New Bloods Boxset

by Michelle Bryan

  “He could slit our throats in the night whether he’s making camp with us or not, Tara. He knows we’re here,” he says. Okay, so maybe not so stupid. “Besides, Cat won’t let no harm come to us. And he says he’s a storyteller, and I like him. He’s funny.”

  Tater reappears before I can respond. He is leading a dappled gray mule laden down with two leather saddle bags on either side. Cat stiffens at the sight of the mule, but Finn gives her a stern, “No, Cat. Winnie is not food. You don’t eat Winnie, understand?” And as if the beast does understand, she lays down with her head on her paws and looks the other way as if saying, “It don’t interest me none anyways.”

  “Here we are. This is my Winnie, my most loyal traveling companion. And Winnie, these fine young folk are … well, I do not know, now do I? I’m afraid in all the excitement I didn’t get your names.”

  “I’m Finn,” Finn pipes up. “And that’s Tara, and this is Cat.”

  “Finn and Tara … and Cat. All excellent names indeed. Are you brother and sister by chance?” he asks.

  I snort at him. “Do we look like we’re kin?”

  “Well, no you do not, but then again, I do not resemble my family at all.” He smiles but eyes me strangely.

  I ain’t had a chance to braid my hair since my wash, and it’s now almost dried by the warm, evening air. I can tell this is what he’s looking at.

  “You have the most striking hair, Tara. I do not believe I have ever seen such contrast. Black and white is usually a combination reserved for the old folk, but for you, someone so young, rare indeed. And so symmetrical.”

  I don’t like his interest in my hair. I find it very unsettling. As if noticing my unease, he then smiles and rubs his hands together eagerly. “Now, about that snake.”

  Well, Tater truly wasn’t lying about being a storyteller. His storytelling was even better than Thomas’s, and I wouldn’t have ever thought that to be possible. As much as I didn’t want to, I fall under his magical spell just as much as Finn does. We listen entranced as Tater speaks of life before the Shift. He tells stories of the settlers with their magic picture boxes and their tall sky buildings with their moving floors that went up and down. He tells us about their great cities that had spread out over leagues and leagues, so full of buildings and people you could hardly move. We listen, and for a while, we forget all of our misery, our troubles, and get pulled into the tall tales. It was real nice. And we had been so caught up in the stories I ain’t even noticed that between the three of us and Cat, we had eaten the whole snake. I knew we should have saved some for the road, but it was just so damn tasty. Finn hadn’t lied. I decided snake was now my favorite thing to eat. Well, next to sweet berry bread. Thinking about the bread makes me think of Miz Emma, and I push it away. Not now.

  Our bellies full of snake and our heads full of tales, we are now lying content ‘round the fire. Tater has gone quiet and sips something from a flat, tin flask he’d pulled out of his jacket pocket. From the way he screws up his face at every sip, I reckon it isn’t water. Cat is cleaning herself and occasionally swatting at Finn as he flicks her ears. I’m poking the fire with a stick, stoking the flames when Tater speaks again.

  “Now your turn,” he says, pointing his tin flask at us. “What are two fine young people such as yourselves doing out in the middle of nowhere with a tame devil cat? Which, by the way, no one is ever going to believe when I tell this fine tale.”

  Finn looks at me as if he expects me to do the talking. I hesitate. I don’t want to tell this story, not again. But then I figure he just maybe might know something about Littlepass or Lily for that matter. He is a traveling trader after all.

  “We’re travelin’ to Littlepass. Do you know of it?” I ask.

  “Do I know of it? But of course. And as luck would have it, I, too, am traveling there as well. What a remarkable coincidence indeed.” He smiles at us like it’s the best news he’s heard in years. “And what, pray tell, is your business there?”

  “We have to find someone,” I say.

  He takes another sip and stares at me over the rim. “Well, that’s very cryptic. Does this someone have a name?”

  I stare back for a bit before I decide to answer. “Lily. She’s a healer.”

  He thinks for a while, then shakes his head. “No. I know many people, but a healer by the name of Lily is not one of them.”

