Shattered Ladder 1-16

Chapter 16: Hiding Out

It wasn’t…

Sway into backhand — I can’t — Weave into snap kick. I’ve never…

The fight finished with a panicked scream; the sound fading away as the last man with the rat tattoo ran into the masses, the few onlookers breaking apart and merging into the crowd along with him.

Ken stared down at the two broken and unmoving bodies on the ground, at his own steady hands, as the fight replayed again and again in his head. A sea of gazes passed over all three of them, nobody paying much attention even as they walked over and past both men like they weren’t even there.

Sway into backhand. 

He remembered exactly what he did.

Weave into snap kick.

Not in a blur of panic; just everything clear and clean, each movement like a snapshot. That…

It hadn’t felt like him, hadn’t felt like his hands or his body doing that. Violence wasn’t… It wasn’t in him, nothing he’d ever done before, not since the Valley. Not since Joric’s blood had covered his hands. I’m not… not a monster.

But that felt like one.

Ken’s heart pounded harder and harder in his chest, the coldness in his gut fading fast as the heat returned; blood rushing back through his ears loud enough that the noise of the infinite crowd almost vanished to nothing.

His head snapped up, everything whirling around him as he took it in; all neon and lantern and flashbulb light in the pulsing marketplace. Hundreds of eyes were on him, the still market crowd different from those simply moving; some were confused, plenty interested, and just as many shifting their gaze away from him and the still bodies on the ground as he looked their way. 

A deep breath hit his throat along with a dense soup of smells; thick greasy oil from a hundred and one hot fryers, the sharp tang of ozone from a sputtering power line above his head, and the damp, rotten breath from a sewer grate big enough to swallow a man. Blood beat loud in his ears still, protecting him from the physical wall of noise he could feel on his skin; the roar of a thousand conversations shouted in a half-dozen dialects all mashed together.

"-ear on all I got, swear it, he sell me busted core, total gr-"

"-lick-clean, clean as a tennie, you won’t… won’t find any bet-"

“-'course this ain't stolen, you don't... don't trust? I never would, swear i-”

Bare feet hit the ground again, Ken running without direction as he pounded against the grimy pavement and left the thugs behind. Again, he plunged deeper into the city’s underbelly, the maze of the city’s grim pulling him in as he put more distance between himself and another bad situation.

Buildings climbed high on all sides of him, half-built and barely-standing structures reaching up into the hazy artificial sky. Some of them even leaned on each other, the rust-stained walls a chaotic clash of corrugated metals and crumbling concrete. How… That was the only question on his mind as he spotted the rickety-plank bridges stretching from building to building in the sky, sagging bundles of unleashed wires connecting them in a tangled three-dimensional maze hundreds of feet high.

Ken swallowed a mouthful of thick air as he shook his head again and pushed through another ocean of bodies pressing against him, marketplace long behind him minutes ago. It was enough to suffocate someone a hundred times over but nobody else seemed to notice or care, barely looking at him as he stumbled into a dozen others. “S-sorry…”

Nothing.

Ignored yet again, Ken blinked and bit back another apology as somebody else pushed right past him. What the… A clanking piston-driven arm built from mismatched metals hissed steam loudly as the owner kept walking unbothered by Ken’s gaze or the way the crowd was determined to shove and push forward. 

That man wasn’t the only one missing parts or with replacements that slipshod. As Ken slowed down and actually looked at the crowd, he realized there were so many just like him. Another man not too far away, seemingly uncaring that the bottom half of his jaw was missing, the mandible replaced with a flat iron plate and mismatched metal teeth to go with it.

Eye… He bit back a shout as a red eye stared back at him. It hung on him for all of a second before the owner scoffed and pushed his way past, the dull red lens hanging in Ken’s mind even as the sound of its whirring faded away to nothing. 

Ken stumbled back and away from the crowd until he hit a wall, breaths still coming heavy. This time, though, it didn’t feel like enough. Not enough to push past the dizziness that he felt with everything around him. Doesn’t… doesn’t make se…  

His head turned to the side, stomach clenching at the sight of a stall selling what looked like roasted insects on sticks. Oh God…

The apprentice pulled in another ragged breath, ducking his head before he could look back into the sky or the crowd and feel the spinning in his gut at the scale of it. How? The last three years, he’d always wondered about the outside; the city he’d seen through the windows of the apothecary and the place he could never go because it was too dangerous. With only so much to go off, he always assumed it had to be like the Valley outside the Wall, just more advanced with everything he remembered from his first life.

