by Tam Linsey
Jubal hurried after his father, smiling automatically at the people he passed. Rann caught up to him in the corridor. “We should talk to Pops about this. I mean, that kiss... bet Sefe’d have offered us a night with one of those Flame Runnas if we agreed to help him.”
Jubal kept walking. “Is that all you think about?”
“It might be a good trade!”
“Traders can’t get involved in wars. Even if we get through the lightning wall, there’s no guarantee we could figure out how to get Sefe and his men past.”
“All I’m saying is that we should agree to try.”
They emerged from the darkness of the Taguan into the star-filled night, and Jubal rounded on his brother. “Try and what? Get ourselves burned to crackles, our bodies wasted on the Tox? The Flame Runnas have never traded with the tribes. And we have bigger things to consider. What about Pops?”
“Pops has traded with the people behind the lightning wall.”
Jubal found himself chewing his lips the way Pops did. “Rann, you’re an idiot.” He stalked back toward the river camp.
Rann’s voice echoed behind him. “You’re just like Pops—too wrapped up in the rules.”
Chapter Three
Jubal unrolled his sleeping mat next to the tents where their goods were stored. Tonight, Rann and Pops would sleep at Rodi’s hearth. Well, Pops would—Rann could hardly stop talking about his time in the main cavern, gambling with Sefe’s men and spending his earnings on time with the captive Flame Runna.
“There are plenty of willing women, Rann. Why do you want time with a Flame Runna?”
“It’s not just the sexing, Jubal. The best bitters can’t compare with the feeling. Come with me.”
Jubal shook his head. “A waste of trade shares.”
“What good are shares if you refuse to spend them?”
Jubal stretched out on his sleeping mat and looked up at the stars. The cool night air felt good after a long day of trade in the sun. “I don’t plan on finding myself short one day when we run into hunters on the Tox.”
“You own enough to pay tolls for the next two years even if you never make another trade.”
For a heartbeat, Jubal considered. It had been a long time since he and Rann had let loose together. But then he thought of his father. “What if Pops gets sick again and needs a place to stay? If we have to seek protection for a season and not fear the Knife?”
Rann’s eyes glittered in the silver moonlight. “One kiss from this Flame Runna, and you won’t care about the Knife. I’ll treat you tonight. You’ll see. Her kisses are like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”
“No.” Jubal crooked his arm over his eyes to hide his brother from his sight. “Do as you please. Just don’t come running to me when you need a toll on the Tox.”
When he looked again, Rann was gone. Half full of regret, Jubal rose and paced around the camp, checking the tents where they had stored their goods, reassuring the goats as they lay chewing their cuds, gazing across the moon’s reflection on the river. Tomorrow they would pack up and be on their way, away from the Flame Runnas and their magical appeal. Things could go back to normal.
He lay down and closed his eyes, ears attuned to the gentle rustling of contented animals as he dozed.
A sound like a rock exploding in a campfire, only louder, drove him to his feet. At the edge of the water, the goats stood in a clump at the end of their tethers, bleating in confusion. From the other direction, toward the Taguan, shouts echoed off the rocks. Someone cried out for a Healer. He left the goats behind, terrified Pops had fallen again, but Pops met him partway, leaning on his staff, his breath heaving.
“Jubal, bring the goats. Now.” His mouth twitched as he lumbered in an arc to return to the Taguan.
“Pops?”
“Now!” Pops didn’t even look over his shoulder. When he made a demand like that, he meant business, and his instincts were never wrong.
Jubal sprinted back to camp and gathered the goats’ tethers in both hands, urging the reluctant animals to follow him. The youngest skipped into the air, bouncing over her neighbor and tangling the line so Jubal had to halt and reorganize. He glanced at the tents of goods and scanned the immediate area for thieves. The items would likely be safe. Pops needed him.
