Baltine, Eganene

Back against one of the smooth, metal structures that rose from the deck of the ship, the Hunter sat close to the fire. Eyes narrowed against the wind, he sighed, admitting the battle was lost. The weather would do as it would, despite his intentions.

Snowflakes hissed in the flames and he pulled at his hood. The Hunter ignored them, just as he ignored his worries and the hours that slipped by. High above the harbor, exposed on its windswept deck, there was nothing but the darkness of sea and sky to keep him company. The waves lapped against the hull, smelling of salt and mud.

This ship was a beast slowly bleeding rust, its ribs moaning in the waves. The sound scraped the length of his spine. This was not his place.

He was used to the forest, the crackle of snow and leaves, the loam of the marsh and a bed of pine needles to sleep upon. And while he’d been to Baltine a few times before following a mark, he didn’t like it. The whole place reeked of rot.

Yet, he’d told his friend that he’d do what he could.

He’d come upon the shore this morning, and despite his desires, stepped into the dark, knee-high waters to check the ship’s belly. Much of the maze was underwater, the rooms impassable and the doors rusted shut. All that remained were metal beams like bones picked clean. Anything of value had been taken long ago.

He shifted, palming a log and tossing it into the pyre. Sparks exploded, lighting the sky with new stars. It was a good view, he thought. Not a comfortable resting spot, but it fit his purpose. In the afternoon light, he’d carried load after load of wood up the ship’s ladders, up into the air until he was higher than the trees. Now, his limbs burned with fatigue and he stretched them gratefully, the muscles pulling taught beneath the hide of his jacket. He had been idle for too many days.

Taking some jerky from his pocket, he looked back into the wind. To his north, grey buildings lined the harbor, their unnatural heights reaching to the heavens in defiance of the gods. Windows lined their flanks and in a few places he could see the flame from his fire reflected in the mirror-glass. He understood why travelers whispered of ghosts holding vigil for a dead city.

Strange as the phenomenon might be, the fire was necessary. He’d built it to be visible for miles, into Baltine, far out in the ocean and deep into the forests. It was a beacon, a signal for the man he’d been sent to meet.

He looked back towards Baltine. It wasn’t just his fire reflected in the windows. True candles burned in some of the far away buildings. Carl pitied their owners. No one would live here by choice.

His sword lay across his legs and the blade was a reassuring weight. Pulling his pack closer, he took out his sharpening stone and set to work. The motion was soothing and familiar. It felt good to think of something other than his last conversation with Charlie.

If the stories were to be believed, things were getting worse. He wanted to help, but his friend was asking a lot. Orlenia was as south as anyone had traveled. Charlie said it was surrounded by woods, but Carl didn’t know them. It would be new terrain- the buildings, the roads and the people. With a steady swipe, he slid the stone across the blade.

The darkness around him matured, turning the sea into waves of molasses and the moon’s reflection, a wafer of white. Orlenia. How could leave his woods for that place?

When the edge of his sword was sharp and gleaming, he put the stone away and searched his pack. He drew the rawhide cylinder out carefully, but the oiled leathers were impervious to the snow and rain. Flipping off the lid, he slipped the papers from their pouch.

The first bounty was for John Reeser. A rapist and murderer, he’d been reported heading towards Baltine. Carl glanced at the small pinpricks glowing in the darkness. The man could be here and with a fifty nos reward, it was worth his time to check. If all went as planned, he’d be headed back to town tomorrow anyway.

He grunted and checked the next parchment. The picture showed a middle-aged man with small ears and a handsome nose. Austin Harakle: gunrunner. He didn’t know the name, but the face seemed familiar. Standing, the Hunter rested a hip against the rail, his gaze flickering over the forest towards Baltine’s buildings. To his eyes, they looked like glass honeycombs.

The first monstrosity was north of the ship. A few years ago, Carl had stood in its shadow and read its stone plaque. The Legg Mason building. No one knew what the name meant. It was a large block, consuming enough ground for a town. Carl wondered about the people who’d built it, marveling at how they could build into the sky itself.

To the Northwest was a pole-like monument, its apex crowned with a metal man. The salt in the air has erased his finer features. Not that it mattered, he thought. The man was from a different world. However, Carl’s favorite structure lay beneath his shadow. He thought is must be an enormous church. He’d never been inside, but at day, light sparkled through its windows like a kaleidoscope. The stained glass was broken, but beautiful.

