Chapter 16

When I open my eyes again, there's a woman standing in the doorway: the Handmaiden with olive skin and pitch black hair. I blink at her, wondering if it's morning already. I'm not sure if I slept at all.

"Mister Roman?" the woman calls gently. "The Lady Anuket wishes to speak to you before you depart."

I get up from the bed slowly. My body hurts everywhere. Feels like I got run over by a truck. Jaw stands up on the mattress and stretches, yawning loudly. He wags his tail at me in greeting, and I nod in return. Then I look to the bedside table for my scarf before realizing I went to bed in all my clothes. Must have been too tired to notice or care. I roll my stiff shoulders and crack my neck before stepping towards the door. Here we go.

"Lead the way," I say flatly.

The Handmaiden smiles politely and heads down the hall. Her dark hair ends at the shoulder, leaving her entire back tattoo in full view through the translucent gown. All the Handmaidens here seem to have the same tattoo - or at least the same size and format. Some of the words are likely unique to each person, but I can't tell. The Blackthumbs don't have tattoos, but they wear black and white facepaint. I've never seen a Crocodile's back, so they may have tattoos. All I know for sure is that they have green paint and metal piercings in their heads. The citizens of the upper city wear white clothing. Every class in Eden is marked in some way, except the people in the market. Their ragged clothing and deformities make them just about the same as anyone in a Wasteland town.

As we turn a corner, we're intercepted by two more Handmaidens. The thin, blonde woman is escorting Three, and the freckled redhead leads Chuckles. I join the pair of Road Warriors, and together we walk down the hall behind the trio of Handmaidens. Chuckles looks clean and relatively healthy despite the trauma he experienced yesterday. Quick healer. He wears the brown leather jacket he looted from a corpse, but empty lower half of the right sleeve is pinned up, preventing me from seeing his injured arm. Organic must have done a decent job if he's up and about so soon. The young Road Warrior glances at me; his signature, forced scowl is back on his face. His grey-blue eyes look excited, but not as much as they did before we left Eden to do the job. He's a little less naive now.

Three still looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. The purple bag under his eye nearly matches the vibrant bruises on his chest. The rest of his torso is hidden under the green jacket, which is now zipped up halfway. The Cyclops's face is unreadable as usual. He's much better at hiding his true emotions than Chuckles. Or maybe he just doesn't have very many emotions left after all this time.

The six of us enter Anuket's throne room. The three Handmaidens head immediately to the right, stepping up onto the dais and kneeling before their Goddess. The brunette woman is already there, staring placidly at nothing in particular. Any trace of the emotion she displayed last night is completely gone.

On the throne, Anuket sits with her pale legs crossed, just like she did when I first saw her. She seems much more composed now, looking down at us with complete confidence and pride. Her black hair is again arranged in a slightly different pattern, and the braids are full of bright flowers and shimmering beads. Her makeup forms black, wing-like shapes across her eyelids, reminding me of the terrifying birds from yesterday.

We move to stand before the throne. I hold Jaw's leash this time, not wanting him to get distracted by the flowing water or the weird moss. He sits obediently at my feet, sniffing the perfumed air.

"My Blackthumbs have just returned with the scrap from the fight yesterday," the Goddess Anuket informs us, narrowing her green eyes at Three. "Two were maimed retrieving a truck."

"Sorry," Three grunts.

Anuket ignores his apology. "You have also received what you asked for in payment. Roman, you will find it in your car. Three, in a box next to your truck."

The Cyclops smirks slightly. Guess that's what he was talking about when he said his truck would be hard to scrap. Whatever traps he's got in there, I'm just glad none of them were set up in the seat where I grabbed his shotgun. Someday I'd like to rig my ride up like that, but I don't know how. Never been very good with wires or bombs or anything clever.

"And as for the scrap, the three of you are free to scavenge whatever you want," the Goddess continues. "Even you, Chuckles. The scrap was much more than I imagined. There is no way you can actually carry what you asked for, so I will at least give you first pick before I distribute it myself."

"I thank you for your generosity, benevolent Lady Anuket," Chuckles replies. He doesn't drop to his knees like he did before. Instead, he stands up straight beside his fellow Road Warriors.

"Road Warrior Chuckles," Anuket addresses him directly.

"Yes, My Lady Anuket?"