Leading the line, Jubal arrived at the rocky ledge before the entrance of the Taguan to find what seemed to be the entire population of the One Tree amassed and angry. Many carried torches, and a handful held the Fosselite weapons. When the warriors saw him, they pointed the guns in his direction. Jubal’s breath caught, but he pressed on. In a wave, the crowd stepped aside. Jubal did not want to enter that mass of people. He longed for the protection of his trader staff, but he’d left it propped against one of the tents. Pops is in there. Attempting a smile, he led the goats into the throng.
“You owe us a Flame Runna,” one gunman growled in his face as he passed.
At the center of the crowd, Rann hung from his arms and legs on a tamarisk pole, each end supported on the shoulders of one of Sefe’s warriors. Jubal’s stomach lurched. His brother’s hind end dangled nearly to the dusty earth without making contact. Blood dripped onto the rock, painting the surface red like the mark of the Red Hand.
But this was not the Red Hand.
And even if it was, Rann, Jubal, and Pops were no longer part of the tribe. They had only trader amnesty here, which could easily be broken.
Pops knelt at the feet of the king. Sefe leaned on his spear as if it were a walking stick.
“King of the One Tree, I beg you. My son had nothing to do with this.”
“He was the last to enter her cage.”
Jubal marched toward them, the goats following so close that their tethers threatened to trip him. “What did he do?”
Sefe raised his gaze from Pops and took a moment to look Jubal over. “Our captive Flame Runna has disappeared. Your brother helped her escape.”
Glancing at Rann, Jubal fought the fluttering panic in his chest. “Why would my brother do that? There is no profit in letting her go.”
Sefe scowled. “She did not free herself.”
Pops remained on his knees. “Sefe, let us pay his toll, and we will be gone. These goats are more of a flesh-feast than three Flame Runnas. Take them. Let us pass in peace.”
“My warriors are searching for her trail. No one goes anywhere until we find her.”
As if on command, warriors swept in from the crowd and pulled Pops to his feet, yanked the goats from Jubal’s hands, and prodded both men to enter the Taguan. Jubal and Pops were shoved into an empty cage in the main room, and Rann was dropped, still trussed, on the floor outside the bars.
Jubal paced the tiny confines of the cage. A crack of sunlight crept across the cavern floor from a hole in the ceiling as the sun rose. Outside the cage, people ate, napped, came and went. The crack of sunlight slid slowly toward the opposite wall. Rann woke and moaned in pain. Pops and Jubal begged to tend him, but Sefe refused to loose his bonds or allow the traders out of confinement. Instead, the Flame Runna called Ana got to her knees and kissed Rann. He relaxed into slumber.
When she rose, she looked to the cage and said, “I’m sorry you’ll lose your brother.”
Groups of men came and went, reporting to Sefe, and the king’s scowl deepened. The cave grew darker, and someone stirred the central fire to life. The main cavern overflowed with people, and the walls echoed with murmurs.
Finally, Sefe rose on his dais and shouted above the noise. “There is no sign of the Flame Runna.” He stepped down, and the crowd cleared a path as he advanced toward the cage. He stopped several paces from Rann and pointed the butt of his spear at him. “This man came under the Peace of a Trader’s Staff. Then he stole from us. The punishment must be the Knife.”
The crowd roared.
Pops pulled himself up to the bars, his voice stronger than Jubal had heard in a long time. “We owe you a Flame Runna. Give us a chance to replace it.”
&n
bsp; Sefe raised a hand in dismissal. “All you own cannot replace what we have lost.”
“We will get you another Flame Runna.”
Jubal grabbed his father’s bicep and hissed in his ear. “Pops, what are you saying?”
Ignoring him, Pops shouted again. “We can get past the lightning wall.”
Sefe roared for the crowd to hush and stalked over to stand nose to nose with the older man. Jubal’s heart threatened to jump from his chest. With the flickering light of the central fire behind him, Sefe looked like an avenging spirit. “You will take my men inside?”
Pops shook his head. “Traders travel alone unless they are slavers, and the people of the lightning wall do not trade in slaves. But we can bring you a new Flame Runna.”
“Why should I trust you to come back?” Sefe crossed his arms.
“My sons will go. I will remain.”
