Children of Zero

by Andrew Calhoun

“Hey, Brenna,” she called down. The qarlden, who was only a couple of rungs from the ledge, looked up and saw Saeliko pointing the barrel directly at her face. “I think we need to chat.”

  Brenna’s expression slowly morphed from confusion to concern and back to confusion again. Her brown eyes glanced downward.

  Saeliko noticed. “Don’t think you’d survive a fall like that.”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t.” Brenna looked back up at the barrel of the gun and then at her harker.

  “Let’s chat.”

  “All the same, I’d rather chat from the comfort of that ledge you’re standing on.”

  “Your words in the next few moments will determine whether you get to stand on this ledge.”

  “Harker . . . I . . . well, I don’t know what . . .”

  Saeliko laughed a little. “I didn’t think I’d see the day that you were lost for words.”

  “All due respect, but this ain’t no time to be joking around. We just lost our ship and a lot of good women.”

  The Saffisheen adjusted her angle slightly so the pistol was aimed directly between Brenna’s eyes. “Who’s joking?”

  “Well, sure as whale shit is slippery, I hope you’re joking. I don’t know why else you’d be threatening to shoot me off a cliff.”

  Lofi had caught up and was just now clueing in to Brenna’s peril. The ship’s surgeon looked somewhere between bemused and amused. Saeliko couldn’t help but be impressed with Lofi’s reaction.

  “Best hold on tight,” Saeliko told Lofi. She then turned her attention back to her qarlden.

  “Okay, let’s set some rules.”

  “For what?” Brenna asked. Her voice was tinged with anger.

  “For our conversation.”

  “Okay.”

  “The rules are simple.”

  “Okay.”

  “You tell me the truth, and only the truth.”

  “I always do.”

  “Or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “I put a bullet in your face, you fall, and we leave your corpse to rot.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that’s what you meant when you pointed the gun at me.”

  “Just wanted to make it clear for you.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Least I could do.”

  Brenna nodded and paused. She took her right hand off the rung she was holding, wrapped her burly arm around the rope and readjusted herself into a more comfortable position. “All right, now’s the part where you ask me some questions.”

  “How did they know where to find us?”

  “Who?”

  Saeliko, still on her knees, reached down and smacked the pistol into the side of Brenna’s temple, and then again, and then a third time. They were hard hits; the last two drew blood. Brenna grunted and howled in protest, but she wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.

  “Look at me,” Saeliko said quietly.

  “Aye, I’m looking.”

  “How did the Black Star know where we were going to lay anchor?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  Saeliko hit her again a half dozen times. The blood turned from a trickle to three rivulets running down her face and for a split second, the qarlden very nearly fell off the rope.

  “C’mon, Brenna.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” she growled back. “I’ve always told you the truth. How many years have we been sailing together? Not a bloody once did I ever lie to you. Not a bloody once did I ever do anything to you behind your back.”

  “Aye, it’s true. You’ve been a good friend to me over the years.”

  “That’s right!” The woman looked up at Saeliko. She seized on the idea. “That’s right, Saeliko, Saffisheen harker of the Epoch. I’m not keepin’ any secrets behind your back. I’m your friend.”

  Saeliko considered this for a time, but she kept her eyes locked on her qarlden’s eyes. “Brenna, under normal circumstances, I would call you my friend. But in this very moment, right here, with me pointing this gun at your face, I wouldn’t say we were friends.” She nodded toward the gun for emphasis. “No, I wouldn’t say we were friends in the least.”

  “Listen to me, Saeliko.” Some of the blood found its way into her mouth, so she turned her head and spit it out before continuing. “I say this in all sincerity. I promise you that I don’t know how the Lavics found us.”

  “Swear it.”

  “Aye, I swear it.”

  “Swear it on the Five.”

  “I swear it on the Five, the Twenty-four and my own mother and father.”

