Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series

by Maggert, Terry

  “Yes but—” the girl said, exasperated.

  “Hardline. We’ll call it Hardline.”

  The girl considered it for a moment, then gave a single, sharp nod. “Good.”

  They took an easy pace, northwest over ground that was prairie, with thick grasses and varieties of plant life that looked almost familiar. Then Nolan saw a tree, twisted and bent, followed by several others, their limbs all hanging with rose colored fruit. As they approached, he began to smile, a memory triggered by something he hadn’t known since he was a kid roaming the parks of Brightline.

  Apples.

  “Is that—” Nolan asked, but he knew. He walked up and picked an apple, scored it with his knife, and smelled that sweet, biting aroma. “This is an Earth plant.”

  “It is,” Avina said. “And old. This grove is almost dead. There are younger trees up the hill a bit, but these have been here for a long time. More than a century, if I had to guess.”

  “At least,” Nolan said, distracted by the sight of old trees and red fruit swaying in the light breeze. The patter of small animals echoed as they wound around the grove, staying to the outer edges. Nolan didn’t trust being trapped inside a giant food source, even if herbivores might eat the apples. Where the plant eaters were, predators followed. His eyes were alert, and he gestured discreetly to Crowe and Tilde that they should be cautious. With two nods in return, the kids fell on the trees, picking and eating apples with an abandon that let them begin forgetting their ordeal.

  Kids are resilient, and Nolan was never more thankful for that fact then just then.

  Behind them, the Starway stretched over the horizon in both directions. They were several klicks away and gaining altitude, and after a mild descent and a long, slow climb, they would be in the general area Nolan wanted for Hardline. Cherry made it a day, if a tough one, or two short days that would leave them exposed out under the moons.

  “We’ll go until dusk, then we circle and camp. They’ve had enough,” Nolan said to Avina in a low tone. She gave him a small nod and wandered to the nearest tree, stuffing apples in her pack even while she ate one, her white teeth making short work of one, and then a second fruit.

  Nolan picked his own, ate it, drank some water, and sidled up to Crowe, who stood watching the children with an expression of resigned sadness.

  “They don’t fucking deserve this. Not one bit of it,” Crowe said, his face flushing with anger.

  “I know. It’s a big job, but we can see to it that they’re safe. You and Tilde, too, if you’re willing to help guide me in the right direction. I know the slums of Brightline, and, ah, other less savory places. I know how to fight, but as to building? Not really my thing. I’m more of a smash-and-dash kinda guy,” Nolan said.

  “We know how to build,” he said, then winced. “Guess we didn’t quite know how to fight.” He spat at the ground, then frowned so deeply that only Tilde touching his arm lessened the rage coming off him in waves. “I thought we were safe up there. That we could negotiate or stay out of their sight.”

  “You can’t avoid—whatever those bastards were. There are always going to be takers, no matter how far off the beaten path you are from civilization, and maybe that’s why people like that are thriving here,” Nolan said. He blew out some air and listened to the wind rustling in the branches.

  “Even though I don’t know where the hell we are, the world doesn’t feel alien. Just new,” Nolan told Cherry.

  “And dangerous,” she said.

  “They thrive because of how far away any authority is,” Crowe said, interrupting with his thoughts.

  Tilde held up a hand. “They’re strong because there’s no one to stop them. People have been here for a long time, Nolan. Longer than we’ve been able to figure out, and the supply of unwitting colonists is always increasing, at least until they die or are taken hostage.”

  Nolan stared hard at the Starway yet again. Something about it made his skin crawl, like there was an unseen story that might be important but unavailable to someone new to the world.

  “We’ll be far enough away from that to stay low until we get settled,” Nolan said, waving over his shoulder at the Starway.

  “And then what?” Crowe asked.

  “Then we find out who built it and why. Something like that means people intended to stay here, and that only happens on one kind of planet,” Nolan said.

  “A colony,” Avina said.

