Lotus Blue

by Sparks,Cat

  Tallis nodded, a wry smile on his face.

  “Look,” snapped Allegra, “ I am tired and I am thirsty. I do not care about adventure stories. You have our ship and our lives are in your hands. Do you plan to bore us to death with the sound of your voice?”

  “Allegra!” Mohandas’s angry shout was edged with panic.

  “Oh, but you are so wrong,” Kian said, fixing his stare upon Allegra’s scowling face. Tallis’s stories are the best! Let me tell you one right now, seeing as I have your undivided attention.”

  Kian ignored Allegra’s groans as she went back to slamming her heel. His focus turned to Mohandas. “How about the story of a grand pioneering family who set out many decades past, abandoning the comforts and privileges of birthright in order to explore the barbarian wastelands. The first explorer from that family died not far from home. Bandits, all too common in those parts—that is the story we were told, those who heard it second, third, or fourth hand much, much later.”

  The cabin had fallen deathly silent, aside from occasional groans and creaks and cracks of the ship in motion.

  Kian continued. “The second hero adventurer made it back home some years later, but please, don’t let me bore you with his details.” His gaze flicked to Allegra when he said bore. “That’s another story for another day. The third man is the one we’re interested in, because we are all living his story today, right here, right now—are we not?”

  Kian paused. Mohandas stared up at him, saying nothing.

  “That adventurer’s name was Raneesh Patel,” continued Kian. “The darling of the Axan court, it’s said he made it all the way to Fallow Heel—such as the township was back in the day. Just shacks and hovels perched at the edge of the Obsidian Sea.”

  Mohandas stared at Kian’s mouth as he spoke, emitting no sound whatsoever, not even small creaks of the chair beneath his bulk.

  “Patel’s family did not know what had become of him, of course. Rumors abounded, as is always the case when someone of wealth and standing vanishes. Reported whisperings, imagined sightings of him here and there, supplied by rangers patrolling the Axa flats.

  “Ten years after he disappeared, reports started drifting back of a brave new township on the rise, quite a step up from a few pathetic clusters of shacks and hovels, now grasping at fantasies of grandeur. Someone, it seems, knew precisely what to excavate for in the surrounding region. The kind of intel that can only be gleaned from pre-Ruin documents and maps. Old maps that had survived everything the wars threw at the world. Somebody knew what kind of relic tech the remaining fortress cities might pay coin for, might even fight each other to acquire.”

  Kian paused again, long enough for his words to sink in.

  Allegra stared first at Kian and then at her father. “What are you trying to tell us?”

  Kian cleared his throat. “That you are that man, Raneesh Patel—or Mohandas, as you took to calling yourself. You used Axan knowledge, tools, and expertise to plunder ancient war machinery and sell it to the highest bidder: enemies of our beloved city. A crime of treason punishable by death back home in Axa—only we’re not back home in Axa, are we?”

  “I have never heard such a ridiculous story!” exclaimed Allegra. “Papa, tell them . . . We buy tanker hearts-and-brains and sell them on—why should we not profit from the stupid creatures? If we did not, somebody else would step up in out places.”

  Kian smiled. “And I don’t doubt many have tried. Back home in Axa, we do not call such items heart-and-brains. We refer to them by an older name: operating systems. Alas, no one knows how to manufacture such curios anymore, but some amongst us are skilled at their repurposing.”

  Allegra fumed, “I don’t care what you call them. There is no treason in what we do, just honest trade which has nothing to do with stupid old stories and kidnapping people and—”

  “But aren’t you even a little curious about what happens to scavenged items you so quaintly refer to as reliquary? What competing fortress cities can build with them?”

  Allegra tugged hard on her bonds. The broken light fitting slammed against the wall. “My father’s name is Mohandas, not Patel or anything else. Cut me down this minute. The only barbarians in this room are you and those two idiots who follow wherever you go.”