No… The Valley was nothing like this. Outside, junk was part of the world. Here, it was part of the people.

I gotta go… Where he didn’t know exactly, but that hadn’t really stopped him yet. Without another thought, Ken pushed off the wall at his back and ducked into what had to be the sixth alley of the day, this city full of tight backstreets and winding side-paths.

A group of women standing in a dimly lit doorway at the other end of the alley raised their heads as he walked near, faces painted in harsh colors that looked toxic under the flickering neon lining the alley walls. A bunch of men hung around them, all of them dressed much like everybody else he’d seen, clothes ratty and faces just as grimy. The women were different, though; each of them with things he’d never seen on, things he wasn’t sure had the right to even be called underwear; too little and worn so strangely that they didn’t seem like they could do the job of clothing. 

One of them, lips shining a poisonous green stark against tan skin, swayed toward him, separating from the pack. 

"Ay, new meat.” His mouth fell open as she cocked her hips, voice a rough rasp. “Fresh face, ya? Mama Mari got what you need. Forget the day, forget the night, ya, Thirty gray."

She reached for his arm, Ken unable to help a shudder as the older woman’s gentle hands wrapped around his wrist.

“Wha-” Her eyes tracked down from his face to his tunic, half-lidded gaze snapping wide and worried. The dark, crusted stains of Wei’s blood under the fresh bright spatters from the thugs of a couple minutes ago stood out just as bright as her makeup under the lights as she stared right at it. “H-hardbody!” All of a sudden, that easy smile melted away like ice, hand jerking back like she’d just touched a roaring hearth. "He's a martial!” 

The shriek tore out, cracked and high, nothing left of the purr as she scrambled away like he had a weapon. “Get back, girls!"

The other women recoiled with her, the men moving just as quickly. All of them looked at him like he was a demon, their faces masks of fear as they rushed for doors and the sound of locks filled the alleyway, moments after the sound of slamming doors. 

Martial?

The word left his mouth the same moment he thought it, echoing in the quiet space where all their voices had been. No time to waste on thinking about it, Ken pushed again, feet pushing against the filthy ground.

He just needed a hole. A crack. Somewhere to disappear. 

Just like back in the Valley. 

A laugh spilled out before he could stop it. …I guess I really am twelve again.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

It didn’t take too long to find a place.

At least, he was pretty sure it didn’t take too long. Time wasn’t something he was paying attention to all that much, and every other moment seemed to slide into the next.

Either way, whether it was a thousand breaths or ten thousand, Ken found himself heaving for air outside of a half-abandoned building, wood planks shuttered along the small place’s windows. No sound or light came from inside it and that was all he needed, somewhere nobody else was; a place that would let him get his head together. 

The door barely hanging on the hinges, it didn’t fight him much as he shoved it the rest of the way open and slipped into the darkness of the single room. For a second, he stood there, nothing but damp air and thick clouds of dust filling his lungs. Okay… okay… what now?

That answer to that question lay in the corner.

“Come on…” Wood shrieked against the ground in protest as he shoved an over-turned table across the room. It only took a few full seconds before Ken came to a stop as it finally rested against the door. The flimsy barricade probably wouldn’t do a lot if people tried to force their way in, but it made him feel a little less exposed. “Alright, that’s… that was…”

Ken blinked in the dim light. “Easy.” 

Too easy.

He looked down at his hands again, opening and closing as his thoughts whirled. Moving that table wasn’t exactly simple, considering it was all wood; solid and thick enough to make him work for it. 

But it was still done quicker than he thought it would be either way, his arms barely even struggling to lug it across a whole room even with a sweaty grip. 

…I don’t even know anymore. With no answers to yet another question piled on the rest of today, Ken allowed himself to slump as his body slid down the far wall. By the time his butt hit the ground, he pulled his knees to his chest, and pressed his palms against the sides of his head.

What do I do? He didn’t know. 

He didn’t know that, or where to go, or where he was, or who he could trust, or if he could even trust anyone. His hands just pushed tighter against his skull as if he could somehow squeeze out the images, the sounds, the feelings.

