Bloodrush (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

Once the faerie had strapped his scabbard and black longsword to his belt, he rubbed his hands. ‘What’s your plan?’

Merion punched a space in the contents of the rucksack and held the flap open. Rhin’s wings thrummed as he jumped in. ‘Follow Lurker and ask him what in the name of the Almighty is going on, what my aunt is hiding, and who killed my father. If he knows the Shohari, then he might know of the witch.’

Rhin pulled a face. He hunkered down as Merion tied the straps and swung the pack over his shoulders. ‘You want to find this witch? Didn’t you hear the bit about wearing skin coats?’

‘All I want to do is ask Lurker. Take a shot. Are you with me or not?’ Merion demanded.

‘Fair enough,’ Rhin mumbled. ‘I am.’

‘Are you ready?’ Merion asked.

Rhin paused for a moment before he answered. ‘Are you?’

Merion shrugged the question off, like a cobweb in the attic. ‘Of course,’ he replied, and with that he gently unlatched the door and tiptoed out into the hallway. He could hear the gentle scratching of Lilain’s bone saw in the basement. She was good and busy.

Merion slipped quietly out of the kitchen door, blinking to shake the bright candlelight from his eyes. He peered into the darkness, trying to glimpse Lurker’s hatted shape. He couldn’t see a thing. ‘Rhin?’ he asked, and within moments the faerie had climbed up to his shoulder. He put a hand flat against the bridge of his nose, and began to scan the empty night. There wasn’t a single star to be seen behind the hazy veil of clouds that trailed in the wake of the now-distant storm. There was no moon. Merion crossed his fingers and trusted in the eyes of the Fae. He was right to.

‘There.’ Rhin pointed to a faint lump lumbering along the road to the north.

‘Right you are. Now, into the rucksack with you.’

Merion broke into a run and tore off down the gentle hill towards the muddy road leading out of the town. The cold air felt good in his lungs. It felt dangerous and yet exciting. It felt like escape, and progress most of all. Merion sucked it in and savoured it, along with the burn in his legs.

By the time he caught up with Lurker, the prospector was sat on a rock by the roadside, smoking a badly rolled cigarette. His magpie, Jake, had returned, and it perched on his knee. As always, it stared at Merion. But the boy’s heart was pumping too hard for him to notice.

‘Lurker,’ he gasped, his lungs aflame.

Lurker shook his head and waved the snout of his pipe. ‘Take a moment, Merion. Put your hands on your knees and bend over. Long breaths, now.’

Merion did as he was told, and instantly felt better.

Whilst the boy caught his breath, Lurker struck a match on the rock and relit his cigarette. He took a long drag and then held it, eyes closed. When he finally exhaled, there was barely any smoke at all. ‘I know why you’re here,’ he rumbled, flicking the glowing embers. The tobacco smelled sweet and sickly at the same time.

‘You do?’ he asked.

‘Mhm,’ Lurker nodded, pausing to smoke some more of his pipe. He sniffed. ‘Lil ain’t got the goods, so to speak, the answers that you need. Am I right?’

Merion nodded. ‘That you are.’

Lurker waved his cigarette about as he spoke. ‘Strange things, answers. Most times, you want them so badly, but when you get ‘em, you wish for anything that you could forget ‘em. Lose them somehow. Hmph.’ Here he shrugged, then pointed the pipe at Merion. ‘And you came runnin’ after me because you think I’ll give them to you.’

‘Right again.’

Lurker snorted rudely, crushing Merion’s hopes in one fell swoop. ‘Then you’re a fool, Tonmerion Hark. I wouldn’t cross your aunt if my life depended on it. No. If she says you ain’t ready, then you ain’t ready.’

Merion wore a pained look. ‘But I
am
. I promise you. My aunt is wrong. I’m ready to know what’s going on here. I need to know who killed my father. I need to know how to get home! It’s killing me, don’t you understand? And I know you want to tell me the answers. I heard you saying so to my aunt. She doesn’t know me, but I know I’m ready for the truth, Lurker. I
need
it, before I go insane!’

Lurker looked up at the clouds and sniffed. ‘Boy does have a right to know the truth. Who are we to keep it from him?’

Jake squawked at him. Lurker gave the bird a stern look. ‘Don’t you take that tone with me, sir. I know what I’m doing.’ His grey eyes flicked back to the boy. ‘Tell me again. How old are you?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘See? Thirteen. I was already working fields by then. You weren’t even an egg,’ he said to the magpie. Jake flapped his wings and squawked no more.

