Lotus Blue

by Sparks,Cat

  Star ached all over. Light-headed from the sun, phantoms had been dancing in the corners of her eyes for hours. She hadn’t thought the children were real until a cold, damp waterskin was thrust between her hands.

  Nene had said very little since they rested up at Crossroads. Her depleted field kit was still slung across her shoulder like a bandolier. She had fought to keep possession of it when the greedy marketeers of that miserable town had demanded practically all the stranded travellers possessed in payment for water, shelter, and a little bread.

  Star had drunk too fast and now her gut was hurting. A chubby child with greasy hair pulled tightly into uneven pigtails handed her an orange from a basket. Star bit into it, skin and all. Her mouth flooded with flavours, a mix of sweet and bitter.

  The Twelfth Man caravanserai was the most welcome sight of all. A clean swept street and a long, low whitewashed wall. Ebba, the owner in her multi-coloured skirts, waiting on the road to greet them, chewing on her fingernails—news of the Van’s destruction had travelled far.

  Scarcely had they reached their destination when the bickering and squabbling that had dogged the long, circuitous route between the Vulture and Fallow Heel started up again, more serious now that folks had had a chance to drink and rest their feet. All of them owed money somewhere, wealth that had been swept away along with the wagons, animals and human lives.

  “He’s not staying here until he pays up what he owes!”

  “Come on, Eb—you know I’m good for it.”

  “Don’t want your goodness, you still owe me for two back season’s lodgings!”

  “We’ve all suffered, some of us more than others.”

  Some Van people were luckier than others—the ones with family close by. Most had no one—and nowhere else to go.

  Everyone was tired and sweaty. Some squatted, making temporary camp along the low, curved wall, waiting for arrangements to be settled and decisions to be made.

  Star looked around for Nene, and found her locked in conversation with Benhadeer, arms folded, brow furrowed with deep lines. She appeared not to have noticed the line of people already waiting outside the small room Ebba set aside as a clinic whenever Vans were berthed there. Nene had nothing to offer them now, no medicine and no comfort, a fact those waiting had yet to comprehend. The big man listened to Nene’s words, his hands crossed, weight pressing heavily on the stave he carried in townships for protection. Kristo loomed beside him like a shadow, half-listening, preoccupied with matters of his own. Nene talked expressively with her hands. Her fingers resembled claws in the harsh light.

  Nothing would be resolved for hours to come. Star was exhausted. She needed rest, sustenance, and to scrub the desert from her skin, but more than that, she needed to know what her future held in store. The thought of a safer, better life had sustained her in their march across the sand. She would find a place for herself in Fallow Heel, and if Nene was set on continuing to Solace, she’d be doing it on her own.

  Star noticed Yeshie in a patch of shade, sitting cross legged on a mat, casting bones and telling fortunes to a cluster of enthralled local women. Putting on a brave face—her one-eyed friend had not survived the storm. The sight of something so familiar made Star smile. No matter what happened, Yeshie always landed on her feet.

  When Nene’d finished talking to Benhadeer, she made her way to a vacant patch of whitewashed wall, and sat down in the dirt with her back against it, eyes closed, utterly exhausted. Angled uncomfortably, yet too tired to move, her field kit jabbing into her ribs.

  Star walked over to her sister, crouched down, and gently lifted the cumbersome thing up over her head, hanging it across her own body. If anybody needed help, they could come see her about it. Give Nene a little well earned breathing space. She regretted eating all of the orange given to her by the child, wished she had saved half of it to share.

  “Nene, did you have something to drink?”

  Nene’s eyes opened. She blinked a couple of times before recognising Star. Her lips softened into a gentle smile. She reached out and took her by the wrist, clumsily, as exhaustion made her weak. She twisted Star’s arm so the metal strip embedded in her flesh faced upwards. “Need to rest,” she said, “but first, some things I need to tell you.”

  Star smiled back and patted her sister’s hand. “Tell me later. First things first—we need to find a place to sleep. Ebba might let us have our regular room if we work for it.”

  Nene shook her head. “No. This can’t wait any longer. I can’t carry the weight of it any further.”

  The smile was gone from Nene’s face.

  “The weight of what?”

  Nene looked away, down to a patch of dirt between her feet. “I should have told you years ago. Tried a couple of times, but the right moment and words would never come.”

  Star frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Nene met her gaze once more, and tightened her grip.

  “Stop—you’re hurting me!”

  “Star . . . You have to know the truth of it. We’re not sisters. Not by blood, at least. I found you in the desert on a relic raid with Benhadeer and Kristo. There were others . . . but I wasn’t fast enough. All of you had that metal bar embedded in your skin. I wasn’t much older than you are now . . . the others . . . I didn’t know how to save them . . .”

  Star stared at her, dumfounded. Too much to take in, coming at her too fast. “Not sisters—what do you mean by that?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. Star—listen to what I’m saying. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how—”

  Star snatched her hand away, rubbing her wrist even though it wasn’t sore. She pushed herself to stand. “My arm got broken badly when I was ten. That was what you told me. About the fever, that was why I can’t remember our parents or anything before . . .”

  Our parents . . .

