“What could be worse than—all that? And where is the Falls?”
“There are a lot of things worse than earning your meal on your back, asshole. You’re soft. You came—”
“I know, from the clouds. Seriously, enough with that. Where is the Falls, and who’s running it?” Nolan asked, anger flaring again.
“Northeast. About the only place you can survive north of here,” she said.
“Why? Patrols? Who’s stealing these people?”
“The People of the Clock don’t send out patrols, idiot. Not here, and sure as hell not to the northwest. Too dangerous. The wildlife around there is worse than their elite soldiers, and trust me, you don’t want to meet those bastards.” She winced, then grabbed her leg again. “I’m done.”
“From a leg wound? Seems a bit like quitting,” Nolan said without a hint of mercy.
“Artery,” she said.
He saw the spreading pool underneath her. She was bleeding out. The bullet had fragmented and torn her leg apart inside. Not Nolan’s problem, even if it did look painful.
“So many questions. I’ll give you a bullet if you tell me where I can take these people, if only for the short term. If you lie to me, you die here in the sun, and not fast. Tell me what I’m asking, and—” Nolan mimed shooting her, and the action made her swallow with fear, but he could see the fight fade from her eyes.
“Northeast, but only because the patrols won’t go there. Animals,” she said. Her words were getting thick. It was closer to the end, and Nolan needed more.
He gave her a canteen. “Drink.” She did.
“Who are the People of the Clock?” he asked.
She was silent for a second, then Nolan looked over and saw Avina free the last person, shooting a bitter smile, followed by a tiny nod. Avina—understood.
Loftus watched the exchange between Avina and Nolan, and she too understood.
“The original colonists. I think,” Loftus said. “Something about this planet makes tech fail as you get close to the river. So the people who live along it forget about everything outside the valley. And the stars.”
“Colonists? From where?”
Loftus leaned back, eyes fluttering. The pool of blood was a pond now, dark and oily. Her last word was a grinding whisper. “Earth.”
Cable Station
East
“Why didn’t she marry if she knew that issue would keep her on the throne?” Olek asked. “Seems easy enough to me, unless she was bound to someone else.”
Four Cablers sat at the scarred table, chipped mugs all around as they got well and truly drunk after eight days of duty at the wheel. The winehall was Cabler property but open to anyone pulling north or south on the river if they were paying customers.
“She was bound to the land. The Kingdom of Silence was her mate, not some stinking horseman hoping to live easy off her crown.” The second soldier, Dirge, was less drunk than the first and more doubtful of whether Silence would continue to exist as a state, given Archbride Rukisa’s sudden need to vacate the throne.
“Married to the land, my arse. She was married to that black circle of Ner’more and all the evil that come pourin’ out of it.” Takta, a skinny woman with enormous ears, spat on the floor through her teeth, being no friend of Silence, Rukisa, or their damnable practices. “That frigid witch killed half the west, then turned, crossed at the bridge of Tolentir, and went all the way to the mountains before she stopped. Don’t know what she was lookin’ for, but it weren’t no man with a pulse. The lot of ’em didn’t have a breath between ’em when she was done.”
“Done wiff what?” asked Stump, beer foam on his lip. It covered his rotten teeth, which was a benefit for everyone at the table, though they were none too pretty to look at either. Years of hard drinking, hard work, and weather left their faces more like worn saddles than the finest that the Cable Guild could muster.
“Done with her sorcery, thickskull. She was killing people all over Silence, and the tribes got sick of it. They earned enough blisters digging holes to put her victims in, I’m told, and that’s only the half of it. Makes you wonder just what she did to get chased outta that rabble.” Dirge wasn’t just the least drunk; he was the best informed. Unlike his squad, he listened intently to the news that flowed with or against the river’s oppressive current, a stream of lies, truths, and something between from which a smart person could build a tidy little income.
If they knew how to put the news to work, that is.
