Cannibal Kings - A Dark Coming of Age Fantasy

ASAIO

Asher gazes into the warehouse, eyes wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah. We got that effect on people,” I say. “Jawdroppin. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Uh–other words that mean the same thing. Shut your mouth, Flynn. I don’t need no comprehensive list right now. There’s so much to show you. Got a buncha different knick knacks, fancy clothes we stole–oh! The ladders are–”

“Do not go spoil him,” Ellie-Darlin says. “He has to find out himself.”

“Guess it ain’t very secret if I tell you,” I admit.

“Let’s go,” Seht says.

I remember what Asher said bout not wantin to meet everyone at once. Caution is good. “You don’t gotta,” I assure him. “You can wait till everyone leaves and the place is almost empty cause that usually happens after everyone’s eaten and such, or we can go hand around somewhere else or somethin. But we gotta check in with Vernon and Vip first and tell em Michie’s safe and we got food and you’re here and–”

“Slow down, Asaio,” Seht says.

“Talkin fast means your brain’s workin good.”

“What does that even mean?”

“See, my brain’s faster than yours.”

“Oh, Suns,” he mutters.

“He’s slow,” I whisper extra-loudly to Asher.

“You can wait up here with me,” Flynn offers. “If someone takes the bag and Nep and Pen so they can rest.” Ellie-Darlin does, the huge snakes slitherin around her arms, still legs longer than her, and the bag of vegetables slung over her right shoulder.

“You aren’t going with them?” Asher asks.

“No,” Flynn says, blushin. “I don’t like so many people being around either.” I pat him reassuringly on the back.

Asher nods. “Okay. I’ll wait.”

“Kim and Mallo are already climbing up to take over for Lahla and Ana,” Seht says. “So you two might want to find some place quieter.”

Flynn smiles. “I know the perfect spot.”

We call the place he’s referrin to as ‘Flynn’s Hollow.’ It’s a nook at the very top of an overwrought tree that he spent Moon after Moon carvin out, so that it was smooth and squarish, like a room. He spent over a cycle hollowin that thing with nothin but a thin scalpel that he’d made of some beat up factory thing that I don’t know the name of. I could’ve sped up the process with my whisperin but we were all fightin at the time and helpin Flynn didn’t seem like a valiant effort in the moment.

The rest of us climb through the trap doors, where multiple vines attached to the end let us slide down into our home sweet home.

***

The Garnets swarm us like we’ve been gone twenty cycles. It’s not cause they particularly love us–they do, just most ain’t the ones to show it like that, less you’re Vernon or Krassy, well, me. Nah, they’re comin for the vegetables, clawin at them like savage, plague-ridden beasts. Twelve kids at once, rangin from the ages ten to seventeen, probably. Thin, malnourished faces and wide, smart eyes. Nearly as smart as some of them tongues. Oh Krassy, who’s my age, bout thirteen or somethin, her tongue’s sharper than Nep and Pen’s teeth. We call her Crass because of her lack of class.

“Aye, settle down, settle down!” calls Vernon, pushin through the masses. “They just got here!”

Vernon’s our unofficial leader. He’s one of the oldest and he even looks it. Tall, with a bit of muscle. There’s more plague over his body than most of us; his skin’s stretchin itself to death, pale and placid, a thin web to cover the black veins and blackenin bone beneath it, but he takes his sickness in pride. When he’s here at the warehouse, he’s shirtless most of the time, that’s how comfortable he is, even though it looks like he’s gonna be blown away with a single gust of wind. He keeps his hair long as can be and tied into braids like Flynn, but the way he wears it makes it seem like he’s tryin to make his presence bigger, not tryin to hide behind the mop of hair like Flynn.

“I rather like the attention,” I say, handin a red lookin vegetable to Vernon’s opposite: thick-boned Mustletop. “Mustle! Come ‘ere, you.” I plant a kiss on his forehead. He’s more interested in the vegetable than my love for him.

Pushin through the legs of the crowd pops a sweet, familiar face. Hardly reachin my waist comes the youngest of our group, the doll to us all. The others make room for her where they wouldn’t make room for anyone else.

With a thick head of black hiair and eyes bright as the Suns themselves is Uyala, only six or seven cycles young. Besides me and Vernon, she’s one of the only that can call herself a Garnet through-and-through. Born and raised right here, with only us to call family. Seht says that she should be taller for her age, that she’s bout the size of someone three or four cycles, but what’s new?

“Uyala!” Seht cries, reachin out to grab the little girl and hoise her onto his hip. “Hi, brightness.”

Ellie-Darlin and I exchange glances before gigglin. It’s adorable seein Seht all motherly.

Uyala and Seht bonded right away, since she also took a likin to Mono Man, even though Mono-Man had no idea how to deal with a baby properly and that’s why Uyala walks funny, like an old man, and she can’t really talk right. Ellie-Darlin’s the mostm experienced with small children, since she grew up at the Sanctuary in Tanasora, so she’s been tryin to fix Uyala’s speech and get her to eat more since her arrival two cycles ago.

“No Flynn?” Crimson asks. He’s short and stubby and only got one eye. Don’t know how he lost it. We never ask cause he gets pissy when we do.

“Nah,” I say. “Got Nep and Pen though.”

The satisfactory smirk on Crimson’s face irritates me.

