A thousand islands. Her body shuddered at the thought of so many transfers, cablers shouting and heaving on the barge to transfer it from wheel to wheel, moving ever up the river against a current so powerful, few sailboats could make the trip. The barge would drag along, tied to the cable and cutting the water, powered by the enormous wheels on each island. She could hear the clacking fins of a huge waterwheel nearby, the endless susurration of its motion proof that the cable system was still working, even after four millennia.
A shout broke the dawn air, and Ulwith nodded at her with kindness. “Crack the pod, Majesty. All will be well, but not unless you heal without dreaming. I’ll be watching, I swear it.”
She broke the pod, an acrid stench filling her nose, shifting into the scent of flowers and rot and sunshine, all swirling in a miasma that surged through her in a soundless rush. In seconds, her body began to cease struggling, muscles relaxing in a cascade as limb by limb, she gave up the fight against consciousness, but not before her tongue moved of its own volition.
“You were supposed to watch over the wedding, too.”
Nolan
West
The Loop was a smooth ride, even over ground that was uneven.
Moving north at speed, Nolan watched the endless moss fade away into grasses, with the ever-present mountains to his west, and a changing landscape to the east.
“How far have I gone?” he asked Cherry, slowing the Loop to begin looking for a stream. He needed more water but also wanted to wash the road grime out of his teeth. The Loop could move.
“One hundred thirty klicks. This continent spans thousands, and that’s not counting the vast river valley to the east. There’s water ahead and left, just below that tumble of rock. The vegetation gives it away,” Cherry said.
“Not a lot of that on Brightline.” Nolan parked and brought a pair of borrowed canteens with him, but he also had a collapsible survival pouch attached to his suit, folded up in an inner jacket pocket.
He stopped, listening, but only heard the wind. “Quiet here.”
“Not surprising. We don’t really understand the biosphere yet, but it looks complex. There have to be predators and prey, and that means areas of concentrated life—and areas to avoid. Like watering holes,” Cherry said.
“Point taken,” Nolan said, pulling his pistol as he approached the burbling stream. It was clear, shallow, and no more than a meter across. There were flat, circular plants along the edge, and small shadows moving in the water. Janusian fish, he guessed, though smaller than his thumb and lightning fast. He knelt and began filling the canteens, then the water bag. When they were full, he twisted the filter lock and shook them. All three vessels had standard survival issue caps that acted to purify everything except the most toxic soup. The water was safe to drink, so he did, tipping the canteen. Drinking deeply, he kept going until tears sprang to his eyes from the cold sting of clear water—so different from the stale tanks aboard ships or on the corners of Brightline where public taps were guarded by gangs.
In the distance, a shout, followed by a high scream, the ring of metal, and a muffled grunt. A fight, and it wasn’t going well for somebody.
“Just over there. Someone’s getting the shit kicked out of them,” Nolan said.
“Nolan, go slow. I can’t see what you can’t,” Cherry said, but he was already eeling up the low ridge to look.
A tall, athletic woman with striking cheekbones and black hair was busy beating the hell out of a man with short legs and long hair. He was howling in anger and swinging wildly at her, but she danced, dodged, and kept away from his huge hands, then she darted forward to punch him with a meaty thump and retreated before he could grab her. To the side, there were spilled backpacks and the sign of a struggle, but where they were, all that was happening was an ass-kicking of legendary proportions. With a whistling elbow, she splattered his nose in a crimson spray, but to Nolan’s utter surprise, he didn’t go down—if anything, he got angrier.
“That is one tough son of a bitch,” Nolan muttered, watching him blow snot and blood onto the ground, then lunge forward with deceptive speed. He was thickly built but tiring, and the fight could only end in one way.