"As I am sure you have been told, in honor of your bravery and triumph in battle, and for acting on behalf of the mission instead of yourself, I hereby grant you the military rank of Tribune. You are always welcome to return and serve under one of my generals if you wish it."

"I humbly accept the title, Great Lady Anuket." Chuckles tries desperately to hold back a smile. "Thank you for the honor."

"I believe Codex also promised you a new War Name. She may now present it to you."

The redheaded Handmaiden stands, gazing down at Chuckles with peaceful eyes.

"Tribune Chuckles the Road Warrior," Codex begins. Her voice is soft compared to Anuket's commanding tone. "You have displayed tremendous courage and battlefield aptitude, receiving commendations from Three the Cyclops. You are the first Blackthumb in these Great Cities' history to become a Road Warrior - let alone one to hold the title of Road Warrior and Tribune simultaneously. In admiration, you are granted the honorary name of a weapon from our Holy Seal: Khopesh."

Codex falls silent, returning to kneel with the other Handmaidens.

"From this day forth," Anuket declares powerfully. "You shall be known as Tribune Khopesh the Road Warrior."

Khopesh looks completely awestruck, knees shaking. Despite how I feel about Anuket, all these rules, and the current situation, I can't help but feel a little happy for the young man. Khopesh will never have an easy life as a Road Warrior; it'll just get harder for him from here on out, and he'll likely die much earlier than he would as a Blackthumb. And even though I'd never wish that fate upon anyone, it's what he wants. In this moment, he looks more joyful than I've ever looked in my entire life.

"Congrats, Khopesh," I say earnestly.

"Thank you, Roman," he replies, his eyes glowing with sincerity. He turns to Three, who gives him a nod of respect.

"Now, on to something a little more unpleasant," Anuket announces, her voice low and stern. Tension fills the air as we await her next words. "I have an escaped Handmaiden: Trace. I don't know how she escaped, but she did. As you know, Handmaidens are eternal servants, unless I say otherwise. Trace left before her time and made a mockery of me, my security, my laws, and my cities. She is to be executed, if she hasn't died in the Wastes already. I am putting an open bounty on her head."

"What is the price?" Three asks, sounding disinterested.

"One wish." The Goddess's voice echoes down the hall dramatically. "Whoever brings her to me shall have any wish they desire granted. An army, wealth, women, residence within my walls, a permanent cut of my crops. Anything. As long as she is here alive, that is. She needs to be made an example to now and future Handmaidens."

"If I see her alive, I'll grab her," Three replies blandly. "But I am going to see Thor; I don't have time or resources to dig for a fresh corpse."

Anuket's upper lip twitches in visible irritation. Seems the Cyclops is finally pushing his limits with her.

"Lady Anuket, I shall do my best to hunt her down after I visit Ares for a new arm," Khopesh promises. "I am significantly less effective with one arm. And if you would pardon me to speak my mind, Lady Anuket?"

"Speak."

"I do agree with Three. If the heretic isn't dead by now, she will be by the time anyone finds her."

"This is true, Tribune," Anuket agrees, seeming more pleased with Khopesh's answer than with Three's. "This is not a job demand, simply early information on a bounty. It will be made public throughout all of Caesar's Empire shortly. Even if my three best Road Warriors don't look for her, the Wastes will be crawling with those with less insight than you in a few days' time."

The Goddess directs her attention to me, staring me down from atop her throne. I return her gaze, trying to keep my face as neutral as Three's.

"What of you, Aesircide?" she asks, using a strange word to address me. "What is your business after departing?"

"I'll track her down best I can, Lady," I reply evenly. "But I agree with the others; doubt I'll find anything more than a corpse."

Part of me hopes that's true. If I find her alive, then I have to go through the mess of actually deciding whether to turn her in or not. I don't even know what I would wish for if I brought her back. Upgrades for my car? No, that's thinking too small. A V8, maybe? Guess I 'll have time to think about it while I hunt for the runaway scribe. With Three opting out and Khopesh being delayed, I'll at least have a bit of an advantage. I need to fix up my car first, but that shouldn't take too long with all the scrap we're getting.

"Very well. I wish you the best of luck," Anuket says, satisfied. I hold back a sigh of relief. "Now, it is time for the three of you to depart. You will find the scrap at the cages. Take as much as you can."