Stamping his feet against the decking, he listened to the echo. Carl was skilled with traps and bow hunting. Finding trails, moving silently, getting close, that was his trade. But the money was better with bounty work and sometimes the work was necessity. He glanced at the roll of parchment in his hand. He didn’t love it, but that was a good thing. Tracking and killing men shouldn’t be enjoyed.

Satisfied that there was no one approaching, he went back to the fire. The wind gusted again, straight off the ocean. There was nothing to block it, no natural barrier, just the sea. It was harsher than mountain blizzards, the ice salts freezing to become shards that ripped exposed flesh.

Carl was a large man, fit and strong, and he’d purchased what he needed from Jamison’s supplies. The deerskin jerkin, rabbit-lined hat, gloves and boots warded him from the worst of the cold, and the oiled leather protected him from water.

The lights in Baltine grew more welcoming. There would be nothing as comfortable as an Inn, but depending on who owned those candles, he might yet find a bed to sleep upon. Gods be true, he was hardly past thirty, there might even be a lonely girl waiting for him to share her covers. Carl laughed into the chill air. It was good to wish, but he was used to waiting. The Hunt was never successful without patience.

Tucking his braid beneath the hood of his jacket, he shifted closer to the flames. He’d taken a risk agreeing to this meeting in the open. The woods were so much safer, especially here. The mountain chain to the west worked its way down the coast from Baltine, dotted with the occasional city. There was Delphi to the north and swampy Shingtown to the south.

He’d grown up in one of those small towns, in a place where homes were built by men’s hands. Not like this. Not like the cities, where things just were, the structures jutting out of the ground like so much majic. His father and uncle had built his home. Carl had helped. As a child, he and his brothers had cut shingles for the roof. But that had been before-- before the war, before the revolt, before the First and the Family.

Things best left alone, he thought. That town was no more and that house burned long ago.

The ladder began to creak. Carl grasped the pommel of his sword and sat waiting. His fire had been growing low and he hadn’t wanted to drag more wood to the deck.

The man climbed over the railing, dropping his pack and spreading his arms wide. His hood was pulled up, and Carl was unable to see his face. He appeared to be unarmed.

“Your name?” the Hunter asked, without moving.

“Watson.”

His hands were empty. “Who are you looking for, Watson?”

“A man who agreed to help us.”

Carl gestured to the fire, “Sit then and we can talk.”

The man was thin and his body shook as he sat, although Carl figured that was probably more from cold than fear. The man wouldn’t have climbed three stories to sit with someone whose sword was in his lap, not if he were a coward.

“I’m looking for a Hunter,” Watson said, pushing off his hood so that his face was exposed.

Carl tried to hide his surprise, but the man noticed.

“Wouldn’t have expected me to search you out, I know,” the man muttered.

Carl guessed he was about his own age, “Watson?”

“Not my real name. But my new one.”

“Who was Austin Harakle?”

“Me, before they found me.”

“Ahh, I know you, don’t I,” Carl sighed. “From where?”

“South of Shingtown. I had a wife and daughter...” The man’s voice cracked and he stopped speaking.

Carl let him sit in silence awhile and then sheathed his sword and grabbed his pack. “I assume you know about the bounty?”

The man nodded.

“It’s not a small one, either.”

“I didn’t do what they say I did.”

Carl grunted.

“It’s true, though,” the man replied, scooting closer to the flames. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“It says you are a gunrunner.”

“Now!”

“What were you before?”

The man shook himself. With blond hair and brown eyes, he could have been Carl’s kin. His voice was low, almost inaudible over the sounds of wind and water. “My father owned a small store. I helped him with the business. It was a small place, nothing fancy. We sold flour, meats, vegetables, buying and selling to people who passed through. We didn’t have much. My sister was married, moved away with her husband. It was just my father and our family.”

“A merchant, then?” Carl asked.

The man frowned, the runnels in his cheeks deepening. “I don’t know why they took an interest in us. We hardly spoke to Leanna’s family, didn’t know them well. Her husband’s folk stayed with us for the wedding, just a few days. I guess we didn’t know much about them. They had money; Leanna was in love. Herm, that was her husband, was kind to her. They were good people.”

“So the problem was with his people?”

“I suppose. But as I said, they seemed like good people to me! Why would the Family come after us?”

“Do they need a reason?” Carl snarled.

The man flinched and then found his voice, “No.”

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“They murdered your sister?”

“And my wife and daughter, my brother-in-law, his parents, our parents. Even the cousins.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I told you, I didn’t know much about them. Herm’s folk seemed like good people to me.”

“And then they came for you.” Carl had heard this story before. He had lived it.

“Yes.” The words came out a whisper.