  Nene’s face looked lined and old, as though the desert crossing had taken twenty years from her. “I said a lot of things, Star. Said them to protect you. I don’t know who your people are. I don’t know where you’re from. I pulled you out of the wreckage of those things that looked like giant eggs, half buried in yellow sand. Some old-world relic no one had ever seen before. Didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t know how to tell you any of it.”

  “Giant eggs?”

  Nene leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “Nobody knows what those things were, Star, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Giant eggs filled with dead kids, all packed up tight and frozen. One of the eggs was cracked, so we looked inside. We were looking for salvage.”

  Nene kept her eyes closed. “I gave you your name,” she added. “Ten years back, a broken star came falling out of the sky while we were digging. I remember it burned so bright, then faded into the moonlight. Didn’t know what else to call you. Seemed as good a name as any.”

  Star felt the blood draining from her face. “You named me?”

  Nene nodded. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a breathy whisper.

  Sorry? Oh Nene, you should have told me. That and so many other things.

  Nene appeared to have fallen into slumber. Star felt as though she had been punched in the chest. Like a hand was wrapped around her heart and squeezing tight. She caught sight of Benhadeer and Kristo trying to look like they weren’t watching. Seven years past, and no one had told her any of it.

  The pain in her heart sunk lower, started turning into bellyache. She turned her back on the whole damn lot of them, and headed for the centre of town, not knowing where she was going or what she was doing.

  Star had never seen the streets of Fallow Heel so crowded; the population was swollen to twice its normal size. Once, this had been an orderly place filled with well-dressed citizens and their well-kept homes. Star did not recall gangs of youth
s on street corners, beggars and panhandlers, roughly constructed carts pulled by emaciated donkeys. Dirty children swarming like roaches, yelling at her to throw them bread or coins.

  She had no plan, no place to go. Away from Nene and her words was all that mattered. She had not planned to pass Allegra’s house, yet somehow that was where she ended up. Not sisters—how could such a thing be true?

  Allegra’s house was not a house, but a mansion, unchanged by the passing year. Thick white plaster walls surrounded it, topped with coils of razor wire. Close beside it was a second building, smaller and less grand but similar in style. A storehouse, or perhaps the stables.

  Glazed tiles framed a spectacular entranceway guarded by two armed men in fighting leathers. She watched as two other men, dressed in voluminous sand cloaks much like Benhadeer’s before the Red had sullied them, passed through the outer gate and strode up the path leading to the front door. Both were patted down for concealed weaponry by the bodyguards then permitted inside, the large wooden door closing solidly behind them. Once, she had walked through that very door. Star took a deep breath, then followed.

  She tried to look like she knew what she was doing, like she was something better than the Van trash Kian had denigrated her. She offered the leather-clad guards a smile. They did not return it. Men like them were not paid to smile.

  “I am Allegra’s friend,” she told him. “Last year I was—”

  “Piss off, street trash. You got no business here.”

  “But I’m friends with the daughter of—”

  “You don’t smell like anybody’s friend.”

  She hesitated. The one on the right drew his sword. She stepped back, hands raised. “OK. I get the message.” She backed away slowly, heading for the gate. Turned, then was prevented from passing through it by four big men in sand cloaks. They pushed right past her as if she wasn’t there, heading straight for the entranceway themselves. The guardsman’s weapon was still drawn. He raised it menacingly.

  The four offered greetings and credentials. The guardsmen argued back. Something about docks and waiting for instructions. Discussion over something that was late.

  Star didn’t hesitate. A better chance would not present itself. Nobody was paying her any attention. As the men’s voices got louder, she slipped into the shadows and edged around the mansion’s whitewashed walls, taking care not to trip over the ornamental shrubberies, cactus plants, and statues. There were ridiculous figures in hero poses, some of marble, others of greenish metal streaked with pale bird droppings.

  A hedge of prickly bushes lined the narrow path.

  All the balconies above were empty. Allegra’s was the topmost—she knew because she’d been inside before. Through the front door and up the stairway like an invited guest.

  Her mind flooded bitterly with Nene’s words. That rich girl is not your friend. We’ll see about that, she thought.

  The mansion’s nearest neighbour stood three stories high as well, protected similarly by razor wire. Its top balcony was jammed with people drinking and laughing like it was New Year’s Eve. Something in the distance held their attention. Spyglasses passed from hand to hand, all pointing in the direction of the Black Sea docks, the departure point for all the tanker crews. She’d never set foot on those docks again. Not willingly. Not after what had happened to Remy.

  Allegra’s balcony lay tantalisingly out of reach. If Star attempted to climb the brickwork, she’d be seen for certain. Shot in the back as she scrabbled for footholds. Her shoulders slumped. It was hopeless. She needed to get out of there before guards patrolling with dogs discovered her trespassing. Hunger and thirst gnawed at her innards. Fatigue too, but she pushed it all aside.

  She checked the back door. Bolted solid. Windows set into the wall were affixed with metal bars.

  Three storeys was too much of a climb—although she had scaled higher. All Van brats were forced to climb at one time or another, scrambling up cliffs with bare hands and feet, escaping flash floods or starving predators. Hunting for bird’s eggs or serpent nests. Hiding from strangers they didn’t like the look of.