  Saeliko grinned, withdrew the flintlock from Brenna’s face and stepped back to allow the qarlden access to the ledge. The grin spread into a full-on smile once she heard Brenna breathe a deep sigh of relief and grumble, “Damn near shat myself.”

  Below, Lofi snorted. “On behalf of the all of us down here, we’re bloody well glad you didn’t.” Jren and the others further down the ladder chortled and laughed. That was a wonderful thing about hardened sailors, Saeliko mused; they could endure the most frightful tempests, both literal and otherwise, and never be far from a hearty laugh. Even Brenna was cracking a smile now, the blood dripping out of her head less important than the mirth of a good joke.

  The qarlden glanced down at Lofi and then let a bellowing fart escape her ass. “Ugh!” Lofi cried out an instant later, turning her head to the side. “The Five that stinks!” More laughter cascaded down the ladder.

  Once Brenna stood safe on the ledge, Saeliko slapped her on the shoulder, nodded and said simply, “You’re good.” She then spun and nudged Ollan, toward the upper ladder, but not before deftly twirling his flintlock pistol around her finger a couple of times and slipping it back into his holster.

  The band of pirates climbed upward, ascending beside the waterfall until they reached a broad, scree- and boulder-filled plateau. Ollan led the way, but any of them could have taken point position; there was a very clear dirt trail winding its way across the open space and heading toward a thicket of low, scraggly looking trees. It was breezy on the plateau, a refreshing respite from the strengthening sun.

  They entered the trees and Saeliko could hear snippets of joking and anticipatory predictions about what lay ahead. The pirates were excited. She understood this for what it was. Her little band of fifteen hadn’t forgotten the destruction of their ship and the certainty that many of their sisters had either been slaughtered or drowned, nor had they dismissed the fact that their harker’s decision to lay anchor while the Black Star was roving around unseen was, at the very least, foolhardy. Later, when this adventure came to an end, those still alive would undoubtedly stop to mourn the dead, and Saeliko would have to answer for her failures. However, at this moment in time, all focus was on the promise of profit ahead.

  And ultimately, that’s what many of these women lived for. With the exception of Lofi, these women had come from poor backgrounds with no prospects for advancement, and now, here they were, masters of their own fate and tantalizingly close to the score of a century. If they could capture the madman of Laventhene, they could then dictate their future.

  A half hour later, they came out into a wide clearing and got their first view of Maglipan, which, Saeliko reflected, was roughly the size of Meshaltown. That’s about where the comparison ended. Meshaltown was a collection of miserable structures situated next to a swamp of reptiles and disease. Maglipan was in fact quite picturesque. At first glance, Saeliko guessed that altitude had a lot to do with it. Living in Meshaltown was somewhat akin to living inside someone’s sweaty armpit; it was impossible to escape the rot-inducing humidity. Maglipan, on the other hand, was inland from the coast and high enough in the hills that it looked to be the happy recipient of regular and steady fresh air.

  The effect on the town’s inhabitants was obvious. The buildings were actually painted, a rarity among small communities in the Sollian. Reds, greens, yellows; a kaleidoscope of colors. And then there were the flowers
. Most of the houses had potter plants and flower beds surrounding them, another sign that the townsfolk were proud of their homes.

  On the opposite side of Maglipan, the terrain began a long, gradual descent toward the coast. In the distance, the ocean could be seen, shimmering in the sunlight. The land dipped down out of sight before reaching the water, but Saeliko guessed that a dock or jetty of some sort was down there somewhere. She could just barely make out some fishing boats bobbing around further out in the water.

  “There she is,” Ollan said. He pointed out over the buildings and down toward the water. Saeliko had seen it too. The mainmast of the Black Star could be seen behind the point where the land ended and water began. It was still moving, which meant it hadn’t laid anchor yet.

  “They’re too late. That was the price they had to pay to ambush the Epoch. They knew we’d get to Maglipan first.”

  “True, but they also have the only ship that can cross the open sea. What are we going to do after we find Radovan? Swim back to Myffa’s Cove?”