“I’m sorry.” Carl grabbed his pack, pulled it over and then handed it to the man.

Watson grunted as he took the weight, “Wow. What’s in here?”

It felt good to get rid of that bag, “Seven pistols, three rifles, a few swords, knives and a couple of boxes of bullets.”

Watson’s eyebrows went up.

“I know it’s heavy. Will you be able to carry it?”

“Let’s see,” the man replied, hauling the straps onto his shoulders. He had to walk bent over, back rounded. “I’ll make it. I’m meeting up with a caravan in a few months. We’re going to make a run south. I’ll keep everything in a cave until then. It’s no more than a day’s walk from here.”

“Good.”

“I should get going,” the man said, pulling his hood back over his head. “This fire was easy to find.”

Carl followed him over to the rail, “I’ll be leaving shortly, to Baltine. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

The man’s eyes met his and Carl regretted his question.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern.”

Carl shook his hand, surprised at the strength in the man’s grip. “I may see you again soon.”

“Most-like. There is a lot of work to be done. I go south in April.”

“Stay low.”

“I will.”

Carl went back to the flames. He stood there for a while, watching the wood burn and turn to coal. Watson’s story had reminded him of his own family, of his brothers. They had been older than him at the time, but no more than children. It didn’t seem possible that so many years had passed. He kicked snow onto the flames, listening to the hiss and sizzle and watching the steam rise into the air. When he was satisfied, he grabbed his sword and mounted the ladder.

Headed into the dark city, his mind worked. He missed his brothers and was saddened by the passage of time. Fifteen years. He could still see them, two brawny kids, arguing about who could lift the heavy stones, haul more lumber or get the prettiest girl into the barn. Something tightened in his chest and he tried to shake it off. There was no point going on about it. It wasn’t going to bring them back.

He took his time, sticking to the darker parts of the road where the black pools of shadow hid him from the night’s moon. Brush and small trees had taken root between the cobbles, pushing out of the snow. It would all be forest again one day, he thought in satisfaction. The woods would take back this land and clean it of this strangeness. The ships and buildings would crumble into memory.

He was a five minutes walk from the nearest of the city lights. It looked like it was coming from one of the smaller streets where the homes shared walls with one another. He was glad. If the person were amenable, he would sleep there tonight, beside their fire.

The ground was slick, and Carl moved slowly. He should have started back to Faenella, but Watson’s story had woken old emotions. His hand clenched on the pommel of his sword and he pulled it from the scabbard.

As he approached the door, Carl altered his step, lowering his center of gravity. Years of practice made him move almost silently, any crunch of snow so soft it was lost in the wind. He could smell cooking meat and his stomach grumbled. He patted the canteen on his side. Once he’d eaten, he intended to do his best to forget. Cautiously, he crept to the door. He could hear two distinct voices, both of them male.

“More than that, Jasper!” a deep voice yelled. “Don’t try to tell me different.”

“Fine, fine,” Jasper replied, his voice purposefully calm. “It doesn’t matter anyway, there’s no way to know. Sanders bought it with the rest of them.”

“Well, I know how many I got.”

“You were counting?”

“’Course! You know you were, too.”

Jasper laughed, “Actually, I was pretty intent on not having my guts opened up. I didn’t expect to have to deal with that from the kids.”

“No, me neither.”

“There wasn’t time to get all competitive.”

“You’re just pissed I got more than you.”

Cookware clanged loudly and the smell of ham grew stronger. “I don’t think the rest of the women and children should count,” Jasper said. “They hardly fought back…”

“They did, too!” hollered the deeper voice. “One of the women nicked me in the leg. Look!”

A chair scraped against the floor and plates clattered. “She did. A deep one. What she get you with?”

“Probably a steak knife. She was the one closest to the food.”

Jasper laughed again, caught his breath and continued, “It was nice of them to cook us the meal, though.”

Carl checked himself, dropping his hand before it went for the doorknob. No matter how furious he was, he knew better than to rush in. Both men were likely armed, at least with their dinner knives.

Two men and xia both. He’d wasted his time dreaming about a warm bed tonight. Most girls stayed far from Baltine. Murders, rapists and thieves. Those were the people who came to this city. Carl wondered if either of them had a price on their head. Not that it mattered, not much. The conversation he overheard would be evidence enough for the Bounty master.

Towns throughout the region used Hunters to catch and kill men like these. The xia hid in the woods, preying on caravans, smaller towns and unprotected travelers. They came from north and south, men of all types. Some were cruel and hard. Others were desperate men, driven out by the Family, alone and lost, men with nothing, trying to survive.

