The Crimson Spark, page 15
part #1 of Vagabond Legacy Series
Cain scowled. “The trading companies take more than money as payment, as you well know.”
That hairs on the back of Nea’s neck stood up as Cain continued. “They got the population to become addicted to something they couldn’t afford, snatching up all the land, buildings, and people that they could along the way. The only real structure and rule comes from the slum lords who run the opium dens; those can afford enough of the drug to keep the population indebted to them.”
Nea wanted to be sick. It was horrible, to see human beings reduced to this, little more than animals.
What kind of king would allow this to happen?
The briar in Foresbury had been right. At the time Nea hadn’t been sure what he’d meant. First his story and the memorial to the lost slaves, then this horrible display of, what had he called it? Wanton cruelty? Nea didn’t know what to think. Would Mortimer Brumani send her to yet another haunting showcase? Force her to look at even more evidence of the grassers’ death grip on this country? And when she got there, would it merely lead her to another?
Nea shook her head; how could anyone look at all this and not be filled with anger, not want justice for all the wrongs. She did. She wanted to find the men who did this, one by one and hurt them like they’d hurt these people. She wanted them blind and crippled, mewling for mercy from the people they’d tormented.
Like those bastards you killed at Glatman.
Nea stared at Cain’s back. Who could stand by and watch as their king did nothing? The Briars were the ones who spoke up, the ones who’d actually taken any real action; time and time again she caught herself replaying their attack on the auction in her head.
What if she’s wrong about them?
Cain was a decent woman sure, Nea had seen that first hand when she’d helped those slaves get passed the Spook Legion. But would those slaves have been there were it not for the state of Fortuna? Fortuna, the name was a cruel joke. Nea felt that old familiar anger burning in her chest, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She wanted to lash out, to fight, break something, but everything here was already broken.
The few beggars who would, or could, talk to them, had heard the name Mortimer Brumani before. He must’ve been one of these slumlords Cain had mentioned. All the beggars they talked to pointed them in the direction of an opium den near the waterfront. The dens were the easiest buildings to spot; they were the only ones that weren’t completely falling apart.
“You should wait here,” said Nea, eyeing the place.
“I don’t want you going in there by yourself,” Cain replied.
Nea shook her head, “I know that but if we’re going to do this right I’ve got to be on my own. They’re expecting me.”
Cain frowned. “Yes I suppose, we can’t risk the trail going cold. Fine I’ll wait. But if I hear anything – anything – I’m coming in after you.”
Nea nodded and made for the door. “See you soon, M’lady.”
Inside the den, silent forms lay slumped about in every corner, little plums of white smoke illuminating their gaunt faces. Even the rancid smell from the street was blotted out by the cloying, overpowering stench of the drug. Nea had expected to be more afraid, instead all she felt was pity.
Poor bastards here can’t hurt anyone anymore.
Indeed, the only movement they seemed to be capable of was pressing the pipe to their lips. She took a few more strides into the den, looking around. No attendant, he too was probably off smoking.
Nea had no clue which of these ghouls might be Mortimer Brumani, but she didn’t feel like asking. Instead, she took a deep breath and again recited, “If you ever see a body, strung up in your view, take care and leave it strung, else the Briars string up you.”
For a few moments the lyrical words hung in the air with the smoke. Then a door Nea had taken just to be a patch of wall, slid open. Nea approached it warily. The room beyond was tiny, little more than a closet, cloaked in shadow. The walls were mirrored, and Nea had to be careful to avoid catching the eye of her reflection, now wasn’t the time.
The man, who could only be Mortimer Brumani, sat in the corner of the dark room, resting on a pile of cushions, a pipe in his hand. He was far gone, a ghoul for the drug like all the others. Little more than a skeleton with yellowing, pockmarked skin, his bones jutted out at odd angles and his hair was completely gone. His eyes were open, and fixed on Nea, unblinking.
“And what can I do for you?” The man’s voice came like a death rattle, so faint that Nea barely saw his lips move. His huge staring eyes followed her as she sat down before him.
“You can tell me where to find The Black Briars,” said Nea.
“Is that right?” He took a long draft on his pipe and let the smoke free of his mouth slowly, savoring it as much as possible.
Then he spoke again. “You did well, finding this place on your own, Nea Dúlaman.” Nea’s breath caught in her chest and she stiffened. “Relax,” he croaked. “I had a bird from our friend by the lake, he said that you might be coming.”
The smell of opium in the room was unbearable. She longed to be anywhere else, even the filth-covered streets, if only she could get away from the cloying sickeningly sweet smell. It brought back the worst kind of memories.
“What do you think of my home?” he asked, drawing back on his pipe once again. “Do be honest.”
“I think it’s the worst place I’ve ever seen.”
Mortimer cracked a smile, revealing dozens of missing teeth. “Go on.”
“I hate it. I want to leave. But… but I also want to…”
“Burn it to the ground?”
Nea blinked, “Yes.”
More than anything.
“Don’t feel guilty on that account boy. For the truly wretched, death is often a mercy. Wiping this town from the face of the earth would certainly be a mercy. This place is a monument to human suffering. You have the trading companies and his divine majesty the King to thank for that.”
