“That thief in that flea-bitten hovel, with the firepit made of flagstones. He broke them.” Keen loved those pipes. He’d worked for a month to make them sound sweet, like her voice back when she used to sing.
“No, I broke them when I killed him. They might have been the weapon, for all I can recall.” She pointed to her head, a grim smile on her lips.
“That’s right. Hmph.” He thought about that and wondered how many other memories were slipping away, lost to whatever this life was. “I said I’d make more.”
But he hadn’t, nor had she expected them, even then, when there was still some of the boy who’d run far and fast with her, determined not to be lost forever. And yet, they were more lost now than ever, with nothing on the horizon except more death. More shame. Less life, and no hope.
“That was eight years ago. Eight years, and so much blood, enough to fill this river, and what are we doing? Watching a knife. Waiting on a woman who is probably going to cause more pain than we could ever imagine, all for the coins in our pockets.” A guttural sigh escaped her lips, years of shame in every second of air. “I can’t anymore.”
“Then neither can I.” No hesitation, not when it came to her. “Where will we go?” He lifted the blade like a sleeping baby, only to have a drunk brush it with his hand. The man didn’t even notice the cut, or how it opened like a hungry mouth and began to weep blood onto his pants as he reeled away into the crowd, shouting for more beer as his boatmates howled in delight at some unknown joke. He was tall, so Keen could see him even when he reached the farthest edge of the deck, head wobbling oddly as the cut began leeching his blood away unnaturally fast in a hot slurry that stained his pants crimson.
He fell over the railing into the water, the crowd roaring with laughter before a sensible friend clambered down to pull him from the canal, but the cloud of blood around him grew in a spurting bloom as he began to cough, face blanching into the shade of a North’r rather than the nut brown of a Marwai fisherman.
Alarm ran through the crowd as he sank, only pulled up by a lucky catch of his long braid. The friend hauled him in, dead as a stone, then turned up to shout for more help even though there would be no coming back from where he was going. It was a corpse, not a person, shifting states so quickly that no one quite knew what to say. A hush began to spread, like panic in reverse before someone screamed and the café erupted into full-throated fear.
“A scratch. A tiny one at that,” Keen said, staring at the blade in fearful disgust.
“Cover it. Carefully,” she added. He smothered the weapon in leather and wool, wrapping it with exaggerated care as they held their breath among the chaotic shouts of the café. The blade was hungry, but not full, of that they were both sure, and it was best to be away before anyone could ask questions about the unusual wound on the victim’s hand.
“He barely touched it,” she hissed, parting the crowd before her with knees and elbows. He followed in her wake, hunched over but holding the parcel away from his body lest it push against anyone and shear through the tough hide.
“Then let us be sure not to. Away with us, and no looking back. I’ll not allow her to use this blade again, no matter the purpose,” he growled as they broke into open air where the café met solid land. “Horses, instantly.”
“Horses.”
“West?” His eyes were wild with fear, a look she had not seen in some time. It chilled her to the marrow, a feat given the sweltering air of Marwai.
“Anywhere but here, and then we discuss a new way, even if we must use the cables to get up, or out, or anywhere else.” She hated the hopeful note in her voice, but there it was. She too could not lie when it came to him, a trait they shared without discussion or fail. “I’m not even against the ocean. A boat might be good right about now.”
“New is good, but not with this thing in our grasp. We hide it first, and I know the place. Do you feel like a little walk?”
“How little?” Her eyes were suspicious slits. She knew his enthusiasm had overwhelmed good sense on more than one occasion.
He looked north, smiling. “You’ll see.”
Nolan
West
“Is that thing edible?” Nolan asked, pointing to a large, cumbersome bird that wheeled toward them.
“Quite,” Edwun said, jumping as a rifle cracked.
The bird fell, rolled once, and went still. “Great,” Nolan said, rising and walking to it. He grabbed the lolling corpse by one clawed foot and turned to walk back. A merry fire was burning, small and hot, and Tipp was making a kettle of something that, true to her word, smelled a lot like warm feet.
