return. I will remain here for as long as I can.”
“It’s not fair,” she repeated, her voice now only a whisper. “It’s not.” Her grip began to loosen, her olive green tears now falling freely once more.
“I know, child.” the Dolorosa repeated, running her hands through the long, black hair which had always been tangled and unkempt. “You will have to be brave for me.”
They stood there for several minutes, the only sound coming from the soft crashing of the waves. Finally, the Disciple untangled herself and stepped back. “I should go, then. The longer I stay the worse my chances, right?” The Dolorosa only nodded, and lowered her eyes for the last time.
The Disciple moved toward the doorway of the cabin as her mother sat back down on the cot. For just a moment they locked eyes, but the Disciple turned away and ran back down the hallway. Her footsteps echoed in her own ears, but suddenly all she could think of was escaping. She ran down the hallway, up the steps, out onto the deck, and did not stop. Her destiny was to run, and she would not stop running ever again.