With that, Anuket stands up and strides down the left hallway. I watch her go, wondering if this is the last I'll see of her. Depends on what I decide to do out there, I guess. As the Handmaidens follow their Goddess, the brunette woman glances at me. Our eyes lock for a brief moment, but her expression is unreadable. Then she disappears into the dark hall.

"Aesircide, hey?" Khopesh comments as the three of us head for the stairs. "Not a bad title to have. Asgardian killer. You will definitely get some respect wherever you go with Anuket backing that title."

Asgardian killer. Aesircide. It's an awkward title to pronounce, and I'm not sure if I want to go around bragging about killing one of the best fighters in the Empire. Might get me into more trouble than it's worth. Then again, it might also get me some good jobs. Never had a title before, so I guess I'll just have to try it out.

We exit the palace, stepping into the warm light of dawn. To the east, the sun has just cleared the horizon. The Crocodiles keep watch in stoic silence, holding their pristine firearms at attention. We retrieve our weapons and leave the monstrous guards behind, making our way through the upper city. The citizens in white are again gathering crops. Such an easy life. Safe from the bloodshed and madness. But never tasting the freedom of the Road, either.

"You really going to go after the Handmaiden?" Khopesh asks me as the three of us - and Jaw - descend the stairs into West Eden. "It sounds like a waste of time to me, honestly. I don't even want a wish; I have everything I could ever ask for. Some hooligan is going to stumble upon her corpse someday anyway, so what's the point?"

"Whoa there, most honorable slot machine. Are you refusing a job from your Goddess?" Three asks, sounding legitimately shocked.

The Tribune ignores the Three's playful insult, furrowing his brows to think. I look at him in surprise. Figured there was no way he'd miss out on doing something for Anuket, especially something this big.

"I suppose I am," Khopesh replies after a moment. "She has honored me more than I thought possible in my life. Someone else deserves to find a heretic."

"They grow up so fast," Three grumbles.

I snort out a laugh at that. I think I might actually miss these two when we all part ways. My teammates, for a brief time. If things were different, maybe we'd become a permanent team, like my days with Simon and Cord. But I can't do that again. Not yet. Besides, I don't think Three wants to babysit two young Road Warriors any longer than he has to.

"I'm going after her," I say, answering Khopesh's earlier question. "Maybe it'll turn out to be a waste of time, sure, but I don't have any other plans at the moment. How 'bout you? What'll you do after you get your new arm?"

"I don't know yet. Just travel, see the world, and try and find work," Khopesh muses, looking visibly optimistic through his scowl. "I may have proven myself in one battle, but I still have a lot more to prove if I ever want to become as well-known as Three, Fetch, or Bishop."

I give him a nod of approval. I doubt he'll live long enough to be as famous as the Cyclops, but the title of Tribune and one successful Road War under his belt isn't a bad start.

We approach the cages, where the scrap is indeed waiting: a large train with the front end smashed and several chrome trucks in various stages of destruction. The trailer is missing, either left at the crash site or hauled off somewhere else for Anuket's use. The damage caused by Three and Khopesh is a lot more apparent when well lit. The front end is completely flattened. The plow is barely recognizable as a car anymore, having been compressed against the massive machine. The smashed V8 engines are gone, likely salvaged by Anuket's team as trophies. The black metal of the Rig is scraped and dented almost everywhere on the length of the machine, but especially near the front. The chains are barely hanging onto the warped paneling. This machine will likely never ride again. Fine by me. I don't like the idea of Anuket having something so terrifying in her arsenal.

Three heads straight to his truck. The armored vehicle has been stripped of its barbed wire, but it looks otherwise intact. The Cyclops opens the driver door and digs around inside the truck. Then he drops to the ground to inspect the underside of the vehicle and the wheels. Satisfied, he stands up and moves to one of the chrome trucks, rummaging through its contents.

Khopesh looks around the scrapyard, seemingly lost.

"Hey, did you find my bike?" he asks a nearby Blackthumb.

"No, Tribune. I apologize," replies the mechanic, already aware of Khopesh's new title.

"Not your fault," Khopesh responds sullenly. "Could you help me get one of these trucks working?" He raises his partial arm, looking slightly embarrassed. Two days ago, he would have been able to do all the repairs himself. I hope he manages to get a decent mechanical arm in Ares, wherever that is.

"Of course, Tribune," the Blackthumb answers respectfully. If he's jealous of his former peer's promotion, he hides it well. The mechanic grabs a satchel from a nearby table and follows Khopesh to one of the trucks that's in better condition.

