Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (5 page)

Chapter Three

I searched the ship for the little imp I had spent the night with but found her missing, and in fact, no one even knew who I was talking about. And that wasn’t the strangest thing that happened to me after drinking over a gallon of the crew’s awful concoction. My head was spinning, not just from the vertigo of three-dimensional sailed flight but also from the powerful grog, so I’m not sure if I managed to convey my meaning to the crewmembers I met. Besides, most of them were also under the fiery liquid’s spell. But it didn’t matter; the imp was gone, as if deleted by a magical eraser, and I was renounced to a night lacking company. I went amidships and leaned against the gunwale, looking off into the swirling mists.

We were sailing near a large shard, populated by a dense jungle whiting pulsing with thousands of tiny lights, denoting some sort of settlement deep within the tree cover. It was a deluged swampland, like a dense mangrove forest, and above flew one of the largest creatures I have ever seen. It was thin and translucent, with only a hint of azure along its long tail. It reminded me of the famed and rare oarfish from Earth, except reptilian, and with a five-mile-long head that was more Komodo dragon than fish. The thing moved by streaming its pelvic and dorsal fins and curving against itself. The Lady’s Nightmare was too small to even be a morsel to the beast, who seemed content to strain against the same head current we were tacking into. It was fighting the headwind just enough to stay almost motionless above the shard, as if waiting for prey to pop up from the underbrush.

A figure approached, interrupting my thoughts. I turned, hoping to find my impish companion once again but seeing instead Drovani. He approached bearing a glass decanter of reddish-clear fluid, like diluted wine, and a pair of crystal goblets that were trimmed with gold. He nodded, taking his place beside me and handing me a glass.

“This is Artenanka, Blackjack,” he said, all tone of hostility gone from his voice. “It is a delicacy in my home world, one of the few we were able to replicate in this place despite our present condition.”

He filled my glass first, then his own, and placed the decanter on the bulwark, raising his glass up for a toast. It was a fluid much like spent motor oil, but it had the sweet smell of jasmine.

“We’re playing nice now?” I asked.

Drovani smiled, displaying his sharp canines.

“Yes,” he began. “A measure of apology for my earlier behavior.”

Our glasses met and let out a high-pitched harmony that lingered in the air, then was lost in the breeze. He drained his flute and raised an eyebrow when he noticed I hadn’t, so I downed mine as well. It was like wine, but much stronger, and the fluid had a strange effervescence much like champagne. The tickle persisted once I had swallowed.

“Interesting,” I said.

“I hoped you might enjoy it.”

“You have to understand,” I started, in an apologetic tone, not even knowing why I did it. “The Mists just attacked us, and the folk from that village. We were just defending ourselves.”

He nodded. “Indeed, it was their mistake.”

“I just think it’s important you know that we didn’t incite them.”

“They were led by the most foolish and bombastic,” he said, pouring us another round. “And it cost them dearly.”

“Are they even around anymore?”

Drovani shook his head, “Just a few of their former warlords, tucked away in shards with a few solders. Mostly fighting each other these days.”

“Well, that’s good. Those guys were assholes,” I said, sipping the wine.

“The passing of the Mist Army provided opportunities as well. For example, to my people.”

I studied him for a moment, wondering what he was getting at. He was unarmed and, while a formidable creature, far smaller than I. If it came to a tussle, he’d bear the brunt, but he didn’t present a threat at the moment. Drovani was interested in something, more than just the mission he had hired the ship for. He wanted something from me.

“I wasn’t here long enough the last time to get to know the local politics.”

He laughed.

“I suppose not,” he shrugged and poured more of the wine to top off our glasses. “A dozen years ago, my people fought the Mists, and won. We were victorious, but they had great numbers, and their armies were easily replenished, whereas ours ... well, my people are long-lived, longer perhaps than any other of the aliens gathered in this world, but we could not expect to survive a long war of attrition against the Mists. A treaty was proposed and accepted by both parties, wherein the Mists would rule all places save the remnants of our world. There we would be autonomous, and the treaty held for eleven years. Until you came and made it void, by destroying not only the Lords of the Mists, but also their ruling council.”

“You’re welcome,” I joked, and he raised his glass to me.

“Yes,” he continued. “There is an opportunity now, a chance to change this place, for the better. No more Mist gulags, like the one you encountered. No rendition of able bodied males to serve in their ranks, nor of attractive females to serve their needs. No more stealing of harvests to feed the armies.”

“Peace,” I said.

“In a word, yes. My people could bring this.”

“In return for what?”

Drovani’s eyes snapped at me, “Nothing. My people are peace-loving. We do not wish to rule this world, but to free it from the yoke of those who founded it.”

“The Lightbringers?”

He nodded.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, not wanting to let him know that any effort against the Lightbringers would be destined to fail. They were god-like beings, with mastery of matter and energy, and perhaps even time itself. I should know: I stood before one and was utterly at its mercy, in both body and mind. In fact, when it communicated with me, I recall it utilizing my own thoughts and memories, organizing them in a way for me to best understand its meaning and intentions. I had never felt so helpless. So powerless. Drovani and his people might be formidable warriors, but nothing could stand in the face of the Lightbringers, and to claim to want to fight them wasn’t just folly – it was ridiculous.

“So tell me about your people,” I asked, not wanting to get into an argument with him.

“We know ourselves as Vershani,” he began, “and our people come from a lush forest world, a planet called Calaqmul. I don’t know where your world is, in order to give you a reference.”

“Earth,” I said. “Our planet is called Earth, it’s in the Sagittarian arm of the Milky Way galaxy.”

He thought for a moment. “Those names mean little to me. But it is no matter. My people had reached the pinnacle of civilization, after many wars of unification, and were united as one. A single powerful force that ruled our star system, and several others.”

