A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes)

by Craig P Roberts

  “What’s this money you keep talking about?” Owin interrupted.

  How can you not have heard of money? “It doesn’t matter.” Baskie gave up trying to explain the workings of the real world. The island was a shelter in Baskie’s eyes; to go to when he needed to be safe for a while. But Owin had only ever known the false safety of the Mother’s Island his entire life.

  By the time they reached the lake, the swollen red sun neared the horizon. They made camp using the small tent that the men from Redhorn had given them. It was just big enough for the two of them to crawl into but the smaller it was, the less space there was to have to heat up.

  They sat by the fire outside their tent by the lake. Beyond the small body of water, to the right of the hills, was the crashing sound of the waves against the coast. As the sun dropped and darkness crept across the land, removing all color, the stars filled the heavens. The one they called the Blue Wanderer back home, was a piercing blue in the clear night sky.

  Baskie wanted to talk about the stars and how he thought that there had to be globes like the one they were living on, circling every one of them. He spared himself what would likely turn into an argument about how the Mother placed them there to scratch Her arse on, or something along those lines. According to his father, the Blue Wanderer was the star that Beverine sat on to watch over and protect all mortals. How can intelligent people think such things?

  Far out to sea, the clouds glowed orange from the light coming from the fires, street torches and strange glowing orbs in Narscape. That was where they would head in the morning. If you lit a fire on the mainland or a nearby island, a boat would come to collect you and take you to the city island—for a price of course.

  Shit, we have no coin! Baskie bit his nails. There were other ways to pay for passage other than coin in a place like Narscape, but he wasn’t prepared to resort to that and he doubted if the prudish Owin would either.

  Narscape fascinated him. The entire island was a city from coast to coast. Every part of it was covered with dwellings, bazaars, inns, whorehouses, arenas and puff dens. It had no rulers to speak of, just gangs that ran certain areas. It was a dangerous place, he knew, but it also felt that if you took risks and worked hard, you could do anything you wanted there.

  Whenever he was in Narscape he was just a face in a crowd, totally alone, except for his friend Kiko, who looked after him whenever he was there. She was fearless—a brown-skinned woman with short jet-black hair cropped right back to her scalp. She was completely blind but could see—in a sense—better than any mortal he had ever known. Many called her, Blind-Seer.

  They met when Baskie had first set foot on the island city. At that time, he mustn’t have had more than thirteen years and the man who allowed him passage on his boat was asking for payment for which Baskie had no coin. The stubbly faced, hefty man suggested other methods of payment and began loosening his belt. Baskie punched him in the face. If it wasn’t for Kiko’s act of kindness of stepping in that day, he was sure that the man would have fucked him bloody. With her blank cross-eyes, she blocked the man’s punches and, with one precise clawed-strike to the ribs, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

  Afterwards she took Baskie to her home in Malrise Ring in Strand Sector and made the best soup he had ever tasted. The Blind-Seer, Kiko, was like a big sister to him and he hoped he was like a little brother to her. She trained him in the ancient Lixus—an old way of life, and he was particularly interested in the self-defense part of this teaching.

  He remembered all of the aches and pains and face-to-hard-floor moments from the Blind-Seer’s tough teachings. She must have called me a fuckwit ten-thousand times, Baskie thought as a smile stretched across his face, as he remembered his strict but caring friend and mentor. In all the time they spent together, they never asked about each other’s pasts, which pleased Baskie. “Only fuckwits ask about past. Your place is now. Now is all that matters.” Her broken words echoed in his head as they always did.

  Sitting at the side of the lake with the fire burning, he stared across at the flickering orange glow of Narscape and thought about how he hadn’t seen his friend in over a year. He hoped that would change tomorrow when he and Owin made the short trip across the water. He was sure if he listened hard enough, he could almost hear the bustle of the nightlife in the island city. It’s probably just my imagination.

  The water from the lake lapped around its edges twenty footfalls from where they had pitched their tent. “When we reach Narscape tomorrow, you need to stick close to me and not trust anybody,” Baskie told Owin.

  “I’m going to pray for protection tonight,” Owin said, while jabbing at the fire with a stick.