  She started slamming the wall again, then stopped short when she caught sight of her father’s grim, unreadable expression. “Papa?”

  “If what you say is true—and I’m not saying it is,” said Mohandas weakly. “If such maps were ever in my possession, they are not now.”

  Kian’s shoulders slumped theatrically. “How terribly disappointing.” He was not looking at Mohandas, but at his daughter’s face and the incredulous expression upon it.

  Kian continued to pace up and down theatrically, allowing Allegra time and space to think. Neither Jak nor Tal interrupted him. They knew their cousin better than to intervene at a crucial stage of negotiations.

  “These supposed pre-Ruin documents and maps,” said Allegra. “What might such things look like?”

  “Be quiet, Allegra!” said Mohandas in severe distress, rocking back and forwards in his chair, straining at his bond with great futility. “My daughter knows nothing, she has no part in any of—”

  Kian stopped pacing. He approached Allegra and demonstrated the size and shape of the documents with his hands. “Perhaps they would be made of plastic embedded with old-world smarts. I can’t be certain. I’ve never seen such things before. Only heard about them.”

  “No no, she knows nothing! Do not touch her. Do not lay a finger or I’ll have you whipped.” Mohandas struggled against his bonds so hard, the entire chair crashed over on its side. One arm splintered as Mohandas struggled to free himself.

  Kian shouted out an order. Neither Tallis nor Jakome moved, but two of Kian’s hired men came bursting into the room, picked up the wailing, cursing triple-bearded man between them, untangled his bonds, and hauled him to his feet.

  “Get him out of here,” said Kian.

  “Do not tell him anything, Allegra, I beg you! You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Those war machines were buried for a reason!”

  Allegra waited until the hired men had dragged her father from the room. His wails and protestations echoed down the corridor. She turned her face to Kian to find him staring back at her intensely. “You will not harm my father. Not a single hair upon his head—have I made myself clear?” she said coolly.

  The corners of Kian’s lips edged upwards into a smirk. “You are not in a position to be giving orders.”

  Allegra stared at him defiantly until he pulled a dagger from his belt, unsheathing it with a swift snick. She didn’t flinch as he raised the weapon to her throat, paused for a moment, then raised it higher and cut the cords binding her to the wall. With a few swift strokes, she was free.

  She rubbed her wrists, still staring. “That’s better. Now fetch some tea. My throat is dry and parched. Bring me tea and a chair and we can talk.”

  = Thirty-five =

  On the captain’s orders, the Dogwatch ploughed on past the tanker fields, past several of the massive mecha-creatures grinding, ripping, and roaring across the sands. Other craft of varying shapes and sizes veered in close, vying for space and chance and opportunity. Horns blared long, mournful notes, like the lowing of unseen beasts.

  But the Dogwatch continued to build up speed, its mainsail plump with wind. Quick as an encroaching storm, a change came over those of the crew who had been watching the other ships and their tankerjacks in action. A darkening of looks and mood. They’d been waiting for Quarrel to play his hand. To stop the ship or turn it in a wide arc, aiming its prow back to where the action lay. There were tankers enough for many crews to harvest, to make them all rich and fat. But Quarrel stood behind the wheel like a statue made of old wor
ld marble.

  All eyes fell upon his broad back, angry for explanation.

  “Why are we not stopping?” whispered Star to Lucius.

  He pressed his finger against his lips, flicked his gaze to Grellan.

  Grellan stared out across the churned-up sea of sand, watching other ships chase tankers, his eyes filled with longing, and his big hands pressed down on the rail so tight that Star was certain he would vault clean over the side.

  When the last of the tankers resembled nothing more than scattered stones in their wake, Grellan let go of the rail and crossed the deck, stopping as close to the Templar as he dared.

  “Why have we left the tanker fields behind?” he said, words spat directly in the Captain’s face.

