Blood Indigo

by Talulah J. Sullivan

  Not that Tokela could see, eyes and skull aflame from the keening not-sound. He kept dragging himself along the quay towards Našobok.

  Ilhukaia crawled with the creatures. The Riverwalkers resisted takeover with everything they’d to hand. But there were too many of the things, overwhelming strong fighters as if they were children. And the screaming—scraping from inside out, raking Fire down his spine.

  N’da, not Fire.

  It wasn’t just the things that let out those horrific shrieks, but River, whose cries had turned to pain as the Shaped creatures swarmed, swam, infested…

  A thick snarl clotting his throat, Tokela crawled on his belly over the quay. Even as every instinct buttressed his heart with horror and rage, the horrific not-sound still had the power to stagger him, make him slip.

  He couldn’t slip. He couldn’t stand by while these things had their way, couldn’t let them catch him, couldn’t allow the horrific noise to blind him, snare him.

  There was another way.

  The creatures, diverted, swarmed over the quay and pulled Tokela into River.

  And Tokela let them, slipping into Her like swimmingKin, sinking like a stone.

  RIVER TOOK Našobok in a crash and swirl of foam. Furious, stinging claws tore at him, slimy limbs choked as the creatures pressed him. Twisting, stealing the breath from his lungs, pulling him down into the deeps. And the more they descended, the more of them came.

  Deeper still. Pressure, and his ears pulsing thick, and what Wind he’d taken with that last gasp and laugh was failing. A hum rose behind wide-open eyes, foam, and murk, and Shaped creatures choking the life from him, and Našobok pondered it—all of it—within the span of one heartbeat. It seemed River would claim him at the last, and he could only hope Sea would bless this last dalliance with Her sister.

  Palatan, he whispered, as a carmine haze began to bleed over his vision. Aylaniś. His next thought was both surprise and solace: Tokela. Ai, I’m so sorry. I tried.

  A flurry in the water, then. Fury and panic, shrieks and grunts, clicks and whistles; all echoing over him, through him. The claws loosed him, stripes of pain raking in their wake. Something struck him in the belly, nigh folding him in half. The rest of his used-up breath escaped, a final gout of bubbles, and the water filled his mouth with salt and his own blood.

  He was moving, flying backwards through the water with a passive violence that rolled him then, impossibly, impelled him into the light. Našobok broke the surface with a choke and cough. Wind filled his aching lungs and he clutched outwards, a spastic judder like to the instincts of a dropped newborn. One hand struck wet wood, the other moulded with the skin of his torso against something alive: wide, and slick, and cool.

  For the longest heartbeats of his life he couldn’t see, could only clutch to Ilhukaia’s hull with one hand and the slick-wet hide of his saviour/captor with the other, could only puke River and gasp Wind until, finally, he was able to go slack, panting. Slowly, Našobok opened his eyes.

  Another eye regarded him—lidless, the colour of shallow Sea and wet kelp. His fingers twitched against skin mottled pink and grey, glossy with wet and smoother than duskLands leather.

  The smiling fish blew, sucked in clean Wind. The spray misted Našobok’s face, reeking of brack and fish, then the smiling fish made a string of ša’s creaking, squeaking talk, which cut off with a piercing whistle, before ša swerved and dove sideways, away.

  River was filled with ša’s kin, pods leaping and thrashing, squealing and clicking. Not just the smiling fish, but swimmingKin of every description—fish, reptiles, even the flyingKin obliged to River’s bounty were diving from the sky. The oddly rhythmic chaos darted over and around his craft, as if the perpetrators were out for a lark.

  Beneath, however, lurked serious intent. A bare length from him, a pair of smiling fish dove into one of the Shaped creatures, their high-pitched talk drowning its cries even as they took it under.

  Ichor rose in ebon puffs, and flyingKin dove, literally picking up the pieces.

  My people! Tokela!

  Shaking away both revulsion and fascination, Našobok remanded himself to thisnow. He inched sideways, one callused hand unsheathing the dagger at his calf, the other caressing Ilhukaia’s hull until he found a dangling rope. Knife in teeth, he hauled away and landed upon the deck, dripping and ready for anything.

  Anything, perhaps, but what he found.

