Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

  The dung collectors, calashiers and other Outsiders also depended on the highs and lows of the marketplace for their survival. Buskers, brokers, urchins and thieves were all beholden to the same ebb and flow of this commercial tide.

  When Kalikanuma had occasion to watch where he stepped, he was reminded of the streams and rivulets that had once flowed in place of the brick and cobbled pavements—humble engineering that allowed waste and runoff to be carried far away to swamps in the west. That was in ancient times, long pre-dating the barrel-vault sewers and catacombs now networked below his feet and deep into the subterranean. This was only the lower end of the system of cisterns, aqueducts, tunnels and plumbing that made up the liquid infrastructure of the citadel. The contrast was significant relative to the crudely constructed streets near Kalikanuma’s home, where fresh water was carried in buckets and runny waste flowed through the middle of the uneven streets in open gutters.

  Cart-pushing peddlers and stationary vendors sold every kind of prepared food here, making it difficult to pass without purchasing a snack. Hunger elevated all of Kalikanuma’s senses, but especially that of smell, which was suddenly assaulted by the stench of assorted animal body parts displayed by the butcher.

  This kind of carrion upset the Seer’s inherent notion of symmetry and order among living things. The only flesh he would eat was that of a creature felled by the jaws of a rex or dispatched by the knife of a properly-trained guardian. Unfortunately, the number of self-described “Masters Slayers” was on the rise, frauds with only five toes on each foot, most of whom could not properly elicit the ecstasy of death in their victim let alone themselves. Their foul-smelling prey offended Kalikanuma’s sensitivities.

  But this was neither the time nor the place to ruminate on the shortcomings of an overgrown civilization, for soon Kalikanuma would find the people he was looking for; or rather, he would place himself in a location where they would find him.

  The subtle art of a Master

  Is to awaken the Mystery in others.

  — Tsi’galivo

  21. Marketplace

  Stonehaven before high meridian, 01/02/1643--

  Ruko ambled the avenues of Stonehaven with the others in his learning group. As the children paraded through West Cliff Canyon they barely held together. Their laughter and the shuffling of their feet blended together with other bustling sounds of the civic center. The shadows that often shaded this part of the canyon-bound city were absent due to the sun’s near-meridian height, and the warmth felt good on Ruko’s face as he led his peers toward his mother’s dwelling for high meridian meal.

  The group moved briskly toward the public marketplace, the hub of every protectorate and the heart of commerce and industry. Ruko loved this part of the citadel with its colorful sights and rich smells. Here glaziers, goldsmiths and cobblers plied their trades. For a price, one could have every kind of prepared food from roasted sloggernuckles to spicy sweetgrubs. Passageways teemed with shoppers, beggars, barterers, brokers, peddlers and loiterers, each interdependent upon the other. Outstretched hands signaled hungry families trying to feed their children or help an ailing elder. Every hawker seemed to have, “A special deal, only for you!” And towering high above it all rose the Skywatcher’s Plateau, surmounted by Whitepeak.

  In his enthusiasm for his surroundings, Ruko began to jog mindlessly until he was well ahead of his group. This left his best friend, Pirlan, panting to catch up. A lithe girl named Vanaka, moving with much more grace in comparison to Pirlan, seemed to effortlessly keep up with the teller’s son. She was the daughter of Dasha and Sonjay. Dasha was the healer that had helped Meera during Ruko’s difficult birth, and Sonjay was the rider of Stonehaven’s only resident thunderrex, Surpus.

  Though beginning to exhibit the first subtle curves of womanhood, which she did her best to conceal, Vanaka, for the most part, still acted like a girl. Neither she nor Pirlan much liked each other—he found her high-minded, she found him sloppy—but they tolerated one another’s company to spend time with Ruko.

  The trio entered a cluster of shops where jewelers were making and marketing their colorful bobbles, amulets, and adornments, fashioned with precious stones from every corner of the Civilization.

  “I love it when the sunlight hits the fire-stones and they sparkle,” Vanaka said brightly, while stepping close to Ruko.

