by JM Guillen
I didn’t respond. Instead, I trudged forward, my mind scrambling.
There had to be a way out.
When we arrived, the Calyptin marketplace thrummed with the dregs of humanity. The city had fallen far from what it had been, but one could easily find the crystalline spires left here by those who had built Calyptia in the distant once-days. They were scintillating constructs that caught and bent the light, sometimes humming softly with sing-song murmurs. Here and there they still reached for the sky, occasionally bursting with a panorama of color or murmuring quiet secrets too low to comprehend.
None knew their purpose, but that didn’t stop the speculation. As the Riftingwar continued to rage across our world and the darkness of the Shroud drifted closer, Calyptin Station was one of the most distant outposts of man. Here, there were still green fields, untainted wind, and sweetwater.
“It’s the crystals.” My father had told me when I was young. “They feed the bounds somehow, focus them.” He gave me a wide smile. “The whole world may fall, but Calyptia will be the last place standing.”
He had been right. Most of the world had fallen save Teredon, Gijon, and the Esperran Marches. Still, the Verges were less than a day’s walk, which meant that the Shroud drifted close. Close enough to haunt with darkling dreams, close enough that it was commonplace for airships to get lost.
My da had been right about one more thing—it was time to move on.
All we had left of the Calyptia-That-Was were those spires and old inkings in mottled books. Scores of philosophers and would-be mystics had made pilgrimages here, trying to understand the crystalline constructs and how they fed the bounds.
But they remained mysteries.
Most folke in the market today were supply runners taking sundries out to the last remnants who refused to give up their homes, regardless of the things that dwelt in the hinterlands. But there were almost as many pirates and thieves, harriers who attacked the outliers, knowing full well that the Nations of the Accords had abandoned them.
These days, those who lived beyond the Verges were already dead.
It always surprised me how many people were stubborn enough to stay here, despite the dangers. Of course Calyptin Station was popular with gamblers. Who wasn’t gambling by staying out here? Every breath was a toss of the dice. Everyone in this scut-filled, little outlier had a dream of winning big and buying passage inland.
Most were about as lucky as my da.
As I let Ogrim herd me through the filthy streets like the chattel I was about to be, my mind scrambled. Once I got to the auction block, everything would change again. But I wasn’t there yet, was I? With a little bit of charity in the right direction… maybe I could take luck for a dance.
It all hinged on one thing: Ogrim must have that key.
I knew better than begging or appealing to his decency—he didn’t possess any kindness or chivalry. A dally with the large man was the only coin I had left. After all, it was certain that whoever he sold me to would be twiddling me plenty, so either way I would be on my back. I had to play my last card, disagreeable as the notion was.
There was a good chance he would take me up on it.
Past unpleasant experiences had shown that not many men would turn down a chance at white-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, and full lips made for kissing. Of course, men like Ogrim and Royce thought of something besides kissing when they saw them, and so perhaps…
“Ogrim.” I kept my voice kitten soft. The large man was heavy with muscle and fat and burdened with a plain face unfortunately scarred to ugliness. I edged close to him, grazing his large body with my soft curves.
“What, lil’ sweetmeats?” He glanced at me. “This where you try to rook dumb ol’ Ogrim?”
“Isn’t there a way we can work this out?” I looked down his body, making certain he knew exactly what I meant.
Ogrim harrumphed. “Not likely, is it? I’s gotta sell Ysabel and get the money back to Royce.”
The worn leather collar encircling his thick neck meant I still had a chance to get away. I blinked innocently up at Ogrim.
“We could both go,” I purred. “You don’t have to be a slave, any more than I do, Ogrim.”
He cuffed me then, swinging a meaty fist into the side of my head. “You needs to shut it off, girlie. You don’t fool me. Doesn’t matter that you’d make a nice tumble, you’d leave ol’ Ogrim as soon as you could, and we both know it.”
Not as much of a duffer as I’d thought. I sighed.