She grinned as Nolan wrinkled his nose. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Avina shrugged. “Can’t be worse than ship’s beer. Some of that shit tasted like it was fermented in a sewer.”
“I’ve been on ships where the hooch was fermented in a sewer. Sort of,” Edwun said, gesturing for the dead bird. Nolan handed it to him, and in three quick strokes of his knife, he undressed the body, leaving a large, alarmingly pink animal that still looked surprised to be dead. He slashed the head off and began prepping the meat to cook.
They were off the Starway, behind a small ring of trees, and, for the moment, comfortable. Nolan’s wound was sealed, the air was fresh, and a light breeze carried scents that ranged from flowers to clean water, giving away a creek just over a small ridge to the north. As shipwreck locations went, the current spot was optimal.
“Tell me about the Pox,” Nolan said, watching Edwun skewer the bird and place it over the fire. The fat began to sizzle immediately. Whatever wood was in the fire was nearly incandescent, it burned so hot.
Edwun began to draw in the air with his finger. “Imagine this is the Starway, okay?”
“Got it,” Nolan said. “We do have a map, if you’d like to—“
Edwun shook his head. “No need. This is a simple lesson. You go west and south, you get sick. You go east, you forget and get mired in the chaos of the river.”
“What about west and north?” Avina asked.
Tipp held up a finger, nodding. “Smart question. The truth is, we’re not sure. We think—emphasis on think—that the Vikun are up there, and they don’t seem to pass the Pox back and forth.”
“Vikun?” Nolan asked.
“North’r. Wild bastards, but a sort of—think of them as the western branch of a family you want no part of. They’re not uncivilized, but they sure do like to fight. To the south, it’s a mishmash of villages and outliers, but nothing you’d really call a city,” Edwun said, then he narrowed his eyes at me, lips pressed into a line. “Why do you want to go east?”
“East? We’re heading west. To find an AI, if possible,” Nolan said.
“Yeah, but you’re going east after that. I can tell,” Edwun said.
“Are we?” Nolan asked Avina, who grinned. “I guess we are. Not entirely sure why, but I have some possible reasons. As to the AI, that’s obvious. I have a question—call it asking for your input on a theory.”
“Go on,” Tipp said.
“The Pox. Does it make you forget things?” Nolan asked.
Edwun said nothing but moved the skewers of meat. They were browning quickly over the fire. “Possibly.”
Nolan grunted. “So that’s a yes. And the Pox only makes people forget things that are related to tech, and the galactic empires, stuff like that?”
Again, a long pause, but it was Tipp who smiled now.
“Seems like it. At least, that’s what we think,” Tipp said.
“Huh,” Avina said.
“Huh indeed. So convenient, isn’t it? A whole world of castaways infected with a virus—or prion, or whatever—that wipes their hard drives and leaves them content to fight it out on a semi-civilized world?” Nolan said.
“That certainly is convenient,” Edwun said, his face neutral.
“And you said you’re immune to it because of an offworld vax?” Nolan asked, never looking up from the ground.
Edwun and Tipp stiffened.
“Stay still,” Avina said. “Very. Very. Still.” Nolan heard the rattle of her weapon and drew his own in one smooth motion.
Nolan pointed his sidearm at Edwun’s face, giving him a good look at the cavernous end of it. “If I were, say, an offworld consortium making a shitload of money off some backwater and I designed a plan to exploit the planet indefinitely, I’d have to put agents on the ground.”
“Agents who are immune to the planetary method of control,” Avina said, her voice like ice.
“I wonder if you’re immune to a round between the eyes?” Nolan asked Edwun, who looked a lot less confident just then. He jumped when a stick in the fire chose that moment to pop, allowing a chunk of seared bird to fall in the coals. “Don’t worry about that. Adds flavor. Now,” Nolan continued, crouching down, the barrel of his weapon never wavering, “tell me about this immunity you seem to have.”
