Dusk Mountain Blues

by Deston Munden

  ​But there was nothing he could do now; what was done was done. No one had told Kindle the significance of keeping her power in check. That was the job of the Shadow to the Flame. Two sides of the same coin, pushing and pulling on a thin rope ready to snap. Ignace had let go of his end of the rope and let her fall deeper and deeper.

  Appetite took a deep breath. He had to look strong, had to hope that somehow this was going to all work out. We’re alive, he told himself. What happens next doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, he told himself again, trying to gather his words for his daughter. What could he say? His heart pounded hard in his chest.

  Nothing sounded right. She was gonna always feel like the Caldwell that took C’dar away from them.

  ​“Passenger incoming,” Kaulu sung in his boyish voice. “Access granted. Welcome aboard.”

  ​Appetite straightened his back, preparing his words. A blinding white light threaded together, taking form bit by bit. Where he expected Ina or Kindle or both, he got Ignace.

  He materialized before Appetite, his now-black robe with the look of purple shadows and starlight bellowing around him. Appetite recognized the staff that he twirled with every step; his father’s staff, a trophy.

  Ignace smiled at him, the side of his ruined spiderwebbed face barely twitching upwards. He strode in like he had come in from a successful hunt; he took a seat, poured himself a drink from the bar, and reclined with one foot resting on his knee, making an exaggerated ahhh after every sip.

  Appetite didn’t have the energy or the mindset to throttle him. Instead, he opened his mouth and asked a simple question: “Why?”

  ​“Ain’t it obvious?” Ignace grinned. “I was never going to be the Flame and Ina was never going to have the heart to do what was necessary. Your daughter on the other hand, she’s a firecracker. She just needed a push.”

  ​“Why, Ignace?”

  ​“C’dar was our prison, Woody,” he laughed, “no different than what Daedel was to your father. My people can be one of the strongest people in the galaxy with the knowledge we know. So, I took the one thing that my father cherished most: his duty to this planet. What better revenge is there?” He shrugged, taking another long draught from his drink. “You should be happy. Even former Shaman are bounded to the Shadows that christened them, now that he’s gone, you and Ina might have something again. I honestly don’t know why you’re upset. You and your rats can always find another planet; they’re a dime a dozen. If you beg, I might even help you with the ships. So -”

  ​“This was our home.”

  ​“As it was mine,” he said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes, though, we can’t stay where we are. We have to move forward. That’s the simple truth of the matter. The Breauxs were chained here and the Caldwells, though a softer chain, ain’t that much different. You went around, lived off this land and the stole from a power stronger than you. You created a comfortable life for yourselves. Though admirable, y’all always had a thirst for something more. This world isn’t the thing to quench that. How long before the Civilization comes back, this time with fleets instead of foot soldiers? You think you all would’ve made it that far without my father’s deal, the need for your daughter, and Major Debenham’s curiosity?” He sipped his drink again. “Don’t make me laugh, Woody. I did you favor.”

  ​Appetite squashed the urge to lunge across the ship and strangle him. While Ignace was completely wrong on some points, there was a logic there that he couldn’t ignore. They had been lucky; any more power from this clearly superior force, and they would have been crushed. Perhaps the Major had some sympathy for them, or maybe he wished to have the core completely under control before wiping them from the planet - Appetite didn’t know. The truth of the matter was that the Bluecoats were gonna come back whether Kindle did what she did or not, and they had to be gone when they did.

  That didn’t excuse it. If anything, leaning that twisted logic left an even more sour taste in his mouth. The urge to strangle Ignace began to slowly evolve into imagining vivid images of each of his verberate individually breaking against his knee.

  Kaulu giggled at the tension. “Sorry to interrupt,” it said in its soft voice, “but the lady is about to board, and I doubt she would want violence between the two of you. So be good little boys and stay in line.”

  ​The spinning lights of the return beacon appeared, this time the color of sunlight instead of its normal white. Ina stepped through first, not losing a single stride. Kindle followed not too far behind. The difference between the two was night and day; Ina came like a storm, Kindle more like a soft rain.