  Well thank goodness for that, was on the tip of his tongue but he was tired of poking fun at his annoying friend. “Just don’t take anything that anybody gives you and—”

  Owin interrupted, still staring blankly into the flames, “Why are you still taking me to Narscape? You know it’s not going to lead to the Hidden Womb. You don’t even believe in the Hidden Womb.”

  “That’s not true.” He turned to face Owin sitting next to him, looking into his eyes. “After what your brothers said at Redhorn, I believe there’s an actual place where some of the boys are sent, with women they probably do breed with.”

  Baskie’s words brought a smile to Owin’s face.

  “But I don’t believe it is the sacred place you talk about where only the chosen ones can get to, or that the women are goddesses. It’s simply an island that’s hard to find.”

  With those words, Owin’s smile faded and he shook his head. “So why Narscape then? It sounds like a shithole.”

  “At first, I just wanted to open your eyes to the rest of the world but now I want to find this place too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m curious to see if the boys there still believe all the shit they were taught, and I think if you see it, you’ll realize there’s nothing sacred or mythical about it.”

  Owin’s jabs to the fire were becoming more fierce, sending embers and ash onto the grass. “You still haven’t answered me. Why are we going to Narscape?” His eyes stayed fixed on the flames.

  “Because we’re not going to find it by wandering around, floating in the salt water on a boat, or—however much you think it will help—praying won’t give us any answers. You’d be as well asking a rock for guidance!”

  The fire was practically getting beaten by Owin’s stick now; chunks of burning wood were breaking up, cracking and flapping around in the flames.

  Baskie continued, “I’ll find a skip or somebody who knows this area. There are people who know secrets in Narscape. It’s our best shot of finding the place. Stop hitting the fire!”

  A red-hot glowing piece of wood hit Owin in the face. “Fuck!” he shouted, grabbing his cheek. Baskie leapt beside his idiotic friend and tilted his head to the side, slowly pouring cold water from his drink-skin over the reddened patch.

  When it was empty, he walked to the lakeside and refilled it again, pouring the cold contents onto the burn, to numb the pain. They repeated this in silence six times and then Owin spoke. “Thanks, and I’m sorry for getting pissed off. I just wish you would have some faith.”

  And I wish you’d just open your eyes to the real world, he wanted to scream. It was getting late and his eyelids were drawing together. “I suppose we don’t need to agree on things. Just please, keep an open mind and listen to me when we get to Narscape.”

  Owin tilted his head up from Baskie’s arms and the cold water dripped off his chin. He wiped it dry with his sleeve. The redness had gone down. “Okay! You look after me and tell me what to do and I’ll pray to keep us safe.” He smiled as if this was a fair deal.

  My part to play seems to be more practical. He thought it best not to start another argument. “Fine.” Baskie sighed. “How’s your face?”

  “It feels better,” Owin said, offering Baskie another slice of dried meat from their provisio
ns.

  Baskie held up a hand and shook his head. “Thanks but I think I’m going to get some sleep. We’ll get up at first light and head to the coast. If we build a fire quickly enough, we could hail a boat by midday.”

  “Good. The quicker we get there, the quicker we can find one of those skips you were talking about. I’m going to pray before bedding down. I’ll join you soon.”

  Enough with the praying. Forcing a smile, Baskie reached out and gave Owin a pat on the shoulder. Stretching his arms and yawning, he made his way to the tent. Sleep took him quickly as he only had a vague recollection of Owin lying down next to him.

  In the morning, it was a short walk to the coast where they gathered firewood to build their signal for a boat to collect them. Narscape tended to have lots of floating things around it from windjammers, to skiffs, to boards that men would lie on and paddle themselves around in the sea to catch fish. Some circled the island with only the intent of ferrying passengers on and off the place, for a price.

  It had rained overnight, so the sun was high in the sky before they managed to light their beacon. Hours passed, along with one large carrack, three smaller ships and what looked like a giant fish. Eventually, a small rowing boat drew near, pulling up onto the shore. An old man sat in the skiff and shouted (even though they were no more than ten footfalls away), “Ye need passage to the island, yes?” He spoke in a gruff voice, from behind a shaggy gray beard.