The wet crack of the Scrap Boy's jaw, the choked gasp from the first thug in the alley, and the look of raw terror in that weird lady’s eyes as she pulled back from him like he was covered in rainbow-toad spit; all of them were a distant second, third and fourth from everything he’d been running from in the first place.

Old Wei… They’d killed him, those Hunter bastards, and he couldn’t even do anything to help the old man, couldn’t save their home. Hell, he couldn’t even fight back, too scared in the back as he just hid and ran and kept on running.

Ken’s head thumped back against the wall. But what else am I supposed to do, huh?

He hated it. He knew he hated running away again and being a coward; but that was the real question that echoed in his head as he closed his eyes again. What else am I supposed to do when I’m weak?

But…

A set of eyes blinked open a second later in the dim, dusty room. 

But he wasn’t weak, though.

I punched that guy. He remembered it perfectly, a single punch to the chest and a guy about twice his weight got thrown right off his feet. And then, the next guy; two hits, but he still went flying.

How did I even do th-? Before he could even properly question it, a gasp tore free from his throat as both eyes went wide. Old Wei's gift…

That had to be it; nothing else made sense or even came close. “Remnant…”

Ken breathed again, heavy quick inhales as his mind went back to what he’d run from, the whirlwind of fear and panic in Wei’s shop.

“Husk…”

He remembered the Hunters standing over Wei, voices loud and clear in his ears as if they were still right in front of him; cold, sharp and full of a fear that hadn’t made sense. “Vessel…”

The words were jagged pieces of scrap metal, tumbling around in his head with the rough voices of Wei’s murderers. They had called the old man a husk, like he was empty. 

But he wasn't. Old Wei had been full of a lot of things; stories, quiet songs, the smell of herbs and so many years of knowledge.

Ken pushed off the wall and stumbled back to his feet, the fifteen-year old pacing the small, cramped room. Bare feet kicking up clouds of scattered dust that swirled in the few thin beams of neon light slicing through the cracks in the windows, all he could do was think.

Vessel. They called Wei a vessel, like he was a container for… for… something they called the remnant? His mouth turned down, blank line forming a frown. The way they’d said it… They never talked about Master like he’d been a person, but more like a thing.

Ken stopped pacing, the red snake on the back of their clothes flashing through his thoughts again. The snake eating its tail. That had been the same symbol from Wei’s books, just like the big one the old man would read for hours with a smile on his face. They're part of an Order. And Wei… Wei was their enemy.

That made sense, too. And, on top of that, considering Wei had the same symbol on his books, he probably used to be part of them too. Traitor-alchemist… yeah, he nodded, why else would they call him a traitor?

Even if he had only seen part of one of their faces through the Hunter’s broken faceplate, he remembered their voices like they were still friends. "We bled for this! And he's empty?!"

The Hunters wanted something that Wei had, something they were trying to take back to their Masters. The 'remnant' they were talking about… it had to be that… that smoke. Ken bit back a shudder at the memory of Wei’s purple eyes and the gas that had forced itself into him from the old man’s mouth. The power he gave me, it had to be that. 

The alchemy apprentice nodded again. And they were pissed they couldn't get it.

Out of all four of them, it was only the Hunter called Rai who seemed to care that much about their dead friends. The rest of them — Captain Kade, Examiner Val and Seeker Zero — just seemed more focused on getting that Remnant thing.

A gift. Ken’s fist clenched tight at his side as he remembered what Wei last promised him. It will change your life. Forever.

It all clicked into place, the realization suddenly a cold, hard certainty in his mind. He’d always wondered what the Spark looked like, that power burning inside special people’s bodies. What else could it be?

His breathing picked up again with his pacing as his mind became a storm. But… but… Wei said everyone needs their qi to live? It was the Spark of the soul, that’s what Old Wei had told him and that’s what all the books had said. Even people without power had some qi, even if they couldn’t light it into a Spark.

He did this… Ken took another breath, a low shudder passing through him. He knew he was going to die… Wei’s sudden seriousness that last day, the training all those years, letting Ken wear his clothes… He was always going to sacrifice himself for me.

“Old Wei…” Ken stumbled to a halt in the center of the dusty room, the words forming in his throat, needing to be spoken, as he let it out in a raw, cracking whisper. “…he passed on the rest of his life, his qi… to me.”

