Spit and Song (Ustlian Tales Book 2)

by Travis M. Riddle

  “What happens to them?”

  Zenib rolled his upper body a bit, the centript approximation of a shrug. “How’m I supposed to know?”

  “Fair enough. How do they get found out in the first place?” she then asked. “How will they know I’m not an Atluan Guard or something?”

  He shrugged again. “I ain’t employed by ’em, so I don’t know their methods. When you come into the port, you have to sign a records sheet with your full name and the vessel you came in on. How they use that info to weed out the authorities is beyond me. I ain’t an authority, so it makes no difference to me.”

  Kali nearly groaned at the thought of having to write Fiery Lass beside her name. Taking into account her red hair, it was enough to make her puke.

  “What if you provide a fake name?” she asked. Their boat rocked a bit, the waves getting a little rougher.

  Puk chimed in for that one. “You don’t wanna write a fake name.”

  “Why not?” she asked, turning to him. He was holding on to both sides of the boat, gripped by fear of falling overboard.

  “You just don’t,” he said. “I’ve heard stories. Trying to lie or sneak your way into the city is just as bad as bein’ an Atluan Guard or anything else like that. They’re none too accepting.”

  The highly-secret black market city isn’t accepting of deceit. Of course not.

  “How would they even know?”

  “I don’t know,” said Puk. Kali began to wonder if anyone knew how anything in Myrisih operated, or if any of this was actually true rather than rumor. “Maybe you can write a fake name and find out for yourself.”

  She hungered for concrete details about Myrisih, but it was becoming clear that they were as elusive as the city itself. Tucked away somewhere in the sea, shrouded in mystery.

  Kali was lost in a trance for a long while, staring out at the sea, when suddenly she was shaken out of it by Puk’s voice.

  “Look,” he said.

  Both she and Zenib looked to their right and saw another ship floating along the waves. It was a schooner, quite a bit larger than the skiff they were confined to. In the dark, Kali couldn’t make out the colors of their flag, but the markings were unmistakable. The ship was from Vareda.

  “Are those pirates?” Kali asked, remembering the story stablemaster Gregori had told her back in Seroo’s Eye. She wasn’t well-versed enough to know whether the flag indicated they were military, or only that they were Varedan.

  “Might be,” Zenib replied. “Looks like they might be heading the same way we are.”

  “They’re gonna raid us? Can they even see this tiny boat?”

  Zenib laughed. “I don’t mean they’re comin’ toward us. They’re going to Myrisih, I think.”

  They kept their course steady, as did the Varedans, who kept their distance. Before too long, land peeked out over the horizon, illuminated by the moonlight.

  “There it is,” said Zenib with triumph.

  As they sailed closer, Kali was able to make out that it was a set of five islands varying in size. The two islands that were the closest and the farthest away were the biggest, with two slightly smaller ones between those as well as one that could hardly hold more than handful of buildings if anyone tried to build atop it.

  “Which island is it on?” Kali asked her two companions. She continued side-eyeing the Varedan ship, with intermingling thoughts of pirate raids and war cries.

  “More accurate question would be which island is it in,” Zenib corrected. “It’s in the one closest to us.”

  “It’s inside the island?” She had never heard this in all the myths and rumors she’d accumulated about the city over the years.

  “The island belonged to an ujath colony. They dug out the insides of the island a long, long time ago before it became the place it is today. Ujaths been livin’ there for years and years. Longer than any of us have been alive.”

  Ujaths were normally such a solitary race, Kali did not have much experience interacting with them. They kept to themselves in the darkest corners of the world, having originated in Vareda, and did not often venture out to countries like Herrilock or Atlua. She had no idea Myrisih was once one of the original ujath colonies.

  Their centript captain steered them around the seemingly deserted island, topped with mountainous peaks, swaying grass, and looming trees. Nothing at all to indicate that an entire city with a dense population was nestled within the rock.

  The Varedan ship pulled ahead, its sails granting them much more speed than Zenib’s haggard rowing.

  Kali watched with interest as the large ship navigated between the tiniest island and the one that housed their destination. The channel was incredibly narrow, and if the ship was any bigger at all, its sides would have scraped against the two islands. But it slipped through unscathed and veered into an inlet.

  The Fiery Lass followed.

  Once again, Kali watched with bated breath to see if the Varedan ship would make it through okay. Ahead was the entrance to a cave system, with stalactites hanging dangerously from the cragged ceiling. But the ship slid smoothly into the mouth of the cave, bypassing sharp tips above. The ship sailed with such confidence, its crew had to be regulars of the city.

  The location of the cave entrance explained why fleets of military vessels didn’t invade the island, granted they knew where it was; nothing substantial could fit, and surely there was some kind of defense set up that could effortlessly blow away any small boats that posed a threat. With only one way in and one way out, it was easy to keep an eye on the comings and goings.

  On either side of them was smooth, shiny rock as they floated down the channel deeper into the island’s center. They began to wind to the left, still trailing behind the Varedan pirate ship. Its wake rocked their measly boat more than the natural waves had on the rest of their journey.

