Lightning Tracks

by A. A. Kinsela

  ‘Sit.’

  ‘Commander, I—’ Cal swallowed his words as the blade caressed his cheek.

  ‘Do as I say.’

  All Cal’s instincts were screaming at him to attack, but he couldn’t risk blowing his cover. He lowered himself into the chair.

  ‘Sir, I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Julian asked, and dragged Cal’s collar open.

  When Cal snatched Julian’s wrist, he felt the knife prick his throat and froze.

  ‘I know what you and Artemis did on the solstice,’ Julian said. ‘One word from me and the three Bandála officers standing right outside will spike first your head and then hers.’

  Someone knocked on the door and called, ‘Are you alright in there, Commander?’

  Julian cocked an eyebrow. ‘What should I tell him?’

  His breathing shallow, Cal released the commander’s wrist.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Julian called. He straightened, shook out his arm, and said, ‘I’ve heard you have quite some talent, Cal.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I have my sources.’

  Dreading the answer, Cal asked, ‘What do you want?’

  Julian leaned on the arms of the chair and pinned Cal with his dark blue gaze. ‘Your complete and unquestioning obedience. You will do as I say, when I say. If you don’t, the Arai masters you have betrayed will become the least of your worries. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cal whispered.

  ‘Excellent.’ Julian smiled, and with the tip of his blade he traced the black circumference and mileskúlos line of Cal’s Arai tattoo. ‘From now on, Cal, you belong to me.’

  Chapter 13: Priority target

  Late afternoon sunlight speared between the eucalyptus branches and punctured the dry spinifex. The air throbbed with cicada song. Cal sat cross-legged on a tree stump, running a whetstone along the blade of his hunting knife and wishing he was back in Auremos. They’d been scouting the bush west of the city for a week now and had found nothing. Cal couldn’t stop thinking about Julian. What was the commander planning? Why did he need Cal’s cooperation? And how had he known about Cal and Artemis’s involvement in the solstice massacre?

  Cal hadn’t told Artemis about Julian’s threat. She’d only report it to Valerius, and Cal wasn’t sure he trusted the old prefect yet.

  Artemis crouched next to the fire and dropped an armful of yams onto the coals beside the charred goanna carcass. Pan was perched on a tree branch above their heads, plucking flowers off a honeysuckle vine and slurping the nectar out. Miles swaggered towards them from the direction of the waterhole where he’d tethered the horses. His blond hair was dripping with water and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing off his Bandála initiation necklace. Cal rolled his eyes and went back to sharpening his knife.

  ‘How’s dinner going?’ Miles asked, crouching beside Artemis and nudging her shoulder.

  ‘Getting there,’ she said, sounding irritated. ‘We need more firewood.’

  Miles looked at Cal through the smoke. ‘Go get some firewood, peaker.’

  Cal held up his knife and inspected the blade.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ Miles asked.

  ‘I’m not deaf,’ Cal replied.

  ‘So why are you still sitting there? You’re disobeying a direct order.’

  Pan spat out a honeysuckle flower. ‘Leave him alone, Miles.’

  ‘No. This little mutt needs to learn his place.’

  Cal stood up, his jaw clenched, but Artemis caught his eye and shook her head in silent warning. He sheathed his knife and tucked it into his rucksack then strode away, seething. He scrambled to the top of a rocky outcrop and glared across the treetops to the western horizon, sucking in deep, furious breaths. He hated the way Miles treated him, as if he was worth less than the dirt under his boots. At least the Arai uniform had afforded Cal some respect, even if it was resentful and enforced.

  A horse whinnied from the far side of the outcrop. Cal dropped to his stomach. The scouts’ horses were all next to the creek, so this one was not one of theirs. Keeping low, he slithered to the edge of the overhang and peeked down. Beneath him was a horse tethered to a tree. Its tail twitched, sending a swarm of flies into the air. Not far away, a Yándi boy lay fast asleep. He seemed to be alone.

  Cal leapt off the rocks and circled the outcrop. As he approached the boy, he caught the glint of a copper necklace with the five-pointer Bandála star engraved on one side. Cal paused to study the boy. He looked about Cal’s age, not old enough to be initiated into the Bandála, so maybe the necklace belonged to a family member. His dark curly hair was matted into clumps. His trousers were gathered in folds at his ankles and weren’t tucked into his riding boots, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his vest was threaded so roughly that it was starting to fall undone too. Either this boy had no idea how to dress himself properly, or the clothes weren’t his.