“And any other interesting things,” Avina said, smiling. “It’s only fair.”
“Fair? You think this shit is fair?” Tipp sneered.
“Well, we are giving you lunch,” Avina said, placid with her logic.
Nolan pulled the sticks of cooked meat from the flames and placed them across a stone as enticing steam rose from each piece. “Looks good.”
“It does,” Avina said.
Nolan’s sidearm roared, and the round turned one of the bird legs—nicely cooked at that—into vapor.
In the silence afterward, Nolan gestured toward Tipp. “You first. Have something to eat. Enjoy it.” He let the threat dangle.
To her credit, she picked up two sticks, handed one to Edwun, and settled down to eat, her eyes wide but in control.
“We were sold out,” Edwun said.
“That’s a sad story but a good start. Keep going,” Nolan said.
“There’s not much else. We were sent down for our rotation, landed harder than hell, and then our pickup craft didn’t show. Actually, it showed, but in pieces. The point shifts every—well, we don’t know how often, but not frequently. It must have shifted again, because we were ready for extraction and all we got was a meteor shower,” Edwun said. He wasn’t angry, just filled with disgusted acceptance.
“How long is a rotation?” Nolan asked.
“A year,” Tipp answered around a mouthful of bird.
“Standard or planetary?” Avina asked.
“Planetary. Why?” Tipp was curious, but she was playing it cool. That was good. Edwun looked nervous. That was bad.
“Shorter stretches mean you’re less likely to go native. Old term for walking away from your duty and, ah, just living off the land as one of the people, or whatever. You didn’t do that, so you’re either officers, shareholders, or something else,” Nolan said.
“Officers,” Tipp said.
“Calabria Prelate. The military arm,” Edwun said.
Nolan gave him a look of respect. “Real hardcases. You guys don’t fuck around.”
“And our share payouts show it,” he said.
“So what the hell is here, other than chimegrass and death cows? There’s got to be something worth scrambling an entire system of space to protect,” Nolan said.
Tipp gave Edwun a look.
“What?” Nolan asked them both.
“That’s the thing. We don’t know,” Edwun said. “The planet resource guide is surface only, need-to-know. Agents are inserted everywhere, and most of the time with limited knowledge. We’re siloed by design. I know—I knew agents who were scheduled to rotate planetside here, and they had zero knowledge of anything other than some vague goals. It’s the Prelate’s business model. Keep most of the agents in the dark, and all of the population, although I’d be stunned if a few didn’t slip through the cracks. We know some agents have contracted the Pox, which means—”
“They’ve been here for years, or decades, with no idea who they really are. Bet they’d be easy to find, though,” Nolan said.
“No shit. Find the people in charge. Calabrians would gravitate to power, even if their minds were cooked off from the plague,” Avina said, then tilted her head, staring at Edwun. “You recover anything from your pickup vessel?”
“Nope. And along with the original ship went the entire data plug, the mission para, everything. We fell half naked, under geared, and without anything other than a pickup point,” Edwun said. “And here we are, and I don’t mind telling you, I have zero idea as to what the hell we’re here to deliver. I assumed this was a collection run—stay a year, collate data or goods, and deliver back to Calabria HQ. But the last point shift left our people and the planet separated for nearly four years.”
“When was that?” Nolan asked.
“Sixteen years ago. We’ve been—I mean, Calabria has been here for a long time, but we sure as hell weren’t the first,” Tipp said.
“I know. We have a map. And a little more than that,” Nolan said, then stood, walked a step, and turned around, his eyes never leaving Edwun, who appeared, at least to Nolan, to be the weak link.
“Are you gonna kill me here?” Edwun asked.
“No. She is,” Nolan said, nodding toward Avina.
“Now?” Avina asked me.
“No. If either of them make a move, take one down. We’ll see what kind of luck we have with them, but I have—questions. Starting with the Pox,” Nolan said.