  “Why indeed?” echoed Hackett, alongside two other brawny tattooed man, stepping in closer, hands upon their weapons. “Tis a fortune laying in wait back there. Enough to see us set for ten summers long.”

  Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crew, audible even above the biting wind. But Quarrel did not respond, did not even glance in their direction. When it came time for the ship to tack, the crew stood their ground. The Dogwatch began to lurch uneasily but the crew kept still, refusing to work until the captain faced them.

  The ship slammed and shuddered, knocking almost everybody off their feet. Quarrel, standing steady, turned his head and barked over his shoulder, “Man your posts or the ship will flounder.”

  Grellan crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “Not until you explain why we passed up honest coin. What we’re doing here at all if we’ll not be hunting tankers.”

  “Turn around and face us. We know what you are and you don’t scare us,” called a voice from the back of the pack.

  Quarrel did not move. Not at first. Not until the vessel started losing speed, a small but effective act of rebellion.

  He turned to find himself surrounded by a semicircle of angry crew, each of them with weapons raised and ready.

  “Templar!”

  “Knew it as soon as I clapped eyes on ya.”

  Quarrel stood tall and broad, holding their attention—and his own ground. “So,” he said dismissively. “I’m a Templar—what of it?”

  A hush fell over the grumbling men and women until Bimini stepped forward, a knife gripped in her hand, eyes shining diamond bright and hard. “You’re big and strong, sure enough, but you can’t take us all down. Who’s gonna keep the ship in motion?” She gestured roughly at the rigging with her blade. “Wherever it is you’re taking us, you need us to get there. So how about fessing up what’s what.”

  Quarrel met her gaze but he didn’t answer.

  “We passed a smashed and broken reliquary back there near the tanker grounds,” Hackett added. Scorched all over, burnt and torn. Reckon it was one of them fallen Angels, but you never made us stop for it. Didn’t give two shits, you didn’t. Even busted up, that thing’s gotta hold some value. Them fortress cities—”

  “Worthless junk,” said Quarrel.

  “But you said—”

  “I lied.”

  There was silence, followed by the shuffling of feet, muttering, and the rasp of blades being drawn.

  Quarrel straightened, standing at his full height, cloak tugged by the wind. “There are greater treasures on offer than tankers or Angels.” His cold eyes glinted in the eerie light. The sky had shifted hue, throwing a gloomy cast across the Black.

  “And what kind of treasures might those be?” asked a heavily-scarred man, a tinge of humour in his voice that did little to disguise the menace underneath.

  Quarrel spoke carefully, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What’s more valuable to you people, coin or kin? Your children and their future children. What coin value do you place upon their heads?”

  Nobody said anything in response. The shuffling and grumbling lessened as all ears strained in an attempt to make sense of what he was saying.

  “What’s children got to do with anything?”

  Quarrel paused, then spoke again, his voice louder than before. “We’re gonna bag ourselves a Lotus Blue.”

  “A what?”

  “A Blue—what do you think’s been fouling up that sky?” Quarrel continued, gesturing out across the bow of the ship.

  The sky had turned a sickly green, thick and glutinous as pus. Thickest at a point above the horizon.

  “Blue’s a relic-weapon,” Quarrel continued. “The biggest. Very old and very dangerous.”

  “Never heard of it,” said Grellan, backed by a chorus of muttering agreement.

  “That arm of yours, it’s tainted,” called out Bimini. “It’s made of relic—I’ve seen you talking to it. Show it to us. Can’t trust a man who’s not a man.”

  Quarrel uttered a gruff noise that might have been a laugh. “Can’t trust men at all, ask me.”

  Slowly, he undid the clasp of his heavy sand cloak and shrugged it from his shoulders, then rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, holding it high for everyone to see.

  There was an exhalation of gasps and awe as light glinted off the metal that was wrapped around and embedded in his arm. Metal fused so tightly to the skin that it seemed to be a living part of him.