  Stolen, Cal decided with a huff, and moved closer.

  A piece of parchment lay next to the boy. Protruding from beneath it was the curved tip of a steel inhibitor. Fingernail scratches covered its outer surface. Cal froze. He’d seen inhibitors used to torture Yándi prisoners and to control unruly Yándi slaves, so it was odd that a Yándi possessed one.

  Careful not to brush the boy’s leg, Cal knelt down and reached for the inhibitor. As he leaned forwards, he noticed a faint bruise on the boy’s temple. Someone had used the inhibitor on him.

  Then Cal saw something that stopped his breath: beneath the boy’s collarbone, inked into his skin, was the Arai sundisc. But the tattoo was wrong. The Arai always, without exception, marked slave soldiers with the mileskúlos line as well. This boy was Yándi. Why wasn’t he marked as a mileskúlos?

  Without warning, the boy’s eyes snapped open, and he kicked Cal in the stomach. Cal tumbled away, groping for his hunting knife, but it wasn’t on his belt. He’d left it at the camp. The boy leapt on top of him, but Cal was quicker, turning like an eel and throwing his weight. They grappled in the dry leaves till Cal had his knees on the boy’s shoulders and his fingers wrapped around his throat. The boy stared up at Cal with fear in his eyes.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ The boy spoke fluent Korelian, but his accent was strange. ‘Are you a Bandála soldier?’

  ‘Drop the act, Arai,’ Cal said.

  ‘What? No. I’m not—’

  Cal pressed down until the boy spluttered, ‘Stop! I’m not an Arai!’

  ‘Yeah? What do you call this then?’ Cal tugged open the boy’s shirt.

  ‘I...please. I’m not...I’m not an Arai. I’m running from them. They killed my aunt.’

  Cal winced as he recalled the moonless night in the Highlands. Roan’s quicksilver stare glinting in the darkness. Safía’s screams.

  He straightened, blinking away the memory. The boy gulped air.

  ‘When did that happen?’ Cal asked.

  ‘Um...a few days ago.’

  Cal glanced over the boy’s gear: the inhibitor, the food, the open saddlebags, the parchments. Everything was disorganised and scattered. Not at all what Cal would expect of an Arai recruit.

  He flicked the boy’s temple. ‘How did you get these bruises?’

  When the boy squirmed, Cal shifted his boots so they dug into his ribs.

  ‘Tell me how you got the bruises and I might let you up.’

  With a strangled groan of frustration, the boy replied, ‘Alright. I didn’t know what that thing did. So I tried it out.’

  Cal chuckled. The more he thought about this boy putting the inhibitor on himself, the harder he laughed. He lost his balance enough for the boy to shove him off and scurry away.

  ‘You can shut up now,’ the boy grumbled. ‘I know it was dumb.’

  Cal got to his feet, smiling, and brushed leaves off his trousers. The boy’s fear was gone, but he was tense and still prepared to fight. It occurred to Cal that he must have loo
ked something like this when Miles and Pan had found him in Deadman’s Stretch three weeks ago.

  Pointing to the mare, Cal said, ‘She looks exhausted. How long have you been riding?’

  ‘Since before dawn.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  The boy studied him with wary brown eyes and said, ‘Nick.’

  ‘Where have you come from?’

  ‘West.’

  Cal looked at Nick’s oversized Korelian clothes then glanced behind him where the bush marched to the Yándemar horizon. Everything about this boy was wrong. His tattoo, his accent, his clothes. Nick watched Cal with guarded curiosity, as if trying to decipher him as well. Cal wondered then if Nick suspected him of being more than a regular Bandála soldier.

  With a shake of his head, Cal cast that thought from his mind. Nick was probably an Arai deserter from some far-flung corner of the kingdom. It would take an expert to recognise Cal’s fighting style.

  ‘Tighten your collar. If the Bandála see that mark, they won’t ask for an explanation. They’ll arrest you on the spot. Maybe even kill you if they’re in a bad mood.’

  Nick laced his shirt. ‘Aren’t you a Bandála soldier?’