  “Exactly. We think these apple trees are old, but I’m betting the history here goes back a lot longer than some crash victim dropping the remains of their lunch. If there are apples, then there are other things from old Earth, and we can use them. I don’t see any rescue craft, which means it’s on us. We will be the rescuers from this point forward,” Nolan said.

  “Where can we start?” Tilde asked.

  “Right up there. Avina and I will cross that stream, check the land, and be back here to lead you up. I won’t put the kids through another horror show like—like back there,” Nolan said through a jaw that had gone tight.

  “To the river, then,” Avina said. “I take it you don’t want to waste time?”

  “I don’t. To the river.” Nolan waved to the kids, said some quiet words to Tilde and Crowe, then left and walked the gentle incline with his eyes open for any threat larger than his finger.

  Nolan kicked at the soil occasionally as they went. “Anything odd about this place?” he asked Avina.

  “Stranger than a giant highway to nowhere and weird animals? Things like that?”

  “The soil. Earth plants grow in it,” he said.

  “I noticed it but never really thought about it. Like here, and here,” Avina said, pointing to various clumps of grass. “That’s human stuff. I’ve seen those plants on other worlds. It’s—” She snapped her fingers, thinking, then gave up in frustration. “It’s not native, so, yeah. I’d say some degree of terraforming happened here. I just don’t know how long that takes.”

  “A long time. Centuries,” Nolan said. “They talked about turning Brightline into some kind of garden world with plants that grew in the dark. It was never going to happen. The time frame was thousands of years, not just years. Turned out, people lost interest when they realized their children and grandchildren would never see anything living on the surface.”

  “There are some people that live that long,” Avina said.

  “And I hope they’re not here. The last thing we need is—get down,” Nolan said, pulling her shoulder.

  She dropped low without a complaint, and they peered, as one, over the branch of an odd bush, the leaves swaying like metallic bells. There was a sound coming from nearby, and it sounded like a man.

  An old man, and from the sound of his voice, he was in the throes of grief.

  “They told us to watch the sky for satellites, and ships, Marie, and aye, we watched. A hundred and six years, we watched, and for what?” the man said, each phrase punctuated with the ring of a shovel against dirt. He was digging, his threadbare blue shirt sweated through, clinging to a chest gone birdlike with age. “What’s that?” He looked our way, putting a hand over his eyes to shield them from the light.

  Nolan stood, and then Avina did too. The man was unarmed, unless you thought a small shovel was lethal at twenty meters.

  “We’re not going to harm you. Sir,” Nolan added. It seemed like the right thing to do.

  “How could you?” he asked, his voice rough. He waved the shovel toward the pile of dirt before him. It had the distinct look of a grave. “My wife is dead. I’ll be dead soon enough, and then there will be nothing. No ships, no help. Nothing.” He was rail thin, tall, and old, his bald head scalded by years in the alien sunlight. A hint of mania played at his dark eyes, which glittered with tears and something far more painful to see. Surrender.

  “Who told you to--” Nolan asked, but he stopped and changed his mind. “Tell me about your wife. I’m Nolan, just got here a few days ago. This is Avina.”

  “Hell
o, sir,” Avina said, her voice friendly.

  He worked his mouth like he tasted something sour, then rubbed a dirty hand over his lined face. There were tear tracks through the dirt on his cheeks, and it took him a deep breath or two before he could speak.

  “Hello,” he said. With agonized slowness, he sat down and dropped the shovel with distaste. “I’m done.”

  “We can help, if you need to—if you need anything,” Avina said.

  He waved a hand, then let it fall on his leg, raising a puff of dust from the faded fabric. “The grave is done. I was just wallowing. No sense in it now. It’s done. All of it is done. Marie and I didn’t come here by choice. None of us do, I think, but we were sure that the linkage would work.”

  “Linkage?” Nolan asked. He was playing his hand close to his vest, despite having some questions about why this lonely old man knew of satellites, and the entire river population lived like serfs. Or worse. At some point, he’d have to share the drone reports with Cherry, but for now, he left the subroutine command as a secret, and he focused on the tired, sad man before him.