Merion sighed. He was exhausted, and he knew it. He decided to make one last desperate plea, to see if he could appeal to this prospector’s moral side, if such a thing existed. Merion threw his hands up in the air and then let them fall to slap against his thighs. ‘Look, Lurker. Will you do what’s right and help me find out the truth?’

Lurker sniffed the cold air for a spell, and then leant forward. Merion could barely see his eyes, thanks to the shadow of his hat. ‘No,’ he said.

Merion’s heart fell like a stone. But it was then that Lurker stood up, and the boy’s heart rose back up with him. ‘But if you ain’t going to leave me alone, then so be it. I’ll take you to those who can,’ he said quietly. ‘But bear in mind, you asked for this, not me.’

Merion pushed his luck. ‘Are you taking me to the witch? The Shohari witch?’

Lurker narrowed his dark eyes and growled. ‘Who told you about her?’

‘A beggar in an alleyway. An old soldier who fought the Shohari.’

‘Ugh,’ Lurker grunted. ‘Then he’s a fool.’ The prospector crossed his arms and sighed. ‘If you’re to travel with me, then you travel by my rules. You stop when I stop, you eat when I eat, and you shit when I shit, understand?’

‘I … er, yes,’ Merion nodded.

‘Good,’ he said, and with that, he turned his back on the boy and began to walk north. Merion followed eagerly.

‘So it is the witch you’re taking me to see,’ Merion guessed.

Lurker flicked his cigarette to the dust irritably. ‘You’ll see soon enough. No more questions for tonight. I like to travel quiet.’

Merion fidgeted as he followed Lurker’s footsteps through the mud. ‘Then … could I just ask one more of you? I’ll promise I’ll be quiet after.’

Lurker sighed. ‘Speak then, boy.’

‘What exactly is a knuckle-dick?’

OF BUFFALO AND BEANS

‘The boy. That impetuous little sod, he did it. I think I’m in the house. Smells like dust, sweat, and blood, though that’s all mine. This is the first time he’s left me alone. He doesn’t say much. Don’t know how old he is, but his eyes are older than the rest of him, that’s for sure. He just keeps staring at me, and I can tell he’s drumming up the nerve to ask: What the hell am I?’

13th May, 1867

H
is feet burned.
The miles had fallen away, step by painful step. Miles and miles of sun-drenched desert, flaked and rippled like the puckered skin of some over-baked goldfish, already dry as a bone despite the recent storm.

His knees ached.
The poor excuse for a path that they followed wandered between fields of red sand and patches of prairie scrub bristling with twisted cacti. Not a soul walked the path with them, neither ahead nor behind them.

His lips were raw.
In fact, the only living things Merion had seen on their silent, wearisome journey were the sort that slithered, or scuttled, or soared on the rising thermals and squawked at the wind. Merion didn’t have to look up to know the vultures were still circling above them. He could almost feel their keen eyes on the back of his pink neck; he could almost imagine them licking their beaks and praying to whatever feathery god they believed in for a fatal trip or a sudden and vicious heart attack. Merion would give them no such satisfaction.

His eyes throbbed.
If the truth be told, Merion was already doubting his decision to follow Lurker into the wilds. Hell, he had been thinking it since noon, and he wagered it was now closer to three.

At first he had been terrified. The cold, dark hours of the desert night had been full of squealing and snarling. Shadows had flitted back and forth, just out of reach of Lurker’s dusty lantern, far too close for Merion’s liking. But then dawn had broken, and what little excitement and anticipation he could summon had quickly been dampened by the ceaseless trudging, the countless stubbing of toes, and the dogged heat.

With every sluggish step, and with every flicker of hot pain that came from his feet, Merion’s determination had crumbled. Even the tempting gleam of precious answers was starting to wane. Such was the curse of impetuousness. It goes hand in hand with fickleness. Simply put, Tonmerion Hark was exhausted.

‘Why …’ Merion took a moment to gasp as he felt the cracks in his dry lips widen when he spoke, ‘… on earth do you not own a horse, man?’

Lurker went as far as shrugging. That seemed to be about the entirety of his answer.

‘Did you hear me?’ Merion thought he heard a sigh.

‘Never liked the beasts,’ Lurker replied. ‘Don’t smell right, by my reckoning. Too much blood, not a big enough brain.’

Merion frowned. ‘Am I supposed to know what that means?’