  Finn is looking all worried. “Maybe she ain’t there no more, Tara. Tater says he don’t know her; maybe she moved on, and we ain’t gonna find her.”

  Tater laughs. “My dear boy, Littlepass, unlike its name would suggest, is a thriving metropolis. There are a multitude of people living there. I simply do not know them all.”

  I don’t find this funny, not at all. If there are so many people, it’s going to be that much harder to find Lily. My heart sinks. Oh, Grada, what were you thinking sending me off to find this person?

  “But you still have not answered my question. Why are you both out here traveling these dangerous lands alone? Where are your parents? Your families?”

  “Dead,” I say bluntly.

  Tater looks taken aback. “Oh dear, I am sorry. Sickness?”

  Finn answers this. “No, was something worse.” He looks to me, and I nod. He continues, “They were men who came from the sand lands in metal monsters … well, machines; we know that’s what they were really. There was three of ‘em, real big, black, on wheels. They … they killed all of Tara’s kin and my own with their iron shooters. Cat killed one of ‘em though, and now we got his shooter.” He nods toward the weapon that is lying by my side.

  “Ah …,” Tater says, and I look up real quick. He knows something.

  “You know what they are,” I say. I ain’t asking. He nods.

  “Yes. And that does explain how the two of you have a pistol of the Prezedant’s Army.”

  “The what?” It’s like he’s talking another language.

  “The Prezedant’s Army? Surely, you have heard of this force?” He can tell by our faces we ain’t. He flashes a slight smile. “I forget how isolated and naïve you outlying villagers can be.”

  I ain’t sure, but it kind of feels like an insult what he’s saying, and it makes me mad.

  “Tell me what you know of the metal machines,” I demand. “And you can leave out your fancy, weird words, understood?”

  I can see my anger surprises him, but he just nods at me. “Very well. What you two seem to be ignorantly and blissfully unaware of is the very big, very populated, and very corrupt world beyond the sand lands … beyond the mountains. There are places you cannot even begin to comprehend. Some of them cesspools of disease, evil, and darkness.”

  I shiver at what he’s saying; I cain’t help it.

  “Some of them, like Littlepass, are more civilized but all of them are under the control of one man. He calls himself the Prezedant. Ridiculous title if you ask me. King or General would be more suitable, but I digress. He is a very powerful man. He has amassed armies of men. Evil men to do his every bidding. They are his loyal followers, his henchmen, and his executioners.”

  As much as this information surprises and terrifies me, it kind of makes sense. “So the metal machines … they’re his? They carry his men?”

  He nods. “Apparently so, though last I heard they were in no way able to travel this far into the sand lands or even past the mountains.” He rubs his mustache thoughtfully. “His scholars must have come up with some sort of fuel alternative for them to be able to travel such great distance.”

  There he goes talking his odd language again.

  “His what?” I ask.

  He shakes his head at me. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is why have they come this far into the sand lands? He has never bothered to go beyond the mountains before. Why now?”

  “I don’t care why,” I growl. “All I want to know is why he sent his armies to kill my kin and Finn’s. They never did anything to this Prezedant.” I spit out the word like it’s dirt. “And
why did he take the young’uns from my village? Where would he have taken them? And how do I get ‘em back?”

  Tater regards me with such a look of sadness that I drop my eyes. I don’t like what that look implies.

  “As I have said, child, he is a very evil man. As for the murder of your families, I cannot give you a reason why, only that yours is not the first village to meet this same fate. He controls those who oppose him with fear and death. Some have even gone as far as to call him monster and demon. He knows things, possesses things that could only have come from before the Shift. Some say the man himself lived before the Shift, that he is immortal. That he has walked the land for hundreds of years.”

  Finn is staring at the half-man in wide-eyed disbelief. “So you’re saying those metal machines we saw … they’re the real moving veacals from the old folk stories. They’re from before the Shift? That the stories are true?”

  “Most stories are based on truth, boy,” Tater says and takes another sip of his “water.”

