Kasanari River Docks
Krandermore, Survivor’s Refuge
4453.2.19 Interstellar
Koni took a few long strides to catch up to Lira and asked, “How can you trust someone you have never met?”
Lira raised an eyebrow. “I’ve spent a year earning favors with people on both sides of the Twilight Valley. I trust my contacts; they trust Captain Tanaka. It’s the same as if your clan recommended someone.”
“Will your contacts hunt this man down and tear him to pieces if he cheats you?”
“Of course not,” Lira said. “That would be psychotic.”
“Then it is not the same, Lira Allencourt,” Koni said with a predatory smile. “But I know of Tanaka. She’s a mostly honest woman.”
Lira rolled her eyes and grumbled, “She doesn’t have to be honest. We have a contract. She has incentives.”
As they neared the middle of the docks, where the larger boats were moored, they could make out nearly a dozen boats big enough to carry their buggies. A woman with a weather-beaten face and a patchwork jacket stood in front of the nicest looking of the lot, its synthetic exterior recently scrubbed and washed.
The woman spotted Lira approaching and broke into a wide smile, exposing discolored teeth. “You must be the aspirants,” the woman said. “I’m Captain Tanaka. As you can see, we’re ready to leave as soon as you’re aboard.”
Lira started to answer, but Koni put a hand on her shoulder and spoke instead. “You’re intending to take us down the river in that?”
The captain’s smile drooped a little. “Of course. You’ll find no better in Kasanari.”
“I could hardly find worse,” Koni said.
Captain Tanaka closed her mouth and swallowed.
Lira grabbed Koni’s arm and whispered, “Is this a negotiation tactic? Because we’ve already paid.”
“Pay again. Get a boat that won’t kill us.”
Lira frowned and stuck her jaw out. “Explain.”
Koni crossed her arms and cocked her head at the smaller woman. She knew Lira wasn’t weak—the other woman had struck her to the ground on their first meeting. The only explanation Koni could think of, as outlandish as it might be, was that Lira actually wanted to learn. “That hull is made of lighter materials—probably a Motragi invention. It has a deeper draft and efficient engines with electronic controls. She would take us to Veraz faster than any other ship here,” Koni said, inclining her head to Captain Tanaka, “was it not the beginning of the rainy season.”
“It’s always raining,” Lira said.
Koni ignored the comment. “This is the great river Iztacatl. In Standard, this means ‘white water.’ Storm surges come without warning and a hull that light would be the river’s plaything. If it does not capsize, and the engine does not quit on us at the worst moment, we will run aground. Any riverwoman could tell you that.”
This time, it was Captain Tanaka who bowed her head, misery written on her face. “The honored Verazlan is correct, Lira Allencourt.”
Lira closed her eyes and sighed. “Survivor, grant me strength.” She opened her eyes and grinned. “There’s a sucker born every day, isn’t there? Good job, Koni. Let’s go find a better—”
“Wait!” Captain Tanaka said. “Did you say Koni? As in Koni Atl-Verazlan?”
“She did,” Koni said warily.
Tanaka said something in a local dialect Koni didn’t understand but was obviously vile and prolific cursing. “Forgive me, Honored Captain. I would never have offered to take you on a boat like this.”
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“Why did you offer it to anyone?” Koni said, her voice like the rumble of a building thunderheads.
Captain Tanaka winced. “I was told to use my fastest ship. Lira Allencourt is owed many favors, and those favors would have fallen to me if I got you to Veraz in record time.”
“Your fastest?” Lira asked. “You have several ships?”
Tanaka patted the beautiful, lightweight hull and smiled with yellowed teeth, “As young and beautiful as the Kamome might be, she is not and never will be my true love.”
***
Janus, Ryler, Fury, and Mick pulled up to a wide wooden riverboat. The vessel looked old, its planks stained, scrubbed, and stained again dozens of times. A sturdy ramp was thrown down, ready for the buggies to roll across.
“Avast ye landlubbers!” Lira yelled, waving from behind the boat’s high freeboard.
“This does not inspire much confidence,” Mick said.
Janus disagreed. Lira and Koni were laughing at the railing, watching together as the buggies rolled aboard. “I wonder what happened.”
“I doubt they’ll tell us. You know how women are,” Mick said.
