“Not that kind of deal,” said Kinker, shaking his head. “I mean, let's trade stories. I tell you my past and you tell me your past.”
Jenur raised an eyebrow. “I doubt your past is anywhere near as bad as mine. Doesn't seem like a fair trade to me.”
Kinker's legs were starting to get tired, so he pulled up a nearby stool and sat on it. “Let me tell you, Jenur, that I haven't been entirely honest about my past, either. There's a secret I've been keeping from everyone. I don't know if it's as bad as yours, but as you said, I've my reasons for keeping quiet about it.”
Jenur looked thoughtful for a moment. “Never would have pegged you for the guy with the mysterious past, Kinks. You just never seemed that mysterious to me. No offense.”
“None taken,” said Kinker. “Like you, I've been careful about the information I give to people about my past. Have you never wondered why I fled Destan in the first place? Especially in that terrible storm?”
“Never really thought about it, actually,” said Jenur. “I just thought that as an old man you had lost some of your marbles and were looking for them in the sea. I know you better now, though, so that's probably not likely.”
Kinker laughed. “So do you agree to the deal? I'll even go first, if you want.”
Jenur shifted in her seat as best as she could. “All right. Sounds like a fair deal. And yeah, you can go first, if you want. I'll listen.”
“All right,” Kinker said. He hesitated, then began. “My home is an island called Destan, the southernmost island in the Northern Isles, located right before the southern seas. I was born there to my parents, both accomplished fishermen. I was practically raised on fishing boats and ships and probably learned to swim before I learned to walk.”
“What were your parents like?” said Jenur.
Kinker looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected her to start asking questions so soon. “My father was a great man. Always laughing. Very kind. He could be a bit forgetful at times, but he was the best fisherman I ever knew and he taught me everything I know about the sport. My mother was a bit like you, actually. She sometimes acted a bit sarcastic, but she had a loyal heart. I suppose that's how their marriage worked out.”
“Oh,” said Jenur. “Are they still alive?”
“No,” said Kinker. “Father died while fishing. Got knocked overboard by a wave. He unfortunately drowned because he was too far from shore and no one was close enough to help. As for mother, she died of old age ten years ago. Hit me really hard, but I've moved on, taking what they taught me and living my life.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
Kinker looked down at his hands and saw that they were indeed shaking. “I must be cold.”
“Right,” said Jenur. “Continue. I'm listening.”
“All right,” said Kinker. “Let's see ... I never married. Not very interested in women, to be honest. Always preferred men.”
“Same here,” said Jenur. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Kinker chuckled. “Yes, well, I was too busy with my work to get into romance or relationships. Between fishing and worshiping at the Temple, I barely had time for anything else. Destan's a pretty small, slow island, so I kept up this routine of fishing and worshiping for decades.”
“And you never got bored?” said Jenur. “Never wanted to do something different?”
Kinker shrugged. “It never occurred to me to do anything differently. My life was good. Everyone around me seemed happy with their lives, and the priests often told us that we pleased Kano with our behavior. It really wasn't until a month ago, when I joined the crew of this ship, that I started to doubt.”
“Doubt?” said Jenur. “What do you mean?”
Kinker leaned forward, putting his hands together and said, “You see, there are six tribes on Destan, united by our common belief in Kano. Each tribe has a different job, such as fishing or governing. My tribe was the Hook tribe, made up of fishermen, sailors, and other people who worked on or near the seas. That's why I became a fisherman.”
“You mean you never had a choice in your career?” said Jenur. “Ever?”
Kinker blinked. “Choice? I don't think you understand, Jenur. When you're born into a tribe on Destan, that's where you will be for the rest of your life. The tribe is your family and friends. The tribe is where you get a job, learn skills, and contribute to the community. Granted, not every Hook enjoys fishing, but in all of my years on Destan, I've never heard anyone of any tribe wish they could belong to another tribe.”
“Hmm,” said Jenur. “Doesn't sound like a very good way to live. No offense, Kinks.”
