“I did,” he admitted.
She kicked once, turning to face him directly, fingers twined together like they had done during nights under the moons when youth and passion made the river seem like a playground rather than something to survive.
“Ferdwick will send his people into the channel regardless of the spawn, and someone—not me, or you, but someone—will drown in their nets this year because there isn’t enough coin in the world for those people and we’re in their way. We’ve always been an impediment to them, even when we pull them from the water, like now,” she said.
“We can’t leave the river, and neither will they.”
“True, but making agreements without me is what a young hotblood would do, not the calm decision of a seasoned leader. We won’t survive another war, Creel, no matter what other pod leaders think, if there are any who fancy such a disastrous pursuit,” she told him. Overhead, a pair of shrikes wheeled, tracking a school of fish. “All you have to do is read the stelae from our last conflict to understand what the Anglers can do. What the Cablers can do. It wasn’t always this way, but it is now, and we have families to protect. Even the drylanders.”
His shoulders slumped in the water, and she knew he was listening. “Especially the drylanders, I think.”
“Since there was a single moon, we’ve always kept our distance, but that isn’t possible if you encourage their vicious nature. Leave their conflicts to the land and let us find a path where we can breed alliances, not death.” She pointed with her chin to the dock, where people stood wringing their hands in anticipation. “Those people are lost to us, and they’ll live along this stretch of river for the rest of their days. How long until there are enough victims that we draw their collective ire?”
“It might even be now,” he admitted.
“Then let us begin healing today. Go to them, sit, and talk. I’ve already done so while you were in the deep. Let them see your eyes, hear your voice, tell them you will keep the water around us in peace, and then show them.”
“How?” He knew she would have an answer.
“The Cablers are not friend to these people, nor are the Anglers. Offer them a hand that they may see us as an alternative to both, and we may find ourselves in a position where our friends are both in and out of the river.”
He considered that, then nodded as the shrikes dove into the school, beaks leaping forward like lightning as they speared fish and ascended in a smooth motion. The river was unforgiving, but that didn’t mean the River Children had to be.
“They’ve been lying to us for thousands of years, and we to them.”
“Yes, but it can end with you and me. Our pod, starting here and now. Can we not at least try?” she asked, eyes brimming with hope.
“I’m sorry I spoke to that worm Gessin.”
“I know,” she said, and her words were apology enough.
“I’ve distrusted them for so long, I don’t know where to begin.”
“You already have. With this, and their loved ones, all of it. But they’ll need more, because—”
“They’ll start looking for revenge once their tears have dried,” he finished. It was true. Sadness would fade, replaced by rage, and then a thirst for justice that only violence would quench. The right of it would matter not at all, only the fact that someone paid for every corpse they pulled from the water.
“We need to think downriver, too. There are crowns among the dead, I suspect,” she said. Three, to be exact, and all faces she recognized. Rulers who were loved and respected. Rulers who left behind instability and grief, a pair of conditions that were likely to create war before peace. Wounded animals were dangerous, and Marwai was hurting badly, but it was Snow that the River Children would have to help first. The desolation and discord of Silence would have to wait. They knew what it was to be in chaos, but for the Kingdom of Snow, order was a way of life, despite the harsh presence of eternal winter.
The only surviving royal stood at the far end of the dock, directing a crew of priests who were tending the bodies. She had been riverside for most of the day, working without cease to close each victim in the funeral shroud of their house or tribe, stitching the bags closed with a practiced hand.
At a distance, Arthun looked old, worn to the nub like a candle forgotten, and left to burn through the night. Her gown—the only dress she had-- was now a short tunic, strips being torn to bandage living victims during the first hours after the fiery tragedy, legs bared to the sun in an immodest display of the royal person but appreciated by all as she was now the sole light in the darkest hour of Marwai’s history. Because Corra was dead, she was no longer Queen Mother-- she was the Queen, the future, and now, the keystone upon which Marwai would rise or fall, if she could prevent her lands from falling into chaos. Since the fire, she stayed in a house near the water, living simply and supervising the recovery of every victim. Where some royals could mimic the qualities of caring and sacrifice, Arthun was living it, and it showed.
“Begin with her?” Creel asked, but there was little question in his words. He knew what to do, where to go, and how to offer a hand to the queen left to tend Marwai and its riotous garden of people.
“I would, but carefully. She’s got precious little reason to trust anything out of this river, including us.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, kicking toward shore with his sculpted legs. He was no diplomat, but the River Children needed one, and he aimed to provide. “What of you? Search for victims?”
She shook her head, releasing his fingers with reluctance. “I’ve had my fill of the dead for today. I’m going to visit the cable island near the channel.”
“You’ll see Ferdwick?” he asked, stopping mid-kick.
“Among other things, but yes, it’s time we had a chat.” Her smile was toothy. “I think his underlings will be the first contact for me. I’ve always sensed their weakness, and I do love a person frustrated by circumstance and aspirations. As to Ferdwick, well—"
“Go easy on him, dear,” Creel said, legs pumping smoothly as he accelerated away. “I doubt he can swim with you.”
I’m counting on it, she thought, kicking hard into the depths.