Nea was desperately trying to avoid the man’s gaze but it followed her, like the eyes of a painting. It was true, all of it. The town made her so angry and sad she didn’t know what to do with herself. “Why doesn’t anyone stop them?” she asked softly.
Mortimer continued to look her up and down. “If you could stop them. Would you?”
She met his gaze now, her anger and hate almost completely overriding her fear. “Yes.”
“What would you do to stop them?”
“I’d fight.”
“Would you kill?”
“Of course.” said Nea, her nasty smile imitating the ghoul’s. “For the truly wretched, death can be a mercy.”
Mortimer let out a garbled laugh and puffed again on his pipe. “You’re smart. And you speak with a weight of experience I don’t often hear from one as young as you. You are exactly the kind of solider we need.”
“Kind of you,” replied Nea, her face set.
“Let’s get right to what you’re here for then, shall we? Information. You see Nea, the Black Briars are a sanctuary. We take in those who have nowhere left to go, the frightened, lost souls of this land. And we train them.” he said. “Do you know why?”
Something told Nea that Brumani didn’t really need an answer.
He continued, “With the scattering of the land comes the scattering of military might. The King knows that and that’s why he’s trying so desperately to find us now. But it’s too late. Soon we will be ready to strip them of the power they so selfishly squander.”
“You mean…”
“To take control, yes, in one swift strike, Fortuna’s chain of command will collapse. The nation will fall to us, then Inferno.”
“Inferno?”
They’re mad, that’s not possible.
“The Twelve City-States of Inferno have grown weak since the murder of their king. Warring with one another over their religious disputes. They won’t be able to form up against the Fortuan army. One by one the twelve will fall to us, and with the combined strength of Fortuna and Inferno we will seize Conoscenzia. The Kengean Archipelago will be united for the first time since before the Clash.”
Nea stared at him, the ghoul’s face unreadable. “You’re mad if you think a small army like that can take over one country, let alone three.”
His smile grew. “That’s why we need fierce, hungry young soldiers like you counted among us.”
“It won’t be enough.”
“Our leader, Djeng Beljhar, is quite prepared. Both to seize the three nations and defend them. You’ve seen his power first hand, have you not?”
Nea thought back to the illusions Beljhar had cast at the guards. How powerful was he truly?
“And that’s why you’ve stolen the weapons?”
Brumani’s eyes widened. “Indeed, Mister Beljhar is gathering artifacts of the old world, weapons of such great destruction not a soul has dared use them. Until now.”
“People will—”
“People will rejoice, when we hang every last slaver in the land high for all of them to see. Wouldn’t you? Tell me that’s not a future you would fight for.”
“I…” Nea trailed off, unable to force the words together.
Damn right you would.
“I’ll just ask you one more question; if I like the answer then you’ll have your clue and be on your way, sound fair?”
Nea nodded.
“Will you go to war?”
Nea sat in the fumes, thinking about her answer. The ghoul waited patiently, a look of genuine curiosity on his mutilated face. Finally, Nea’s eyes fell upon her finger, on The Nuptial, the brand marking her as the property of the slaving companies for the rest of her life.
“I’m already at war.”
22
Patches
“Boy? Wake up child, you’re safe now.”
Leo’s eyes slid open. As his vision swam into focus, a face took shape before him, a woman’s face. She was Infernian, her dark amber skin and long black hair shining in the sunlight. Her features were sharp, her eyes dark and unreadable. She wore jewelry, hoops of gold in her ears and rings on her fingers, which combined with her red and gold tunic gave her a fiery appearance. This was muted somewhat by the faded and patched vagabond’s cloak she wore like a shawl. The woman was so incredibly beautiful that, for a moment, Leo wasn’t sure where he was.
She smiled weakly, as though it was something she didn’t often do. “I am glad to see you’re alive.”
Leo looked down at himself, his rescuer had treated his bad arm, and the bleeding had stopped, although it ached with every beat of his heart.
I wish the takabran had just taken the whole thing off.
The sun was blinding after being in the dark of the wood for so long, the endless blue sky greeted him like an old friend. Sitting up in amazement Leo saw he was in a meadow. Pure emerald grass grew tall, and wildflowers of every color imaginable lay scattered about, painting gorgeous pictures with every flutter of the wind.
“Where are we?” he asked, trying to get up.
The woman pressed her hand against his good shoulder, “Stay down, do not exert yourself just yet.” She sat beside him, carrying herself with grace and simplicity, as though she were at peace with all the life around her.
“Are we still in Mavrodasos?”
“Yes, but there is no danger to be found in this part of the Pinwheel.” Sure enough the large trees of Mavrodasos bordered the meadow, and kept it hidden away like an oasis in a desert. “I am sure you have many questions,” she said, removing a pile of green rags from one of her pockets.
It looked familiar, “What’s that?”
“The cloak, I took it from that dead soul in the woods. He is a fallen compatriot to you and I. We must give him the honors.”
“The honors?”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Are you not a vagabond? Forgive me if I was quick to judge but you are—
“Oh no, I mean yes, I am, er I think. But I haven’t been one for very long.” he admitted.