The foursome fell into a drinker’s silence as they hadn’t been together long enough to be actual friends, and conversation beyond simple complaining was too great a challenge for three of them. It was Cabler policy to move their garrisons around at odd intervals, breaking up teams, or squads, or even reassigning a randomly ordered number of people from any one station. The logic behind such a brilliant waste of time and energy was based on a belief that idle soldiers who came to be friends were more likely to lie, cheat, and steal—all of which were true, but damnably inconvenient for people who liked to stay in one place.
Still, if being in the same bed for a year was a personal goal, then the Cablers were a decidedly poor choice of occupation. Cabler security forces rarely stayed more than two months at any station, and given the thousands of wheels up and down river, that meant an endless opportunity for the guild hierarchy to meddle. No two island garrisons saw the same soldiers for more than a single moon. They moved on every month, unless the leadership was too busy plotting against each other to issue transfer documents.
Interfering seemed to please the guild nearly as much as their chosen purpose of collecting tolls. An endless array of barges transferred from station to station as they made their way north, and south, and then north again if they didn’t sink in the swirling currents. Barges lasted a few years at most, given the conditions in the middle channels, and it was a charmed captain who saw more than ten seasons on any one hull. From the huskworms to river beasts, there was no lack of reasons for a barge to end up sliding through the dark like an arrow to plant itself in the deep muck of the watery canyons a thousand feet below. Captains knew there was a garden of hulls down there, and it was a matter of time before one of their ships would join the wooden graveyard under their feet.
As to whether they were onboard when it happened, that was largely a matter of good planning. Experienced captains always knew how to swim and wore the oddly bulging jackets with horndall bladders under each arm, ready to whisk them downstream, head above water and bobbing like the luckiest cork in the history of all sailors.
“Rukisa is still out there,” muttered Dirge, breaking a long silence. As he spoke, the wheel rattled overhead, a barge transferring from band to band as it was taken further upstream.
“The sound o’ money,” two of them groused as one, though none of it ended up in their pockets. The guild was tight with wages, and even less forgiving for mistakes, which happened now and again if a collection of dullards were put on the same island. You needed experienced, sober Cablers to run a smooth station, or it would end up being cut out of the system by pirates with their sails and slick promises of a safe passage beyond the incompetent Cablers and their ancient network.
Foam lip now cleared of its burden, Stump narrowed his eyes after considering the missing queen. “Why should we care about her? Silence ain’t our affair. Never was, never will be. My grandsire told me to stick on the river and let the dirtsiders drown in their blood for all they can stop fightin’ long enough to grow food.”
“Or steal it,” added Olek, finishing his drink. He’d chosen wine over beer, then complained that it was more like vinegar than anything else. He was right. “If Silence goes to war, like they do, then it means the middle lands are going to empty of people.”
“Or flood with them. At least, that’s where the fighters will go,” said Dirge. He was staring into his cup, thinking. “We’ll transfer barge after barge of soldiers, and they won’t mind burning the world to get to whatever
riches are left in that husk of a kingdom. The ruins alone could be worth a trip.”
“Ruins? Along the Clockstones? You’re daft.” Takta spat again for emphasis. Like her companions, she had a healthy respect for the deserts and grasslands of Silence. They were widowmakers during summer, and none too kind during the mild seasons, either.
“Not just the Clockstones, but further east, to the desert,” said Dirge. “That’s where I’d go if I had a mind to raid while the corpse was still warm.”
“That’s one corpse will never get cold, not out in them dunes. Not on them grasses, full o’ heat and serpents and fever. We’d be smart to close the system to that lot, bringin’ back all manner of unwanted things.” Olek showed remarkable prescience for someone with little experience that didn’t involve drinking or complaining about the guild.
“That trader, the one with such terrible burns? Last split moon, when the barge caught up on a net?” Takta asked. Everyone remembered him—face like a tomato and skin hanging from his ears. He’d been a right sight, and none too friendly, but what could you expect from someone in pain.
