Interconnected: Spliced Souls

“Aye, sorry, but Duke Parrel requires us to check yer papers when ye want to come in,” said a short man with an outrageously thick beard. He stood by the city's gate and carried a pair of axes on his back. The guard also wore armor similar to Frank and Fraun. He spoke to a sharply dressed man holding a briefcase who traveled with two women. Only they weren't human. 

They each had the body of a woman but the head of a cheetah. Their feline eyes narrowed at the guard, and they crossed their arms across their matching tunics, which seemed to be reinforced with patches of leather here and there.   

“Here. Hurry up. I’m running late as it is,” replied the man. His tone was refined but brisk and rough. He produced a card from his pocket while his companions handed over their necklaces, which held a pair of silver dog tags.   

The guard looked all three over, then nodded and handed them back, and that was when I walked away because I didn’t have anything to give him.    

Might I suggest climbing the walls? They are rather tall, but it is impossible for you to get sore whilst ascending them.   

“Huh, that just might work,” I replied, not unaware of the lusty gazes aimed towards my chest and bare legs. Even in the dead of night, there was a line of at least 30 people and 15 wagons waiting to enter the city. One man with the head of an elephant with a small trunk. He made a trumpet noise, but I didn’t give him the time of day. Once they couldn’t see me, I walked around the city's perimeter, cutting across the green plain while keeping my distance. People probably patrolled the top of the walls, but if they were, I couldn't see them. I kept walking until I came to a bunch of trees, then used their thick, green leaves as camouflage.   

The bricks used in the wall’s constructions were smooth—almost polished like my silver tablet.   

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t make my own holes. I broke the spear’s shaft to make it easier to handle, then jabbed that into the wall to carve a crevasse big enough for my hand to comfortably fit in. All I had to do was grab the new hole, make a new one above it, and repeat it a few hundred times.     

The problem was the sentry towers were spaced every 300 feet or so. If someone was inside... If I couldn't talk my way out... 

The pain was there, though. It promptly disappeared, but it always haunted me for about a dozen seconds before leaving me for a minute. Slowly but surely, I ascended the wall while taking enough breaks to take in the nightly atmosphere. The moon was still high in the sky, and I wondered what this view would look like if it was daytime? I even saw the pond I woke up near, and it seemed so serene and peaceful—almost as if it was torn right from a picture book about nature paradises with the moon’s graceful reflection.   

I eventually reached the top, right under the watchtower. I couldn’t hear footsteps, so I climbed over the railing and took refuge inside it. It was small and cozy, with two open doors and a small stool with a book. A dagger rested near it. After figuring out I could read the book, I stashed it and everything else in my ring. Yes, it was stealing, but I needed information.   

From there, I decided to sleuth my way across the walls, but after taking just two steps…   

“Hey! What are you doing!?” shouted a voice. I instantly turned up and saw a horse-faced guard with a thick beard standing on top of the watchtower and cursed myself for not even checking up there. I dashed away, looking back while the guard jumped down and followed in hot pursuit. He took a whistle and blew it as loudly as he could, which alerted the guards inhabiting the towers further ahead. Two more rushed me from the front, and I skidded to a halt.  

“How did you get here?!” asked the one that spotted me.    

I turned around.    

He had his hand held in front of him. Biting my lip, I looked over the edge and realized I was near that shack. The fields of forgotten garbage offered the safety I needed. “Hey, don’t do anything stupid,” he said when I turned towards the edge. His voice was shaky.   

“Miss, can you hear us?” asked another from my right. I looked at the speaker, who held her helmet in her hands. She was a woman with soft light tanned skin, eyes like a lavender sun, and hair the color of pearls. She had pointy ears that slightly fluttered with the concerned tone of her voice.    

“Listen to Siora," said the person beside her. His sleeveless armor exposed the gray scales covering his hands, arms, neck, and face. A nightly breeze blew his black hair across his hardened eyes. The moonlight seemed prismatic when reflected across his scales. “My name’s Tim, and he's Edgar. If you’re in distress, we can help you. Step away from the ledge.”   

“Can you understand me?” I asked, looking at the one called Siora.   

She nodded. “Are you okay?”   

“If you call living with no memories okay, then yeah. I’m just peachy. Look, I’m just trying to find a way to get down,” I said, walking away. I still planned on jumping but wanted to wait for the right moment. After locking eyes with Edgar, I turned to the railing for just a fraction of a second. 