  “We do, sir, but we have little to pay or trade,” Baskie replied, realizing how pathetic and unprepared he must have sounded.

  “Then I cannot give ye passage,” the weathered old man said, driving an oar into the sand to heave his skiff back.

  Baskie ran over to help him push back off the sandy shore. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

  “Ye have not wasted my time, young blue-eyed man. I know of some folk that would require those strong blue muscles of ye and yer friend there for a few hours. I will tell them ye require passage and they will likely pay me greatly for it. Sit tight here and I will send them to ye within the hour.”

  Owin must have heard the old man’s words and ran to help too but the skiff had already begun to float back into the channel. “Thank you so much and may the Mother bless you,” he shouted and waved.

  The old man shook his head, then gave a nod farewell in their general direction.

  “Don’t say things like that,” Baskie warned Owin, giving him a slap on the back of the head. Fuckwit.

  “He’s going to help us though.”

  “So you say ‘thank you’ and move on. And he only said he would help us. We don’t know if he’s going to actually do anything or who he’s going to send.” It does seem a bit too good to be true that the first boat that comes to us wasn’t annoyed we had no payment and also offered to find us a way over for what sounded like simple labor for a few hours.

  Sure enough, an hour later a cutter drew close to their beacon on the shore. Eight pairs of oars drove it from under the deck. Its two large sails were down, so it moved purely from the manpower within its painted blue hull. Two heavyset men stood at the bow. “You require passage to the island?” the one on the left asked in a raised voice.

  They were around fifty footfalls from the shore, just close enough for Baskie to see they were clean shaven and wore some kind of gray vest—both identical. “We do, but we have no coin,” Baskie shouted with his hands cupped around his mouth.

  The pair standing on the cutter’s deck nodded at each other, then one shouted, “We are aware of your situation. The old mizer informed us you were here and willing to labor in return for passage. We could use a blue’s skills.” Their voices didn’t match their bodies; large, strong frames sprouted light, high tones of speech.

  “What work will you require of us?” Baskie asked.

  Owin stepped in front of him. “We will do anything you need. Just give us passage to the island.” His fuckwit friend swiftly received a punch on the arm.

  Baskie lowered his voice so not to be heard by anybody on the approaching vessel and hissed at Owin, “What the fuck are you doing? I told you to listen to me.” He stepped forward before Owin could reply. Baskie raised his voice again and shouted to the crewmen, “Let’s agree on a price so not to waste your time.”

  The crewman on the left spoke, not needing to shout as they drew closer to the shore, “We would have you remove buzcore nests from the district clock tower. We of brown eyes are not blessed with the balance and skill of those with blue.” He bowed low, holding it for a moment. The man on the right commanded a halt. Oars dug in. The cutter came to a drifting stop within fifteen footfalls of the beach.

  Owin caught Baskie’s eye and nodded enthusiastically. You’re too trusting. It seems too easy, or maybe I’ve just become too suspicious. It is just a short trip and it’s likely that our side of the deal will be more difficult, and somewhat more dangerous, than theirs. “We will work until sunset tonight and no longer. Is this a fair offer?” Baskie asked.

  The smooth-faced man on the left nodded and opened his arms. Owin immediately waded into the water and starting to swim the rest of the way to the ship by the time Baskie’s legs would let him un-root his body from where he stood. He bundled up the last remains of their supplies, which were likely about to get rather wet and waded in to join his naive friend.

  They were thrown a rope ladder and began the short climb up to the deck of the cutter. Owin hopped over the side and disappeared. Baskie took one last look back at the calm sea and the beautiful land he had just crossed, thinking, this will be the last bit of wild that I’ll see for a while. Although, he was only moving on to a different kind of wild.

  A well-dressed man floated nearby on what was no more than a board with a sail. He glided effortlessly over the gentle ripples in the water. His formal dress-wear seemed so out of place in an area of water normally filled with wrinkled fishermen, hardened traders or the smooth-faced strangers he had just made a deal with.