The woman’s green eyes flashed above a smile of even white teeth, and Nolan could see her decide to finish him off. He kicked out with a booted foot and caught her in the leg, sending her sideways in a stagger. Pressing his advantage, he reached for her ponytail—
—and caught air because she was already spinning behind him, landing three stunning blows to his kidneys. He groaned, sagged, and fell to his knees, eyes rolling wild with pain as she scuffed at the ground for a pistol that was half-buried by their exertions. As she bent down, the man’s hand flickered up toward her chest, and a short, brutal knife appeared from nowhere.
Nolan shot his fingers clean off, sending two digits spinning away as the knife shattered. The man roared in pain, but not for long, because the woman found her pistol, drew it smoothly, and shot him between the eyes without hesitation.
In a continuation, she wheeled toward Nolan, gun raised and hand steady. Since Nolan had his weapon trained on her, for a moment, it was a standoff.
“Drop your gun,” she said.
“No.”
“I’ll shoot you,” she said. She had a good voice, steady and strong, but Nolan sensed she was lying. Her eyes were bright with curiosity and indecision.
“I have my doubts.” Nolan gave her a level gaze, his hand rock steady, the weapon pointed at her head.
She shrugged, pointed her weapon at the ground, and smiled. “Where are you from?”
“Me? I come from the sky. A god, if you will, a being of pure light and—”
“Don’t be an asshole. You’re from a heavy grav world, judging by your muscles, and your accent is too clean to have been here for long. What planet? Were you on the ship that came down to the west, on the peaks?” she asked.
“Something like that.” Nolan nodded toward the dead guy. “If you killed him, why give up to me?”
“Odds. You’ll get your shot off a touch quicker because of your fast-twitch muscles. I’d be dead, you’d be wounded, and then we’d both be fucked. I’ll take my chances this way. You don’t look like a—well, like something bad. You look like a guy who’s still trying to figure out how he got here.”
“I am. Nolan Hayes, by the way.”
“Avina Belaric. Came down on the research vessel Khyber Pass about three months ago or so. I haven’t worked out the year just yet, but I’ve been busy.”
“Who was that?” Nolan asked, pointing to the corpse.
“I don’t know. He saw me and chased me, and I knew he wasn’t going to give up. So I decided to hand his ass to him and see if I could make some space between us. Then you showed up, and now he’s dead, and I’m hungry,” she said.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah. I get hungry when I run for an hour. So I’m hungry, and thirsty, too,” she said.
“Here.” Nolan walked to her and handed over a canteen.
“Water?”
“No. Ale, from an old family recipe. I brought it with me while falling at terminal velocity because—”
She stuck her tongue out at him but drank, eyes closing in relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” As he looked at her again, it came into focus just how striking she was. Outdoorsy but feminine and prone to tug at her long black hair, with big green eyes and the kind of legs that were made to run. She wore a ship’s suit, patched with rough furs and a belt made of metal. She had two knives in her belt, and one in her left boot. They looked like serious weapons, and over her shoulder there was a thin coil of fine cable.
“What?” she asked me, handing the canteen back.
“Where’s your ride?”
“You’re looking at them,” she said, pointing to her feet. She’d put her gun away, concluding Nolan was, for the moment, safe. He wasn’t entirely sure about her, but things were moving along well enough that
he holstered his weapon and handed the canteen back to her.
“I have a circular cycle thing. A Loop, it’s called. Faster than hell and rides two. Where are you going?” Nolan asked, suddenly aware that he didn’t have a destination in mind.
“Away from here. My ship came apart on impact, but I’d already bailed. I’m the only survivor, and I’ve been on the run in those hills since the crash. This planet is a death trap,” Avina said.
“Why so?”
“The jump point, among other things. Takes everything in the area, shakes it up, and sends it spinning to the ground here. I’ve seen plenty of ships streak through the sky, and not all of them come down. This place is crowded with people. Just not here,” she said.
“Where, then?” Nolan asked, thinking he could use more people. If only to find out how he was going to survive. The idea of space cow jerky and a life alone wasn’t exactly lifting his spirits.