  “Sure,” Ruko said vacantly, skipping ahead toward the smell of burnt air emanating from the Metal Wright’s Quarter, which he found much more dynamic. Here, the permanent structures that lined the broad street were constructed with blackened marble, which had been quarried long ago during the excavation of the cliff dwellings. This quarter accommodated ironsmiths and workers of gold, silver, copper, and tin. Fabricators of all types of metallic objects were part of the mix; their stone ovens standing like totems, roaring with gas flames as the hissing of water joined the chorus where everything from cooking implements to weaponry were being forged in a haze of smoke and steam.

  “Hey, Ruko,” Pirlan called. “I wonder if anyone ever tried putting on a blindfold and finding their way through the marketplace by sound and smell.”

  Before Ruko could consider the words his friend had spoken, Vanaka chirped, “That’s a great idea, Pirlan. How about right now? I’ll lend you my scarf.”

  The girl removed her headdress and offered it to Pirlan who backed away as if it were a snake.

  “What’s the matter?” she needled, “scared?”

  “Um . . . maybe when we have a little more time,” Pirlan said, stumbling to the other side of Ruko. Vanaka giggled as she pursued Pirlan, waving her scarf like a weapon.

  “Leave me alone!” Pirlan cried out.

  Ruko caught Vanaka by the hand, stopping her abruptly, and quickly changed the subject. “Don’t you just love the smithy’s music?” he asked. “The ring of hammer on anvil; the flashes of fire; the sizzle of tempering metal!” He watched the smith, but kept dragging Vanaka onward toward the shoemakers and dyers. When he casually dropped Vanaka’s hand, her face dropped a little, too.

  “Look at that fruit peddler,” she noted, trying to maintain cheer in her voice. “His orange citrus looks delicious. Let’s get a sample.”

  She skipped up to the vendor who cut some wedges. Taking two, she gave one to Ruko.

  “It sure isn’t a meat cake,” Pirlan commented ruefully, but partook of a handful of the citrus wedges just the same.

  “You should be thankful to get anything,” Vanaka snapped.

  Pirlan was just about to retort, when he bumped into a bedraggled beggar. She was a thin, middle-aged woman with a young child in tow.

  “Please sir,” she said, “can you spare a cube o’ copper? Just a few chips would go far to feed my babes.”

  Pirlan offered the child a wedge of fruit, and received a bow and a smile in return. The juicy treat was a real prize, considering that the produce peddlers usually reserved their samples for potential buyers.

  Ruko tossed the beggar a couple chips of copper. Vanaka smiled at this charity, but Pirlan frowned at his friend’s casual dispensation of tender, likely distressed that he could not afford even one meat cake. He reacted by rubbing his stomach.

  “I know that miserable look when I see it,” Ruko laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll be eating soon.”

  The youths passed a butcher’s stall with racks of hanging meat displayed in dismembered hunks. The butcher had set out traps baited with rancid scraps of tallow to entice flies, wasps, and other carrion-feeding insects unto their deaths. The odors here were not at all pleasant. Vanaka covered her mouth and nose with her scarf. Ruko grimaced. Pirlan gazed hungrily at the meat, decidedly less ill-affected by the flesh than his companions.

  A fishmonger captured their attention next as she languidly passed an insect net back and forth over her table in an effort to protect her scaly wares. She regularly emptied it with a loud smack on the edge of a box. Inside the wooden container several large blue-belly lizards eagerly gobbled u
p the stunned pests.

  “Fruits of the sea,” she sang in concert with the rhythm of each pass. Swoosh! “Fresh from the south.” Swoosh! “Salted, smoked or sweet.” SMACK!

  Vanaka began to theatrically imitate the merchant, who almost immediately noticed.

  “Come hither, young lady,” the fishmonger called in a sing-songy voice. “I could use a rest and you seem wellsuited for this task. I’ll give you a fresh fish for your efforts.”

  “Sounds like a good offer,” Pirlan said to Vanaka, before adding mockingly, “Don’t be afraid.”

  Vanaka sneered at him, but could not help noticing that Ruko was looking at her expectantly.