“It's all right,” said Kinker. “Outsiders who came from the north never really understood. At least when we explained it to them. Most visitors only came for the abundant zappers and black fish that can be found in the seas around Destan. Few were interested enough in our culture to ask any questions.”
“So what made you leave home?” said Jenur. “Sounds like to me you had it going. A good job, a stable community, plenty of food, water, clothes, and everything else. Can't imagine why anyone would want to leave that.”
Kinker frowned and looked at his feet. “For a while there, it did seem idyllic. You see, one of the tribes is the Priest tribe. It is the smallest tribe, but it is the tribe that rules all the other tribes and leads worship of Kano. I'm not sure how the Priest tribe gained that kind of power. It probably happened a long, long time ago. That's all I know.
“The head priestess is a woman named Deber Sinrod. She's around my age, perhaps a year or two older, and only became head priestess a couple of years ago when her predecessor passed away in his sleep. In many ways, she was like a queen to us. No one ever questioned her or said anything bad about her. And those that did ... well, they often disappeared, their bodies washing up on shore days later. We just assumed they drowned, which is a common way to die on Destan, especially among us Hooks.”
“Let me guess,” said Jenur. “That's not what happened, is it?”
Kinker shook his head. He tried to focus on Jenur and not think about what he saw. Because if he did, he doubted he would be able to finish the story.
“Deber even established a group known as the Priestly Guard. Their job, supposedly, was to act as bodyguards for the priests, but I know firsthand that they often carried out Deber's dirty work, the kind of work she would never do herself. I bet they were behind some of those 'accidental' deaths, but I don't have any proof for that.”
“Reminds me of Ruwa,” said Jenur. “But continue.”
Kinker put a hand on his forehead. The memories were coming back swiftly now. The temple's inner sanctum. Deber standing with a knife. An innocent young boy. The more Kinker talked, the more vivid these memories became, but he couldn't stop. He had made a deal with Jenur and he intended to be true to his word, no matter how hard it may be. Even if it made her hate him.
“About a month before I tried to leave Destan, I was in the Temple of Kano after services were over,” said Kinker. “I wasn't there because I wanted to be. I had somehow lost my lucky lure, a genuine shiner—”
“I don't know what that is,” said Jenur.
“A really rare lure,” said Kinker. “Given to me by my father before he drowned. Anyway, I'd somehow lost it and thought I might have left it in the Temple's main worship area because I often brought it with me to worship. The Temple's doors are usually open during the day for anyone seeking guidance from Kano, but on that day no one was there but me while I searched the seats for my lure. I eventually gave up and was going to leave when I heard a sound.”
“What sound?”
His memory flared again. Walking to the door. Opening it. And wishing he hadn't.
“It sounded like a little boy crying,” said Kinker. The words came out broken, but he tried to keep them as coherent as he could. “Very faint, but I knew I wasn't hearing things, even though I couldn't see the little boy anywhere. It's unusual for little children to be in the Te
mple by themselves, so I searched for him so I could bring him back to his parents.”
As he spoke, the story played out before him like a play. Saw Deber, smiling, as she handed him the knife.
“That's when I noticed a door behind the altar,” said Kinker. “I mean, I had always seen the door, of course, but it was never opened and I never saw anyone go in or out of it. Always assumed it led to the head priestess's chambers. On that day, though, it was cracked, like someone had forgotten to close it all the way. The sound of the crying boy was coming from it.”
He no longer saw Jenur now. All he saw was the little boy, his brown hair unkempt, staring up at him, the tears streaming down his round young face.
“And I found the boy,” said Kinker. “He was tied down in front of an old stone altar, one covered in blood. The room was dark and small. It looked like nothing like the rest of the Temple; in fact, it felt evil. I remember the little boy seeing me, begging me to free him, asking me to make the pain stop.”
He raised the knife high. He could still feel Deber watching him, her eyes showing no sympathy or kindness in them at all.