“Pops, no!”
“Hush! He’s your brother.” Pops’s gaze never wavered from the king.
The cave rang with arguments among the people gathered.
Sefe crossed his arms. “You are close to the Knife already, old man. You might die before your sons return.”
“They will bring you two Flame Runnas.”
Jubal remained stiff, his throat tight with repressed arguments. Slaves? Pops always refused to deal in human life.
The king rubbed his chin but said nothing.
Pops added, “If I die, you keep the goats. It’s a gamble, but at least you won’t lose everything. And my sons will travel much faster without me.”
“Pops,” Jubal hissed, unable to restrain himself. “We can’t trade behind the lightning wall without you.”
The glance Pops gave him told Jubal all he needed to know. Pops didn’t intend for them to travel to the lightning wall. He wanted them to take their goods and flee.
Sefe swung his gaze toward Jubal. “I will attempt to keep him alive until you return. Be back within a moon or never show yourselves among the One Tree again.”
Jubal gritted his teeth, his attention still on Pops. “I won’t sacrifice you because of Rann’s careless choices.”
“I cannot avoid the Knife forever. Would you travel the Tox alone?”
Jubal had considered many times what would happen when Pops died, always shying away from the final conclusion. Rann kept himself in check largely because of Pops’s firm hand. Once their father was gone, there was no telling what he might do. “I won’t leave you here.”
Pops squinted at his son, jaw thrust forward as he worked his lips over his teeth. “He’s your brother.”
The king placed his fists on his hips. “It seems keeping the old man is the wise choice.” He twitched his head and two warriors opened the cage. When Jubal didn’t move, one of them grabbed his arm and jerked him toward the door.
Jubal struggled against the warrior, but the second man took his other arm. Sefe shut the cage door.
“Pops… don’t do this, Pops.”
Pops’s mouth spasmed, his eyes glistening in the firelight. “Take care of your brother, Jubal.”
Rann could barely walk, let alone help pull the cart or carry goods. The weapon called a gun had created a hole straight through the muscle of his thigh, like a spear.
“Why were you trying to run?”
“You’d have run, too, if the warriors had accused you of stealing.”
“Too drunk to realize you’d freed her.”
Rann scowled and shook his head. “Everyone was drunk. It wasn’t me.”
Jubal rolled his eyes and sneered, but didn’t argue. They had to pack up and leave, and because of his wound, Rann was no help. He sat propped against a rock, sipping bitters to numb the pain while Jubal picked through what they would leave behind, trying to decide if there might be a way to tuck one more thing into his pack.
He could pull the cart himself, with a lot of effort, but had opted to leave it behind in favor of speed. Pops might not have intended them to fulfill his bargain, but there was no way Jubal would leave him here.
Rodi circled the cart, jostling her son on one hip, a frown cut deep into her face. Goods formed lumps beneath the hide tent Jubal had tied over the cart. He’d also taken time to cache other, more valuable merchandise in various places to await his return. But Rodi only knew about the cart. He hoped it might serve as a decoy to would-be thieves while he was gone.
“I’ll do my best to keep it safe, Jubal. But I can’t promise.”
“Take what you need to pay for guards. The boys love the plums. I know this takes you away from the manna harvest, so if you need to take a few things to trade, go ahead. Or if Pops needs anything. These goods are his.” He looked into her worried eyes. “Take care of him.”
She swallowed and looked at the ground.
“I’ll be back within a moon. I promise.” Jubal nudged Rann with his foot. “Let’s go.”
Rann opened one eye—the other was swollen shut—and sighed. But he struggled to his feet without complaint. Jubal helped him into his pack. Rann wobbled under the weight, leaning hard on his staff.
Jubal fought the hollow helplessness spreading in his chest. How were they going to acquire Flame Runna slaves? It was hard enough to take regular slaves. But he knew he had to try.
Rann steadied himself and took another deep swallow of bitters, then corked the bota. He lifted it to shoulder height before dropping it with a gurgling slap against the hard earth of camp. “For Pops.”
