Blightcross: A Novel

by C. A. Lang

  “Powder for the hand-cannon,” he said, and took the lead. “Though I wonder if it is widely available here.”

  They passed a group of Ehzeri, huddled and making the low intonations of a collective working. She began to guess what they were doing—healing, cursing, fixing, sharpening. It was nice to see them not conjuring war spirits or turning themselves into bombs.

  She handed him the bag of coins. “You do the shopping. We need to find out where this bloody painting is. I want to get out of this place.”

  With that, she pushed through the dirty robes and boil-pitted faces that eyed her with suspicion. She checked her cravat to keep her tattoo covered. For her entire adult life, that ink had defined her. It didn’t matter what lived beneath the ink; people would see the tattoo and that would be all they saw. Just another olive-skinned warrior-fanatic from Mizkov, just another piece of meat to hold a crossbow because those stupid Valoii could not properly crush or negotiate with their enemies. And a woman, no less.

  She left the market area and went through the quieter streets around Orvis Dunes—the old, crumbling buildings that still showed a hint of classical design. If only this were Tamarck, where the corruption ran so deep that she could simply pull aside a government official at random and pry from him where the paintings might be held. The guards in the streets here maintained an impossible posture, a cold expression, and sneered when anyone even appeared to approach them.

  Stoicism, duty, virtue—she could very well be back in Mizkov. Given that, pulling aside one of these guards to bribe would only work if she wanted to end up dead or in prison.

  A whistle cut through the air, and she stopped mid-stride. There was a man across the street, and he was gazing at her. She tucked her amulet down her undershirt, and touched her arm for the reassuring bulge of her switchblade, and jogged to meet him.

  He had bloodshot eyes, and his hands were jammed into his dirty coat. His lower lip was swollen and showed a scabby gash that extended down his face. “You want some?”

  Capra stepped back, brought herself out of his reach. “Do I want some what?”

  “Korganum. You want it?”

  “Depends. What is it?” Judging by the man they had killed earlier, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing she’d like.

  “I got cheap plugs of cavo root. You want that? No tax on it, no tax. Cheaper than in the store. Or buy the korganum. You look like you would like it. Oh, try it. So good.”

  Cavo, sure. But this korganum stuff sounded like it might be that acrid smelling garbage everyone was cooking in the alleys, and that was far from the harmless, aromatic stimulant she enjoyed. “Tax free cavo?”

  “Oh yes. Yes.”

  Cavo... at once her mouth watered, and she began to fidget. Because of the Baron’s old fashioned curmudgeon views, she had not chewed any for days because it was unladylike.

  But could a person trust this broken man? Maybe he was selling something else entirely. Then again, tax free... and they did not exactly have their fortune yet...

  “You there!” Both startled and glanced down the street. It was one of the men in blue leather. He reached to his side, and Capra wasn’t fazed—

  A hand-cannon. Not a club or short sword, but a hand-cannon.

  “Halt! Stop!”

  Another tall, rectangular building, and almost as high as the clock tower. It must have been new. Vasi could hardly believe it. Had she been locked inside for that long? The skyline no longer stretched into the desert, broken only by the refinery’s trail of pipes extending far into the outlands. Now, blocky structures chopped the horizon into a strangely ordered field of orange sky and ominous black rectangles.

  Had Sevari tacitly discouraged her from leaving? Nobody had explicitly said it was forbidden, but there was always an excuse. This project needs to be completed, that report must be completed and delivered to the administrator, oh, you could go but you might miss the special meeting we had arranged and you are a good team member, so...

  But she was out now, in the streets she used to prowl during her days as a mere refinery labourer. She skirted the worker camps at the edge of the Orvis Dunes, and smiled at a restaurant that smelled of the roasting skewered meat she remembered. One would think that by now, they would serve the Ehzeri food at the refinery.