Either way, Carl and the other Hunters took care of them whenever chance allowed. But there were too many and more each month. Things were getting worse and something had to be done. Charlie was right.

Heart beating a rapid tempo, Carl clenched his sword in a white knuckled fist. He concentrated on calming down. He wanted a clear head for this.

Actually, considering the timing, the two men couldn’t have picked a worse night. Carl was angry. There’d been too many memories.

“We’re going to head back in the morning?” Jasper asked.

“We’ll go by their camp again, won’t be more than a few miles detour, and see if we can salvage anything else. We’re lucky to have gotten what we did. And we can count the corpses then.”

“No way to know what’ll be left of them,” Jasper replied, sounding peevish. “Anyway, I told you, I don’t care.”

“But they will.”

Better and better, Carl thought, they were Family. He wondered if that’d cause a problem for the Bounty office and then decided he didn’t care. If he couldn’t claim the fee, he’d be more than content to have gotten rid of them.

“You go in there bragging, you’ll sound like an idiot.”

“No, I won’t. You’re jealous. Worried I’ll get promoted before you?”

“That’ll never happen.”

“You’re wrong on that one.”

“The hell I am!”

A plate shattered against the door and Carl flinched. They were likely to kill each other before he had the chance.

They must be new. Company men were usually more professional. Either that or they’d started drinking. Carl swallowed, feeling the dryness of his own throat.

He took a breath. He could let them throttle each other, but tonight, he preferred to do it himself. He thought about trying the knob, but shrugged and slammed his foot into the door. It cracked and shattered. He kicked it again, twice, and it flew off its hinges into the smoky room.

“What the…!” the smaller man squealed, struggling to his feet.

“You must be Jasper,” Carl replied, closing the distance. The other man was on the ground. Carl kicked him in the face as he went by, shattering the man’s nose.

“Whoa, buddy, hold on! You don’t know who I am!” Jasper cried, backing up. His dirty jacket was open in front, its mismatched wooden buttons sewn at odd intervals. Blood stained the white shirt beneath.

Carl rammed his sword into the man’s stomach, cutting sideways, and pulled the blade free. The man screamed and fell to the floor. Carl didn’t stop, but turned, sweeping his blade low, his hands tight against the pommel. The second man crashed to the ground, his chest opened wide.

Carl kicked the small sword from his hand, grasped him by the collar and hauled him over to where Jasper squirmed against the floor. Ignoring their cries, he righted one of the dinner chairs and sat in front of them. Blood dripped from his sword point, pattering the dirt. The only other sound was the hiss of the fire and the rough inhalations of the men at his feet.

“Where are the people you killed?” Carl asked in a voice like gravel.

Bubbles of spit frothed from the larger man’s mouth and Carl drew his skinning knife. Both men’s eyes widened, unsure of which blade to watch.

He didn’t pity them. He was a Hunter, his job to protect people, to provide them with food and safety. These men were predators. He put his sword on the table and leaned forward. “Where are the people you killed?”

Jasper held his arms tightly about his waist, trying vainly to keep his organs inside. The other man was almost gone. Carl leaned forward and calmly sliced his neck. Blood sprayed across the floor, covering Jasper’s coat with a banner of red. The man recoiled in terror and tried to scoot away, his free hand scrabbling for purchase against the rotten floorboards.

Carl clamped a hand on his foot and dragged him back. Pulling the canteen from his side, he unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. The liquid was cold, and it burned.

Jasper’s eyes were glued to his hand, watching him drink.

“Ah, you want some?” Carl asked. The man’s greasy hair was plastered over his eyes and Carl noticed the side of his face was tattooed. “You’re Huis?”

The man spit.

“I’ll take that for a ‘yes’ then.” He took another swallow. “You’re far from home, Jasper. Far, far from home. You know you’re going to die here, don’t you?”

Silence.

“I heard a tale once, about a Huis man.”

“So?”

“Poor fellow wanted to travel, so he left his desert and came to Eganene. He loved it here and married a girl. Her father was a fisherman and in order to have the daughter’s hand, he had to help the man with his business.”

Jasper’s face drained of color, his hands covered in his own blood. Carl watched and took another swig from the canteen. The man licked his lips.

“So this Huis man, he loved the daughter and couldn’t think of a world without her. He left the land and went to sea, leaving the girl behind. There were strong storms that summer and the girl waited and waited, but her father and lover never returned. Saddened at the thought of losing them both, she wrote to her new husband’s family, requesting their help in finding their son.”