“Go on,” Dirge told her. He’d wondered about him, too, since the news of Silence began filtering downriver.
“He took drunk as soon as his feet got dry, couldn’t hold his wine. The boys from his ship wouldn’t help him to the rooms, said he’d been touched by something bad, something that weren’t human. Out there, in Silence. Out to the west, jus’ like you said, Dirge. Where it’s all sand and nothin’ else.”
“Except death,” Stump added, shocking everyone with his moment of clarity.
“I didn’t see that, just his body in the sailcloth when they carried it down from the rooms. Anyone know what he died of?” Dirge asked. Death was a constant companion on the river, so he’d taken little notice of the body, even ignoring the prayers as his body was tossed in the current, back to the river where they all started.
“I know it weren’t sun poison. I seen that,” Stump said, voice grave even as he dug at an ear with his finger.
“Then what?” Olek leaned in, curious. He’d seen the man and had his own thoughts but wasn’t willing to share them out loud. Some things were best kept private, where they couldn’t be mocked. It was a strange and terrible world, but people tended to only believe what they could see.
“He was burned. Like he’d been in a fire, but no fire I ever seen. Didn’t have no bubbles on his skin, just—pieces of him, comin’ off. Like a serpent in the spring, you know?” Stump’s face was screwed up in concentration, trying to explain the inexplicable.
“He weren’t no snake, you fool.” Takta’s bark was pure derision, but a note of fear entered her voice. She’d seen the man, too, and was none too fond of recalling things best left to the deep, where they belonged. “There’s no halfkin made up like snakes. Don’t be even more dumb than y’already are.”
“Ain’t there fish people right outside this door?” Stump gave a messy wave, more than a little drunk and filled with righteous indignation.
“They’re River Children, not fish, and they’re halfkin, not human,” Olek said.
“Don’t mean there ain’t people made outta snakes or somethin’ like that. If they can be part fish—”
“More like a bottlenose,” Takta interrupted.
“Don’t matter. If they can swim like fish, then why ain’t there people out in the sand who can use fire, like a—you know, like them beasts they always said kept watch over the gaps where the hills are low,” Stump argued.
“The hills aren’t low. They’re mountains. People can’t climb them because it’s too high and they go mad, die with their lips blue, all frozen and whatnot.” Olek spoke as if he’d seen it personally, though his information was fifth-hand at best.
“Well, what if the hills out west are lower? Not Clockstones, but, you know, somethin’ else?”
“Clocklumps.” Takta giggled. She was good and drunk now.
“If they were only lumps, I suspect we’d have been over them by now. Four thousand years is a long time to avoid climbing something low enough to get over,” Dirge wagered.
“How d’ya know it’s four thousand? Didja count?” Stump asked, bellicose as ever. He wasn’t going to give up the idea of snake people and distant lands, though as to his motivation, it might have been found in the bottom of his well-worn cup.
“No, but the priests do, and the Penman, and anyone else who can count the moons and their circuits,” Dirge explained. He was losing patience with Stump, but then he’d never had much to begin with.
“I don’t know if they’re right, but that’s a long time to stay in one place,” Olek said. He was used to moving around, too. The idea of a whole year at one station made him twitchy. The concept of four thousand years left him confused or outright doubtful.
“Did anyone get the name of his barge?” Dirge asked. He was putting things together. Things that smelled like money, maybe, or information that might be worth something to the right people. He might not have the stones to go adrift and leave the Cablers, but he knew plenty of people that would if there was enough gold waiting on the other end. Sometimes, it was better to sell the direction of the prey than be a member of the hunting party, and this felt like one such occasion.
“Dunno. You could ask that bastard Hopwell, but it’ll cost you. He won’t let anyone look at the books without a guild seal, and even then, it takes a good bottle or two. I tried first week here when those cheating delta Stilters pushed off with my best coat still hangin’ over their rail,” Olek said. His lips were a thin line, anger returning at the injustice of losing a prized garment because he’d had to chase off a halfkin fooling with the anchor lines.