Ogrim was right. It would have been a single tussle, maybe two, before I got away from him. After that, I would have to trade with a captain to get back to the free cities, but still, it was better than a lifetime of servitude and rape.
I’d read all about that life. It was enough to roil my guts. Even though life on a skyship was danger incarnate, at least it would be better than the realities of debtslavery this near the Verges. Those horror stories never left my mind as I walked.
Even experienced mollies feared losing their citizenship, and they knew how to take charge of a man.
I wasn’t cowed yet though.
As we walked through the plaza, I panned the dusty, bustling streets for opportunities. I could still run. But Ogrim would catch me. Even if he didn’t, the thrice-damned collar would choke the breath from me. I let out a huff but continued scanning for my escape route.
Ogrim slowed, drawing me from my plots. “Good to see you, in’nit?” He sidled up to a man I’d never seen before.
I gaped, torn from my thoughts of escape the moment I saw him. The Kabian shipman was huge with rippling muscles under his dark skin. He could have crushed me in a single fist. Behind him, a slender man with spice-colored skin glanced idly about the market, ignoring the two behemoths politely.
“This the girl?” The darker man’s voice was a bass so deep that it rumbled in my chest when he spoke. “I didn’t know she was a slave.” He gave Ogrim a curious look.
Ogrim nodded. “Ysabel Dartagne. Her da owed Royce a bit too much clink. She stepped in, good girl tha’ she is.” Ogrim grinned at me. “Royce knows what yer cap’n’s huntin’, Barnabas. He thought we might make a ’rangement.”
The large man looked me up and down. I met his gaze with defiance. I was used to being ogled by men. I had blossomed young and had always been slender. Men had been eyeing me the same way for several years now.
Yet his gaze held something else. Anger? Perhaps.
“So Royce… took her in response to the captain’s needs?”
“’Course.” Ogrim looked nervous. “Royce done your captain up right. Now his little sweetmeat can’t exactly say no, can she?”
“He wasn’t expecting that.” Barnabas’ voice dropped to a low growl.
“Well.” Ogrim’s face held a touch of nerves. “If’n she don’t stack up at the market, then we can just go back to her da. He’ll pay in blood whatever this little doe won’t give up.”
“That’s not—” Barnabas glanced from Ogrim to me, a hint of anger on his face.
“It’s whatever yer’ cap’n wants.” Ogrim gave the man a wide smile. “We’ll accom’date.”
I couldn’t help but think that Ogrim didn’t seem to catch Barnabas’ point. Still, listening to them banter back and forth, I had to wonder who Barnabas’ captain was. And what did he want with me? I was certain I didn’t want to find out. Still…
I can’t run. The thought drifted through my head, borne on a wave of cold fury. I can’t get away. Not yet. My da hadn’t nearly enough time. Ogrim was right about one thing: if I didn’t measure, they’d just go back and take Royce’s money in blood.
Still, just the thought of running was enough to make my heart eager. I wanted to sprint through the market, my fair hair unfurling behind me, a taunting flag just out of the large men’s reach. I’d streak past wagons and tents…
It made an intriguing fantasy.
“We need to speak in private.” Barnabas placed a hand on the spice-skinned man’
s shoulder, and the two stepped away.
“Don’t spike my wheel, girlie.” Ogrim gave me a nervous glance.
I rolled my eyes at him. If I knew what was going on, I’d spike his wheel and then some! Instead, I glanced down the street, returning to my fantasy as I glimpsed one of the shining, crystalline spires of the city.
I longed to dodge through one of the street-level shops and slip into one of those ancient, cracked spires. Ever since I was bitty, I’d dreamed about sneaking away and peeking into one of the spires, almost as if they beckoned.
Of course, that was practically impossible.
We couldn’t even get inside most of them. Oh, a few held cracks and crevices where one could slip in, but only the reckless would do so. Tales of the spirits that haunted those places told how they whispered secret truths that would shatter a person’s mind.