Which was interesting, and contrary to what he had just said about a “peace-loving people,” but I said nothing, content to enjoy the fragrant wine and let him continue.

“It was at this highest point in our culture’s history when the Lightbringers came and ripped our world apart. We fought, of course, but we were unprepared, and what is left of our people now exists here.”

He paused, watching me, and I suppose, wondering what was going through my mind.

“For a time, we were scavengers, much like the people you first encountered in that gulag. But in the time since, we have endured, and then thrived, despite much toil and hardship. We have been preparing for this moment since our arrival here, and soon we shall achieve what no other race in Shard World could ever hope to: freedom for all the peoples of this place.”

“Sounds nice, but what do you need me for?”

He smiled, “We, in fact, do not need you, but you will make things much easier.”

Then he went on to talk endlessly about his culture and his people. I have to be honest, I zoned out for much of his dissertation. It wasn’t just the drink, which by then was starting to get to me. The wine had a kick even the crew’s grog had lacked, and the bottle seemed to have no end to it. Drovani was content to keep pouring the stuff into my glass, and for my part, I was content to drink it. The drink had little effect on Drovani himself, and he matched me drink for drink.

In any case, he went on about his people and their gods and their foods and whatnot, and the only thing that sparked any interest was that their gods were living. In fact, much of what I managed to retain made his people seem much like the Mesoamerican peoples of Central and South America, with their strange rituals and customs, down to sacrifices and stepped pyramids, but somehow intermingled with futuristic technology like high-tech communications and interstellar travel.

It was evident, the more he spoke, that Drovani’s people were a warmongering tribe, simply more successful than some of the others in Shard World.

Talk then turned to his pantheon of gods, and like those of the Aztecs or Mayans back home, the Vershani gods were living members of their culture, not just avatars; much of the struggle that went on among the Vershani resulted from the whims and infighting of their gods, and the Vershani efforts to appease them. Our present mission had much to do with that, though he was rather nebulous and when pressed, he found an excuse to change the subject.

“Forgive me for boring you with my culture,” he said, eager to move on to something else, reaching for a wrapped bundle that lay nearby. “I have a gift for you, Blackjack. Something to help you in our fight tomorrow.” With much pomp, he reached into one end of the oblong package and unfurled the wrapping, revealing a pair of sheathed swords, the silver etched, decorated scabbards attached to a similarly adorned leather belt. He handed it to me and I wrapped the belt around my waist.

“Test them,” he said, taking a step back to give me room.

I drew one, then the other, revealing a twin pair of flawless blades, so sheen they were slightly translucent, despite their heavy feel. The balance was perfect, and they left a long trail behind them, a particle effect that faded after a few seconds.

“Wow,” I said, impressed.

The blades were heavy and thick, almost as if designed for a man my size. Each one would correspond with the equivalent of a bastard sword, large enough for a strong man to wield it single-handed, but long enough, in blade and hilt, that a smaller man could use them two-handed.

“What is that?” I asked of the lingering particle effect.

He answered it by drawing a laser weapon of intricate design and firing into it. I expected treachery, and to die in an instant, but to my surprise, the effect acted as a shield, blocking the laser bolt from Drovani’s weapon. I lowered both weapons, both frightened and angered by the live-fire demonstration, but he just smiled.

“Easiest way to explain it,” he said, shrugging.

I nodded, “It’ll block anything?”

“Small arms fire, for certain. More than that, I can’t say. The blades belonged to my youngest brother, before he was killed in war three years ago. He was large, like you, and he preferred a powerful hacking weapon to the usual more elegant blades of my people.”

Drovani holstered his pistol and drew his sword, which was thin and elongated, closer to the dueling saber of a musketeer.

“Thank you,” I said, as he sheathed his blade and reached for the wine.

He poured me another glass and handed it to me as I put my blades away. “You will need them. Come this time tomorrow, we shall be knee-deep in the dead.”

He seemed to want to go on, to tell me all about his people’s proud past, as if it were something I had to know, as if I cared, but I used a slight moment’s respite in the conversation to excuse myself. I said I had to relieve myself from all the drink, and I did, but more than that, I wanted to extricate myself from all the pointless chatter. I longed for action, to move ahead, to move forward, and leave things unsaid behind.

I had saved the world, after all, saved everyone on precious little planet Earth, when no one else was there to. When all our heroes were impotent, it was I who stood on the side of right, and for that I was promptly banished, proving the adage that no good deed goes unpunished.

A sharp kick on the rump from one of my fellow crewmembers woke me, and rising, I noticed I wasn’t the only one fighting the effects of the late-night drinking. We were like a bunch of turtles trying to fuck a football, and I was glad, for my sake, that I wasn’t the only one. One by one, the crew assembled at a bundled series of barrels where we dunked our hands and drenched ourselves with cold water to wake us from the stupor. After that, we mustered to the quarterdeck, hurried by the ship’s officers.

Captain Nicatrix strolled out of her cabin under the poop deck and leaned on the railing overlooking us. Even before she came out, Zann and a few others passed flasks and wine sacks of the fiery liquid, which did little to ease our sore bellies. The crew welcomed the captain with a rousing cheer, and it was clear they loved her. Last night, many of the crew had lauded her and shared stories of victory, loot, and glory. To hear it from them, Nicatrix couldn’t be beaten in ship combat, and most potential prey simply surrendered rather than risk her notorious wrath. She was known throughout Shard World; no one could run from her, and giving up was the only chance you had.

Once the rowdiness died down, she began.

“Now I know you’re all as anxious as little children to find out what the big hubbub is all about,” she began, getting a few rowdy whistles in return. With a wide sweep of her hands, the crew went silent again. “I can’t tell you many of the details, but I can let you know about our target. It’s the Vershani.”