  Below, River churned in copper chaos, twisted predators becoming prey. The deck lay oddly quiet, almost peaceful. The… things were gone, only ichor and slime left upon the wet, smooth deck. His crew stood, still and shaken but all accounted for, even the steerKeeper clinging to his tiller with several of the younger ones who’d kept fierce guard over their elder.

  Yet none paid any heed, staring towards the bow.

  Našobok followed their gazes. Saw what the others did, balanced on Ilhukaia’s front sprit, feet bare and wet to skin, eyes filled black and pocked with Stars.

  WINGS. THE Power that would call monsters had wings, ones spread to cover the Sun, calling a StarVoid to Shape a cage.

  Tokela dove through River towards Ilhukaia’s hull and climbed to meet the thing. He knew he wasn’t alone, not thisnow, perhaps never again.

  And when he called, They came—not just the Elementals, but the co-tenants who were claimed by them, Spirit and flesh.

  Little brother, We are here.

  Fire was first—of course—running Star-cast sparks that struck, searing. Wind carried them, frothing River into tide-swollen glory. Earth grounded Ilhukaia’s bow, so that those who belonged to Her wouldn’t suffer, then sent tendrils of green and mud to foul those who leapt back into River.

  And River…

  River burst from confinement like a soul freed of flesh; a water-horse leaping, a song from many throats to fill a cast net of Stars and burst it with Sun’s rays.

  Free. They were, all of them—all!—freed and just as incomprehensibly bound together. Tokela had no need to require or even ask. Just Reach, then release.

  And when the Chepiś ghost with darkling wings sought to beat him back, foul his own Elemental flight, River safeguarded him, filled him when Her People quailed beneath the Void. River drowned conjured Starlight with a thick hiss, slicking against Tokela’s skin and pounding behind his ears in the flow of his own blood, salt-silt and coppery-warm.

  Mine, She told him. You were Mine, first.

  With eyes reflecting Starlight upon water, Tokela met the alien eyes both there and not-there, felt the net falter, and the fabric of the Shaping start to fray.

  “I won’t come with you. This is my place, and my People,” Tokela said, in a voice that filled the estuary like River at full tide. “You will not come here again.”

  And with a great booming rush of wings, the thing escaped.

  THE CLEANUP was foul. Without the Spirit that had animated them, the misShapen creatures began to bloat and rot.

  Fire was happy to consume them. Tokela suspected Palatan approved.

  But it wasn’t only the smell of the things burning that kept the villagers circling the one who’d vanquished them. They also gave Tokela a circuit as wide as Sun dipping towards Dusk. Even Našobok’s crew were eyeing him warily.

  You were alone before you took this path. It was River. It was unhealthy. Now, you are alone no longer.

  No longer, echoed, fainter. ShamanKin, fading into dusk.

  “Ai, it is a mercy.” Našobok refused avoidance. He came over, threw an arm across Tokela’s shoulders, and snugged him close. “These… things. Once they were Kin.”

  Tokela nodded, and ducked his cheek against Našobok’s arm. So was I.

  So you are, River chided. My Kin. My son, returned to Me and Mine.

  “Huh.” Našobok nuzzled his hair. “Good luck, old Munro says, to have shamanKin aboard.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “Aren’t you?” Našobok gestured all about them: the burning creatures, the villagers linge
ring with food and drink and awed murmurs, the wide expanse of water that lay calm once more. “The stories will be told for many Hoops. How the Spirits of long-gone shamans joined with an oških’s latent power to help a village beleaguered. How that oških, with his own Spirits, drove back an invasion of Shaped creatures.” His voice dipped into a whisper. “Can I help it if shamans are still about?”

  “Ai, River Wolf!” Odina addressed Našobok with familiarity—and respect. “Our craft is clean. The village’s trade has been carried and counted. Do we stay, or move on?”

  “We move on. Prepare our craft.”

  Odina gave a respectful tilt of chin, first to her chieftain, then to Tokela. Turning on one heel, she marched down the quay.

  Našobok watched her go, then turned back to Tokela, serious—and sudden. “So. We have come to the turning place. We go forwards, or back. What is your wish?”