  Cal frowned. Again, that same question. All Arai recruits were shown the greyskin uniform in training. Everyone in Korelios was familiar with the enemy’s five-pointer star symbol. So why did Nick have to ask? Surely he wasn’t that stupid.

  ‘I’m a scout. My team is stationed in this region. My name’s Cal, by the way.’ He pointed back the way he’d come. ‘We’re camped just over that rise. Get your gear. We’ve got food cooking.’

  Nick stared in the direction Cal indicated and licked his lips then threw the parchments and inhibitor into his saddlebags. He tugged the bridle and the horse ambled along beside him.

  As they approached the camp, Miles called, ‘What’ve you got there, peaker? Found yourself another stray?’

  Cal wasn’t going to let this one slide. He opened his mouth to retort but Nick beat him to it.

  ‘I’m not a stray. My name’s Nick and I’m on my way to Auremos. Who are you?’

  Nick sounded more confident now, as if he was used to facing these sorts of challenges. Cal bit his tongue and watched as Miles and Nick sized up one another.

  Pan slid out of her tree. ‘He’s Miles. I’m Pan, scout leader. Let’s see your papers.’

  Cal strapped his hunting knife to his thigh and checked the campsite for Artemis, but she wasn’t there. She must be at the waterhole.

  Nick glanced at Cal before handing over his parchments. As his stare moved across the five-pointer stars stitched into everyone’s uniforms, his fingers strayed to his neck and he drew out his copper Bandála disc, as if he’d just worked out the solution to a puzzle. When he caught Cal watching, he hid the necklace from sight.

  ‘Trading and travel permits,’ Pan said. Then she chuckled. ‘You having an identity crisis or something?’

  Nick’s gaze flicked up.

  ‘It says Felix on your papers.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. I borrowed them.’

  ‘Did you now? Where’s Felix?’

  ‘West.’

  ‘Alive?’

  ‘He was when I last saw him.’

  ‘Pity.’

  Nick raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of Felix for years,’ Pan said with a shrug. ‘Anyone with the nerve to teach that steaming heap of lizard guts a lesson deserves our congratulations.’

  Miles clapped Nick on the shoulder. ‘Too right. You hungry?’

  Nick gave a relieved smile and replied, ‘Starving.’

  He didn’t seem to notice Cal leading his horse away through the trees.

  As soon as Cal was at the waterhole, he unstrapped the saddlebags and tipped the contents onto the ground.

  ‘Did you find a lost merchant?’

  Cal spun on his heels. He hadn’t seen Artemis, who sat half-hidden behind a tree with her bare feet dangling in the water.

  ‘No. A Yándi boy,’ he replied, turning back to the saddlebag.

  ‘Why are you going through his stuff?’

  ‘He stole the horse.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Cal tossed her the steel inhibitor. ‘Here’s one clue.’

  ‘What’s he doing with it?’ she asked, examining the device.

  ‘No idea,’ Cal said, and chuckled. ‘But he said he didn’t know what it was and so tried it on.’

  She gaped at him and laughed. Then she frowned. ‘Hold on. If he stole this, that’s pretty serious. Inhibitors are illegal in Yándemar.’

  ‘He’s got someone else’s travel and trade permits,’ Cal said. ‘Some guy called Felix. The inhibitor must belong to him. But that’s not all. The boy’s got an Arai tattoo.’

  Artemis leapt to her feet. ‘What?’ she gasped. She swivelled, scanning the bush till Cal caught her arms.

  ‘Relax. He’s alone and untrained. I had his throat in two moves.’

  Artemis stared. ‘You fought him?’

  ‘It wasn’t much of a fight.’

  ‘How do you know he’s alone?’

  ‘He said the Arai killed his aunt. I reckon he stole this gear and somehow managed to get hold of a Bandála initiation necklace. He’s a deserter, Artemis. Just like us. But...’

  The missing mileskúlos line. This troubled Cal more than anything.

  ‘But what?’ Artemis asked, studying the map. Before he could respond, she asked, ‘Did you say these things belong to Felix?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you know him?’

  ‘I know his reputation. He’s a grubby merchant.’

  ‘Uh-huh...and what’s this got to do with anything?’