  Saeliko didn’t have an answer to that yet. “First things first. Let’s find the old man.” Without waiting for dissent, she marched forward into the clearing straight toward the nearest building, which happened to be a small, yellow single-story affair. There was no need for stealth. The Black Star’s crew was still in their ship, and if the town did have any armed men, they wouldn’t be a match for the Saffisheen and her remaining companions.

  A group of kids at the outer perimeter of the town spotted them first. A boy of ten or twelve started pointing and yelling. This went on for a while, until some adults appeared and began shepherding the children back into the safety of the village proper.

  This suited Saeliko just fine. In fact, it would speed things up. She wanted to speak to the woman in charge – the mayor or elder or priestess, or whoever nominally ran things in Maglipan.

  Predictably, a few woman appeared with rifles and blades in hand. There were even a few wielding gardening implements. Saeliko kept walking straight forward, gradually closing the gap between herself and the gathering crowd of townsfolk. When she was within fifty paces, she held her palms out to show that she wanted to talk with her mouth rather than her steel.

  A rustle of whispers and gasps ran through the onlookers when they noticed Saeliko’s tattoos and garnered their significance.

  Ten paces away, she stopped. Two dozen townsfolk were now standing before her, and she guessed others were probably on their way. “Ollan, ask them who’s in charge.”

  The big man made the inquiry in Lavic. An older woman with long grey hair, a windswept face and a gnarled walking staff stepped forward. She was getting on in years but her visage was firm and eyes clear.

  “Ask her if she speaks Maelian.”

  Ollan did, and the woman nodded, saying “Enough.”

  “Good,” Saeliko said cheerfully. “Let me begin by apologizing. We did not mean to frighten your children, or anyone else in your village. We have no bones to pick with you, and we mean you no harm.”

  “That is relief,” she replied in broken Maelian with a thick accent. “We know meaning of tattoos on you face. We want no trouble. But . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Saffisheen not supposed to here. This is Lavic island. Maelians no supposed to here.”

  “We won’t be here long. We’re looking for someone. An older man. Older than fifty, probably. Someone who probably came here twenty-five years ago. Probably good with tools, good at tinkering with things.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I know this person you looking for.”

  Well, that was easier than I thought it would be, Saeliko commented internally. The certainty of the woman gave the harker a moment’s pause, however. How did she know? Saeliko had felt certain that Radovan would have tried to hide his identity after the Big Bang. Maybe draw up an interesting backstory to throw off any inquisitive minds.

  She had also thought she’d have to beat a few people up and conduct one or two torturing sessions on some of the old women around here to make Radovan reveal himself. Did the citizens of Maglipan already know they were harboring the madman of Laventhene?

  “Who am I looking for?” Saeliko asked cautiously.

  “You look for old Jaskin. He hermit up in hills.” The woman used her staff to point to her left where the land climbed upward toward some rocky crags in the distance.

  “How do you know it’s Jaskin that I’m looking for?”

  “Because you not only one.” This time, it was the woman who looked perplexed. “You not know? Some people came two days ago looking for old man who good at ‘tinker with things’. They threated to kill me if me no tell where my ‘town inventor’ was. I guess they mean Jaskin, so I send them into hills. We like Jaskin, but we no want trouble.”

  Two days ago! That didn’t make sense. No one else could have known Radovan was on the Skag. Not unless . . . Did Dallas and Shen blab to someone else? Did Kettle or Haley tell someone?

  The harker tried to clear her head. It didn’t matter now. What mattered was dealing with the new reality of their situation. “How many people came her two days ago?”

  “Two.”

  “Only two?”

  “Two. One of them Saffisheen, like you. Except she have just one hand.”

  Oh, fuck.

  4.4 KETTLE

  “Amba?”

  “Aye.”

  “I thought you were dead,” Kettle stated bluntly. He was standing on the shore alongside his three companions. “I saw you drown.”