I had always found that odd. Didn’t the bounds protect us from the gloaming, after all? Why should the spirits there be evil?
Most of them, nearly intact, were quite impossible to get inside, so the point was moot. They were sealed with symbols, an odd, swirling script that none today could read.
Some said that simply trying would drive you mad.
“—the An’Tafaar.” The spice-skinned man’s whispered tone was urgent.
He’s Q’sarri. I should have realized it earlier, but the flowing sound of his accent made it apparent.
“Fine.” Barnabas frowned sternly. “But you must—”
I turned away from them, my eye ever seeking a way out. If I ran, I’d upset carts and patrons alike and hope beyond luck that whatever I knocked down would slow my pursuers. Mayhap I could use my wiles to find some kindly ship captain or mate to stow me aboard his sleek cloudcraft…
But no.
Wait. Or else Da will never escape in time. My old man was a dingy, scut-tongued, crooked robber who never did what he promised, but he was my da.
The man might lose all his clink on the regular, but he still managed to care for the both of us and tend to my education. He’d get his hands on whatever small books he could. He knew my passion for the written word, even if he could barely make out more than his own name, and did his best to feed my ink-hunger. Honestly, my library was the most valuable thing we owned. He wasn’t a good man, but he did try.
He was all I had. I was all he had.
Even if I get away, they’ll cut off his hands and toss him in the hinters. I shuddered at the thought.
I sighed. I was in the tangles. There wasn’t a back door.
Barnabas walked back over to us as his Q’sarri friend stepped away. The large, dark man gave me a long, scrutinizing look. I glared back, holding my head high and giving my back a touch of arch.
I could at least be proud.
Then I steeled myself, waiting for a gaze like Royce’s. That was what was coming, I was certain. Royce was selling me off as some jilly girl for one of the harrier captains, and the best I could hope for was my own pride.
But the Kab wasn’t looking at me that same way. I wasn’t something he was going to rut with, a woman he was going to rape or seduce. No, I was something less, just a purchase under his unreadable, flat gaze.
Finally he spoke directly to me.
“Do you eat canine?” His voice was like rumbling thunder in his broad chest.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Canine. Dog. Do you eat it?” He bent down to examine my eyes, peering at one, then the other.
“I—no! No, I don’t. I can’t affor—”
“Corbies? Coyotes? Any other predators?” He cut me off.
“No.” I couldn’t imagine what he was about.
“Do you recall all your dreams?” One large hand rose to prod at my face, pulling my lower lids down so he could see the red underside.
“What? Of course.” It was an oddment question. Didn’t everyone remember their dreams?
“Do you dream often?”
“Rarely.” As a child I dreamed in wild orchestras of color, mad coruscating waves of rainbows. I used to wake up from my dreams and weave wild, whimsical fantasies.
I hadn’t had those in years however.
He nodded and turned me around.
“Are you prone to illness?”
“I’m healthy.” Healthy enough for any man’s purpose. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but his odd questions had me on my edge.
“Have you ever swum in a river beyond the Verges? Or eaten food that might have been through one of the bloodstorms?”
I shook my head. This had surpassed strange.
He came back around to my front, then bade me open my mouth and stick out my tongue. I did so, and he hemmed and hawed over what color of red it was.
“Have you ever—” he paused, looking at Ogrim. He seemed to be tallying something. Then he cleared his throat and continued, “When was the last time you were with a man?”
“Excuse me?” I stared at him. Thoughts of the blacksmith’s apprentice and the feel of his large hands swirled behind my eyes. Jorge was only the second man I’d ever chosen for myself. I’d not hoped to know another.
“When was the—oh, never mind.” He scowled. “It was recent enough.”
I could not wait for him to finish this.
Soon his questions petered out, and his physical examination picked up. He poked and prodded my neck and back and at the bend of my elbow, squeezing my flesh with his thick, dark fingers until it blanched, then counting under his breath until the white marks faded.