  What is your wish? An echo in thisnow, but faint behind Tokela’s sight, Fire was a soft presence surrounded by moisture. No desert heat, no burning Sun, no white-hot Stars to sear a seeking Alekšu. Instead there were soundless depths to immerse abandon—his depths, Spirit and body and breath.

  This was his… and his co-tenant’s… place.

  Come to us. We would help you. Protect you. Teach you.

  He was no longer sure which voice was which. Their intent floated upon the mists and melted together upon River’s coppery surface, mirrored. Whilst She waited, secure enough to be silent—wherever Tokela went, She would hold him; but here, upon this craft so aptly named Surrender…

  Našobok misread the hesitation. “I will take you to Palatan.” Slow, almost unwilling, did Tokela dare think it regret? “If he will give you sanctuary. If you wish to go.”

  “If he wills. If I wish.”

  Našobok took Tokela’s shoulders in gentle hands, broke the whisper with a quick shake and said, just as gentle, “What do you want?”

  “I want to be with you. With River.” It tumbled out. “What I don’t want is to be used.”

  “I would never—”

  “I know. I know. But the others… I’m not so sure.”

  “No more than you should be. Even those outLanders in the desert can’t be trusted. They seek to use you.”

  “Not just the outLanders. Našobok. I don’t want to be a weapon used by my own People against the Chepiś any more than I want the Chepiś to use me against my own People.”

  Našobok was quiet for so long Tokela was sure he’d offended him. Angered him. And no wonder.

  “It seems to me you’ve answered your own question, then,” Našobok finally answered.

  “You’ll let me stay?”

  A snort, and Našobok cuffed at his ears. “I asked you what you wanted. You are River’s; you belong here. On Ilhukaia, in my bedding, at my side for as long as you choose.”

  Warmth spangled heart-deep and spread.

  “But heed me, Tokela. The time may come when the decision will be taken from you.”

  “Then I’ll fight them with their own weapons. Ensure truce is kept.” Tokela looked out across River. “I am Tohwakeli’fitčiluka. Eyes of Stars.”

  FINIS

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  Author’s Note

  I feel as if I’ve been working on the world of the Alekšu’in for much of my life.

  I didn’t know it, at first. Or, more likely, just refused to see it. Openly acknowledging one’s cultural ties wasn’t exactly encouraged where or when I grew up. So the world you’ve just been introduced to in Blood Indigo went through, well, a lot of “white-washing” at its beginnings. When the story first began to emerge, it had different cultural foundations—safer, for the mainstream—except there were, always, these indisputable subterranean strata that kept bubbling up, refusing to be ignored.

  Listen to us, they said.

  Finally, I did.

  The world introduced in Blood Indigo is speculative, firmly set in the realm of what is called magical realism. It might or mightn’t be ours, and might or mightn’t be of our future and/or past. But it is grounded on experiences in this world—lessons learned, tales shared, a long history of resilience in the face of attempted erasure—and a life lived with, but not bounded by all these things. The journey to understand and reverence my cultures and my ancestors—all of them—is ongoing. I often didn’t altogether understand what I was living or hearing, but the influence is undeniable.

  (Like the language of Blood Indigo. Much of it is influenced—heavily—by Choctaw and Chickasaw… but the language and ways of speaking are nevertheless fantastical, shaped to another reality.)

  Blood Indigo is also one of those books that has been loved by more than a few readers, but has been unable to find a place for a long time. I was more than once told that it was “well-written, but too… difficult”, or “a talented effort, but not mainstream enough”. It was “complicated” and “challenging”, and required “too much thought from readers”.

  I found this astounding, particularly coming from the field of speculative fiction.

  I’ve a lifetime behind me of reading SFF and magical realism. I want to be challenged. “Easy” reads are a nice break, but my preference is a story that gives a damned hard push to my established or habitual patterns. (It’s kind of like travelling—what’s the use of going somewhere I’ve never been merely to eat at a McDonald’s?)

  What I absolutely don’t want anymore is to read another accepted status quo. After over fifty years of reading speculative fiction, many of the accepted tropes have long worn thin for me. Give me real, complicated people of all shades and shapes and sexualities, give me the entire spectrum of queerness, give me diverse systems of belief, and give me traditions and cultures that aren’t the bog-standard, assimilated, Victorian-bred same-ol’ same-ol’.