“Stop it!” exclaimed the horse-faced man. His eyes went wide as he raised his hands. “[Ice Shackle]! I won’t let you jump!”   

My ankles felt heavy when a literal pair of icy restraints bound my legs together and arms together. The momentum caused me to fall towards the waist-high railing. Before gravity took control, the woman with pointy ears grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close. We both tumbled to the ground, my face just inches away from her frightened eyes, which imparted her unspoken fear. A set of scaled, rough hands grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet, and I was soon staring at Tim. “Are you alright? Here, I got you.” He was about six inches taller than me, and his scales were hard and warm.   

After Siora stood up, she walked to the one who put these restraints on me and spoke with a voice so calm I thought the devil was about to jump out at him. “She was not about to jump, Edgar. Why did you do that? Don’t think I won’t talk to the lieutenants about this transgression.”    

“You’re wrong. You didn’t see the look that girl gave me. If I hadn’t acted, we'd be peering down on her squashed corpse,” he vehemently said.    

“Cancel the spell and return to your post. That’s an order from a squad leader,” growled Siora.   

“Tch! Next time, I won’t even lift a finger. The suicide will be on your hands, and good luck explaining that to the lieutenants.” Edgar grunted, removed the shackles, groaned, and returned to his watchtower.    

I was left alone with Tim and Siora.   

“Come with me. We need to talk,” said Siora in a softer tone. She took me by the hand and led me to her watchtower. "Sit there," she said, pointing to a stool. Tim stood nearby, his flowing locks reminding me of a man that used to be on the cover of romance novels.   

How can I remember that? I can picture it so clearly.   

“There’s a lot to discuss, but let’s start with this. You said something about your memories. Can you explain?” Tim had a gentle voice--one you would use when speaking to a child. Siora was busy digging in a chest for something, but she most likely kept me in her peripherals.    

“It’s just what I said. I don’t...remember anything. My name? Beats me,” I said, lying a little bit. I turned to Siora and asked if she was a wildkin.   

“No, sweetie, I’m not. I’m a Wing Elf.”   

“Wing...Elf?”   

“That’s right. We’re more likely to be blessed by gods and goddesses associated with the wind element.” She removed her greaves and showed me a pair of charming, angelic wings on her wrist. They unfolded and began to flutter. She flicked her hands towards my head, letting loose a blast of air that scattered my hair.     

“Are you a wildkin?” I turned to Tim. He shook his head and said he was a koena. In his language, that meant ‘scaled-person.' He had scales from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.    

“Wildkin refers to people with animal traits. You’ve seen people with cat ears on their heads, right? In their language, they’re called singi, but the wildkin term is Catkin. You really have amnesia, don’t you?”   

I nodded. “I was trying to walk through the city entrance, but the people in front of me had a card or paper or something. The guard said something like Duke Parrel required them. I was afraid because I didn’t have them.”   

“That still isn’t any reason to climb the wall. If you fell, you would’ve died,” replied Siora, pulling out a pair of brown pants. She apologized if they were too big but swore they were clean. She and Tim turned around, and I slipped them on while tucking in my shirt. “Were you really thinking about jumping?”   

“No, I just wanted to see what was on the other side while trying to find a ladder or something,” I responded. “Thanks for the pants… I'm sorry to be a hassle—”   

“It isn’t any trouble,” Tim said. He turned around after I said he could, and I was starting to like this strange, scaled man. “If you need new documentation, you can get it from the record office. Canary offers temporary housing to those that lose them.”   

“But what if I never had any in the first place?”   

“Are you sure about that? The record office can communicate with Westera and Keywater. If you’ve been to a city in those countries, they’ll find you. And you don’t need your name. We can give them your physical description since that’s also recorded.”   

“It isn't common for a human to have red eyes. And you have a ring. Do you think you’re married?” asked the Wing Elf. I shook my head, but I thought I heard a man's voice before I woke up. I didn’t believe he was my husband by any means. Perhaps a cousin or sibling? “Are you hungry or thirsty?”   

“No, I’m fine. Umm… Can…can we go to those houses? If I knew that was an option, I’d have gone for it. Please believe me when I say I didn’t mean to make a scene or cause trouble. I just didn’t want to be thrown in jail.”   

“I believe you, sweetie. Tim, can you remain here?” The koena nodded and leaned against the watchtower’s wall.   