  The owner always gave her extra, because he said she reminded him of his niece back in Mizkov. Yes—and he did possess the vihs-draaf, because she saw flashes of it when he assumed nobody was watching. Whenever she asked him why he was selling spiced meat byproducts instead of practising his skills, he had shifted the conversation back to which condiments she wanted with her order, or how her little brother was doing.

  She rounded the corner to find an upper-class lady speaking with one of the korganum pushers. The rich succumb to the same hell as the workers...

  Too much money around, no direction for it. Where does it end up? In that man’s pockets.

  Then the martial shout of the guardsman came like thunder, and the withered man bolted into the alley. She leaned into a lamppost and watched.

  The guardsman raised his weapon, and a boom shook the block and hammered her ears. The rich lady took off as well, but in the other direction—towards her.

  A red cravat. Such vanity. And here she was, dashing across the street, her silly red fabric flapping in the wind. Did she really think that the guardsman had any interest in her? Newcomers. Must be just getting started on her addiction.

  Vasi scowled at the woman as she ran past. The cravat now hung loose at her shoulders, like a priest. A comical sight—

  What’s that on her neck?

  —if it weren’t for the Valoii army tattoo.

  Vasi’s heart thudded, both from her memories of what those symbols represented and her theories about the refinery killings. Sevari was actually right for once—here was a narcotic-addicted runaway from the Valoii army.

  Vasi broke into a run. She narrowed her eyes and took after the woman. When her legs slowed and began to cramp, she clenched her jaw, grasped the amulet around her neck, and called upon the ancestral powers to propel her legs faster and erase her fatigue. Waves of heat flowed through her, each current gathering in the amulet at her chest and catapulting into her muscles.

  The woman ran all the way down Orvis Dunes to the Palms. Probably an attempt to lose her non-existent pursuers in the buzz of the market.

  Once the woman slowed to a walk, Vasi eased around, through her fellow expatriates, and bumped into the woman she had followed.

  “Excuse me!” Vasi said.

  The woman was panting and clutching her chest. “Yes?” she asked, in between heavy breaths.

  “I could not help but see what happened back there.” What was she doing? If the woman were guilty, she ought to just smite her there and go back to her job. But could she be sure?

  “Yes? Well, good for you. I did not know that there was a policy here against... speaking with men on the street.”

  Vasi extended her hand and guided the woman away from the busy stall. “You look lost.”

  The woman flashed a quick smile and adjusted her cravat. “I just was looking for some information. And some cavo would be nice.”

  Vasi shuddered. Valoii were different, yes, but were their women really crass enough to chew cavo? “What sort of information?”

  “I am new here, you see. I was told that Leader Sevari possessed an extensive art collection, and was interested in viewing it.” She coughed. “I am a professor. Of... art. An art professor from Prasdim.”

  Vasi widened her eyes. “An art professor. Impressive.”

  The woman’s demeanour suddenly shifted. “Why thank you. Now, we all know how Sevari obtained his works. I am uninterested in his politics, and am here strictly in the interest of high culture.”

  Now the Valoii flipped her tight braid from her shoulder, crossed her arms, and sank into the wall behind her. Could she be telling the truth? But the tattoo... then again, she could have escaped, or served he
r term uneventfully and become an academic elsewhere. Could she forgive the woman, were that the case?

  “So, I wonder, is there any chance of viewing them? Do you know of anyone I can talk to to arrange a special viewing? Does he have a publicity coordinator or someone else I can speak to?” The woman tapped her chin for a moment and glared at Vasi. “Or, maybe if you just pointed me in the collection’s general direction, I could figure the rest out myself.”

  “I do know about the collection...” Maybe this wasn’t the killer she had wanted to find.

  “Good. You can call me Capra.” She uncrossed her arms, and there was a golden glare at her chest. Once Capra shifted so that the glare ceased, Vasi saw the amulet at her chest. As Capra talked more about herself, Vasi heard none of it and became transfixed by the amulet dangling from the other’s neck.

