Legacy of the Brightwash (Tainted Dominion Book 1) Read online

  Legacy of the Brightwash

  Krystle Matar

  Imburleigh Book Company

  First published by Imburleigh Book Company 2021

  Copyright © Krystle Matar 2021

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover illustration and design by Brad Bergman

  Edited by Trinica Sampson

  Maps by Soraya Corcoran

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  1. Tashué

  2. Tashué

  3. Tashué

  4. Stella

  5. Tashué

  6. Stella

  7. Tashué

  8. Illea

  9. Stella

  10. Tashué

  11. Jason

  12. Stella

  13. Tashué

  14. Tashué

  15. Tashué

  16. Tashué

  17. Stella

  18. Tashué

  19. Lorne

  20. Tashué

  21. Tashué

  22. Stella

  23. Jason

  24. Stella

  25. Tashué

  26. Stella

  27. Lorne

  28. Tashué

  29. Tashué

  30. Illea

  31. Tashué

  32. Tashué

  33. Tashué

  34. Tashué

  35. Stella

  36. Tashué

  37. Tashué

  38. Tashué

  39. Stella

  40. Lorne

  41. Tashué

  42. Lorne

  43. Tashué

  44. Tashué

  45. Tashué

  46. Tashué

  47. Tashué

  48. Jason

  49. Tashué

  50. Tashué

  51. Tashué

  52. Tashué

  53. Tashué

  54. Illea

  55. Tashué

  About the Author

  For Tashué

  For 18 years

  Acknowledgments

  I used to think writing was a solitary endeavour. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

  Thank you to my husband, who never gets tired of my babbling while I try to figure out these people who live in my head. You’ve been letting me talk at you for nearly ten years now, and without you, this book wouldn’t exist.

  To the late, great David Gemmell, whose books started me on this crazy adventure of being a “serious” writer (whatever that means).

  To Anthony Ryan, who also put David Gemmell’s name in the acknowledgements of his debut novel, convincing me to read a fantasy book again for the first time in ten years. Reading that book felt like coming home. Reading that book led me here.

  To Ashley, my very first fan. The Brickwall made it, girl. We both love you a million!

  To the amazing writing community on Twitter, who taught me so much about drafting and revising simply by talking about their process on such a public platform.

  To Nick specifically, who included me in my first #FF, which brought me into the fold and allowed me to discover my people. Thanks, Nick!

  To Mihir and the folks at FBC for the opportunity to work with Soraya—that map made the world so much more real for me, and really lit a fire under my butt to get this book finished!

  To the self-published community, who took all the fear out of the prospect of doing this book myself. To the amazing book bloggers that keep as all going.

  To Clayton, Luke, Angela, Dave, Justine, for trusting me and letting me participate in Dark Ends, even though I hadn’t published anything yet, and for never once asking if I belonged. That book means so much to me, my little debut.

  To Bjørn and Angela, I can’t even begin to list the ways that you’ve been so helpful. This book is my baby, but y’all are the godparents. From your beta feedback to your moral support to your publishing experience, and everything in between. Thank you both so, so much. I couldn’t have done it without you. I’m blessed to have you.

  To Justine and Brad for being amazing, and bringing my vision to life for the cover. For being supportive and enthusiastic and delightful. You guys rock!

  To Isabel, for asking questions that I hadn’t even considered, which made the world building and the characters so much deeper.

  To Ronkwahrhakónha. What can I say that I haven’t already? Thank you for sharing so much of yourself. Thank you for your insight, your wisdom, and your passion.

  To Trinica, thank you so much for your enthusiasm! It was such a gift to me (and certain characters) to receive such glowing feedback from you, and your polishing was so helpful.

  And to you, dear reader. Thank you for trusting me to take you on an adventure.

  Author’s Note

  Canadian English conventions, spelling, and grammar were used for this book.

  1

  Tashué

  It had already been a long, exhausting day when the girl’s body washed up on the bank of the Brightwash.

  Tashué Blackwood trudged up the street, feeling the weariness in every part of his body. His station house had always been short-handed, but since one of their Regulation Officers died, everyone was working to the very limit of their strength. Some days he scarcely knew what time it was, what month it was, hours and weeks blending together into a trek through the city, knocking on doors, asking questions, filing endless stacks of paperwork at the station house.

  Pint Under the Rail was a natural rest stop for him and the other Regulation Officers of Station House 15. As he headed toward the rickety little pub, tucked up against the elevated tram line that shuffled workers around the city, he heard the angry squeal of an infant.

  He walked faster.

  One of the Regulation Officers he worked with—the newest of them, Beckett Collstone—was in front of the Pint Under already, standing beside his wife. They had a pram between them, and his wife rocked it, trying to calm the angry little hurricane inside, but the babe wailed louder.