There was a familiar squeak of leather as Lurker shrugged again. Merion wondered whether it was too late to turn back. He wondered how angry Aunt Lilain would be, and whether it would actually be better to let her cool down for a few days.

‘When do we make camp?’

Lurker turned his head just a little. His dark skin shone with sweat. ‘Why? You tired, boy?’

‘No,’ Merion lied. ‘Just don’t want to spend another night treading through hell with nothing but a lantern and a magpie.’

Lurker could be heard chuckling. He tugged a hand out of his pocket for the first time in what must have been twelve straight hours and reached under his cloak to the small of his back. Merion heard a metal
snap
, and before he knew it, Lurker was holding a gun aloft, pointing it at the vultures. They knew well enough to flap higher. The contraption was enormous for a handgun. The thing had six long barrels, all neatly and tightly bound together in a ring, surrounded by ornate steel bands. Where their slick, black steel met the dark wood of the gun’s thick handle, a huge hammer sat, gently kissing the backs of the barrels, poised to rear and strike like a rattlesnake.

‘Kolt. Never leave home without it.’

Merion shook his head. ‘It’s vulgar.’

Lurker didn’t seem to care. He drummed his fingers against its handle and watched it shine in the hot sun. ‘That it may be, but Big Betsy here hits like a sledgehammer. She can blow a hole through a cow with one shot,’ he boasted.

‘Please don’t tell me you know that from experience?’

Lurker snorted, which apparently meant
no
.

Merion shook his head. ‘So when are we making camp?’

‘Several hours or so, when the sun starts to drop.’

Several hours
 …

Merion shuddered at the thought of another hour, never mind a few. ‘Can we at least …’ he sputtered. ‘Can we just …’

Lurker stopped and turned. ‘Spit it out, boy.’

Merion held up his hands while he took a moment to gulp down some well-deserved air. ‘I know I stop when you stop, and all of that, but can you just, please,
stop
for one moment? I feel like my feet are going to fall off.’

‘I highly doubt that,’ Lurker grunted. Jake croaked in agreement.

‘One minute, please.’

Lurker looked around, surveying their roasting surroundings. Jake followed his gaze with his one good eye, every flick and turn. He held up a finger and felt the breeze, what little of it there was in this damned desert, and sniffed several times. Merion was too busy to notice what Lurker was up to, and in too much pain to really care. He simply sagged to the floor and stretched out his legs, hissing partly in pleasure, partly in pain. It felt as though his feet were slowly stewing in their own juices.

‘Aaaaaaaalmighty, that bloody hurts.’

Lurker was now staring far into the distance, to the northeast, where the dark smudges of hilltops could be seen above the wavering horizon. ‘When the blisters pop, your skin’ll harden,’ the man muttered. The blasted fool was still wearing his heavy coat and his wide hat. He must have been roasting under all that leather, along with the belts and the luggage …
Madness
.

‘I think they’ve already popped,’ Merion grimaced as he prodded his toes. He had to count all his toenails just to be sure none had taken a mind to wander off.

‘Well then,’ Lurker sniffed. ‘You could always piss in your shoes.’

Merion looked up, horrified. ‘I could
what
?’

‘They’re leather, ain’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then piss in them. Soften’s em up. Stops the rot.’ Lurker waggled his foot. ‘Pissed in these the first few days I got ‘em. Never had a blister since.’

I wondered what the smell was
, Merion thought, involuntarily wrinkling his nose. Besides, judging by the way Lurker could stride mercilessly on without ever breaking pace, Merion would have bet Lurker’s feet were made more of hoof, or iron, than bone and skin.

‘I am not going to piss in my shoes.’ Merion could swear he heard a poorly stifled chuckle coming from his rucksack. He barely resisted the urge to elbow it. He caught Jake’s eye, and the bird clacked his beak. Merion narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s even more vulgar than that cannon of yours.’ Merion sighed, and turned his attention to gently peeling off his shoes. ‘Ahhhh,’ he couldn’t help but wince as each throbbing foot came free.

‘Not a fan of guns, boy? Might be a problem ‘round these parts.’

‘Has Lilain not told you anything?’

Lurker threw him a cold look. Merion wilted slightly. ‘She told me enough.’

Merion gently massaged his feet. He could have sworn that steam was emanating from the insides of his shoes. ‘Then you’ll know it was a gun that killed my father. So no, Mr Lurker, I am not a fan of guns.’