  Bronze and gold, sapphires, all in a complex knot meant to signify a certain family bond.

  An Ehzeri clan.

  An emblem specific and exclusive to a single clan.

  An emblem specific and exclusive to Vasi’s clan.

  Who did you kill to obtain that, Valoii whore?

  Vasi cursed herself for empathizing with the woman. Capra did not deserve the kind of death Vasi had planned on dealing to her. Only Sevari was capable of plunging her into a hell that could approximate what animals like her had done to Vasi’s people.

  The archon within her stirred. As imperfectly as it had been conjured and grafted to her soul, her family had at least imbued a healthy appetite for vengeance. No matter how she hated it, it was still there, and clearly she could never truly run away from her past.

  Perhaps the archon would gain satisfaction soon.

  Capra supposed that her new friend was staring at the old, gaudy heirloom because it was the kind of thing that looked more expensive than it was. If the amulet weren’t the only thing she had left of her life back home, she would have just given it to the poor Ehzeri.

  “I just need to know where these paintings are, Vasi. If, that is, they actually exist.”

  “Then you are in luck.” Vasi appeared to strain for something, probably a word. Neither of them spoke Tamarck very well. “I... I will lead you right to them.”

  “Good. Where will we be going?”

  Vasi pointed west, to a gold and ivory dome that was overshadowed and buried by the industrial fever surrounding it. “The palace.”

  “The palace...” Nobody had mentioned this palace. But, she reminded herself, intellectuals like Irea and Helverliss often were too self-absorbed to notice these kinds of things. If they had just done a bit of basic research, they could have saved her a day’s worth of fruitless conversations with shady characters. “Well, I would gladly pay you for your trouble. My university has given me an expense account for just this kind of thing.”

  “You are too kind, Professor.” Vasi took a deep breath. “Meet me at the western end of the Palms tomorrow at noon. I will accompany you to view these exhibits.”

  Capra thought for a moment. Vasi looked familiar, but then most of her people reminded Capra of that one family—

  It’s a compound, it’s a compound. It’s one of their training camps. If we destroy this one, their ability to attack will suffer.

  It’s so damned hot. Just want to get it over with and get back to the base for some water...

  When Vasi turned to leave, Capra reached out and said, “Wait. I don’t want you to come with us. Just tell me where the damned things are.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. There are things you would do best to avoid. This... art business is one of them.”

  Vasi’s posture stiffened. “I must personally escort you.”

  Great. Now they had to deal with an outsider. There was no way they could show up with their gear and not look suspicious. “All right. Here’s the thing, my friend. My colleague and I need to break into the place. That would be why I want you to stay behind.”

  “I suspected as much. You hardly look like a professor. You are hardly older than I am.”

  Capra sighed. “Good. Now that we have that over with...”

  “Yes. I want to help. Like I said, meet me here tomorrow and I will lead you straight to the collection. It is hidden. And without detailed instructions, you will never find your way through the palace.”

  Capra grinned. “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “A woman bumped into you in the market after you ran from a guardsman, and you hired her to help us?”

  Another one of Dannac’s scathing glances raked Capra from across the loft. Had they not worked together long enough for him to trust her judgement?

  She eased back in the soft leather chair. “That’s right. We’ll raid the palace tomorrow, map out our escape from this awful island, and be out of here in two days.”

  She held out her hand and snapped her fingers. A second later, there was a plug of cavo careening for her head, and she caught it without raising her gaze from the paper in her lap. “Thank you.”

  The familiar cavo-tingle filled her mouth, and she parked it in her cheek. The article she was reading concerned her people’s struggle against the Ehzeri attacks. Part of it was an alleged firsthand account of one of the guerrilla raids. In particular, one of the occasions where the attackers had employed vihs with devastating results.