Janus glanced at Mick. “It’s my understanding Hunter women are a bit different.”
Mick snorted. “I mean, yeah. Trace gave birth to me in a day tent. Didn’t make it back to a proper caravan for a month.”
“Were you born early?” Janus asked.
Mick frowned. “No, right on time.”
The Hunter’s answer filled Janus with secret dread. He’d been angry when he’d heard what the compartmentalists planned for his family and maybe all of Irkalla. For some reason, though, the possibility of a son he’d never met coming to harm made his bones feel rotten.
“You still thinking of Lee?” Mick asked. “Haven’t brought her up in a while.”
Janus parked where a Kasanarian sailor told him to, and the crew started to chain the buggies down. “Let’s talk about it later. I want to tell Lira and Koni about the score.”
Mick groaned. “Are we sure this isn’t some kind of prank?”
“It’s a rotten joke if it is,” Janus said. His hazard indicators were yellow-green-green, so he left the helmet in the buggy.
Lira met his eyes as he got out. She stopped. “Our score has gone up again, hasn’t it?” she asked, looking from Janus to Mick.
“Yeah,” Janus said.
“I can’t figure it out,” Ryler said. “This has to be more than a single event. It’s accelerating. It’s like… something at the beginning of the race is triggering a chain reaction.”
“You mean Copecki’s death,” Koni said.
“Sorry,” Ryler said. “I mean that.”
“He’ll be missed,” Koni said.
“His body will have made it home before us,” Janus said. “We had to take the long route.”
They all looked at Koni.
“Whatever it is,” she said. “We’ll find out when we reach Veraz.”
***
Temple of Tlaloc, City of Veraz
Krandermore, Survivor’s Refuge
4453.2.20 Interstellar
Citlalmina had been born to bitterness. What had started as a mean-spirited joke by her own mother had turned prophetic through a series of disappointments.
She’d been five years old when she understood she would never be more than a dockworker’s daughter. She’d still worshiped her father, and her adoration had been rewarded by his rise to become an aspirant, a champion of the Trials.
Then, he’d disappeared.
She found out later, once she was old enough, what a sacrifice Brago Tlali-Acamatl had made for their family, and as the discreet favors of the wayfinders and her own careful involvement in the dockworkers’ union came to fruition, she’d found herself betrothed to Yolotli Atl-Verazlan, the firstborn son of the Atl-Verazlan-teuctli. Yolotli was younger than her, and sweet.
She’d never known if he was deemed unworthy by his family or if she was, but his sister, Tialli, was declared the heir, and Citlalmina descendants became Atl-Verazlan-hueyi.
She became lesser and almost died of shame.
Citlalmina recovered, of course. Her marriage didn’t. Once Yolotli realized she’d only loved him for his position, the softhearted fool all but spurned her.
In all that, the great champion’s bitter daughter still managed to do her duty for her family and her clan. She got custody of Yolotli’s genes, as was her right, and successfully birthed an heir in the vats of Veraz.
Now, she walked down the aisle between the great limestone pillars to the altar where they’d laid Copecki for the viewing. The temple reverberated with her family’s funeral dirge, their sorrow filling the space like a tangible thing. The Tlali-Acamatls were simple people with placid expressions and deep passions. They had square jaws and dockworkers’ hands, and they were built big, just like Copecki had been.
Just like her father, Brago, who killed him.
She stopped in front of the altar. Copecki’s body was covered in a white sheet that, like the wayfinders’ white robes, was supposed to signify that there were no clans beyond death, but Copecki had been his father’s son through and through. He’d had his father’s sympathy for poor, lost Koni. He’d had his father’s weakness.
Citlalmina was a woman torn between her love for her son, her disdain for her husband, her adoration for her father, and her disgust for the family she’d been born into. She had tried to raise Copecki to be a champion like Brago, and she had almost gotten Tialli’s daughter out of the way for her boy to take his rightful place—the place that would have been Citlalmina’s if she’d been born to the right family, or if Yolotli had been a stronger man.
She placed a trembling hand on the altar, stopping short of touching her son’s cold, dead body.
Citlalmina had been born to bitterness and to a family that had quietly taken control of the city’s docks over generations of quiet cunning and less subtle uses of force. She’d resented Koni from the moment her niece was born, but now decades of dry malice caught a spark and burst into hate.