  “Are we gonna have to wait for all those bastards to be processed?” Puk asked.

  “Usually, no,” replied Zenib, “but with how late it is, I’m not sure how many people will be working.”

  Kali certainly did not want to be stuck rocking on Zenib’s boat for an hour waiting to be processed. She hoped there were ample employees milling about, awaiting new visitors.

  They soon came to a port outfitted with fewer ships than she expected, though it made sense given the limited amount of space. There were three other boats docked that were the same size as the incoming Varedan ship, and around twenty to thirty small vessels such as their own.

  Glancing around, the space issue seemed more pressing than it had a moment before. “What if there’s nowhere for us to dock?” she asked.

  “Then we go back to Restick,” said Zenib.

  Their travel partner pulled into the last remaining space available for large ships, while the three of them scouted for anywhere else along the surprisingly sturdy dock they could sidle up next to.

  The knot in Kali’s stomach slowly untied itself as Zenib claimed a spot in between two ships named Shadowstalker and The Cutting Blade, both of which made her gag. She decided that there was no such thing as a solid ship name.

  She also remained unconvinced that the spot Zenib had parked the boat in was meant for occupation, but theirs was small enough to fit, so he claimed it.

  They helped each other tie the boat to the dock and stepped out onto it. Kali relished the feeling of being on solid ground again after so many hours out on the water. She hadn’t quite felt seasick, but she was definitely more at ease now that her body was no longer in constant motion.

  Zenib’s claws thudded against the wood as he scuttled toward a rocyan who was fast approaching their position. Puk followed close behind, and Kali figured they were about to be processed. She was thankful they weren’t waiting in line behind the Varedans.

  “Welcome,” said the rocyan, a much politer greeting than Kali would have wagered. She momentarily tried to push aside her assumptions and prejudices about this place, but then remembered it was a black market city
full of thieves, mercenaries, and other ruffians.

  “Hello,” Zenib greeted the man. As they all addressed the rocyan, a crew of men sauntered past and began to inspect the Fiery Lass. There was not much to see or find.

  The man requested Zenib’s passbook, which he handed over with a chitter. They waited while the rocyan read over the first page of the tiny leather-bound notebook, then flipped to the next empty page and began to write in it himself.

  He glanced up and confirmed, “These two are accompanying you? Or do you have passbooks of your own?”

  “We’re guests,” Puk answered.

  The rocyan nodded and resumed writing. Kali wanted to know what he was jotting down, what sort of security and records processes the people who worked here went through to validate their guests, but she didn’t want to stir up trouble. No doubt it would look suspicious if someone came to the city for the first time and immediately started asking a bunch of questions about how it operated. Those in charge would not view that as innocent curiosity.

  The rocyan, whose name Kali never learned, handed Zenib his passbook and had each of them sign a records sheet, just as her partners had said would happen.

  She was the third to sign. The yellowed paper contained countless rows of names, both ship and person, scrawled in messy print. Near the middle of the page was the next available line for her to pledge her identity.

  Lisa Meyers, Fireweaver

  Zacharas Reis, Fireweaver

  Tunu Re’ca, Shadowstalker

  Zenib Mhaskarsk, The Fiery Lass

  Puk, The Fiery Lass

  She sighed and reluctantly put her name down.

  Kallia Shiar, The Fiery Lass

  It was her true, full name, and yet it felt like a lie somehow. This wasn’t who she was. She wasn’t some scoundrel, some miscreant scurrying through the streets of the black market island.

  Except that it was. Because she was here, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

  It was surreal.

  She handed the sheet back to the rocyan. His snout was short and he had a wicked overbite, exposing a row of pointed fangs. His fur was gray and matted, damp from hours spent in the humid cave.

  By this time, his crew was finishing up with their search of the ship. They returned to their leader and gave him curt nods.

  Zenib seemed pleased with himself even before the rocyan spoke. Puk looked over at Kali and offered her a weak smile, which she returned in kind.

  The rocyan said in a low growl, “Looks like everything’s in order, Mr. Mhaskarsk, Mr. Puk, Ms. Shiar.” He turned and headed down the dock, toward a smattering of cave openings leading to different areas of the city. He indicated for them to follow and said, “Welcome to Myrisih.”

  CHAPTER XI

  OUTSIDE HIRE

  They woke the next morning with aches in their joints. Myrisih’s lodging options were not particularly robust, and the few nicer places in the inner caverns were too expensive for them to comfortably afford.

  The city was exactly how Puk remembered it.

  It was comprised of endless tunnels acting as streets, connecting several different cavernous areas within the island. These caverns hosted myriad establishments, including but not limited to black market trading posts, guilds of assassins and mercenaries (Puk could never tell the difference between the two), brothels, and exotic animal wranglers—if it could be put on a ship and its legality was dubious, it was here.