  “Collstone, you finally brought your baby,” Tashué said, stopping in front of the pram. “She doesn’t look too pleased.”

  “No, sir, I guess not. Minna wanted to meet me for breakfast this morning, since I’ve been so busy, but little miss seems unimpressed with us for bringing her out in the cold.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother, Beckett,” Minna said. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were distant and tired. Tashué knew that look, that new-parent panic. “If she’s only going to scream, I don’t want to disturb everyone.”

  “Nonsense, Miss Collstone,” Tashué said. “Sometimes they just get overly tired and can’t settle. Can I try?”

  “Oh, please, Mr. Blackwood.”

  Tashué swept the baby up in his arms. She fit so nicely against his shoulder, even though her whole body was rigid with fury. “There now, sweet girl. Let’s go warm up inside, see if that improves your mood.”

  He headed up the stairs with the infant at his shoulder, patting her back. Sweet North Star, how long had it been since his son was this small? He missed the simplicity of it sometimes. Some people hated the sound of a baby crying, especially when t
hey had strong lungs and all the rage of Beckett’s girl, but there was something easy about it. Babies cried, and you did your best to comfort them. Eventually, you found the thing that helped them, and they stopped. Sure, you were so tired that you couldn’t think and you began to wonder if you would ever sleep again. But Tashué had learnt in the cavalry how to sleep standing up or sitting in the saddle, just for a moment. Just long enough that he wouldn’t keel over from the exhaustion. And when they were babies, you didn’t have to worry about the decisions they made. All you had to do was feed them and cuddle them and wait for their fury to exhaust itself.

  “Beckett, you brought the baby!”

  Tashué looked down the bar, where Kazrani leaned over her breakfast. She slid off her stool to meet Tashué, reaching up and sliding a tender hand across the back of the baby’s head.

  “Heavens, she’s got a set of lungs, hey? What are you so mad about, missus?” The baby knotted a little fist in one of Kazrani’s black braids, catching one of the silk ribbons. She grimaced as she teased the baby’s hand open. “Did you finally settle on a name for her?”

  “We named her Lenora, after Beckett’s mother,” Minna said.

  “I told her she didn’t have to,” Beckett said, shaking his head. “My mother always had a temper. Now the baby’s taken after the name, I think.”

  “Let me try, sometimes they just need a bounce,” Kazrani said, reaching.

  Tashué batted her hands away. “Back off, Lieutenant. I haven’t held a baby in ages.”

  “Whose fault is that, then?” Kazrani muttered, but she retreated to her stool. “You’re perfectly capable of making a few, if you would settle on a woman to make them with.”

  “Ha. I’ve done enough damage to the world with my offspring, thank you. The world doesn’t need any more Blackwoods.”

  “There’s only the two of you,” Kazrani scoffed.

  Tashué shrugged. “That’s plenty and you know it.”

  “Another whisky morning, is it, Mr. Blackwood?” Pallwyth, the bartender, asked.

  “Yes please, Mr. Pallwyth. Angry babies aside, it’s been a long morning.”

  Pallwyth poured a generous measure of the cheapest whisky he had as Tashué rubbed Lenora’s back, adopting the bounce and sway that always calmed Jason. Little by little, he could feel her start to relax. The warmth of his body and the heat in the room worked its magic, and she slumped against him. She was still crying, but it was half-hearted and unconvincing. It was the first time in so long that he’d been able to solve such a simple problem.

  He shifted little Lenora’s weight so that she sat in the crook of his arm. Her face was still red from all the yelling, but her features settled into something peaceful as she sank down into sleep. Her hat, displaced by the way he shifted her, revealed her wispy dark hair, which was starting to develop little curls. Minna stepped closer, untying the baby’s hat with swift fingers and taking it off.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” she breathed.

  Tashué settled on his stool, scooping up the whisky. “You just have to be more stubborn than they are. Outlast them.” He threw it back in one swallow. The copper whisky was the very worst money could buy—blended whisky made from the rejected batches from various distilleries in the city. It probably wouldn’t kill you, but it burned like acid all the way down. “I’ll hold her a while, if the two of you would like to eat with your hands free.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Beckett said, settling beside Tashué. “Are your services available at night, too, or do we have to bring her down to the pub every time?”

  Tashué sighed. “Would that I had time to come cuddle your baby for you at night. I still haven’t assessed all of the cases I got from Maccus.”

  “You should eat something too, Mr. More Stubborn Than Babies,” Kazrani said. She had already finished her bowl of the stew Pallwyth made—usually plenty of onions and potatoes and whatever scraps of meat were available—and took a bite out of a thick slab of dark bread. “You can’t survive on whisky, coffee, and sweets alone.”

  Tashué shrugged, but only gently, nestling baby Lenora tighter to his body. “My hands are busy.”

  “Give him a mug of it, Mr. Pallwyth. That way he can pretend it’s whisky and knock it back.”

  Pallwyth grinned. “Good idea, Lieutenant.” He stepped to the wood stove he kept behind the bar with him. Now that the oppressive heat of the summer faded into autumn, Pallwyth stoked the fire in the stove to keep the dining room warm, and the kettle of stew took up residence on top of it. Pallwyth ladled a measure of stew into a tin mug and delivered it to Tashué.

  The door swung open, letting in the noise of the street. It seemed louder than usual, more urgent. Another of their Officers, Duskan Hillbraun, stepped in, his eyes sweeping the inside of the pub. He scowled at Tashué.

  “Who gave the ass a baby?”

  Minna bristled, but Beckett lay a hand on her back as he leaned around her to look at Duskan. “You’re especially sour this morning. I take it things didn’t go well with the Derccian woman from the songhouse?”

  “I didn’t like her that much anyway,” Duskan muttered, settling on the other side of Kazrani and nodding at Pallwyth. “Is that your baby, Collstone?”

  “Lenora,” Beckett said. “Cute, isn’t she? Looks just like her mother.”

  Duskan grunted. “If you say so.”

  “Don’t mind him, Miss Collstone,” Kazrani said, leaning around Tashué to look down the bar at Minna. “He’s sour with everyone.”

  The sounds of the commotion outside permeated through the closed door. It sent a wave of agitation through Tashué, making him want to stand, but the weight of baby Lenora kept him in his seat. “What’s going on outside?”

  “Outside?” Duskan asked. “Fuck, what would I care? Something down by the riverbank.”

  How could the man wear the tin badge of the National Tainted Registration Authority and not be drawn to the chaos? How could he not want to help?

  Tashué bit back a curse, drinking the cup of stew as quickly as he could. It was hot and salty, almost washing away the burn of whisky still on his tongue. He stood carefully, passing Lenora off to her mother. He needed to know.

  He pushed the door open, and the sound amplified in front of him. It hit him like a wall of anxiety, rippling up from the crowd at the end of the street, where the cobbles gave way to the bank of the Brightwash. The street used to lead to a bridge that spanned the water, but it had been abandoned when sturdier bridges were built for the tram. The support pilings were still driven into the rocky bank, but the rest of the bridge was gone, materials salvaged for other things. The crowd pressed in close to the pilings, jostling against each other, collecting like a blood clot in an open wound. Their chattering filled his ears like the rattling of the tram, loud and trying to drown out coherent thought, but he kept walking, drawn to chaos as if he was bound to it with a rope. He was only distantly aware of Kazrani following him. She always followed him, no matter what. Beckett had followed her, and Duskan was dragged along in their wake by some fear of being left behind.

  A woman lay stretched out on the ground, her own smaller crowd gathered around her. People fanned her face and called to her, trying to rouse her. Tashué made his way down the sloping streets. The cobbles ended a few yards from the water’s edge, giving way to shale that crunched and shifted beneath his boots. He pushed his way into the crowd, until the mass of jostling bodies ended abruptly.

  The girl had washed up on the bank among the detritus and trash that was carried through the city. Tiny and grey-fleshed, her body was made smaller and more heart-wrenching by her terrible mutilations. Her arms and legs had been cut away at shoulder and hip. Most of the wounds had healed, long keloid scars left in place where the flesh had been stitched back together, but one of the arm wounds was gaping and vile. Infection had eaten away at skin and tissue, so deep and raw that Tashué saw bone. Death and the river had cleansed her body of the usual redness and swelling and pus th
at came from such a terrible infection, but flies buzzed around the dead meat and the smell of rot wafted on the breeze. Her hair had been cut close to the scalp, leaving only black fuzz as it tried to grow back.

  Her face punched Tashué the hardest, despite all the gruesomeness of the state of her. There was a familiarity to her features—the black hair, brown eyes warm despite their blank emptiness. Was it his imagination, that made him see his own son? Or was it the Rift, just upriver, looming over his shoulder like the whole edifice was watching him? The Residential Institute for Feral Tainted and Non-Compliants. Could the girl be from that place? It seemed a foolish thought—she was too young to have quickened yet. Without a woken Talent, there was no need for her to register, thus no reason for her to be processed to the Rift. Tashué’s son was in there, locked away for refusing to register. But Jason wasn’t a child anymore, and this girl would never grow up.

  “Get people back.” The words came almost unbidden from Tashué’s chest, but uttering them dragged him back to himself and out of the trance that the little dead girl had laid on him. “Get all these people back. And send for the Patrollers.”