“So I tried to untie the boy,” said Kinker. “But the knots were too tight and my hands were too weak. I tried to leave, telling the boy I'd be back with a knife or some help, but before I could leave, Deber appeared in the doorway with two of her Priestly Guard. She was shocked to see me and ordered her two guards to pin me down. She closed the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness, lit only by a small candle she had brought with her.”
He hesitated. Felt the darkness around him. He didn't want to do it, but he knew what they would do to him if he did.
“'What are you doing here?' she demanded. 'Were you trying to rescue this little boy? How did you know he was here?'
“I said I didn't know, that I just found him. That seemed to calm her somewhat, but she still was angry at me. For a moment, I thought she was going to kill me. Her Priestly Guards were both strong enough that they could have taken my life with little effort if they wanted to. She had a long knife in her hand that I'd never seen before and I could just imagine it piercing my heart or slitting my throat. It was terrifying.”
The little boy was still crying, still asking him not to do it. He wanted to tell the boy that he didn't want to do it, but he didn't have a choice. Deber stood nearby, looking quite impatient, and Kinker hated her for it.
“Instead, Deber handed me the knife and told me to drive it into the young boy's heart. When I asked her why, she told me it was because that was what Kano wanted. 'Kano desires human sacrifice,' she said to me. 'In order to continue gaining her blessing, we must sacrifice this little boy's life. It is our only option.'
“That didn't sound right to me at all. I had never been taught Kano wanted human sacrifices. I mean, I had been taught that Kano could be a harsh goddess and that she sometimes required great sacrifices from her followers, but this went against everything I knew. So I told her no.
“But she said, 'If you don't, I will kill you and the boy.'
“I asked her what was to stop me from telling the other people about this. I knew that most of the Destanians wouldn't stand for this.”
Kinker looked over his shoulder at Deber one last time, her eyes glinting maliciously in the glow of her candle.
“And she said, 'Because, fisherman, you will never want to tell anyone that you killed an innocent boy. I will make sure everyone knows you were willing and eager to do it. Your reputation will be tarnished, especially when I mention how you tried to kill me, too.'
“And I realized she said the truth. The only way I could get out of that situation alive was to kill the boy. But if I did that and told everyone about what Deber was really doing, then everyone would know that I murdered a child. I could see no way out of it that ended well for me.”
He turned to the boy and, the tears streaming down his own face, praying for forgiveness, brought the knife down.
“I was a coward,” said Kinker. “An idiotic coward. I ... I spilled the boy's blood on that altar. Deber offered praise to Kano. They let me wash my hands and then moved me out of the Temple. I didn't tell anyone else what I did. There was no way I could, no way anyone would believe me.”
He was now being hurried out of the secret room, staring at his clean hands. There was still a small bloodstain on his shirt, but no doubt it would be easily washed out.
“I decided to flee Destan after that,” said Kinker. “Couldn't handle it. I wanted to leave, but the Priestly Guard kept an eye on me, thwarting my every attempt to leave. I think Deber was afraid her secret would get out if I left. I finally got my chance a month ago, during murder season. The weather was so bad that not even the Priestly Guard dared patrol the shores like they usually do, so I got on my rowboat, rowed out to sea, and ended up here. You know the rest.”
“That's ... awful,” said Jenur.
Her voice broke through his memory and he suddenly saw her again. She still sat in her chair, tied down, looking rather uncomfortable.
“I get why you didn't want to talk about it before,” said Jenur. “That's just ... I can't even put that into words. Horrible. Evil. Monstrous.”
“I know,” said Kinker. “I know.”
The two were quiet for a while.
Then Jenur said, “Kinks? If somehow I survive all of this and we end up going back north, I'd like to go up to Deber's front door and knock that old witch out. As a favor to you.”
“You mean you don't think I'm horrible for killing a little boy?” said Kinker.
Jenur shrugged, which looked awkward due to the ropes binding her. “I don't know what to think, to be honest. What you did wasn't right, but on the other hand, you were forced to do it. It's all very confusing.”