  Star liked the look of Fallow Heel, despite the carousing drunks and the grim-faced guards. This port was where she was supposed to be. All she needed was a chance to prove herself.

  Suddenly there was an unexpected flash of colour from up high. Allegra, in a scarlet sari, stepped out onto her balcony, arms folded against the cooling breeze.

  Star jumped up and down on the spot. Waved, desperate to catch the girl’s attention, but she didn’t dare call out. Not with well-armed guardsmen so close by.

  She willed Allegra to glance down at her, but it was no use. Noise from the street was loud and distracting, not to mention the shouting and cheering of the neighbours. Star glanced nervously back the way she’d come, past the silent statues and the shrubs. No sign of dogs or guardsmen in pursuit. By time she looked back to the balcony, Allegra was gone.

  Her heart welled with despair. She was so tired. More tired than she had ever been. She should not have come here. Nene would be furious when she found out. The guards would beat her if they caught her—or worse. She knew she should return to the Van—only there was no Van. Not anymore. No sister either: a truth she was having trouble holding in her head.

  Star scrutinised the surface of the wall; whitewashed, but uneven. Brick ends protruded here and there. Little gaps where pigeons had made nests. She could scale it. She had knives. She’d climbed much harder things.

  She started up before she had the time to think about it, before exhaustion claimed her as its own. She pretended she was climbing up a cliff face and that the sand below was soft. That statues of long-dead heroes were not watching.

  Allegra’s balcony was edged with marble, and smoothly shaped. A balustrade more solid than it appeared from down below. She got a grip and hauled herself up over, muscles straining. She stood for a moment to admire the view—just a moment. Any longer and her muscles would have cramped and seized from the effort.

  All around her was a sea of rooftops, flat and well maintained. Beyond them, buildings in neat rows, each one with a peaked and painted roof. Beyond them further still, the docks and the flat black tongue of melted slag jutting out into the Dead Red Heart. Coloured shapes skitted across its surface. Sandcraft and blokarts. Things she learned about from Lucius’s stories.

  Fancy double glass doors led through to Allegra’s rooms. Beyond the glass looked dark and uninviting. The climb had made her dizzy. She breathed in deeply, banishing the stings and aches from the new cuts and scrapes on her arms and legs. She wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers, reached for the big glass door, and turned the handle as quietly as possible. Trod so lightly, she barely made a sound.

  Thick, soft carpet absorbed her tread. The room beyond was dark and cool and scented strongly with cinnamon and cloves, hung with tapestries and strewn with rugs and cushions. Enamel vases were placed on stands, potted palms in the farthest corners. A large bed was festooned with brightly coloured cushions.

  “Is anybody there?”

  A startled sound emanated from a high backed chair, more mouse than human. It was Allegra in her bright sari, legs curled underneath. She’d been so still, Star hadn’t even seen her.

  The scent of cinnamon and cloves was getting stronger, enveloping Star and making her want to sleep.

  She said her own name. Allegra stared at her blankly. She said it again and added “We met a year ago. Had tea in this room at that table with your friends.”

  Star pointed to the table where last year’s tea had been laid out on a silver tray and well dressed girls adorned with jewels had leant in close to hear what she had to say.

  Allegra leapt to her feet and started screaming.

  = Twenty-one =

  The old woman selling sand cloaks at the edge
of the market square crossed herself and cringed at the sight of Quarrel. She took his coin though, despite the unfamiliar crest stamped on its surface. Gold was gold and silver was silver. Old metal, new metal, it didn’t matter in a place like Fallow Heel.

  He put the cloak on immediately, covering his shame. Templars like him once protected townships such as this one from marauding savages. He shook the thought away. So what if good people hated him for what he was? So what if they would never know the truth, so long as they let him get on with his mission. His mission was the only thing that mattered, according to the mechanism embedded in his arm and torso. Nisn wouldn’t let him stray again.

  The town appeared to be in the grips of some kind of festival. Streets were crowded and everyone was drunk. He nudged and shoved his way towards the docks, where his mesh informed him that sand ships put out across the Black.

  As he reached the ramshackle row of jetties, great cries and exclamations issued from all sides. He glanced around, then up to where everyone was pointing. Yet another Angel plummeting to Earth, sunlight bouncing off its shiny casing. It landed too far away for the point of impact to be observed. Surreptitiously, he set his mesh to sweep and scan, expecting something, perhaps the faintest of telemetries. But there was nothing. Not so much as an electronic whisper.

  A great roar went up from the crowd. Activity increased tenfold: shouting and swearing, burdens hefted and balanced across backs, barrows and buckets loaded, carried, and set down. More disgusting smells than he’d imagined still existed.

  He had to push his way to the front, but he was a big man sporting rugged granite features, and people got out of his path, no questions asked.

  Quarrel frowned. So this was the famous port of Fallow Heel. Despite two feet placed square upon the jetty, he could see no ships at all, just rough hammered assemblages of junk and plank and wire. Mobile platforms that might or might not take them past the five mile limit. After that was anybody’s guess.