“There are huge tribes, or rather, places with lots of tribes who are kind of alike. The North’r, the Deep West, past the mountains. The river people, and a lot more. I don’t know it all, but I’ve learned a few things. Mostly, I’ve been trying to stay alive.” She sighed in disgust, waving across the expanse of land before us. “The locals are hostile, and the imports aren’t much better.”
“Imports?”
“Us. The poor bastards who keep coming down to the surface,” she said.
Nolan considered that, feeling the breeze on his face while thinking. “Let me guess. I happen to have landed in a place between warring tribes and with fewer animals that want to eat me?”
“Guess you’re just lucky that way,” she said, grinning.
“Unless I develop the ability to fly, then I’m here for good. Or at least until a ship comes down intact, offers me a lift, and—ah, hell, I’m here for good.” He slapped palms on his thighs, giving Avina a wintry smile. “I’m going to need a few things.”
“Like what?” Her brow lifted in vague suspicion.
He didn’t blame her. She’d just described a world at war, filled with danger, and she was in the middle of it all with an unknown quantity—a guy who claimed to have fallen from the sky.
“I don’t feel like fighting in petty wars. I fought enough on the streets of Brightline for a dozen lifetimes. I’ve had my fill. I want to find the people who took me in, but beyond that, I think I just want to be left alone,” he said.
“Brightline? The—the place with ore and lava, or something?”
“Yeah. Tough place to grow up. A man named Crowe helped me after planetfall, and now—” He sketched out the situation, watching her eyes narrow as she looked around for someone coming over the ridge with murder in their eyes. “Whatever happened at their settlement was slick and professional. Seen anything in the area matching that description?”
“Here? No. Everywhere else? I think it’s the way of things.” She pointed to a distant shape moving fast across the sky. “Like that.”
Nolan squinted, then Cherry brought the shape into focus. It was a scaled bird of some kind, streaking through the sky in a dive that turned its hide into a blur. Long, lean, and blue, it struck its prey like a bullet, knocking the smaller crimson bird out of the sky with a savage impact. The blue creature turned on its wingtip, followed its prey to the ground, and dispatched it with a vicious snap of its wide, toothsome beak.
“Rough place to fly,” Nolan said.
“Yeah. Or walk. There are things around here that make me nervous, and then there are things that scare the hell outta me,” Avina said.
“Walk with me?” he asked her, standing and holding out a hand.
She gave it a long look, then put her fingers in his palm. Nolan pulled her up easily. Avina grinned, and they stood for a moment, uncertain of what came next.
“For how far?” she asked.
He blew air through his teeth, then shrugged. “Until you get tired of me?”
“I can live with that. Which way?”
“To the Loop, and then north, I think. Crowe’s people are alive, and whoever took them won’t stop there. That means I can find them and help, or cower in the brush and wait for them to find me. Us, I mean,” Nolan said.
Avina frowned. “I don’t like cowering, and I don’t like the brush. Itchy. The moss smells like sweaty feet, too. No thanks. I’d rather fight and die building a castle than live like an animal out here.”
Nolan smiled in what was his first flare of hope since landing. “You know what? I feel exactly the same way.”
“I have a suggestion other than simply to go north. Want to see something impressive?” Avina asked.
“More impressive than moss?”
“Hah. Yes, far more. Take me to your Loop and head northwest. There’s something there you need to see,” she said.
“What is it?” Nolan asked, curious.
“The Starway. And I guarantee you it’ll be useful to find your friends.”
Closure
East
True to his name, Keen pocketed the coins without counting, having watched the client fill a nondescript purse. As she slid each coin into the dried leather, her hands moved with quicksilver certainty, and Keen knew, sure as any pickpocket, that if she wanted to cheat them, they would never see it coming.