  Ina tossed everything she was holding to the side, then went straight to her brother and punched him in the jaw with a sharp crack. His face snapped to the side, a dribble of the brown drink streaking down his mouth. He went to say something and she punched him again with her other fist, this time on side of his face where he had his scar. Her knuckles left a companion bruise, red and purple from swelling and blood.

  “I’ve been wrong before,” Kaulu muttered.

  “How dare you.” Her words were barely audible, language slipping into her native tongue. “How dare you put her through this?” In her anger, she looked barely human at all. She grabbed her brother by the collar. “Why would you do that?”

  ​“Don’t be silly, Ina. Both you and I knew I wasn’t gonna stop at killing dad.”

  ​“But using my daughter.”

  ​“Funny you use that word, since you were never there for her. We both know we have no idea how parents work. No need to pretend like you’re not satisfied. I did what I did for everyone.”

  ​The anger on her face rose to an uncontrollable rage. For a second, Appetite thought she was gonna draw her weapon and shoot the man in his belly. She might have if Kindle didn’t pushed past them.

  The tension in the room only grew when she stumbled forward. Appetite opened his mouth to speak, trying his best to sound strong and reassuring. All the rehearsing, all the reassurance left him all at once. Kindle walked directly into her papa’s arms, her forehead resting on his abdomen.

  Appetite lost all interest in what was happening between the siblings and wrapped his arms around his daughter. He pressed his forehead against the top of hers. She wasn’t crying, or shaking from anger, or even muttering to herself; she remained still and emotionless in his arms. The best he could do here was to hold her, pressing his head against the crown of her head.

  What could anyone say to a girl who had accidentally sent in motion the destruction of her family’s planet?

  ***

  The ride on the Sundancer back to the Dusk Mountain stretched on for what felt like millennia. Appetite looked out of the window, keeping his now catatonic daughter close. He’d hoped seeing the familiar peaks of the Homestead would’ve brought some sort of reaction to the young girl’s eyes; it didn’t. Perhaps that was a good thing. Seeing the clouds settle over the mountains, angry black and already weeping frozen flakes, left a bad feeling in his stomach.

  He had expected it to bad. From what he knew from Kaulu, the satellite and its ultra-powerful AI was the only reason this planet remained habitable in a ring of dead or desolate planets. With its death, the planet would die too within a year or two; the entire planet would be so erratic that living on it would be impossible.

  There was beauty in their home still. He saw it and ached. No. Homes can be replaced. The pain filled him, but for his daughter, he wouldn’t let it take over.

  ​They landed not far from the crashed ship that brought his grandfather and his brothers here in the first place. Appetite went to go for another one-armed hug, but Kindle softly pushed him away. She left the ship without a word and walked directly to their small cabin.

  Appetite took a deep breath as he watched her. He couldn’t even imagine the guilt that she felt. What she didn’t seem to see was that she’d saved her family. Sure, some Caldwells were going to resent her, resent all of this; for those stubborn family members, ther
e was nothing anyone could do. Whatever happened, happened. Too late to fix it. He understood her pain and let her be. She’ll recover, he told himself, feeling as helpless as a frog without legs. She had to. If she didn’t, he, too, might go mad from it all.

  ​Hours passed in silence as they waited for the rest of the Caldwells to return; the family members left at the Homestead - those who hadn’t taken part in the battle - waited with bated breath, hoping to hear news. Appetite wasn’t in the mindset to give it to them.

  Ina sat beside her daughter. They all watched her with hard eyes. To them, Kindle’s mom had returned out of nowhere - Kindle’s mom who had taken Appetite’s heart and thrown it into the trash, leaving a shell of a man for years afterward. Despite any disagreement they had with Appetite, family came first and Ina had hurt him. The only reason they hadn’t brought out their weapons was the fact that Ina probably could’ve killed any person here without a second thought. Their judging eyes and passive aggressive whispers would have to suffice for now.