  She replaced the map and turned the inhibitor over. ‘I’m not sure. What’s the Yándi boy’s name?’

  ‘Nick.’

  She froze. ‘Nick? As in Nicholas?’

  ‘Er...I assume so. The weird thing is, he’s only got the sundisc tattoo. He doesn’t have a mileskúlos line.’

  Artemis stared at him, her eyes wide. For a moment, she seemed to stop breathing.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Cal asked.

  She stuffed the inhibitor back into the saddlebag, slid the two steel disc keys into her own pocket, and packed the rest of Nick’s gear away, like she was replacing evidence.

  ‘Artemis, do you know who Nick is?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m not sure yet.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Tell me more about him. You said he was unskilled.’

  Cal lifted a shoulder. ‘Yeah, well, he knows some basics, but he’s pretty fresh.’

  ‘Did he say where he’d come from?’

  ‘West. He’s on his way to Auremos.’

  Artemis chewed a thumbnail. ‘West. It all fits.’

  Cal looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean, it all fits?’

  ‘You’re sure he was alone?’

  ‘Yes. What fits?’

  ‘Did he mention anyone? Any names?’

  ‘Not apart from his own. What’s going on, Artemis? What’s this about things fitting?’

  She ran her fingers through her hair, still preoccupied with her own thoughts. ‘I can’t believe you found him, Cal. This is unbelievable. It’s...’

  Cal waited for her to finish but she didn’t. ‘It’s what? Good? Bad? Who is he?’

  ‘He’s...uh...’

  She gave a nervous laugh and flapped her hands. Cal wanted to shake her till she made sense. She rarely lost her composure. Now, she was as jittery as a spooked horse.

  Cal held her shoulders and stared into her stricken face. ‘Artemis, is Nick a threat? Should I immobilise him?’

  She gasped. ‘No! Don’t do that. Listen, we have to do this without blowing our cover. The less attention we draw to Nick, the better.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What do you know about Nick that I don’t?’

  ‘I’ll take ring guard. You’re shadow.’

  ‘You want us to be his security detail? Do y
ou expect the Arai to attack all the way out here?’

  ‘We can’t take any chances.’

  She tried to pull away but he didn’t let her go. ‘Tell me what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘Alright.’

  Her worried gaze turned fierce with determination. For a moment Cal was reminded of the last time he’d seen Roan. The captain had looked just like this, and the memory made him grit his teeth.

  ‘One of us has to watch Nick at all times,’ she said. ‘He’s not an Arai. He doesn’t have our training.’

  ‘But he’s got the mark.’

  ‘So you said.’

  Cal growled in frustration. ‘I don’t understand! Why do we have to watch him?’

  ‘Because he’s a priority target.’ She wriggled out of his grasp and hurried towards the campsite before Cal could wring another word out of her.

  A priority target. That meant Nick had been blacklisted. That meant the king would have dispatched trackers to find him, trackers far more experienced than Cal. King Thanos had mentioned something about his best trackers being busy with another assignment, and when Cal had relayed this to Xanthe and Valerius, they’d reacted as though he’d brought news of an invasion.

  Was Nick the assignment? If so, the king’s trackers hadn’t found him yet. They could be in Yándemar right now, and if they caught Nick, they’d execute him on sight, along with everyone associated with him.

  Cal crouched by the creek and splashed water over his hair, wishing he’d never laid eyes on Nick.

  Chapter 14: Nallindéra

  As the first light of morning dawned, a frenetic orchestra of birdsong burst to life, wrenching Nick from sleep. He sat up, blinking till his eyesight adjusted. The Bandála scouts were sprawled around the campfire ashes, all of them smeared with red earth. Spit dribbled from the corner of Miles’s mouth. Pan snored like a faulty jackhammer. Artemis was curled up with her hands pressed close to her chest. Cal wasn’t there.

  Nick pulled on his boots and stepped around the bodies. He paused when Artemis’s hair snagged his gaze. It was a soft brown colour with a few blonde strands that caught the dawn light like veins of gold. Nick had a sudden urge to reach down and run his fingers through it. His gaze strayed further. She was fit and honey-limbed and glowed with the colours of the earth. Beneath the hem of her shirt he glimpsed several long scars on her lower back. His breath caught in his throat as he realised what they were. Whiplashes.