“Tell us of this problem, lady.” Keen leaned forward, his sharp nose lit by the candles along the winehall’s filthy walls. Medium in height, but muscular, he was a full foot taller than his partner, a small, silent woman named Whisper who wore a velvet cowl and grim expression. Her flesh was dead white, like a drowning victim pulled from the river’s bosom after a long stay, but her eyes burned with intellect and cunning.
As to Keen, he was obviously the extrovert among the pair. With handsome features and excellent teeth, his nondescript brown hair would allow him to fit anywhere along the river except for the far eastern deserts, where blondes were common, and even then, his aura was more trader than killer.
Whisper broke her silence with an oddly girlish voice. “Problems. We like them.”
“I’m glad you do,” rasped their benefactor. “I tire of being disappointed.”
The killers glanced at each other in soundless understanding before Keen spoke. “And by, ah, disappointed, you mean an unfulfilled contract, lady?”
“Exactly. I could do the work myself, but I am required elsewhere, and quickly. Tell me, what’s the longest you’ve taken to fulfill an assignment?”
“Six days,” the pair answered.
Their answer was a satisfied nod. “Do it in one and your pay is tripled. Do it not at all, and I’ll collect the coins from your bodies before you can spend them on wine and”—she hesitated, considering the odd pair—“whatever it is you do for pleasure.”
Keen grinned without guile. When asked to be truthful, he was at ease. This was one such moment, and he was thankful for it as it cut the tension around their huddled table. They were surrounded by the chaos of revelry and sullen drunks, but even so, merely being in the presence of the unknown woman set their teeth on edge due to her proximity. She reeked of mystery and had the hands of someone who was used to violence, with small white scars along each finger and a ring of smeared tattoo around her wrist. When taken together, those qualities made for the kind of person one didn’t disobey if the goal was seeing another sunrise.
Keen loved the sunrise; Whisper loved the night. But they both looked forward to another day, regardless of whether it was light or dark. From years of long association, they leaned together, presenting a united, competent front in hopes that the sorceress would grant them their leave to begin hunting.
It was apparent she would do no such thing, for with the lift of a hand, she called the owner to their table with a clinking tray of glasses, ice, and brandy.
“Lady, we cannot—”
“You will,” she said, pouring for them after waving the obsequious owner away. “Ice is expensive, and I wish to have a drink. I’ve a long night.”
They sipped out o
f fear and respect, the dark wine hinting at years in a hidden cask, its flavor somewhere between berries and earth.
“You, ah—you work as well?” Keen ventured, unsure what to do in the interim between polite sips.
For a moment, he thought she would refuse to answer, but then she did, and he wished she hadn’t.
“When you’ve completed your task, I’ll need something from the body.”
Whisper gave an alarmed cough and placed her cup down with careful hands. “A trophy?”
They’d heard of such things, of course, for the business of death was filled with all manner of depravity. But still, it was a rather unusual request, and one that fogged the air with further unease, which was something Keen hadn’t thought possible given his growing concerns.
Most revenge was best done without lingering evidence, a keystone of their business since they were little more than two children with knives, a need for money, and a lack of common sense. Collecting trophies was the province of truly wicked people, and despite their occupation, both Whisper and Keen considered themselves artisans more than ghouls. They did have limits, after all. Everyone did, unless the money was overwhelming, and in that case, a flexible sense of morality was merely adding to the local economy. Gravediggers didn’t work for free, and neither did killers.
Still, a trophy meant transporting evidence of the very worst kind of crime, which was utterly against company policy for Whisper and Keen. They both prepared to offer alternative suggestions, but the veiled woman silenced them with a wave.
“All I ask for is his weapon, nothing more.”
“It’s valuable?” Keen raised a brow, wondering what kind of blade their target carried. It had to be something special; otherwise, it could go into the river muck for all he cared. They had no need of new weapons, having used the same blades for a decade or longer. Their tools were more than metal; they were partners, and familiarity was critical during times of extreme duress. When a victim resisted, it was best to know every inch of your steel, a fact that anyone in the field of dark work knew.
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 8