“You are a student? Then where, if I may ask, is your teacher?”
Leo shrugged sadly. “We got separated in the woods. Or maybe by the woods, I’m not sure.”
She nodded. “Quite ill to strangers no?”
“Y-yes.” Then, unsure of what else to say, “I’m Leo.”
“Zhenamansa,” she said offering him her hand. He shook it; her hands were soft and her grip firm. Bracelets rattled on her wrists and her fingernails had been painted a deep violet color.
“It seems Leo, that we have been made the butt of a joke.”
“Have we?” He watched as Zhenamansa began to rip up the old cloak as gingerly as possible.
“Not maliciously so; I believe the Pinwheel simply gets bored. Sitting here for thousands and thousands of years with nothing to do but play tricks on the odd travelers that dare to enter.”
“Sounds more lonely than bored,” said Leo, glancing at the surrounding trees.
“A generous perspective, considering it made you lose your vagabond.”
Leo shrugged. “It led me to you I guess, it can’t be all bad.”
She gave him a warmer smile. “I suppose not. But you are lucky I came around when I did. Tell me, what is the name of the vagabond you travel with?”
“Seiyariu,” said Leo, wondering where he was now; was he still alone in the woods, looking for him?
“Seiyariu.” Zhenamansa nodded, as this confirmed something to her, her smile vanishing. Why was that?
“Do you know him?”
She nodded. “I suppose you could say that, yes.”
“Everyone seems to know him, and he seems to know everyone.” Leo said rather wistfully.
Everyone except me, he wanted to add.
“How did you come to be travelling with such a famous vagabond?”
Famous?
Leo told her; he didn’t see any reason not to. The woman was kind and she was a vagabond. She didn’t seem to mean any harm.
“And you have been with him ever since?” Zhenamansa asked when he finished. Leo nodded. “I am sorry you lost one another, but please do not worry. There is a town not too far from here.” Zhenamansa pointed east, to where the meadow sloped off. “Hunter’s Hollow. Those lucky enough to find their way out of the Pinwheel sooner or later wind up near there.”
“Hunter’s Hollow.” The name didn’t sound familiar. Seiyariu hadn’t mentioned it at least.
Leo had been watching Zhenamansa’s hands this whole time. She tore the old cloak into small bits of fabric, then drew from her pockets a needle and thread. “What are you doing?”
“Seiyariu has not taught you this?”
Leo shook his head.
“Give me your cloak.”
Leo did, rather reluctantly. Zhenamansa took a piece of the old skeleton’s cloak and pressed it against his own.
“Do you know how to sew?”
“Yes,” said Leo rather proudly. Nico had been constantly ripping his clothes, so Leo had taught himself.
“That is good, then you can do this one yourself if you like. Hold it like this, there, very good. You see Leo, when one of our number dies, we shred his cloak and sew the pieces into our own. These are called the legacy patches.”
“Legacy patches,” said Leo softly, watching as Zhenamansa carefully sewed the patch onto hers.
The patch stuck out like dead grass, old and faded against the cloak’s natural color.
“Why do you do this?”
“Why do we do this, Leo,” she corrected. “Because as vagabonds we have nothing to our name but our deeds and our companions. We are the legacy of those who came before, you understand. That is why we carry them with us. A vagabond’s legacy never truly dies, it is sewn into the hearts of his kin that he may walk the Green Road forever.”
Leo thought about this more, staring at the patch. He found himself wondering about who that skeleton had been, and what he would think knowing that Leo was carrying a bit of him around now.
“That’s nice,” he said finally. “I like that.”
“Be sure to remember it if you come upon any more slain wanderers or if, and I pray this doesn’t happen, one of your companions is to fall.”
“I will,” said Leo.
“Is something wrong?” Zhenamansa asked.
“It’s nothing,” Leo’s thoughts of Nico had lingered longer than he would’ve liked. “I just, I lost someone, someone important, before all this. I would’ve liked to have something to remember him by is all.” After Nico’s death, all he’d taken with him were the nightmares.
“Is that when you tried to kill yourself?” Zhenamansa said gently.
Leo dropped the needle, “What?”
“When I was wrapping your arm, I found your scars. I am sorry if that was supposed to be a secret.”
Leo just stared at her, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t told anyone. Not a soul.
“The scars are deep. And they overlap on themselves enough to make me think they were self-inflicted.” Zhenamansa paused, perplexed by the look of horror on Leo’s face. “I am not angry with you child, I just—”
“Please don’t tell him,” said Leo softly.
“It is not my business to tell Seiyariu anything. But I must ask, why keep it a secret?”
“He’ll think I’m mad.” Leo’s voice was wavering now. “Or that I’m not fit to stay with him.”
Zhenamansa stared into Leo’s eyes for a few moments. Then she opened her cloak and pointed to a patch sewn into the fabric that covered her heart. “My husband,” she said simply. “Sometimes when those we love take that journey, it seems easier just to follow them, no?”
Leo turned away from her, shaking. “I needed him,” was all he said but the words had been floodgates, he felt the tears come.