  Again, Appetite didn’t have the energy to correct them - and worse, he didn’t know whether or not he should. She had left them. She hadn’t contacted them. They had a lot to push through, if only as parents. Appetite pinched the bridge of his nose. That was looking at it lightly.

  ​One by one, the family returned. Vermin, carrying most of the younger generation, came rolling in with Stag Beetle and his father’s 7-A mech. Both were in bad condition, but that’s how Doc’s boys and girls liked it. Truck after truck filtered in, each Caldwell with a tired but satisfied expression. They had won for all they knew - beat the invaders to live another day.

  What they didn’t know was that their hardship had only begun.

  Appetite didn’t want to be the one to tell them, especially the old boys trailing the rear. He hardly knew the details himself. Kindle hadn’t been too thrilled about talking about it; the only detail he’d managed to get out her was a simple head shake when he asked if the Major was dead.

  Appetite took a deep breath. Somewhere in the galaxy, the Major lived. At least I got one of them. He adjusted himself in his seat, gathering the loose threads of his courage. What he wanted to do was have dinner and go to bed. Both would have to wait.

  ​Pa and Moses came in on the last truck. Drifter stumbled out, his pale body body covered in a long blanket. It bothered Appetite how frequent this scene was. What made it worse this time was an eyepatch on his father’s eye, that entire side of his face burned to a cracking charcoal black. It was pure luck he even survived that, let alone able to walk and remain conscious. The Caldwell mutations saved him, no doubt - the mistake the Civilization wanted to erase was the very thing that saved their hides from time to time. Soon their luck was gonna run out, but not today, it seemed. They lived, this time as a shame upon the Bluecoats’ perfect record.

  Too bad I’m gonna haffta ruin our parade. Appetite coughed and stood, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders. They have to know before it gets bad. “Hey,” he cried out, “gonna steal a moment from ya for a second.”

  ​Everyone looked up in surprise but didn’t interrupt. They had taken to listening to when he spoke now. His voice boomed loud enough, and he looked dang intimidating with his scars and missing fingers. “Settle in, I got something to say.” His heart thumped so hard he felt it through his body. Would they believe him? They had to, right? Crazier things had happened. Thick-tongued, he pushed his thoughts and words forward through his mouth. “Something happened.”

  ​Drifter’s good eye grew wide. Everyone’s did. “Where’s Cassie?” Pa asked, his voice frantic. The wind howled, carrying with it thick flakes and spears of ice. Already, the snow coated the tips of his father’s white beard. His lips trembled, but not from the cold. “Where’s Cassie?”

  ​“She’s okay,” Appetite said hurriedly, “but we aren’t safe here. Not anymore.”

  ​Pit opened his mouth to speak, but Drifter quieted him with a hand before sniffing the air. The snowflakes tumbled from the sky a bit harder and the wind whistled sharper. Thunder boomed in the distance. Lighting streaked on the surface of the sky.

  Drifter licked the air, flakes dissolving on his tongue. The rest of the old boys followed with equally odd inspections of the world around them. They split up for a second and whispered among themselves. C’dar had been their home for fifty odd years; looking closely, they felt that something was wrong. Heck, Appetite knew it. Their slow reaction dug deep within them slowly going from confusion to a soft panic. There was no way to say that your world was dying.

  “We have to leave C’dar,” Appetite said, trying to keep his voice strong.

  ​Never before had the Homestead been so quiet. Long seconds stretched on into long minutes. After a time, Appetite tried his best to explain the situation involving Ogoun, its terraforming satellite, the Flame, and the Shadow. The more he tried, the angrier the mob seemed to grow. Who they were angry at didn’t matter; Ina, the Breauxs, himself, and of course, Kindle. The mob wanted to be angry, they wanted something to blame. This was their planet and somehow one situation screwed over the whole thing. The silence soon broken into a million pieces. They spoke over one another until no voice was clear.