  The tunnels were brightly lit with orbs of light strung along the ceiling like incandescent spiderwebs, trailing through the city to converge in a blinding web at the city’s epicenter, in a cavern known as the Mass.

  The Mass was their destination.

  Or, more specifically, an unsuspecting building—more of a shack, really—on the outer edge of the Mass. The building had no sign to indicate what it was, and in fact it had no official name that could be put on a sign in the first place. This was where Puk’s associate Voya lived and worked, selling stolen wares and, in the event he failed to supply a customer with something, connecting buyers with other sellers. For a small commission, of course.

  The inn Puk and Kali had slept in was situated in one of the many smaller, nameless caverns throughout the city. The cave system was not lacking in caverns full of run-down, unmemorable places and people, not deemed worthy enough of a title like the Mass.

  But despite how drab it all seemed to both Puk and Zenib (who found his own place to stay during the duration of their trip), Kali was titillated by everything she saw.

  They stepped out of the inn into the dim cavern, unable to discern what time of day it actually was. They were forced to rely on rusty clocks hanging from the cracked walls of the inn, which Puk did not particularly trust.

  He hadn’t been able to get much sleep.

  Typically, his use of fire-spit was intermittent. He indulged in it when he was in Herrilock and it was cheaper, then only every so often back in Atlua, where he primarily dabbled with marshweed. So some acute withdrawal symptoms were not uncommon to him, since he usually hit the spit pretty hard while in the desert; he usually had to deal with them at the tail-end of his trips here.

  But this was worse than they’d ever been before, and it had only been about twelve hours since he’d last used. There was no doubt in his mind that it was due to the fact he’d ingested the spit raw.

  He’d tossed and turned all night, had to get up multiple times to use the bathroom, and now his entire body ached. This was a constant feeling for him—not only in regards to withdrawals, but rather this whole journey he’d embarked on with Kali. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so sore.

  With her own exhaustion sloughed off, Kali was now able to absorb everything around them. Puk tried to look at it through her fresh eyes, but still he could not muster up the same naïve fascination. Their inn was located at the outer edge of the cavern, right up against the craggy rock wall, and stepping out the front door presented them with a view of similarly decrepit buildings.

  One was a poison shop with a sign propped up against its wall, dripping with painted words advertising “Lowest Prices on Quillis & Barnas” and “New Concoction—Try Today!”

  Another building had no advertising or signage; the only indication of what could be found inside was the silhouette of a woman painted on its door. Even at this early hour, men and women were filing in and out of the building. The brothel was the most active place in the cavern.

  There was also a pen set up farther down the row of buildings gaining some foot traffic with baby serokos and vissians mingling—which would surely end in a bloodbath—but aside from those two places, their chosen cavern was mostly deserted.

  Puk led them past the poison shop and ill-advised animal pen into one of the connecting tunnels. The pathway was better lit than the cavern, and up ahead he could see a group consisting of two centripts and a jeornish woman who were getting an early start to their day as well.

  He wasn’t terribly familiar with the city’s geography, but he knew enough to at least get them to the Mass. This tunnel wound up in a dead-end, but it branched off into five other tunnels leading to various parts of the city. The group ahead of them veered off into one of the branches, the one that Puk was fairly sure led to the Mass, and so he followed.

  “Are the eggs still okay?” Puk asked, prompted by nothing but his own wandering mind.

  Kali had left their extra bags back with Bella at the Restick stable, and transferred the cordol eggs into her personal knapsack slung over her shoulder, acting as their protector. She opened it and peered inside, reaching in to turn the eggs over and inspect them fully.

  “Perfectly fine,” she confirmed. “Aside from that one crack.”

  Puk desperately hoped that his peace offering would assuage any anger Voya still felt toward him. There was a perfectly reasonable chance that this entire venture had been for naught if Voya was still too bitter to point them in the direction of the person hiring for the job.

&nbs
p; While they walked, he recited an apology in his head.

  Voya, I am sorry for throwing you overboard after cheating you out of a lot of money.

  It sounded bad. Even in his head. There was not a good way to phrase what he had done. No smoothing its rough edges.

  Voya, I am sorry for making you swim all the way home or whatever the hell it is you had to do.

  Still not great.

  Voya, I am sorry I fucked you over so bad.

  Maybe vague and succinct was the best way to go about it.

  Voya, I am sorry I fucked you over so bad. Here are some eggs.

  That would work. He only hoped his fatigue and irritability didn’t eke into conversation and ruin things with Voya.

  They rounded a corner, finally coming to the mouth of the barren tunnel that opened up into the Mass. They entered.

  The Mass was enormous, easily taking up half the island.

  At its center was a spire that connected the floor to the jagged ceiling, a wide tower that was heavily guarded at all hours. The anonymous individuals who handled the city’s operations lived there. Puk had once heard a rumor that they were two brothers, but that was the only identifying detail he’d ever gotten about them. They held an incredibly enviable position, and given the city’s residents and clientele, no one would balk at committing a simple murder to attain the title for themselves. Anonymity was key to their survival.