  Baskie swung a leg up and over the bulwark of the ship. As he looked to the deck, he saw Owin lying face down. His heart stopped. Before he could even curse, his thoughts were knocked out of him. A club hit him round the back of the head. A horrible taste throbbed at the back of his nose. His skull felt like it was made of iron as his numb cheek squashed against the wooden deck.

  He heard a woman’s voice. “And they are both of blue-sight?” she asked. The wooden boards of the deck creaked under Baskie’s heavy head as her bare feet appeared. The woman crouched, and her piercing blue eyes met his just before he could snap them shut. The fierce-looking woman had looked at him like a lantar bug locked onto its victim, readying to tear its prey apart.

  A sprinkling of tiny blue freckles patterned her otherwise flawless skin. The ocean-blue blemishes glinted. None were round; all were different and unique, like a map of minuscule islands painted onto her face with the finest of brushes. Her lips were a deep blue. “Very good! Mother will be pleased,” she praised the unknown others on the deck. “Set course back to the hive.”

  A breeze across his face hinted that the woman had stood and had begun to walk away. Baskie opened his eyes but the glare of daylight was overwhelming. His whole world flipped over in a dizzying blur. Blackness took him.

  The Farmer’s Daughter

  The channel was starting to flow well again. The water ran over the back of her legs as she crawled through the muddy underground tunnel. It turned out the blockage was caused by a baskab that had crawled in and died, leaving its scaly body inconveniently where the water flowed its weakest. Even though she had blue-sight, she welcomed the light shining down from thirty footfalls in front of her.

  Shan had just seen her fourteenth year in this world. As she was still relatively little, it was her duty to tend the smaller tunnels of her father’s vast underground network that formed his moisture farm. It was one of the largest in Last Kingdom. I don’t know what Papa is going to do when I get too big to crawl through these places.

  Sh
e neared the ladder leading back up to the desert’s surface. Her mud-covered hands kept slipping on the smooth wooden rungs of the ladder as she made her ascent. The sound of the flowing water satisfied her; it was good, knowing that she served her father well and that the surrounding villages would not go thirsty.

  Ten Gods! I forgot to fill my drink-skin, Shan cursed and began to climb back down, having nearly reached the baking hot, midday sun above.

  A sound made her freeze: a duneback groan and a whistle from overhead. Slowly, she climbed, popping her head above the surface just enough to see who, or what, was approaching. The sun blared in her eyes. Through the shimmering heat-haze on the surface of the sand, she saw the shape of a duneback and a rider, still whistling. The happy nature of the song was comforting. Surely, such a happy tune cannot come from somebody looking to cause evil. She dropped her head below the surface again, just in case. The whistling and the duneback groans passed twenty footfalls away.

  She raised her head above the surface once more and saw the shaggy rear end of the duneback and the back of the rider, who wore all white clothes with a loose hood covering their head.

  The area would have just been a vast sprawl of sand, were it not for the jagged rocks, jutting from the ground. Some stood as high as two mortals, others were just large enough to stub your toe on if you didn’t pay attention. The larger ones had crude faded paintings of faces drawn by mortals thousands of years ago, during the Chaos Age, when violent clans worshiped many thousands of false gods trapped in stone.

  She hopped out of the hole and ran towards one of the larger rocks that had a particularly angry looking painted red face. Its roughly drawn brown eyes seemed to follow her as she approached. Shan reached the rock with her heart pounding. Her back rested against the hot surface.

  Then she peered around for another look at the traveler and beast. They had stopped. The duneback began to turn back towards her. The white-hooded rider looked back and she saw his face. He’s so handsome, she swooned, as he hopped down from the beast, pulling down his hood. His hair was brown, neatly cut, shorter at the sides than on top. His eyes are so blue. Sunlight bounced brightly off the snugly fitting white cotton trousers and hooded top covering the short figure. He dropped to the ground, putting his ear to the sand. Shan hid behind the rock again. Her heart raced, perhaps because she feared he might hurt her, or perhaps because he was the most handsome thing she had ever seen in her life. Those blue eyes! And I am sure he has a nice smile… He’s definitely got a nice smile. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted.