A Star Tribune serialized novel by Jane Fredericksen
Chapter 13
The story so far: Afloat on Superior, Kacie begins to understand Kinney.
Darkness everywhere. It swallowed him like a void.
He knew the smell: stale cigarettes, stale whiskey, stale hope.
He remembered the taste: the iron tang of blood inside his mouth.
Talk to me, he pleaded, but the wind would not. It lay sullen and silent above the fog.
Silence before the storm.
With growing dread, Jack opened his eyes.
He was lying on his back, naked in the dark, arms spread-eagle, bound to something on either side that he could not see. He had the body of a boy, but a full-grown mind.
He struggled frantically, but the ropes bit cruelly into his wrists and would not give.
Fisherman's knots.
He gave up struggling and tried to calm his racing heart.
Deep breaths.
His eyes began to adjust to the dim light. A lone candle flickered on a wooden table. An orange firefly of light hovered above it. There was a sound like the wind being sucked into a small hole and the firefly flickered.
The wind exhaled. Slowly, deliberately, smothered in rank smoke.
It was not the wind. The wind had abandoned him long ago. It could not help him now, anyway. He was utterly alone.
Or worse, he was not.
He could make out the darker shadow behind the firefly, which he knew now was not a firefly at all, but the glowing ember of a cigarette.
The shadow growled, "I see them eyes."
That voice. It iced the blood in his veins. Rooted him to the ground, clouded his mind.
Don't, he warned himself. Don't freeze now. Pay attention. Everything depends on it.
"Them damn eyes," the voice continued. "They ain't mine." Something sharp, shiny and metallic flashed in the light. Flames licked along its edge.
The boy gave up reason and struggled again, struggled against the voice and the ropes and the metal and the fire, though he knew it was useless. If anything, the knots held more fiercely than ever.
He could not run, not this time. He forced himself to lie still, to calm his heart, to think.
Deep breaths.
Think.
The shadow-voice spoke again, displaying the piece of metal. "Know what this is?"
The boy knew. A gutting knife. He'd seen it slice open the bellies of fish, spill their guts onto the ground.
The shadow laughed softly. "This here's the Blade o' Truth. It finds out all liars. Roots out all thieves."
Naming the blade gave it a sudden power. It shimmered and grew and took on a life of its own.
The blade and the shadow took a step closer.
"It cuts out all cheats."
Bargain, his brain screamed. Make a bargain.
The words tumbled out like fish guts. "Everyone will see, everyone will know. They'll find you."
"Don't care," the voice mumbled. "Justice demands blood."
"There's another way," the boy insisted. "If there has to be blood, do it where no one will see. No one will know and I …" he hesitated for only a moment. "I swear I'll never tell. I promise."
The shadow paused, but then took another step. "Can't believe you. You're a liar."
"Liars can keep secrets."
"But thieves only take." The shadow crouched beside him. Light glittered on the knife edge. "Tell me, how much can a thief take?"
A tear slipped from the boy's eye. He dared not speak, but his adult mind answered.
Whatever he must.
"Blood," rumbled the voice, as the blade slowly withdrew. "Promises are sealed in blood."
The boy listened desperately for the wind, but he knew that he was a liar and a thief and beyond all redemption.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why blood?"
The shadow drew close to his ear. The stench of whiskey was overpowering, the sense of fear, overwhelming.
"Family is blood, boy. But your blood ain't mine. You're a liar, a thief and a cheat. So you need to spill some. I'll tell you why."
The boy turned to see the face of a beast with cigarette-ember eyes.
"Because blood never lies."
Tomorrow: Chapter 14.