  “You can’t be serious!” she said with a hint of hurt in her voice.

  “It doesn’t seem like such a bad way to earn a fish,” Ruko said. Then he broke into laughter, easing the momentary tension. They were on the move again.

  Now the air was filled with the exotica of spices. “A caravan from the Eastern Kith must have arrived recently,” Ruko noted. He inhaled deeply, dramatically. “It reminds me of the stories about distant lands and peoples that my father tells me. One turn I will travel to all those wonderful places and learn for myself what they’re really like.”

  “How can you tell it smells like the Eastern Kith if you’ve never been there?” Pirlan asked, scrunching up his face and rubbing his nose with his open palm.

  “When my Father tells me tales, he accompanies them with artifacts, foods, spices and other appropriate stuff to help me remember the tellings.”

  Vanaka pointed at some dry, exotic plants hanging from the booth. “I bet these herbs were brought across the northern caravan route from the east coast of the Blue Mountains,” she said. “My Amma uses them for healing.”

  “Yeah,” Pirlan agreed enthusiastically, “and they probably had to battle wild rexes to get them here.”

  “No doubt,” Ruko replied encouragingly, but Vanaka ignored Pirlan’s comment.

  The children stepped aside to let pass a group of porters, lugging sacks of flower meal perched upon their heads, on their way to the Skywatcher’s Landing. Others in a similar manner carried bales of cured skins in the direction of the clothiers’ quarter.

  Pirlan noticed a large alleyskitter clawing for rodents, lizards and snakes in a pile of rotting garbage.

  “Hey, look!” he called, pointing it out in an alcove behind the merchant’s boulevard.

  The body of the four-legged mammal was well-toned and muscular, covered by soft brown fur, a commodity prized by certain tanners. The children heard it snarl when it found a snake, no match for this crafty assailant who quickly dispatched the serpent with a swipe of its sharp-clawed foreleg. Holding down the snake’s head with its hind claw, it chomped hungrily on the still writhing body.

  Pirlan began to enter the passage and approach the alleyskitter.

  “Don’t touch him!” Vanaka protested. “He probably has ticks and fleas and all sorts of diseases! And he might bite.”

  “She’s right,” Ruko said. “You better leave it alone.” He placed a restraining hand on Pirlan’s shoulder. “It doesn’t look like it wants to play.”

  The creature eyed the children as if they might be after its meal. It pulled back its pointed ears and the hair stood up on the nape of its neck, but it quickly returned to shredding the snake when they stopped moving toward it.

  Pirlan took two more steps forward. The creature looked up and flashed two rows of bright needle-like teeth.

  Pirlan backed away. Once again, the hunter returned to its business.

  “That thing will shred you as easily as it did that snake,” Vanaka declared. She sounded like she was bragging on its behalf.

  “Yeah, this one doesn’t look too friendly, but I wish I could have one of my own,” Pirlan retorted. He sounded hurt.

  “Yecck!” Vanaka made a face and turned away from the place. “My mother is always treating stupid people who are bitten or scratched by those fiends they call pets.”

  Pirlan gave her a spiteful look, knit his brows in anger and looked ready to launch a few choice words in her direction.

  But then Ruko became distracted by the sight of the rest of the learning group rapidly approaching. “C’mon, let’s stay ahead,” he said. “You can face down an alleyskitter another time.”

  Vanaka clucked her tongue in disapproval, but in no time the trio was scampering through the crowds of market-goers like birds in the underbrush, Pirlan doing his best not to fall far off course. When they had put sufficient distance between themselves and their peers, they slowed their pace again. They were now at the heart of the bustling exchange, close to Fen Plaza and the large fountain that rose up out of its center. The area was located in the widest part of the canyon system of Stonehaven where several ravines like the one the children had just exited converged. After generations of refinement, the area was completely paved and plumbed with long-forgotten caves and catacombs beneath and this thriving business and cultural center.

  The three paused briefly, taking in an overwhelming array of sights, smells and sounds that threatened to engulf them.

  “My father said you can buy anything in the market,” Ruko offered.

  “Anything from rex milk to a man’s life,” Vanaka added.

  “There’s no such thing as rex milk,” Pirlan complained.

  Ruko laughed and slapped his friend on his soft back.

  “Next he’ll be asking how much a man’s life costs,” Vanaka snapped.

  The central fountain was a landmark that included a large pool with a cube of stone askew in the center, and a geyser of cool water spurting out of its highest point. On three of the six visible faces of the cube were carvings identical to those on the tops of various denominations of currency: a rex’s head in profile, a domehead’s head in profile, and a dactylite. On the other three sides were the symbols of the scales, whereby the fare balance of trade and wages were metered out by the Order of Merchants.

  Ruko pointed to a commotion. “What’s going on over there?” He pressed forward to investigate. A small crowd had assembled in the bright sun not far from them.

  At first he only saw the cavalcade of tumblers, stick dancers, and drummers who sonorously pounded on steel pans of various sizes with their hands or cushioned mallets. The tumblers circled the falling water again and again to the delight of their onlookers. But Ruko soon became much more interested in the hunched, crab-like man who stood lightly on the flat rim of the fountain’s circular pool, looking completely out of place. He wore the coarse sloggerskin wrap of an assistant dung collector; his hair was matted and his back hunched; the distinctive black diamond brand of an outcast was clearly visible on his right forearm.

  “Calamity draws neigh!” the figure called out—perhaps more a rasp than a call—desperately trying to be heard over the splash of the fountain and the racket from the street musicians.

  Undaunted, he raised his fist and shook it. “I have seen it! I have seen disaster!”

  He had been pointing vigorously toward the sky for a finger or two, but dropped his arm suddenly to lean on his cane. To Ruko, he looked as though he was weighed down, perhaps by the hump of his shoulder.

  But then the man straightened himself without warning, this time slowly raising his cane and pointing it at the surrounding throng.

  “The Wildstar returns, but it will not pass in peace! We must prepare to rejoin Mystery!”

  He lost balance and looked as though he was about to fall, but managed to gain equilibrium when his cane returned to the rim with a thunk! Ruko felt relief. The surface was no wider than a man’s foot and would have been easy to miss.

  Few paused to listen. One or two tossed cubes of copper as if he were a busker or a beggar. The Seer—and Ruko knew the ancient-looking man was exactly that—appeared not to notice, indeed, he seemed oblivious, until he focused on the approach of the gangly boy and mouthed the words, “six-toe.”

  Ruko recognized the Seer as a vagrant his
father had once identified to him as Kalikanuma. His father had explained that the old man had been excommunicated from the Order of Skywatchers for making statements against their Path of Innocence, a crime that seemed to permanently endear him to Ruko’s father and Uncle Tamik. His mother had even taken him to the gates once or twice to have his fortune told.

  Ruko did not really understand the Path of Innocence except that it was supposed to be the foundation for the rules and regulations governing the Rexian way of life. The details of the controversy surrounding this man were unclear to him; all he knew was that right now he felt oddly drawn to him. He tried to listen more closely to the Seer’s ongoing harangue. Under most circumstances the teller in him would have been intrigued by his formal manner of speech, but when that pair of piercing eyes under snowy brows fell upon him, Ruko knew the attraction was more than that.

  Kalikanuma extended a gnarled finger in the boy’s direction.

  “You there, boy! Make peace with Mystery now as you sleep, for soon you will waken and all will be transformed!”

  Though his words, perhaps, were cryptic, Ruko felt unable to break eye contact with the man. He seemed invited into his gaze and this did not change even when the Seer continued with additional fervor.

  “I have seen the Wildstar plunge down from the heavens! Mountains of fire and ice smashing into this watery planet, blotting out the sun with putrid darkness!” He carefully stepped down from the fountain and shuffled toward Ruko, who remained completely still. He was upon the youngster with a startling suddenness.

  Up close the stranger looked even more ancient. His breath reeked of an unidentifiable putrescence, but Ruko did not flinch as the Seer placed an unnaturally heavy hand on his chest. The stranger’s touch provided him a palpable warmth—familiar but mysterious.