  As necks craned to get a better look, a wave of nausea washed through Star’s guts. Her knees went weak. She felt like she was going to collapse. Instinctively, she groped for Lucius’s arm.

  Quarrel opened his tunic, exposing his pallid torso to the crew. Flesh threaded through with metal and reliquary. Patches of visible skin scored and scarred, old tissue pockmarked and roughly healed. A tapestry of skirmish, pain, and survival.

  He turned slowly, arms out and completely vulnerable. When he had turned full circle, he pulled the tunic back over his skin.

  “Ours is the holiest of orders,” said Quarrel. “Templars fight to keep the old world in its place. Dead Red wasn’t always dead—or red. It was once green and lush with lakes and streams. There were people here, too, once. Untainted souls not cursed with twisted spines and extra limbs.”

  “Bullshit,” said Bimini.

  He grunted. “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Nobody spoke for a long while. Star tightened her grip on Lucius’s arm.

  Eventually Bimini broke the silence. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes. Didn’t always, but old Quarrel’s wearing down. Parts are broken. Need replacements, only they don’t make ’em like they used to. Arms, that is.” He laughed. A hollow sound.

  Nobody else laughed with him.

  “That thing in your arm—what does it do?” asked Bimini..

  “Tells me things I need to figure.”

  “Like what?”

  “Metrics. Where to go and how to get there.”

  Bimini stepped up with great caution, ran her fingers gently across his skin’s flesh-and metal surface. “So, this Lotus Blue you speak of—be it living or relic?” In her free hand, she tightly clutched a blade.

  Quarrel shrugged. “Living, of a kind. Got a brain and reach and smarts, but it’s got no heart.”

  “But what does it want?” shouted Hackett.

  “Ain’t nobody alive can answer that,” said Lucius, raising his voice so all of them could hear it above the wind.

  Quarrel looked hard at Lucius, and Star was given the impression that he was noticing the tankerjack for the very first time.

  “Big man here speaks the truth,” said Quarrel, “but I can tell you this. That Blue and me, we were built to fight. Those Blues were so damn good at killing, they vanquished all their enemies. Word is, one of the damn things has woken up and now its gotta be shut down.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the priests of Nisn Temple.”

  At the m
ention of Nisn, several of the crew drew a cross blade sign above their hearts, Grellan and Hackett amongst them, both adding the whispered prayer and left-side spit.

  Star was about to ask Lucius what that cross-sign meant when exuberant shouting from above made everybody look. It was Goja, alert this time and yabbering like a monkey. Everyone peered up at him, then across the ship’s bow to the place where he was pointing.

  “Ship ahoy!” called Goja. “Ship ahoy!”

  All argument was quickly abandoned as the crew manned their stations. The ship groaned, gaining speed.

  Somebody hollered, “It’s the Razael!”

  Star’s heart leapt. Allegra. She had thought she would never see her friend again, but perhaps there was a chance.

  Crewmembers craned their necks to see and passed spyglasses from hand to hand along with a loudly whispered name—Mohandas.

  “Reckon they’re after the Blue as well?” said Bimini.

  “All the fortress cities will be chasing it soon enough. Figuring whoever controls the Blue will rule the sands. But that thing cannot be controlled. Not by anyone. Not even my own kind.”

  “Girl?” Lucius’s voice was deep with concern.

  Star realised she was still gripping on tightly to his arm.

  “You don’t look so good. You alright?”

  Star gave Lucius’s arm a gentle squeeze while trying desperately to think of some excuse. “My friend is onboard that vessel,” she blurted out. “Kidnapped alongside Mohandas, her father—I witnessed the whole thing. Tried to help but—”

  Lucius shushed her but it was too late. Everyone standing close had overheard, so she had to explain what she’d seen and what she knew about the three foreign princes, how she was pretty sure they’d hailed from Axa, how she’d never known what they were after.

  “The Blue,” said Quarrel grimly. “We must hurry. Can’t let them get their hands on it.”