  Appetite lost control of them for a brief second, looking for his father in the crowd for help. He didn’t find it; Drifter, too, was too shocked to take in the information.

  Dang it, stay calm. Appetite clenched his fists. Ina gave him a bit of a tap on the shoulder, her eyes hard.

  “Everyone shuddup,” he shouted, louder than he ever had before - even thunder booming behind him sounded soft in comparison. “Are we gonna just sit here and scream at each other or are we gonna do what we always have, and survive? We’re Caldwells. We can either sit here moaning and complaining, or we can do somethin’ ’bout it. We can make it off this planet. We can find another one and give the Bluecoats hell on our way. There’s an entire galaxy out there that only a few Caldwells have experienced. ’Bout time we leave our little corner.” His eyes swept the crowd. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Change ain’t so bad. We’re alive, ain’t we? Time to act like it.” Blank stares. Appetite shook his head. “We’ve taken a crap worth of things from these Coats. ’Bout time we put them to use. We’ll make it up as we go.”

  Make it up as we go. The words stuck to him. It was reckless and dumb. There was an expanse of galaxy out there with dangers and obstacles. Given the time left they had on this dying planet, they at the very least could cobble together some ships. Tiger was here; he knew the workings of large ships and could maybe bring in some help from his crew. They had enough fuel and supplies to make it a couple of months, and more than enough food to work with. The next months might be rough, but they’d be manageable.

  Appetite squared his shoulders, aware how towering of a man he was in this crowd. “We gotta move forward, never back.”

  ​Appetite half expected to be torn apart or, at the very least, laughed off the mountain. But the stony eyes of the Caldwells, young and old, slowly turned to resignation. They knew he wouldn’t lie about something like this. He wasn’t the prankster type. It had to be the truth; the truth, cold and relentless, never moved.

  The whispers returned one by one. He could hear the gist of what was happening, only bit and pieces here and there. Some were excited about the prospect of leaving, mostly the young men and women. Others were resilient and dead set on staying. This wasn’t over, only postponed.

  For now, the family splintered into pieces, each recovering from their quarrel with Bluecoats and the wild mutants of the Old City. Appetite exhaled, deflating and slumping his shoulders. His nerves frayed.

  He turned to Ina; she sat in an uncharacteristic stoicness, frowning, eyes distant. He expected her to say something, anything. She never did.

  ​Jo, Loner, and Drifter strolled up. Drifter was leaning on his daughter’s shoulder, his good eye staring Appetite down. “What ain’t you tellin’ us?” Drifter asked. “I ain’t blind, only halfw
ay there. Cassie ain’t okay.”

  ​“She feels responsible for this.” Jo gave her father’s arm over to Appetite, who took it without pause. “We can’t change that.”

  ​Drifter sighed. “Take me to her.”

  ​“Ina.” Appetite turned to her. “Are you coming?”

  ​Ina shook her head. “She needs to see some friendly faces, not more questions. The very least I can do right now is help you with those ships.” She stood, dusting the snowflakes off her lap. “You’ll have your ships. They might not be the best, but I’ll do what I can.” She looked up to the swirling storm clouds above the mountain. “I’m sorry, Woody. I’m sorry for everything.”

  With that, she left, heading back to her ship Sundancer. A part of Appetite felt a twinge of pain watching her go, feeling like he would never see her again. Another part - a dark, selfish, and cynical part of him - exhaled in relief. How they felt and where they were going needed to take a back seat for Kindle. She, at least, deserved that.

  ​“Loner, help her if you can. If anyone can help get us on track, it’s you.”

  ​Loner grinned through the green material of his gas mask. This was what he had trained for; this was his shining moment. He practically jumped at the opportunity, calling his ’roid Jesse over and following Ina into the Sundancer. She wouldn’t mind the help - at least, Appetite hoped so. Loner, in his mechanical prowess, wasn’t the best at communicating what he wanted to anyone around him; he hadn’t gotten the nickname for nothing. They would figure that out.