“She may well do.” Barnabas shrugged at Ogrim. “I won’t promise anything.”
“No one is asking for a promise.” Ogrim broke into an ugly smile.
The large shipman bent toward me, then slung me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of wheat. I squealed with surprise but said nothing. Barnabas and Ogrim fell into step.
No back door. My heart pounded in my chest, and I wanted to scream, wanted to rend at the man with my nails and teeth until he dropped me.
However, I knew the truth. The situation was absolutely hopeless.
I was already caught.
Patience, Ysabel. I took a deep breath, and waited for my moment.
3
I watched the streets and the people wandering them as I was carried into the stink of the Downs. The entire way, part of me kept seeking some opportunity, anything I could use to bend to this situation to my advantage.
I was disappointed.
“This is so dignified, thank you. I never could have walked on my own two feet!” My words had no effect on the large Kab.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. This place was a haven of filth. Everywhere I turned, I saw skiff-jockeys and swaggering harriers and doxies selling flesh to some crew who had come landside.
This scut-filled dreg of a place had a way of eating its way into a person. Places like this were part of the reason my da wanted inland so badly.
Well, that and the dreams of his little girl. I had always longed for more exotic locations. I wanted to see brightly colored silk tents with shiny beadwork at the seams and tall, sleek beasts awaiting their feed. The wide world held endless fields of golden grain and mountains, pale with snow and mist, blanketed with pointed trees that never dropped their green.
I’d read about them all, but I’d only really seen Calyptin Station.
“Care for another coupla’ toys?” The bored, nasal tone interrupted my reverie.
We were passing two jilly girls, selling their combined company. I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose. Each had the sallow eyes and ashy skin of someone who smoked too much opia resin.
“I’m quite well, thank you.” Barnabas’ tone was almost genteel. I had to listen hard to hear his pity.
One called, “She’s scrawny. You don’t think she can grease yer itch by herself, do ya?”
“Shut it.” Ogrim snarled at the girls. “We’re men with business, cantcha see that? Go sell your stink to men who can’t smell.”
The other g
irl took the first by the shoulder and pulled her back before she could snarl a reply.
Jillies and ragmen were what Calyptin Station held now. The bounds might be strong, but her people were rotting from within.
I shook my head, trying to sharp up. I couldn’t worry about Calyptin now. Instead, I tried to pick out the skyship captains, wondering if Barnabas’ mysterious cap’n was already here among them.
It mattered little who bought me, I realized. These men were all cut from the same gunnycloth: uncouth, dirty, and loud. Regardless of who Barnabas worked for, I was in for the same treatment. The best dressed of them were usually the oldest, and most were boil-scarred and missing parts. Or else—
My eyes widened. Or else covered in whore’s pox.
I shuddered with distaste. I didn’t want one of those buying me.
Everyone knew what waited for me as a debtslave: hard use and lots of it. I had to be strong about this to get through it. I could imagine being used once, maybe twice, and then escaping. But if I caught the pox from some harrier, then I’d have it the rest of my life.
“Where are you, rudder?” I peered about. Odds were Barnabas’ captain would be an older, peculiar sort, given the questions Barnabas had thrown my way.
Perhaps he had some vagary of the brain humors or a dreaming mania.
Being carried away from everything I’d ever known, I couldn’t quite calm myself. In my current state of mind, each horrifying possibility seemed more likely than the last.
Or… perhaps he had been tainted.
“No,” I breathed aloud, trying to convince myself. “He couldn’t be.”
The possibility that he had been touched by the Twilight Shroud was entirely feasible, given the ‘captain’ part of his name. Skyship captains regularly risked themselves and their crew in the bloodstorms. But to come back bearing the touch of the taint…
No, I told myself, that’s a foolish fancy. His crew would revolt entirely. They would refuse his orders and put him off in the hinterlands where he belonged. They wouldn’t bring him here to buy jilly girls.
Thus relieved, I blew out a shaky breath.