“Agreed,” said Kinker. “Sometimes I think I fled when I did because I was trying to kill myself. I am certain that's what Deber thought and still thinks. She probably thinks I'm dead.”
“Bet if you showed up on her doorstep, she'd have a heart attack,” said Jenur with a smirk. “She'd probably think you're a ghost coming back to get her.”
Kinker chuckled. “That would be rather amusing, but I don't think I'll ever return to Destan. There's just too much pain, too much sorrow, for me there.”
Jenur nodded. “Well, a deal's a deal. You told me your story. I'll tell you mine. Mine's pretty bad, but after hearing yours, it doesn't really seem as bad as yours for some reason, even though I've killed loads more people.”
Kinker blinked. “What?”
“I'm getting ahead of myself,” said Jenur. “I should start at the beginning, like you did. But I still don't think you want to hear it. You've got enough sadness on your mind that I don't think you really need more.”
“A deal's a deal, like you said,” said Kinker. “I will listen. Just as you did to mine.”
Jenur's grim expression didn't change. “If you insist ... well, I'm from Ruwa. Know where that is?”
Kinker shook his head. “No, I don't.”
“It's on the eastern side of the Northern Isles,” said Jenur. “Right in the center of the Friana Archipelago. It's not as small as Destan, but it's still a small island. Had a royal family that ruled for centuries. Never a big player in international politics; actually, from what I've gathered about its history, Ruwa's always been doing its best to avoid being crushed by the bigger powers, like the Red Empire or the Aquarian Federation.”
She didn't sound enthusiastic about it, but Kinker said nothing.
“In recent years, though, Ruwa has been wracked by a variety of natural and economic disasters,” said Jenur. “There's little food or water and most people live in poverty. Crime is rampant and even the king isn't safe. Not sure how it got that way, to be honest, because it happened before I was born. I was told that the last king incited the wrath of the gods onto Ruwa; if so, fuck the gods.”
Kinker's eyes widened. “Jenur, watch your language. Do you want the gods to hear you saying stuff like that?”
“I've been saying stuff like that for years,” said Jenur. “And not a single god has given me any shit about it. I'm thinking they either don't care or have bigger fish to fry. Either way, I don't care.”
“Hey,” said Kinker, snapping his fingers. “You don't care about the gods, which means you don't worship Tinkar. Doesn't that count as—”
“Kinks, you know Malock won't listen to reason,” said Jenur. “He's already decided I'm guilty and the cards just confirmed that. Anyway, you're supposed to be listening to my story, not trying to think of ways to prove my innocence.”
Kinker sat back on the stool, feeling disappointed. “You're right. Continue.”
Jenur looked a little irritated now, like she didn't appreciate the interruption. “So those are the conditions I grew up in. I don't know who my parents were. They probably abandoned me when I was a baby, maybe couldn't feed me. That's actually rather common on Ruwa. Parents who can't feed their children often leave them to fend for themselves in the wilderness. Most don't survive.”
“That's horrible,” said Kinker. “But how did you survive?”
“I got lucky,” said Jenur. “An aquarian named Quro found and raised me. He was basically my father.”
“You were raised by an ... aquarian?” said Kinker, wrinkling his nose.
“Yes,” sand Jenur. “Have a problem with that?”
Kinker shook his head. “No. Just wanted to be sure.”
“Anyway,” said Jenur, “Quro was a member of the Dark Tigers. Ever heard of 'em?”
“I think so,” said Kinker. “They're an assassin's guild, correct?”
“The best in the Northern Isles,” said Jenur. “Our—their—headquarters is on Ruwa, deep in the Swamp of Light. It's treacherous terrain, easy to get lost in and even easier to die in. In all of my years as a member, I don't remember any non-Dark-Tiger getting through the Swamp on their own. So I never spent a lot of time around other children, mostly because the other Dark Tigers didn't have children and didn't want any.”
The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock Page 17