Nolan
West
Edwun died twenty klicks north of the Starway in a small ravine and far enough west that Nolan thought he could smell a salt wind from the ocean. They’d been traveling for eleven days, making excellent time, and learning that the Starway was to be avoided at all costs.
It appeared the ground away from the Starway was no better.
For Edwun, it was not a good death. A long spear came sailing out of the blue to pierce him, and he screamed, even as Nolan and Avina were dropping to pull weapons.
Tipp had no such option. She was unarmed, exposed, and did the best thing possible—she fell like a stone and hid behind some scrub just big enough to give her cover.
“Cherry, what the fuck was—oh.” Nolan fired once, his round piercing the leg of a filthy man who howled like a beast while running downhill at them. “Hold your fire,” he snapped just in time, as Avina already had a bead on the attacker’s rolling form.
Edwun tried to speak but couldn’t. The spear was two meters long, heavy, and had blown straight through his heart. He sighed, spit crimson, and was still. The man who threw the spear was anything but still, at least until Nolan walked up to him and kicked him in the back of the head.
“Naptime, friend.” Nolan knelt beside the man, wrinkling his nose at the stench.
“He’s a ripe one. Going to tie off that leg? Might have nicked an artery. Or three, now that I look at the spread,” Avina remarked, dragging a toe through the blood spray.
“What—what the hell is wrong with you?” Tipp asked, stricken. She knelt next to Edwun, who was already fading into that state where he was obviously, spectacularly dead.
“Wrong? Nothing. A corporate agent who threatened me—excuse me, us, is dead because he took a spear through the heart. How much, by the
way?” Nolan asked.
“How—what?” Tipp babbled.
“How much is your bonus? Your, ah, shares? The payout?” Nolan tilted his head, then stepped on the killer, who had begun groaning softly. With a firm push of one boot, he drove the man’s head into the dirt.
Tipp’s mouth worked, soundless. Then she stood, hands clutching for a gun that wasn’t there. “You fucks. You could have—”
“Found another heart? Healed his trauma? Doubtful, and you know it. This is anger speaking, and you’ll feel different in about two minutes because this guy,” Nolan said, nudging the spear thrower, “is alone. And you’re not dead. And you’ll be thankful, but for now, you’re pissed.”
Tipp receded, visibly, then shook her head in amazement. “Who are you?”
“I told you. Or, maybe I didn’t. I grew up hard, fell from the sky, and watched your team kill a bunch of kids. Pardon me if I’m not flooding the ground with tears right now, but we have a much more important issue at hand,” Nolan said.
“Right,” Avina muttered, rummaging in the pockets of their captive. “He stinks. He’s obviously alone. Think he’s—”
“Vikun? Probably, but banished or something. Don’t think they’d get lost, not on their own turf,” Nolan said. His eyes widened when Avina held up a small, ceramic square, black as midnight and worn with age. “Is that what I think it is?”
Avina rubbed at the square, then smiled. “Good eyes.”
“What is that thing?” Tipp asked, overcome with curiosity, even as the coppery stink of Edwun’s blood filled the air.
Avina flipped the item over her knuckles like a magician. “A key. Coded to a low frequency, for a door. Used them for personal lockers on ships—freighters, mostly. Really basic, old tech.”
“Cherry, any ideas?” Nolan asked.
“Too small to track a source on the signal. It’s barely radiating as it is. I’d say you have to be within five meters to trigger the lock, whatever it’s installed on,” Cherry said.
“Cherry says we need to be within five meters to use the key, which means—”
“We need to backtrack this guy. Or ask him a few questions,” Avina said, her voice cold as space. “He’s listening.”
“I know. Twitchy under my boot. Hey, friend. You killed one of my party. Mind telling me why?”
The man rolled over, slowly, his dark eyes watching Nolan’s weapon with professional interest. He was still half-wild but had settled. The gun pointed toward his head had a wondrous effect. When he spoke, it was in a mild voice, with no accent at all—a spacer. Or he had been, in some life.
“Wasn’t aiming at him.”
“Then who?” Nolan asked.
“You. I think. I haven’t eaten in a while. Can’t see shit. Think I’m sick,” the man said.
“Is that why you’re banished?” Avina asked.
The man snapped his head toward her at that. “How’d you guess?”
“Isn’t this Vikun ground? Heard they run in squads. You’re clearly not in a squad, so it stands to reason you’re either insane, dangerous, or sick. Maybe all three, since it’s rough out here, and I imagine they need all the help they can get,” Avina concluded.
“Rogers. That’s me,” he said, wiping his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed his wound, which was troubling to Nolan.
“Can you feel anything?” Nolan asked.
Rogers shook his head. He had an angular face, black hair, and deep brown skin, cracked with spacer’s burn. “Blockers, still in my blood. I’ve only been here for—for a few months. Had pain blockers in a pump installed so I could go longer shifts on yard duty.”
“Shipyard? Lots of broken bones there,” Nolan said.
“Always. Too much mass moving around.” Rogers looked at his wound, then shrugged. He sat up slowly and rubbed the back of his head, where a thin trickle of blood had begun to clot. “I didn’t like the way they were doing things, so they took my wep, my food, and turned me out here.”