  She shook her head in response. “Must have been someone else. Got blown clear off the deck in the second volley. Was a close call, too. Piece of deck rail damn near took my head off.” She pointed to a nasty gash that extended from the back of her jaw down the right side of her neck. It was still bleeding, but the Kalleshi woman seemed unconcerned.

  “Christ,” Dallas blurted. He hadn’t understood Amba’s words, but the unlikelihood of surviving the Black Star’s wrath relatively unscathed hadn’t escaped him. “I get the feeling I could send you through a hallway filled with hungry lions and you’d come out the other end with nothing more than a stubbed toe.”

  Amba stared at the Marine with uncomprehending curiosity. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Kettle. “What?”

  “He said you were lucky.”

  “That’s it?”

  “More or less.”

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Not completely sure if I’m honest.”

  “You’re free now, you know.”

  “Huh?” In all the chaos, Kettle hadn’t had time to think about his ever-changing status with his pirate captors.

  “You’re free,” Amba repeated. “Look around you. I couldn’t stop you even if I tried. You and your friends can go wherever you want.”

  “This is an island, right? I mean, we can’t really go wherever we want, can we?”

  “Islands have boats.”

  “Okay, fair point. But what about Saeliko? We probably owe her a little loyalty for keeping us alive all this time.” Even as he said it, Kettle marveled at his flawed logic. Must have been Stockholm syndrome. The Saffisheen had forced Kettle into piracy, taken one of his pinkies and tricked him into beating up a prostitute. Not really a model mentor.

  Amba waved a hand dismissively. “Do what you want then.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll wait to see if any of my sisters swim to shore.” Her eyes shifted to the debris floating in the harbor.

  “And then?”

  “I’ll go find my harker. I’m still a woman of the Epoch.”

  “We should go,” Haley told them in English.

  “Damn straight,” added Dallas.

  “Where?” asked Soup.

  “Inland,” Haley said and began walking before anyone could object. The others followed, Dallas first making sure that the wounded Soup was c
apable of moving unaided. Kettle said goodbye to Amba and wished her well. He then jogged to catch up with Haley and noticed that she was striding ahead with a sense of purpose. The Korean splashed into the stream and paced forward.

  He watched her movements as she navigated around the larger rocks poking up through the surface of the crystal clear water. She was a world away from her old self back on Diego Garcia, both literally and figuratively. The awkward ornithologist was now wading through the shin-deep stream with obviously apparent levels of deftness and dexterity, looking a lot like a seasoned veteran of countless high-risk jungle expeditions.

  Kettle understood the transformation from bumbling grad student to intrepid adventurer. He understood it because he had gone through it. On Diego Garcia, he had picked a fight with a significantly inebriated Dallas and received a black eye for his effort. Now, here on the Skag, he wondered what would happen in a rematch. There was an energy in Kettle’s body, an elixir of confidence running through his veins, smooth pulses of tenacity palpitating through his muscles like ripples across puddles. He imagined Dallas swinging at him, visualizing himself slowing down time in the crucial moment, deftly eluding the punch and moving in deal out some damage to the Marine’s midsection.

  Not that he wanted a rematch. On the contrary, he wanted to make peace with the tough guy. Nonetheless, Kettle exulted in the knowledge that he was no longer the physically inept man he used to be.

  And yet, he had to remind himself that all the evidence thus far suggested that his physical changes had (by a large margin) outpaced his mental development. Dallas had pointed that out on the swim to shore.

  Kettle looked at Haley again. She was still moving quickly and confidently upstream. They had rounded a corner and could see a cliff in the distance with a long waterfall tumbling down the entire face. A series of rope ladders could also be seen to the left of the fall. She marched onward, obviously intent on making good time.

  “We’re going after Radovan aren’t we?” he asked Haley.

  “Yes.” She didn’t look back at him or offer any further comments.

  Soup piped up. “Is that really our best choice?”

  “It’s our only choice,” she called back.