  “How do you know all this?” I ask, still not trusting his words. “How do we know what you’re sayin’ ain’t a bunch of shite? You mean to say this Prezedant is hundreds of years old, and we’re supposed to believe that?”

  He studies me, this half-man. His piercing, black eyes watch me for so long I begin to fidget under his gaze.

  “You believe what you want, child, but I think you know I speak the truth. All I’m saying is this: I was born in Skytown, the place the Prezedant calls his home, and I have seen him twice in my lifetime. Once when I was but a lad, no older than Finn here. The second time at a public execution just four years back. Now during that time, I have grown old and weary. My eyes have seen far more then they have wanted to, but the one thing they are sure of is this. The Prezedant has not changed his appearance, not one little bit during those years. He looks exactly the same. How is that possible? You tell me.”

  “Magic,” Finn whispers, and Tater nods his head.

  “There ain’t no such thing, Finn. Don’t be foolish.” My words are to Finn, but my anger is directed toward Tater, daring him to argue that with me. “If he’s so all-powerful and magical, why’s he gotta send out men with iron shooters to kill people? Why don’t he just do it with his magic?”

  Tater stares at me for a bit then unexpectedly points at me and laughs. “You truly are an irksome child. If I knew all the answers, I could tell you why. I could also tell you why the sun is in the sky or why the birds fly through the air, but I do not know why.”

  He leans back against a dead log and crosses his short legs.

  “Are you sure you are ready to hear of the fate of your young kin?” He don’t give me a chance to answer, to change my mind; he just goes right on talking. “As I have said, there have been numerous villages in the past that have had the misfortune to fall under his notice, and all have ended up the same: murder, pillaging, and abduction of the children. It is said he takes the children to work his iron mines and to be servants in his residences. But there are whispers of other … uses. Some believe he consumes them, their youth and vitality … their very souls. They say it’s what keeps him immortal, you see.”

  Tater’s eyes gleam at us eerily through the darkness, and a faint shiver passes over me. Finn gives a strangled little yelp, and his face goes pale white, noticeable even by firelight.

  “That’s enough talk for one night,” I say, more so to stop from hearing any more terrible words. Like the boy, I’m terrified at what Tater is telling us, and it’s almost like he done it on purpose. Why would he want to scare us like that?

  “We need to get some sleep. I want to get an early start in the mornin’.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree, my dear.” Tater is all smiles again now. “And if you don’t mind, I would truly love to accompany you to Littlepass. I have done the journey many times. I could show you the way, cut maybe weeks of walking off your journey.”

  I don’t want to, but I agree to Tater’s company. I still have a lot of unanswered questions. I want to talk to him some more—alone. I get an uneasy feeling that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on to. But for now, we need to sleep.

  3

  Mountain Gulch

  The trees seem to go on forever. Sometimes they’re so tangled and snarled I don’t think we’re ever going to get past ‘em, but Tater always seems to know the way ‘round. Most times when I truly believe we’re lost and walking in circles, he assures me he knows exactly where he’s going. He says to me, “Not to worry, my dear. I have been traveling these particular woods for many years, far more than I would care to admit. I will not lead you astray.”

  He always says it with his toothy smile, but it irritates me some. His constant silly way of talking irritates me most times. And to make matters worse, there are these tiny, flying biters that keep buzzing ‘round our heads and nipping at our skin. Sometimes, they’re so damn bothersome I wanna scream. Tater calls them “maskeetos,” but I just call ‘em annoying. They seem to pester me more so than the others. Tater says it must be ‘cause my blood is so sweet, but he grins all strange every time he says it, like he ain’t joking at all. I still don’t trust him, not one little bit. But I got to admit, he is a real entertaining storyteller. And real good with the musical flute. Lou used to play too, but he wasn’t near as good as Tater. When he plays at night, while we’re sitting ‘round the campfire, the night just don’t seem to be as dark and scary no more. And he does make Finn laugh, so I guess he’s not all bad.