“But you kept the base key. So you were on the run, right?” Nolan asked.
“You found that, huh? Yeah. Key to the main door. Only door that matters, really, but they’ll be here soon. They were busy with a raid, so I’m low priority. But they won’t forget. Everyone among them is going to head this way sooner or later.”
“What door?” Avina asked.
Rogers waved vaguely to the west. “To the hall. It’s a mountain. You can’t miss it. Only one by the beach, so if your feet are wet, you’ve gone too far.”
“How many Vikun? In the hall?” Nolan asked.
“In the hall? None. We don't live there. When people stay inside, they see things. I never tried, but the hall still has a purpose. Safety, sometimes, just not for sleeping. And of course, there’s the Consult.”
Avina perked up at that. “What is the Consult?”
Rogers adjusted his leg, and the bleeding slowed to a trickle. When he looked up, his eyes were fever bright. “Not a what. A who.”
Corra
North
“Corra?”
The voice was soft, insistent. A gentle hand on her shoulder, then an irritating tug at her eyelids, pulling them up in turn to let a watery yellow light in.
She blinked. Coughed. Eyes fluttering, she tried to make her body obey, but it would not.
“Betrayed,” she croaked.
“Yes, and not just by your body,” he answered. A good voice, calm and close, free of urgency or fear. Different than the last words she could remember.
“Wha—” The cough returned, her lungs working to fill, dry and raspy. Everything hurt, even her hair, if such a thing was possible. She thought for a moment, then decided it was. “Hurt.” Her fingers touched something cool and moist, like the floor of a cellar.
“Your accuracy appears undeterred despite such a long sleep, but yes. You’ve been hurt, though you are no doubt fully healed, if a bit stiff and disoriented. It will pass, I assure you, merely one of the less pleasant effects of sleeping under Ursa’s watchful gaze.”
“The bear. The breath.”
“Exactly. The fog is clearing already. That’s good. You’ve a strong mind.” He leaned to her, face a smear of pink in the light. “You’re going to need it.”
“Where are we?” She began to squirm upward, a groaning mass of discomfort.
“Far from where you were, but in a word, home. Or as close to home as is safe, for now. You’re in a greenhouse west of Sindelaar, and the name isn’t important because it has no name. It simply is, much like my responsibility to your family and the realm,” he explained. With a gentle touch, he helped her sit up, one hand on an elbow and the other holding something in front of her. “You’re going to be sick, but it’s alright. It’s part of the process.”
“You seem rather—”
Her protest was cut short with a noisy retching, followed by tears and a muffled sob. “Oh, that hurts.”
“I know. I’ve been through it several times myself, and it never gets easier.”
Wiping her mouth indelicately, she peered up at him through bleary eyes. “Several? Who would do this more than once?”
“I would, and you would if it was the only way to hide safely. We have enemies along the entirety of the river, my Queen.” There was the slightest emphasis on her title, bringing her fully to awareness.
“Your—”
“Queen. Yes, you are the sole regent of Snow, if the people agree, and of course, if you’ll have the crown.” There was no joy in his voice, only acceptance tinged with regret, and something like hope. Usually, his face was a bland mix of disinterest, cultivated in the manner of a professional soldier who revealed nothing to his enemies, but now that was not the case. Fleeting emotions chased each other across his features and settled into a subtle tilt of the head. Much of his life depended on how she would accept the news of her parents’ death, and nothing less than the future of Sindelaar followed close behind.
She was too numb to cry, too sleepsick, weak, hungry, thirst
y, a yawning chasm of reality opening underneath her swaying body as she fought the urge to curl up and die. It was too much too soon, and her body sent conflicting signals in a thunderstorm of emotion that left her twitching and short of breath.
She sat, legs splayed uncaring on the dirt underneath. “Dirt?”
“Life.”
“Where am I?” Gemmed with tears, her eyes revealed a colorful smear of plants, or light. Maybe both.
“In a greenhouse, known only to us. You’re safe, Corra. I swear it.” His voice was solid with truth, lifting her up when she needed it most.
“You told me this, didn’t you?”
“A moment ago, yes, but it’s to be expected. Your shock is considerable, not just to body but mind as well.” Again, his hand steadied her as she made to stand. “Are you sure?”
“About what? Standing or dying? I’m not sure I want to do either. Not without my parents. Or—” Ren. He’d been next to her, holding on. “By the flood, he’s gone, isn’t he?”
“He is. You are all that we have left, Corra. All there is to go on, and it’s a terrible weight, I know,” Ainault said, but there was little sympathy in his tone.
Corra’s eyes snapped to him as she wobbled on her feet, hands clutching at him for dear life. “You’re not sad.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No, that is a luxury I cannot indulge if I’m to complete my task,” he said.
“Which is?” She fought the urge to vomit again, heart racing as the truth began to burrow inward, a worm of pain she could not escape.
“You’re going to save the world, and I’m going to show you how.”
Chapter Eleven
Vikun
“Can you see them?” Nolan asked, looking down as he idly picked at a fingernail. His bland glance at Avina was a statement in itself, and her lips barely moved as she answered.
“Top of that low rise, right?”
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 18