  I remember stories born of outrage and a shifting paradigm. And while much of the speculative fiction I read growing up had some really knotty problems, there were also stories that blew the mind, opened the heart, and asked Big Questions.

  The questions are bigger now. Outrage over the accepted status quo has flamed upwards again—and rightfully so. It also means we’re finally starting to see more and more mind-blowing, heart-full, paradigm-pushing stories.

  I truly hope that the world of the Alekšu’in is one of them. Not just for me, but for you.

  Thanks for reading.

  Peace,

  Talulah

  Cast of Characters

  FirstPeople

  From the Wintering Tally of Allied Tribes, gathered by Inhya a’Naišwyrh in the Hoop of the Great Incursion

  Anahli oških a’Šaâkfo, first daughter to Aylaniś

  Akumeh oških a’Nunkáhiti, hearthed a’Naišwyrh

  Aylaniś horse-chieftain a’Šaâkfo, espoused Palatan, dam of Anahli, Nishe, Vinka, Samke, Kuli

  Benniic wyrhmate a’Ilhukaia

  Bimih oških a’Naišwyrh

  Calidon (deceased) tyah a’Šaâkfo, sire of Palatan

  Čayku oških a’Naišwyrh

  Chogah (also O’yotali’chogah) elder & alekšu tuk (MedicineKeeper) a’Šaâkfo

  Galenu elder & stone-chieftain a’Hassun

  Giltha (deceased) hearth-chieftain a’Naišwyrh, espoused Nechtoun, dam of Sarinak, Našobok

  Inhya (born a’Šaâkfo) hearth-chieftain a’Naišwyrh, espoused Sarinak, dam of Madoc, hearth-mother to Tokela

  Kalisom wyrhmate a’Ilhukaia

  Kuli (also Kulahiši) ahlóssa a’Šaâkfo, son of Aylaniś

  Lakisa (deceased) espoused Talorgan, dam of Tokela

  Madoc ahlóssa a’Naišwyrh, chieftain-son to Inhya & Sarinak

&
nbsp; Mordeleg oških a’Hassun, hearthed a’Naišwyrh

  Munro wyrhmate a’Ilhukaia , foster-uncle to Našobok

  Našobok (also Nashobok’aqékla, River Wolf) wyrh-chieftain a’Ilhukaia, outcast son to Nechton & Giltha

  Nechton once-chieftain a’Naišwyrh of Gilda, sire of Sarinak, Našobok

  Nipok wyrhmate a’Ilhukaia, rigger

  Nishe oških a’Šaâkfo, second daughter of Aylanis

  Odina 1st wyrhmate a’Ilhukaia

  Pallaton Alekšu a’Šaâkfo, tyah horseClan, espoused Alannis, sire of Anahli, Nishe, Vinka, Samke, Kuli

  Saltha oških a’Naišwyrh

  Samke ahlóssa a’Šaâkfo, fourth daughter of Alannis

  Sarinak Mound-chieftain a’Naišwyrh, espoused Inhya, sire of Madoc, uncle to Tokela

  Šaya hosteler a’Cassauk

  Seguin forest-chieftain a’Nunkáhiti

  Stannic taleKeeper a’Šaâkfo, uncle to Pallaton

  Talorgan (deceased) herder a'Hassun, espoused Lakisa, sire of Tokela

  Tokela (also Tohwakeli, Tohwakeli'fitčiluka) oških a’Naišwyrh, son of Lakisa & Talorgan, hearth-son to Inhya

  Vinka oških a’Šaâkfo, third daughter of Aylaniś

  OutLanders

  Cavodu Chepiś, High Lord of the Western Temple

  Domina Chepiś, Supreme Empress of the New World

  Dominus Chepiś, ex-Emperor of the New World, Synced, Exiled

  Jorda Chepiś, Lord of the Western Temple, progeny of Cavodu & Ranlaia, twin to Sivan

  Maloh Matwau from the eastern continent, fostered into Chepiś, lover of Sivan

  Ranlaia Chepiś, Lord of the Western Temple, Synced, mother of Jorda & Sivan

  Rann Chepiś, Disciple to the Western Temple