  There ain’t been much chance to talk to Tater alone, and I’m still full of questions. Finn sticks as close to the little man as a berry to its bush. But today’s travel had been a hard one, and Finn had immediately fallen asleep the minute we made camp. The ground we’d been walking all day had been sloping down, making it an effort to stay on our feet at times. Well, for me and Finn anyways. Tater seemed to have no trouble. I still think he’s more mutie than man. So with Finn already sleeping on the other side of the fire, I reckoned this was my chance to talk with Tater alone. I push aside my own weariness. There were things I needed to know—no time for sleeping just yet. I eyeball Tater, who’s lounging against a fallen tree and sipping his usual drink. I stare ‘til he finally raises a shaggy brow.

  “Well, as my dear mother used to say, you look as if you have a bee in your bonnet. Spit it out, girlie,” he says.

  “Who exactly is the Prezedant? Why is he sendin’ his men out into the sand lands to kill villagers and take young’uns? What’s he do with them when he takes ‘em? Why don’t the people of Littlepass and Skytown and every place else just stop him if he’s so evil?”

  The words just pour out of me; I want to know all the answers. Tater stares at the ground like he’s pondering his response before meeting my gaze. He flashes his teeth, his laughter all quiet like so as not to disturb Finn.

  “I can see this is going to be a long evening,” he says. He thinks for a while more, takes a sip of his drink, and then finally speaks. “Who the Prezedant truly is I cannot tell you. That’s all he is known as. He has ruled for as long as I can remember and longer than that. He is a very powerful man … magician, immortal, as I have said. He is believed to have done things no human should be capable of doing. While the rest of the world’s lands are barren and dead, his lands are prosperous, alive, and fertile. How is that possible? The people, they whisper about his so-called ‘powers,’ but no one can explain. I have heard many stories in my years. Some say they have witnessed the man bringing dead trees to life with a touch of his hand or make a dried-up spring run again with just a breath.”

  I scoff at Tater’s words. That was pure shite if I ever heard it.

  “Do not dismiss the stories, girl. As I told the boy, every story stems from truth. And do not dismiss his power. His armies are massive, and they follow his every command. To them, he is their god. And not just his armies. There are many, I fear, who blindly follow the Prezedant. Lost souls who have become as dark and depraved as the man h
imself. I warn you, girl, the things you will witness in Littlepass and in Skytown … they will change you.”

  He stops talking. His words chill me, but I nod at him to continue.

  “As for stopping him, some have tried. There have been a few brave souls who have tried to destroy him over the years. But their efforts have been in vain. He hunts down those who dare oppose him and publicly executes those who disobey. He holds no regard for human life. His lands are cesspools of depravity, debauchery, and unspeakable horrors for most. For others, the scum of mankind, the twisted lowlifes, they are a haven. Children are sold into slavery, put to work in his iron mines, in his residences, and sometimes far worse. I will not lie … the young kin you are worried for have most likely already met this fate.”

  Even though he don’t go into explicit detail, he don’t need to. I get the gist of what he’s saying, and it fills me with utter despair. A lump of ice solidifies in my belly and its coldness starts seeping slowly through my veins. But yet I need to know more.

  “There must be some good people … like this Lily. Surely, Grada wouldn’t send me to such an evil place on purpose. Surely, not everyone is this way. Grada said Lily would help me. She cain’t be all bad,” I say, not wanting to believe everything Tater is telling me.

  “Do you not know who this Lily is, girl? I assumed her to be your kin. Your family.” Tater truly appears surprised by my words.

  I hesitate. I don’t want to admit it to him, but finally I shake my head. “No. Grada … .before he died, it’s like he knew what was gonna happen, and he told me I had to go to Littlepass and find her. To tell her who I was and she would help me.”

  “Help you to do what?” he asks.

  “I … I don’t know. I’m hopin’ maybe she can help me find Ben and the other young’uns.”

  Tater ponders this for a bit. “So your Grada was from Littlepass then? How is it that he knew of the Prezedant and his Army but never warned you of the dangers?”