  Devastating results she remembered with a depressing clarity. She heard the sounds, the booms and cracks, the roaring jets of fire, all pounding her parents’ settlement while they huddled in the shelter underground. She heard the chilling crooning of Ehzeri fighters ready to overload their own bodies with vihs in order to cause maximum damage.

  But then this account veered into tales of cannibalism and sexual deviancy. Things nobody could possibly believe. And it concluded with a note praising Blightcross’ own Ehzeri population for their denial of such horrible ways. That answered Capra’s question of why anyone would publish such a scathing report in a town full of the very people it decried.

  Oh, it was not you we think are monsters; only the ones who are stuck back in your homeland. Keep doing what you are doing! We love you!

  “Why are you wasting your time with that trash?”

  She set it on the table, next to her lukewarm shalep. The front page showed a headline lauding the tireless bureaucrats of the Blightcross Fuel Corporation for improving working conditions, as well as a short note of congratulations to the Publications Commission for becoming the most widely read stable of periodicals. “Because there’s nothing to do until tomorrow.”

  “You really trust this person?”

  “She was one of your own.”

  “That means nothing, especially here. I would not trust most of them to brew my shalep. They have been bought, and the few here who still have their power are only going to permanently deplete their families back home.”

  She began to wander around Helverliss’ loft. There were uncleaned paintbrushes, lying stiff in strange places, and she accidentally stepped on an incomplete sketch lying on the floor. “I still don’t get that, Dan. It just makes no sense. I can understand that certain groups have more capability, and of course that the war wiped most of them out. But this family link thing your people have sounds rather silly.”

  “The strict code and familial binding was supposed to keep us strong. And it did, until people started to come here and use their power individually. I do not claim to understand how it works. Nobody knows a damned thing about vihs, and anyone who claims to is a liar. Our system also ensured that catastrophes like what happened during the war are impossible. We would all have to agree to wipe out an entire race.”

  “Have your people not agreed unanimously to wipe out the Valoii? I have heard of strange tactics. Ingenious ones. Raising your young, gifted countrymen from birth to become fighters, to transform them into weapons. It really shows what can happen in times of desperation.”

  Dannac said nothing.

  Best let the man brood as he always did. She we
nt downstairs and decided to peruse the mess of books. There had to be something interesting amid all the junk.

  She traced her finger along each shelf and examined the titles. Most of them left her baffled—The Pyramid Of Iathecan Analysis, On Folklore And Nationalist Revivals, Vihs: The Joke Of Reality And Why We Cannot Laugh, and one that made her chuckle, Magic As Phallic Desire.

  After pacing through a few shelves, she stopped and accepted that she would find no romances or retellings of old legends. There were stacks of outdated journals, going back fifteen years at least, and all of them concerning art, science, and literature. There were university publications, and a small section of brightly-coloured books with the same mark she had seen on the weekly she had just read.

  Definitely nothing she would want while relaxing on the rocky shores of Prasdim. Then again, if she were actually able to get back to Prasdim to lie on a towel, she would read the most boring academic text and feel damned great about it.

  On one of the walls, her eyes fixated on another painting. This one showed at least something resembling a person, though it was too vague to call it a man or a woman. But the ghostly form stood amid a backdrop of grey-blue tendrils. It was like a fire made of deep blue storm clouds, and her lips parted as she shuffled towards the painting.

  This painting’s impressions leaped into her mind with a kind of sophistication that the one before lacked. Now she understood why Helverliss decried the other one as crude. She began to feel as though the stylized figure were dancing in her own mind, and she began to cycle through happiness to sadness and curiosity and horror...

  The image overtook her vision so that she lived inside it, or it inside her. The blue fire began to take on shapes— people she vaguely recognized, and voices whispered to her.

  Dad? Who are those men?

  Her parents’ old place near the demilitarized zone in the foothills, where derelict Yahreinian equipment rusted in their buckwheat fields. A broken wall, and a group of men in sagging caps like her dad’s, sleeves rolled up to their elbows and who was that man they had pinned against the crumbling wall...?