Dirge looked east, eyes focused elsewhere. “I just might do that.”
Nolan
West
“Eleven?” Nolan asked.
“That’s all.”
“Fucking animals,” he said, every syllable a vile curse. There were three adults, two teens, and six kids, all in rough shape. That was the total of Sunward, and watching them eat, drink, and cry as we washed and bandaged their myriad of wounds made Nolan’s blood cook like the inside of a star.
There was anger, and then there was whatever he was feeling, his face a rictus of simmering fury.
“Easy, Nolan,” Avina said. Her fingers rested lightly on his arm, the touch meant to reassure.
Instead, it sent a jolt of something more through his body. It was—generous, on her part, and with each second her hand was touching him, Nolan felt a tug, back from the edge of anger so hot it threatened to burn him to cinders.
“They’re kids.”
“I know. They know, too,” she said. “Look at them watching you, Nolan.”
He looked.
The anger began—not to drain away, because that was impossible, but to become more manageable. The kids were scared. Hurt. Their planet just flipped, they’d gone through something more horrific than anyone could imagine, and now the agent of their salvation was raging around like a madman.
Nolan sucked enormous drafts of air through his nose and let each one trickle out, gaining some measure of control with every breath. After a long moment, his shoulders lowered, the bunched muscles loose enough so that he could turn, regard Avina with thanks, and then address the kids.
“When you can walk, we’re going to go nice and easy to the northwest, okay? I’m sorry I scared you. Will you walk with me?” Nolan asked them, their eyes wide and staring.
At first, there was no reaction, then Avina smiled, and the kids began to warm to her. Then, they nodded, slowly, but with a hesitation that was jarring. Nolan knew little to nothing of kids, but in one moment he had become a kind of protector, and that meant he had a lot to learn. He did his best to smile, failed, and settled on a grin that was as genuine as he could muster.
“What are we gonna do there?” asked one of the teens, a thin girl with dirty blonde hair and tilted gray eyes. There was a lurid bruise on the side of he
r face, like a stripe.
Nolan exhaled again. Leave it to a kid to ask a hard question. “Did you like living at Sunward?”
“Yes,” she said. All the other kids were listening. The adults, too.
“Okay, well—I’m stuck here now, just like everyone else. This is my home, but I don’t have an actual home, so I’d like to ask you all to help me build it. Will you show me what to do? What would make you all feel comfortable and safe?” Nolan asked. He was looking at the girl, but the question was directed at everyone, including Avina.
“Yes,” the girl said simply.
Nolan reached out and took her hand. It was thin, and just like that, the decision was made.
“Mister?” she asked.
“Call me Nolan,” he said.
“Um, okay . . . Nolan.” She said his name with uncertainty but then repeated it a second later, more comfortable with the sound. “Nolan, what are we gonna call it? The new place?”
Nolan cut his eyes at Avina. He hadn’t thought that far ahead at all. Avina shrugged. No help there, but then again, it was a name.
“I can find a name,” Nolan muttered.
Cherry sent a small noise—the AI equivalent of a polite cough. “Nolan?”
“Go ahead, Cherry.”
“Who’s that?” the girl asked.
“It’s an AI. She’s in my eyeball.” Nolan tapped a finger against the hard shell of his eye, and the girl only leaned in closer. Kids are resilient.
“Is she friendly?”
“Very. She’s helping us think of a name. What do you think, Cherry?” he said out loud so everyone could hear.
Nolan listened for a moment while Cherry spoke, then nodded, smiling slowly.
“What did she sayyyyyy?” the girl asked, bouncing on her heels.
Nolan grinned, first at the girl, and then at everyone else. He pointed northwest. “We’re going to build that way. On a ridge where there’s a stream and a small lake. It’s a good place.”
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 10