And those bastards hunted him down to steal it first. I promise… His other fist clenched just as tight as the first. I promise, Wei, I’ll make you proud.

With nothing else to say, Ken slumped back onto his spot on the wall, exhausted and unsure what else to do or say as he sat there in the darkness staring at nothing.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Wind from the outside slid through the doors and windows, even half-shut, swirling dust across the room and into his eyes. Ken barely flinched, simply blinking slowly as he stayed where he was, almost unmoving.

He’d been in the same place for hours, thoughts circling back to everything that had happened in just one day. After years and years, his whole life had gone upside down, leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back and the bag over his shoulders. 

A statue on the ground, he hadn’t flinched even as his stomach rumbled and his throat went dry from the dust, hunger calling him as the fake suns outside cycled around the massive metal roof; from night to a dully lit morning. If I’m gonna do anything… He needed to understand. I need to figure this whole thing out.

Ken had heard a lot about the Spark in the Valley and read a lot more from Wei’s books but that didn’t mean anything to actually doing things with it. I can’t live with this power if I can’t even control it right. He’d had enough of being a passenger in his own body for years. He hated when his body was too weak for him and he wasn’t gonna let his body being too strong for him now make things just as hard. No.

Shaking his head with a grunt, Ken lifted the satchel from his neck, the same one he’d saved from the fire. The worn leather was warm and familiar under his fingers, almost making him smile as he went for the clasp. It opened with a click, the clean earthy smells of the herbs a stark contrast to the stale decay of the room. His pointer and middle ran themselves over the cool-to-the-touch glass, each jar labelled;  Ghost Cap. Iron-vine Root. Bloodmoss. 

His inheritance. 

The tools of his trade. 

Even with qi, this new power, he was still an alchemist.

“You don't fear a reaction, Kenshi,” Wei’s voice sounded off in his head. “You study. You understand parts. You control pattern.”

Ken closed his eyes, his breathing automatically falling into the familiar, slow rhythm of his Gram. Inhale the world... exhale the empty...

He focused inward, reaching for the warmth inside his gut where that constant clawing emptiness used to be, unsure how long this would take. 

Oh. 

Before, trying to feel his own “spirit root” with Wei had been pretty much impossible; kinda like trying to grab smoke in a dark room when there wasn’t any fire in the first place. 

Now though, it was there.

Hard to miss, it was a small flame sitting still in his center; warm, quiet and flickering brightly the longer he felt for it, Ken focused on it as he used those same breathing exercises to gently push at it.

And for the first time in his life, it worked.

A pulse of clean, warm energy flared out just a bit from the candle in his gut, lighting up the whole thing just a bit more in time with his breathing. His skin thrummed, tensing and releasing with his heartbeat and lungs, the power just underneath almost there to touch. 

“...it’s real.”

It was the magic of the village, the Spark they always talked about, the power he never thought he’d get. It was his. But it came from someone else.

He clenched his fist tight. I won’t forget you, gr-

Before Ken could finish the though, a sound from the doorway forced its way into his thoughts; a soft scrape of something being pushed.

A soft scrape, then a click. The half-broken table he’d used as a barricade slid aside, easier than the effort he’d put into dragging it across the room as the door creaked open.

Hazy neon-lit light lit the dark room as a figure stood in the doorway, whole body in shadow. 

Ken scrambled back, pressing himself further in the corner as his hands went up with instinct he didn’t have; fists formed tight as his veins went cold again.

But the figure wasn't a big, armored man or a hungry street thug. 

Girl?

It was a girl, and one around his age too.

She stepped inside, light catching her sun-touched face just enough for him to actually make out what she looked like. Like most of the people he’d met in this life, she looked nothing like him all the way from her almond-shaped eyes to the smooth flat-boned face. The blond hair was new, though; almost unnaturally bright, the whole thing was messy and spiked up in places like a lion’s mane. Her hair was nothing compared to the gold eyes that landed right on him, sharp and searching as she looked him up and down.

His eyes trailed her too, her clothes the cleanest thing he had seen since he had taken his first step into the city. No holes in them and completely clean; her pink puffy jacket, matching shorts and white tank top looked like they belonged in a different world, his old world.

As he looked back up, he spotted something flicker across her face before her face pulled itself into a flat line. "You the Scrap Hunter?"