  “There were satellites years ago. Thought I could hook in and send a beacon on permanent loop. Thought it would warn someone before they hit atmosphere, and in turn—”

  “They could send help to you down here?” Nolan asked.

  “Yes. Didn’t work that way, though. The jump point is too close to the planet, and everyone comes down hard. It’s been like this since the beginning, and it will be until the point dies. Or we do.” He gave them a wintry smile, though his eyes were still bright with tears. “I’m Owen.”

  “Nolan and Avina, like she said. We came down hard, too, but in different ships. I’ve got a bunch of kids over the hill, and we’re heading to the ridge just past you,” Nolan said.

  “Why?” Owen asked.

  “Because I’m going to build a home,” Nolan said.

  “A home?” Owen said, then fell silent. When he spoke, his eyes were less teared. Not clear, but better. “What kind of home?”

  “Something with guns and walls, for a start,” Nolan said.

  “Then what?” Owen asked.

  “Then I start making some changes.” When Owen raised his brow at Nolan’s answer, Nolan shrugged. “I don’t know who the People of the Clock are, but we’re about to become uncomfortably acquainted. They raided and killed off an entire settlement, or most of it, for reasons I don’t understand. Yet.”

  “Those bastards,” Owen spat.

  “You know them?” Avina asked.

  “Aye. Wish I didn’t. They left us alone because they thought we didn’t have anything and there were only two of us,” Owen said.

  Nolan smiled, because he knew Owen was telling half of the story—and was going to tell the rest. “So they thought you had nothing of interest?”

  Owen’s smile was cagey. “Correct.” He stood, slowly and with a lot of grunting, and when he was standing, he pointed over his shoulder. “Guess I’m not going to drop dead this instant, so I may as well show you the cave.”

  “I like the sound of that. Caves mean hiding places,” Nolan said.

  “And hiding places mean stuff,” Avina added.

  “Right. Stuff. We collected for a century, and all for nothing, or so I thought for a minute there. You say you saved some kids?” Owen said.

  “Kids, teens, adults,” Nolan said.

  “Good enough. Come with me. You’ll need to know what waits at the end of the road,” Owen said.

  “Which end?” Nolan asked.

  Owen smiled cryptically. “Both.”

  Chapter Seven

  Broken Message

  A roaring fire warmed the hall, but there were enough people in it that their presence alone would keep the room bearable despite the cold outside. It was the heart of winter, a time when new beginnings were far off to most people, but not North’r.

  The royal table groaned with food, all manner of bounty from the glasshouses laden on platters, carved chargers, and crockery of astonishing delicacy. Thrown from the fine clay of mountain deposits, the crafters of Sindelaar turned humble mud into graceful art, but that was true of so many people who called the Kingdom of Snow their home.

  More than a hundred people picked nervously at the food, nibbling grapes and peaches and an array of breads from the downstairs ovens. There were ripe cheeses and cream for the dark, hot tea that would warm people further as they stood near the end of the Thread, waiting for news.

  Archer Radwill spooned honey into a cup of hot wine, his face a mask of calm. His blonde hair flopped down to hide a brown eye, the other twinkling with delight at the thought of Corra’s wedding. He waved to Penman Olrute and his wife, Ambassador Nethe, but their attention, like his, drifted back to the bulbous globe of nothing that hovered just at the edge of a coiled spool of silver wire, its edges crackling with uncertainty above a dais carved of stone. The Thread connected them to the Salt Kingdom, its power drawn from a source more ancient than the river itself, and just as wild.

  With fluttering hands, Donakee, the Chemist, made a series of adjustments to the coil, then hissed for silence when the ghostly outline of a face hove into view. A small woman with black braids and scarred hands, she brooked no idiocy around the device, knowing that magic was an art best left undisturbed once it started working. The other end of the Thread was on the wedding barge, and she expected a full report from Ulwith as soon as their connection stabilized in the Ner’more.