“Like what?” Tipp asked. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
“Your backup doses. Where are they?” I asked.
Tipp thought about arguing or playing dumb, took one look at Avina’s hard eyes, and shrugged. She reached into a thigh pocket and withdrew two syrettes, slowly.
“Give one to me,” Nolan said.
She did. He shook the dose to activate it, then put it to his neck, staring at Tipp all the while.
She didn’t twitch.
“Ok, good enough for me. It’s not a neurotoxin. You’re not that good an actor.” Nolan put the dose to his skin and pushed, feeling a cold sting, followed by a bright point of heat.
“Your turn,” Nolan told Avina after it was obvious he wouldn’t drop dead.
She took her dose, injected it, and tossed the syrette without a thought. “Great. Now I won’t die of bird bones and bleeding eyes, or whatever. I’m assuming the Pox is designed to corrupt what—myelin sheathing? The cerebellum? Or maybe something more dramatic, like—"
“Just a tailored virus that, ah . . . deletes memories and adds some tendencies,” Edwun said.
“Do tell,” Nolan ordered.
He looked uncomfortable, but he spoke. “Aggression. A lust for war. And some memory replacements that make it more likely to create a—”
“Spit it out,” Nolan said.
Tipp stepped in, hands spread. “Kingdoms. The people here are designed to fight for kingdoms.”
Chapter Ten
Creel
Of all humans, he hated Ferdwick most, but the body in his powerful arms was most certainly not Ferdwick, nor any member of the Angler’s guild because fishing was hard work and not for children.
Creel was holding a child, or someone who had only recently been a child, now on the cusp of awkward years where adulthood was still at arm’s length. Fourteen? Fifteen? He couldn’t tell, but the girl was light in his grasp, even though the river filled her lungs with its killing touch.
“I am sorry this happened to you,” he said to her, though she could not hear, and all his speech did was earn strange glances from the pod members closest to him. The river still gave up bodies, even though the barge had broken apart into smaller components, its remains like the skeleton of a mythical beast, charred and scattered by the strong current.
Long weeks later, the river still tasted of fire in fits and starts—like when one of the bodies was pulled up from the frigid depths. Weeks of grief, and no answers. Only pain for loved ones who still shuffled to the shore, looking for things they could never find.
“She cannot hear you,” Brescia
told him, patient as ever. She was a good leader, and kind, even in moments like this. “It is still good that you tell her, though. There is no reason to abandon kindness in the face of whatever has happened to all of these people.”
Brescia watched as two halfkin took the body from Creel and swam toward a dock that jutted into the river with defiant optimism. They would place the girl on the sun-swept dock, where the people of Marwai gathered to claim their loved ones, waiting in silent accord and hoping against hope that their missing family members were inexplicably alive.
Many were disappointed. Creel and Brescia’s pod missed nothing in their length of the river, even in the crushing depths of the center channel. When the barge went up in flames, it rolled over and swept down the steep wall of the main river channel before coming to rest on a shelf well below the reach of sunlight.
As a group, the River Children avoided working with humans in large numbers, though they had drylander friends, especially when young because children didn’t know better. Distrust was a learned response between the two people who had, over long years, found that greed and cruelty were often the byproduct of proximity to one another.
“We cannot afford a war even though Ferdwick and his guild are steeped with lies,” Brescia said. She bobbed next to him, watching the pod dive and return in somber repetition even as the wails of another drylander family pierced the air around them. “Another body, a man. Found clinging to a bulkhead,” she reported, neither angry nor sad, just numb. So many bodies, and still more waiting in the deep.
“There will be more,” he said flatly, wondering if he was watching the beginning of something more than a simple tragedy. “We will never stop finding the dead, I think.”
“It is,” she said, reading his thoughts. “The start of something bad.”
Years together bred familiarity, and he turned to her, eyes narrowed in the brilliant sun. “I never intended to bring their barge to the bottom.”
“But you said you would,” came her retort. Instant, damning. True.
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 17