Jaw and I step over to my car. The vehicle is a mess - windshield gone, tire popped, hole in the hood, gash on the roof, dried blood everywhere. I lie down and slide underneath. The undercarriage looks equally as damaged as the outside, if not worse. I'm surprised we made it back to Eden in one piece.

Time to get to work. I make my way quickly to one of the trucks, figuring it'll have parts more compatible with my car than the train would. Despite the fact that Three and Khopesh aren't going after Trace - and that I have some time before Anuket makes the bounty public - I still need to hurry if I hope to find the Handmaiden alive. The sense of urgency gives me the energy that lying in bed all night didn't. Unfortunately, I have no idea how I'm going to look for her. I've done jobs like this before, sure, but there's usually at least something to go on. Tracks in the sand, a witness who saw them leave, a trail of blood, anything. Trace somehow got past the Crocodiles, stole a motorcycle, and vanished. That's all I know, and it's not enough. I suddenly feel keenly aware of the piece of paper in my boot, like it's about to burn a hole through my foot. It's the only possible clue I have, but there's no way I can find out what it says without drawing suspicion here. I'll have to go somewhere else.

Frustrated, I put those thoughts aside and concentrate on salvaging parts from the truck. Jaw quickly tires of standing around in the sun and curls up next to my car. Not a care in the world. Lucky bastard. All around me are sounds of Road Warriors and Blackthumbs working on their vehicles. It's a familiar, calming racket.

As we work, a Crocodile enters the area and starts patrolling. Probably looking for any Blackthumbs doing something questionable. If Anuket thinks Trace had help getting out, then not even her own underlings are safe from suspicion. The Crocodile walks slowly around the site, stepping around the carnage. No matter how many times I see the monstrous guards, they always intimidate me. This Crocodile is as huge as the others and probably doesn't need that belt-fed machine gun to rip people to shreds - he could do it with his hands. His metal implants alternate between cubes and spikes, shooting out from his scarred scalp and glistening in the sun.

Khopesh and Three ignore the guard and continue their work. Khopesh and the Blackthumb are in the process of switching out the engine block in his truck for a better one from another vehicle. The drum has been stripped from the bed and tossed aside to make room for extra scrap. On the Tribune's head is a grey toque. I don't know where he found it, but it's much better than that stupid, barbwire-covered baseball cap he lost. Behind his fake scowl, Khopesh looks very pleased with the progress. He's the only person around here whose face I've been able to read. I'm sure he'll improve that as he gains more experience as a Road Warrior.

Three appears to be throwing indiscriminate scrap into the back of his truck, which doesn't need repairs. A lit cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth. With his vehicle adequately full, he slams the rear doors shut and walks over to me.

"Well, Roman, this is it," the Cyclops says, exhaling smoke. "I don't know if we'll ever see each other again… World's a big place, you know." He bends over and puts the cigarette out on the sole of his boot before tossing it on the ground. "Good luck out there."

"Same to you, Three," I reply sincerely. "Good working with you. Hope that die of yours doesn't steer you wrong."

"It hasn't so far," the old man grumbles, adjusting his jacket. "I'm alive, and it led me to you."

With that, he gives me a nod and heads over to talk to Khopesh. It's strange, saying goodbye to someone. Not killing them, not watching them die, not leaving without a word - actually saying goodbye. We're both alive and parting ways on friendly terms. Mutual respect, even. Three is the closest I've come to trusting someone in a long time. He's paranoid and bitter and rolls that stupid cube to make up his mind, but he's a good man. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little sad to see him go.

The Cyclops finishes talking to Khopesh and returns to his truck. The armored machine, Anastasia, roars to life and takes off toward the marketplace. I watch it go, hoping whatever business Three has with Thor doesn't get him into trouble. Anuket said she was sending someone to Midgard, but I don't think she'd send the Cyclops. His die makes him too unpredictable. Three must be going there for other reasons. Maybe a job, maybe curiosity about where Vates came from. I'll probably never know.

The Tribune and the Blackthumb successfully get the chrome truck started. They had to cut a hole in the hood so the large, mismatched engine could fit, but it seems to be running just fine. With that done, Khopesh struggles to throw some scrap into the bed of the vehicle. He doesn't take nearly as much as Three, probably still feeling a little humble from his days as a Blackthumb. The truck's driver door has been smashed in near the handle, requiring the Tribune to get in through the window. He doesn't seem to mind since he doesn't bother to fix it. Must be in a rush to get his new arm.