“But when they wrote her back, they said they would not come to her aid. That if their son had left this earth and gone to the water, then, he was no son of theirs. Even more, he was no longer a man at all.”

Jasper hissed, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, Jasper, if you don’t tell me where those people are, I’ll throw you in the sea and let you die there.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. You killed innocent people today, took their lives for nothing more than your dinner. What do I care about your soul? As far as I’m concerned you don’t have one.”

The man glared at him, and Carl stared back. Only one of them would lose that game.

The man broke, “The camp is a few miles northwest of here, hard against a river.”

“Landmarks?”

“A small cave, heavy rapids to the north. You have to help me! Please.”

“Why? You’re going to die. You deserve to die.”

“Of course. You’re right, of course, but I can help you. Please, please, I can help you!”

“How?” Carl asked skeptically. He didn’t like to drag things out.

Now that he knew where the camp was, he would do what needed to be done. This was his territory. He may not know the unfortunate folk that died by the river, but it was his job to see to their remains. A decent burial was the least he could do. The gods would see them clearly once they’d been placed to rest.

“I know things, things about those people, the travelers,” Jasper whispered.

“What?” Carl asked. Information about dead men was usually just as useful as the dead men themselves. And it didn’t matter who they were. Rich, poor, local or foreign, they deserved better than a violent death.

Carl growled, “You had time to talk to them? Did they welcome you to their fire before you slaughtered their children?”

“You don’t understand,” Jasper tried.

“I don’t want to. You deserve the worst your gods will give you.”

Carl lifted his sword, feeling the weight in his hands. This man deserved to die. If he left him here, it would take days. Painful, horrible days. It was what Jasper deserved.

Instead, Carl would kill him cleanly. On land. And then his gods could give him the punishment he so richly deserved.

“Wait!” the man cried, his eyes on Carl’s hand. “Please! You can’t kill me here. I can’t die like this! I can help you. I swear it. I know things. Things about the Family. About the girls.”

“I’m listening.” Carl was curious. Family men didn’t volunteer information. Even on their deathbeds. “What girls?”

“If I tell you,” Jasper moaned, clutching his stomach, “you kill me cleanly. And you bury me on land.”

“You don’t deserve a clean death.”

“No, you’re right, but I can help you. Those girls. You can’t let them have those girls, not a good man like you. You won’t let them hurt them.”

“What girls?”

“All of them. It doesn’t matter to them. They take them. Take them to that place.” Jasper coughed, tiny bubbles of red forming at the corner of his mouth.

Perhaps the man didn’t have days. Carl might have severed something important.

“Please!” Jasper moaned. “You have to save them. Go see. If you don’t believe me, go listen to their screams. I’m telling you the truth. You’ve already killed me, let me die in peace.”

Carl needed to think. Taking another swig of the canteen, he left it on the chair and walked out into the darkness. What was he supposed to do now? The man was a murderer, how could he believe him?

Yet, the xia had set the trap nicely. Carl was honor-bound to investigate.

And the fact that the man was Family gave credence to his claim. Carl didn’t put it past them to hurt women and children. They had killed enough people over the last decades.

“Talk,” he barked, reentering the room. The man was where he left him, bleeding beside his dead friend.

“There is a place, out in the woods west of Faenella,” the man started, choking on the last word.

“Specific directions,” Carl commanded.

Jasper did his best, although Carl wasn’t happy. He would need to scout, determine the truth of the claim before he told the others. Something like this, he had to be sure. If Jamison knew, he would help. They would see to the women.

Carl swallowed, anger boiling under his skin. It felt like all the heat was being sucked out of the center of his body. His face was hot, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “What are they doing there?” he managed. “If you explain well enough, I’ll do as you ask.”

The man told him all he knew. It wasn’t much, but Carl didn’t think he was lying. The story was too awful for him to have made-up on the spot. Carl sliced Jasper’s neck and pulled him outside. The ground was frozen and the man didn’t deserve a proper funeral, but a promise was a promise. He broke the legs off the wooden table and towed it outside. Using the rope from his travel pack, he tied the man down and began dragging him into the woods.

Hours later, Carl stopped. His anger had been replaced a healthy burn in his shoulders. There were young trees here and a small length of stone. Someone had tried to farm this land. He pulled the corpse closer and having no kind words to say for the man, pulled the wall down on his head.

He’d kept his promise; a cairn was as good as a grave in most men’s opinions and there wasn’t any water. Jasper would keep his soul, for all the good it would do him. The Huis had evil gods the same as other people. Carl hoped the man was meeting them now.