  “Quiet, you rabble!” Tikka Imbow shouted at the crowd, her glare silencing people in seconds. A rangy brunette, she pointed a hand missing two fingers at the guests, who correctly concluded that if she was not afraid to fight a razorbeak—and win—then they would offer her no great challenge. With a dying murmur, the crowd fell silent just as Ulwith's strained face became clear enough to read his expression.

  It was the face of a wedding guest but far from joyous. More fitting for a funeral, there was no uplift in the twitching muscles around his mouth.

  “What is it?” Balant asked, shouldering everyone aside to stand inches away from the spectral image.

  Ulwith looked over his shoulder, nodding at something unseen, then returned his stricken gaze to the Thread. “Who’s in the room?”

  “Everyone,” Balant answered.

  “Even Engineer Tasmin? Surgeon Orana? I need every head of house in the room, now.”

  “They’re here.” Balant craned his neck to catch the eye of various leaders, making a note of them as he did. “Marika, Nethe, Droft—all here. Everyone except Lirana. She’s in the aviary, patching glass. You may speak.” The unsaid if you must hung between them. Whatever was coming wasn’t good. They all felt it; even the preening Vondaar could tell that something catastrophic had happened.

  He was not wrong.

  “We’re approaching the low cataract at Pontas, and before you ask, your new queen is here with me, and she is asleep. She cannot answer your questions, and she’s in no condition to do so—”

  “Our queen?” Balant asked, voice rising in fear. There was only one reason for Corra to be queen this soon, and it was as close to the end of the world as he ever wanted to see. Worse, if he was honest, since it meant he would live with the outcome.

  “Your queen. Your only ruler,” Ulwith intoned, voice devoid of emotion.

  “The pox?” Balant asked, his voice grating with fear.

  “No,” Ulwith answered, swift and decisive. The pox didn’t just kill. It killed generations. It killed wombs.

  A hum began as the Thread began to lose focus. Balant acted, waving the crowd silent again before adding a murderous glare. “Tell me. Tell us.”

  Ulwith gave a sharp nod and began to speak, and when the story came out in a barren tumble, the North’r, as one, began to cry.

  All except Vondaar.

  Nolan

  West

  Owen led them into a cave that had been converted to a bunker, run with lights, a ventilation system, and more comforts than anythin
g Nolan had seen since crashing. It was a place to hide, but more importantly, a place to collect. Everything along the walls and shelves was useful. As a kid in the slums of Brightline, Nolan knew people like Owen who kept everything, because you never knew. Trash was treasure among the poor—or the stranded, and right now, Nolan felt like both.

  “How long did you say?” Nolan asked.

  “Just over a century. I was in my thirties when we came down. What you’re looking at aren’t the most valuable things we collected, Nolan,” Owen said.

  “What is, then?” Nolan asked.

  “Follow me.” Owen led them further into the cave, the air cool and dry. He waved at a light plate, and the room flared into brilliance. “That is the most valuable.”

  Nolan approached the wall with care, and so did Avina.

  “What the,” Nolan murmured, voice low with awe.

  “A masterwork. Years of her life, a little at a time as we learned and verified. We were isolated but not cut off, as you can see. Marie was the talent. I was just good at finding things, but she—well,” Owen said, his voice trailing off in a mix of sadness and respect.

  “I can see,” Nolan said, leaning forward to look.

  It was a map, but so much more than just a map. It was two meters high and four meters across, filled with detail and small, circular numbers. On the bottom were small blocks of text describing what each number represented. The northern continent sprawled unbroken for thousands of klicks, split by the massive river and then beginning again. The south was covered with an ocean, and judging by the colors of the map, it went to unheard of depths along the massive plates.

  But there was land in the south—islands.

  Chains of islands, some small, some large, some little more than dots in the silver sea. There were points of interest there as well, people and names and places all scattered across the water like stars in the sky.