Justice: Part 4

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Jorgo opened his eyes.

The room was quiet. Clean. It reminded him of the medical dome in the Colony, but there was no clean white surfaces anywhere. Instead, the walls were rock and stone. The bed he lay on was soft and warm. and the air was perfumed with wildflowers.

“Brother,” the voice was warm and gentle, an echo from years ago. Jorgo turned to see Sika rising from the chair at the foot of his bed. She leaned over him, her face lined with worry, relief, and regret. “Brother, how are you feeling?”

Jorgo raised a shaky hand and gently poked and prodded his aching body. He felt numb, like the world had somehow gone gray and lifeless. Even the pain was distant, reaching to him from a body far removed from his actual self. He wanted to cry out in despair, but he couldn’t; even his despair was muted.

“What did you do to me?” he croaked, closing his eyes against the dark and empty world.

“Saved you,” Sika said, her voice cracking. “You weren’t yourself. The monks —”

“I didn’t want to be myself,” he snapped. All at once his body rebelled, convulsing and coughing in the wet air. The pain was nothing compared to his anger; “See?” he cried. “Gods damn you! I was free of it! I was free of these useless lungs, free of tubes and masks and needing to lean on your shoulder!”

“Be silent,” a gravely voice broke through his rage. A monk had entered the room, his pulsing body grotesque in the firelight. “You,” the monk growled as he effortlessly pushed Jorgo back onto his bed, “are a very lucky young man. Even before the fight, the Bishop, in their mercy, gave clemency for your foolish actions.”

“They’re a fool,” Jorgo growled as he caught his breath. “I’ll thank them with a sword to their gut.”

“You are too late,” the Monk gave a small hiss as he began to examine Jorgo’s body. “He was slain in the battle with the Demon Harbinger. A new Bishop will be chosen within the hour; you would do well to hope they will not be less forgiving.”

“Where is Karna?” Jorgo tried to shove the monk away, but his strength was inhuman. Jorgo could feel the lumpy flesh rub over his limbs and chest — were he still embraced by the Twin Blossom, he might have found it enticing instead of revolting.

“We are ashamed that we killed several of your fellows,” the monk answered, “and we lost several of ours as well. The survivors ran, likely to try and rebuild somewhere else or become bandits. It is not our concern; the agreement is upheld. Hold still, I must see if your wounds are healing.”

“You horrid little slug,” Jorgo spat at his sister.

“Jorgo, please,” Sika raised her hands, “I had no choice. The cult was taking you over, driving you away from your family. I couldn’t let them take you, I was losing you!” She stopped as she saw her brother’s eyes staring at her hands. She looked down. “Please, Jorgo,” she repeated, “I had no choice.”

“You aren’t my sister,” Jorgo said, half in disgust and half in horror. “You…you monsters took her!”

“No, Jorgo,” Sika hid her pulsing hands away. “I’m…I’m still Sika, I am…I just…in time, I’ll…”

“The awakening is a process,” the Monk said as he moved to Jorgo’s legs. “At the moment she is still separate, but she shall become one of us in due course. Another few hours, at most.”

“It was the only way I could come with them,” Sika muttered. “the only way they would let me fight for you.”

“…Hours.” Jorgo stared at his sister, his eyes burning. “You…sacrificed yourself because you couldn’t bear the fact that I could finally breathe without pain?”

“She was taking you from us,” Sika spat back. “From the people who loved you and cared for you!”

“The Twin Blossom cared for me,” Jorgo insisted. “They gave me strong limbs and lungs so I would be free to experience life like you did! Well now you have justice: you’re going to die, and I’m going to live a dead life.”

“It’s not death,” Sika promised, “it is…a rebirth. That’s what they said.”

The monk nodded. “What is born from another’s body will be of I, us, one of us, and a unique individual all at once. It is difficult to explain to one who is not joined.” His milky eyes shifted. “I imagine it is difficult to explain your experience as well.”

Jorgo closed his eyes. He hadn’t needed to explain. For once in his life, everyone around him knew what it was like, knew the experiences he had. They shared in untainted joy, instead of anxiously asking if he was alright. They danced and sang with him, instead of pretending to be tired so he wouldn’t feel left out. “It’s easy enough,” he said. “For the first time in my life I wasn’t a burden.”

“You were never a burden.” Sika coughed, a choking sound forcing between her words. With a staggered groan, she collapsed onto the ground. On instinct Jorge leapt from the bed, ignoring the pain in his chest. He fell to his sister’s side, gripping her thick hands. “Sika? What’s wrong?”

“We can’t see,” she gasped as her wide eyes slowly filled with a misty white film. “We can hear the…all of them…We’re here, we’re here to protect…protect me…” she coughed again and a thick brackish blood poured from her mouth.

“It is awakening,” the monk said. “You should leave; the process is not pleasant to watch, for those who do not know what is happening.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Jorge said.

“Very well,” the monk turned and left, leaving the two of them alone.

Sika coughed, struggling to rise on her arms. “I…she doesn’t have much time…I’m…I’m so sorry, I…”

“Shh…” Jorge lifted his sister’s head onto his lap. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I…suppose I did the same as you, didn’t I? Sacrificed myself so our family would be better off?”

“You did,” Sika smiled through stained teeth. “We…I am still sorry…We won’t be your sister anymore. Not really. This one will be different…” She winced as the sound of cracking bone and straining muscle rippled out from under her robes.

“I’m not the same brother,” Jorge held her hand tight. He could feel the calloused skin growing thicker and rougher. “I…” he paused as Sika panted for breath. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m going to go and find the Twin Blossom again. I’m not going back home. I can’t.”

“Well,” Sika’s neck began to twist, “I…suppose this one can’t either. Oh…Jorge, this one can see again…It can…it can hear the song…Oh Jorge…it’s so beautiful…”

For an hour they stayed there, at once sister and brother, yet no more than strangers. Jorge watched the whole thing, refusing to leave her side. In the end, the newborn monk escorted him, taking him to rejoin his fellow faithful. The monk knew it had been born from a being that had a debt to repay.