Then he turned to limp down the path.
Inside Jubal’s hollowness sprouted a seed of hope.
Chapter Four
Haldanian Protectorate
Med Ops
Councilman Rael paused at the top of the stairs to allow his eyes to adjust to the florescent lighting below the Leibert Building. Up top, noontime sun flooded the halls and offices, but down here, the only light for photosynthesis came from pools of fiber-optic light installed in each office. The smell of antiseptic and the sweat of caged cannibals floated down the long hallway, but he veered into a conversion lab before reaching the large concrete room at the end.
A gaunt woman rested in an autosurgeon chair, her green body covered with a thin blanket. Tubes and wires connected her to the telomerase drip, and her bloodless lips were stretched thin in a rictus of endured pain. A tech sat in front of a computer at the other end of the room. He looked up as Rael entered.
Rael nodded grimly in greeting. “Is she well enough to talk?”
The tech shrugged, eyes narrow with worry. “I can wake her, but she’s in a lot of pain. She’s been overwhelmed by UV exposure. We’re trying to augment her liver function. Her kidneys are at ten percent, but I’m not sure the damage is repairable.”
Although Rael hated to make the woman suffer, the pilot was the only survivor of the latest duster crash. The only survivor of any of the crashes. “Do it.”
The tech rose and tapped some commands onto the autosurgeon console. “Sir, she’s been mumbling about cannibals. Are the rumors true?”
Two weeks ago, a garbled distress call had sent speculation about cannibal attacks through burn-operative ranks, forcing the Board to clamp down on the information before panic spread citywide. Quite a few operatives refused to fly until the situation was resolved, and the Board had placed them on “extended leave for alkaloid recovery,” hoping to blame the paranoia on UV overload. But the rumors still spread. Rael crossed his arms and asked, “What’s your clearance?”
Swallowing, the tech straightened. “Sir. Beta one. It won’t leave this room.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
The poor woman shuddered and opened her eyes. Her pupils were so dilated, the irises looked black. The muscles of her face twitched, and the blanket trembled as her body fought the chemicals coursing through her.
Rael pulled up a stool and leaned close her. “Hello, Uma. I’m Councilman Rael. I’m sorry to wake you, but we need answers.” He resisted saying, before you die.
She didn’t speak, j
ust nodded.
“I understand cannibals held you prisoner.”
Again Uma nodded, closing her eyes as a tremor shook her.
He reached out to take her hand, then thought better of it. Physical contact during an overdose could be painful. “Are you the only survivor?”
“A reversion is with them. O-one who escaped the Fosselites.”
Rael pinched the bridge of his nose. Great. They’d believed all those escaped prisoners had been accounted for. News of one successfully living in the Reaches would cause a new upsurge of reversions. But he couldn’t think about that now; he had to take this one problem at a time. “What caused your duster to malfunction?”
“N-no malfunction. Th-they’ve got guns.”
“Surely not guns.” Spears, he’d believe. Maybe bows and arrows. A metallic arrowhead fired directly into one of the mag-lifters could cause a malfunction. Bullets were beyond cannibal technology.
“I saw the weapons.”
Rael’s skin turned cold. Had the cannibals found an old weapons cache? The Protectorate had discovered a few ancient military sites during exploration of the Reaches—nothing worth salvaging. Even so, how could the mongrels know how to use them?
In an attempt to assuage both her and the listening tech, he said, “We can handle a few guns. Cannibals are nomads. Their savage lifestyle keeps them from banding together.”
“They—” her voice choked as she spasmed in pain.
The tech glanced at the numbers on the autosurgeon console. “I’m not sure how much more she can take.”
Rael gritted his teeth but nodded, wishing he’d been able to learn more. Maybe he could have some analysts backtrack Uma’s route and deploy scouts with heat sensors on a high-altitude scan. He’d have to talk with Panone at Burn Operations about new shielding for the patrol dusters. Until then, they’d need to curtail all sweeps beyond the Burn. He began making a mental checklist as he rose to go.