Khopesh climbs partially into his truck, sitting on the windowsill with his feet inside the vehicle. He looks over his shoulder at me, and we exchange nods of respect. Then he slides into the truck and races toward the route that will take him around the market and out of Eden. When he's gone, the Blackthumb calls to his companions. The mechanics leave their smaller vehicles and begin dismantling the War Rig with great enthusiasm.

I go back to work, feeling strangely alone. My vehicle is pretty beat up, but I have all the scrap I could ever want for repairs. If I work fast, I should be able to make it out of here before the sun is highest in the sky. Although I'm in a hurry, I still take time to enjoy working on my car. It's something I'm pretty good at, and there's not a huge chance it'll get me killed, so it's fairly relaxing. I go here and there among the debris, gathering what I need from the trucks and the train.

I change the busted tire first. What I really need is some metal pieces to protect the tops of the tires. I don't think it's likely that a crazed man with a pickaxe will be on my hood again anytime soon, but I never know in the Wastes. I don't have time to cover the wheels now, but I throw some scrap metal in the back that I can use later. Next is the windshield, which is a little trickier. The one from the chrome truck is a little too big, but I manage to make it fit after a good amount of bending and hammering on my car's metal frame. It doesn't look the prettiest, but it'll work well enough.

I pop the hood to take a look at the engine. As I begin inspecting the block, a large shadow suddenly covers me. I whirl around to see the patrolling Crocodile towering over me. I stare up at him, swallowing hard and putting a hand on my pistol. The green man leans down a little, getting even closer to me.

"Message from 'Maidens," the Crocodile whispers. "They think Trace visit Historymen. Trace like books - Historymen have books."

Before I can say anything, the enormous guard returns to his patrol as if nothing happened. The Blackthumbs are too busy working to notice anything. I turn back to the engine, my heart beating a little faster. A lead. I really don't know what it means, but it's something. That's all I need. Seems the Handmaidens really do believe I'm their best bet at keeping Trace alive. Or they're in on the whole thing and are trying to throw me off their friend's trail. Either way, it's the only thing I have to go on right now. All I have to do is find someone who knows about Historymen.

Under the hood, I'm pleased to find that the pickaxe didn't fuck anything up in the engine. I put the cover back down and get to work patching up the hole with black paneling and a welding torch. I move to the gash on the top from that power saw and cover it up the same way. After that, I flatten out the piece of chicken wire and secure it back in the driver window.

The undercarriage is last but not least. It takes the longest, and I keep having to go back and forth from my car to the truck to get various parts. Jaw barely stirs the entire time, perfectly content to nap in the shade. I have no idea how he can sleep all night and half the day. I didn't think that was even possible.

At last, the car is fixed. It looks less like my car than it did before - covered in blood and pieces of mismatched metal. But I don't mind. As long as it works, it's good enough for me. I load as much scrap as I can fit into the back before filling the gas tank with precious fuel. In the box in the back of my ride, I find the cans of food that I asked for. They're old, like the stuff from the market, but I don't think Jaw will mind. Before I cut one open, I scrape most of the dried blood off of my knife. I touch my face, feeling rough stubble against my fingers. Don't have time to shave right now, but at least my knife is finally clean. I cut open up the can and put it on the ground next to Jaw. He wakes up, sniffing the air as he gets to his feet. He smells the open can and wrinkles his nose.

"Horrible, yeah?" I say, able to smell it from where I'm standing. "Wouldn't blame you if you didn't want it."

Jaw looks at me, looks back at the food, and then plunges his snout inside. The can is empty and licked clean in seconds. When he's done, Jaw gazes up at me again and wags his tail in triumph. Guess he likes a challenge. And he was probably starving.

I wonder if Yale and Rhodes have any more of that soup. More importantly, they might know where I can find the Historymen. Merchants travel all over the Wasteland, trading in cities and protecting their wares on the Road. If Yale hasn't heard of the Historymen, maybe another salesman has. I'll ask all of them if I have to.

"Let's go, Jaw," I command, grabbing the container of spice from the car and heading towards the marketplace.

Author's Note: Thank you as always to everyone reading this story. Next week: the final chapter of Anuket. Stay tuned.