“Sweetie? I don’t get it,” I said, following Siora through the left doorway. We were walking along the top of the walls, staring out at the longing scenery.   

“You look young. I’d say about 22? Perhaps 25? Meanwhile, I’m about to turn 90. In my culture, I’ve just reached adulthood. I’m sorry if it’s bothering you.”   

“No, it isn’t that. I was just curious. Umm... How do we get down?”   

“Ladders are built into every tenth watchtower, which leads to a small hovel with more supplies when it’s time for the shift change. Unfortunately, we don’t have any on this side of town for security reasons. There are stairs located on the northern wall. It’s a bit of a walk, but that’s our destination.”    

Looking to my right, I saw a high trash pile. It was tall and steep enough to slide down without suffering fatal wounds. If I were alone, I wouldn’t care if I broke my neck and bisected by a stray piece of metal sticking up. But Siora was nice. And so was Tim. Even if I was fine afterwards, I didn’t want them to see my broken corpse. That shit would leave nightmares in your eyes, right?  

“I’m sorry, Siora... I...can’t go with you.”   

“Hmm? What do you mean?” She turned around, sending that pearl-colored hair scattering across her eyes. Slowly, her smile faded and was replaced by a frown.   

“From this height, I’ll be fine. You won’t have to watch me die.”   

“WHAT?! DON’T DO IT!!!!” Without missing a beat, Siora leapt towards me in the same breath I jumped, but she shot wind gusts from her wrist wings to boost herself back up to the ledge. The smile on my face was slightly solemn since it seemed like she cared about my well-being. In just a few seconds, her wet tears would probably reach me.    

As I fell, I saw Tim rushing over. He looked at her, to me, to her, then finally looked away after I slammed into the trash pile.    

“GUHHHH!!” I grunted, all my ribs shattering at once. My heart rolled around like a pig in mud, splashing against my lungs and dipping low into my stomach acid as I tumbled endlessly. My battered, bruised body came to a stop when I thwacked my head against a wooden post, but I was alive.     

And I was out of their sight. They couldn't see me from their angle, so I hobbled away on a fractured knee until it healed. 

"STOP!!!! YOU'RE ALIVE, RIGHT?! HEY! ANSWER US!!!" They took turns yelling while they ran along the walls. In a few a seconds, I couldn't hear the voices, but the last thing I heard was Siora claiming to have spotted me moments before I darted down a dirty, rotten alley. The city was big, so they had a long way to go. Siora could summon gusts of wind to either slow or propel herself up, but there were limits. If not, she would've followed me.

Servi, was that wise?  

“Probably not,” I replied. “But I couldn’t go with them. I’m needed here.”  

Why? I do not understand. Couldn’t you have gone with them to this ‘housing’ and returned here afterwards?  

“I could, but what if someone dies during that time because I wasn’t here to save them? They know I’m not dead, so they can sleep easy.”  

I see... I understand, then. But... Would they try to find you?  

“Probably, but there are tons of hiding spots. As gross as it is, I can just hide under garbage or something. Use my ring to make a small hole for me, then dump it back on top.” While hobbling away, I stared at the ramshackle, derelict shack. It was probably devoid of non-insect life. The pipe I used to hit that son of a bitch was still there, and so was my blood.  

"Is this where you died?” Itarr asked. I nodded, then recalled the fear I felt. Waking up with the unknown, adventuring the unknown, dying by the unknown. It was nothing but the unknown for my very short life. I thought about absorbing the trash to make it somewhat better, but I had no desire to live here.   

Looking away from my first grave, I enter the heart of the slums. After walking around some, I realized the awful smell wasn't there. Even though I was surrounded by shit and garbage...  Itarr said [True Immortality] filtered out nasty odors. It could be toggled on or off, but I kept it on.   

What are we going to do? Where are we going?  

“I’m not sure. We need to find shelter, right? A place to stay?”  

Do we? Servi, [True Immortality] means you do not need to sleep. Nor do you need to drink or eat. Your body will always be ready for action.     

Not going hungry sounded nice, but Itarr quickly clarified a few things. I could still eat, sleep, and drink, but it would be more out of pleasure than necessity. The mellow alleys were quiet. During my walk, I didn’t see many people, and those I did see were strung out of their minds. If they weren’t hunched over against a wall while puking their guts out, they were lying on their back with their eyes on the sky.  

I soon found myself near a playground, but everything had seen far better days. You couldn’t look without finding a spot of rust, gross stains, or dried blood.