We Garnets will always stick together. Bonded cause we got no one else. Cause we all came from brutal parts of the world that don’t want us. Cause you only live once and we ain’t gonna live that life sick and cryin cause life didn’t do us good. Life will never do you good. You gotta do yourself good cause life don’t owe us a damn thing.

Despite all that, there are tensions and cliques within the group. Certain Garnets are closer to others, like me and Ellie-Darlin and Seht and Flynn. And some can’t get over the past. Flynn might’ve made some mistakes but he’s changed and it bugs me that a bunch of the Garnets don’t see that. We get picked on enough, we don’t need to pick on each other.

Ellie-Darlin drops Nep and Pen to the ground, lettin them slither around Crimson’s feet just enough to be a bother.

“Who were y’all talkin to up there?” Vernon says, gesturin towards the trapdoors. “Guys! Place the vegetables in the food bin. You know the rules. Don’t go sneakin nothin around when we can’t see you.”

There are many sighs, but they do as they are told, dropping the items into the badly-weaved basket in the corner of the warehouse. The rule is that if you’re the one that brought the goods, you get to choose how to distribute them. Almost always it’s distributed fairly, but fairly depends on the person. If someone’s more sick than someone else, or they’re a girl and they’re bleedin, or if they’re younger and gotta eat more, or if someone’s been beaten up and bruised lately, it’s expected that they get to be fed more, so long as they’re contributin and treatin everyone well.

We’re tryin not to be like our hoity-toity Industry, tellin us to split rations that are never as equal as they pretend, but you got to be on the bottom rung to know that. Tyn, they call us.

Even amongst us Garnets, there are petty arguments about who gets what and why, and we love and trust and actually care for each other. There’s no way them Industry workers with them long lines on Market Street actually care about keepin us fed and ‘fairly compensated.’ I hardly understand the industry and Purity and such, but Isaela’s real passionate about its intricacies and argues so in private. She knows better than to do so in public.

“His name’s Asher and he’s Garnet potential, trust me,” I say. We explain what happened wtih Michie.

Vernon nods. “I trust you. We’ll meet him when he’s ready.”

Then he reaches over and embraces me. he does the same with Ellie-Darlin, plantin kisses on our foreheads. A warmth runs through me. It always does when I’m in this buildin, even though it’s messy and dirty and smells like sweaty boys half the time, I love it.

“I’m glad y’all are back,” he says. “And glad savin Michie was worth it. Ana and Lahla should be back soon from their shift.”

Now Michie, our first ‘establishment’, will be our first Coin Man. Doin illegal business with illegal kids. Miner’s Keep, Yaselle’s Bugs, Five Pitters–all of them, they got a few Coin Men, mostly smugglers, but a lot of them don’t last too long before bein hit by the bug lickers. But if you’re a bigshot like the Rubies or the Lime Men, you know how to keep your Coin Men alive. You know how to double your rations. You know how to do deal with the lickers to keep them off your back when you’re in the business of brothels and intoxicatin flowers and plague mining. Plague minin–diggin the plague directly outta the ground, hacked right outta the trees.

Dangerous as can be, with more people dyin as more people desperately get into the business. In theory, the veins should be turned into medicine. The black growths and unnatural spikes in the ground could be grounded in a specific way to be turned into an elixir. Not the same sort the Lime Men use, with their magicla herbs and herbalism, but a medicin that makes you slowly feel better till it kills you even more brutally than the plague would have. But the plague-ridden roots alleviate the sufferin for just long enough to be worth it, for people just on the brink of insanity. Or if you’re real hungry, it can sustain you for a while.

Thing is, the tourists and high-brow Fortress folk that come round don’t see these things. They don’t see the good either. They don’t see the play-places kids make in the scrapyards or hear the real sweet drummins on the streets, or the lonesome singer tryin to escape factory life with her words.

“I want to have a talk with all of you before y’all run off,” Vernon says. “So gather round.”

At that moment, clamborin down are Lahla and Ana.

Seht, who is combin through Uyala’s thick, curly hair, says, “Should we grab Flynn?”

“You can relay this to him,” Vernon says. “Let him entertain the shy newcomer.”

A few laughs come about.

I know Vernon’s good with Flynn, but I also know that if it’d been me up in Flynn’s Hollow he’d probably send Ellie-Darlin after me.

Genavieve and Mustletop hand us bowls of blood branch stew. They’re the resident cooks. Well, Genavieve’s the resident cook and Mustletop tries to be and fails, presentin Genavieve the daily challenge of tryin to salvage whatever mess he’s made.

We ain’t the sort to sit around so as position ourselves within hearin range. Some Garnets are hangin off the ladders, lettin all the blood rush to their heads, someon the floor, some sprawled on each other’s laps or backs.

“Alright,” Vernon says. “Most of y’all know this already, but for you guys”–he glances directly at our group–“you need a recap. While y’all were out savin Michie from the Lime Men, we got word that there was a rumble between some folk from Yaselle’s and the Pitters’. Got into it over control of the docks. The seventh dock, of course.”

Of all the docks at Mecraentos Harbor, the seventh is the smallest. The others are either completely under bug licker authority or Ruby territory, who’re the only real gang in Mecraentos, the only ones that are gainin enough notoriety and power for the bug lickers and nobles to start seein them as a problem. Give them a few cycles, Vernon says, and the Rubies will make their way into the Fortress, the big scary capital that all them nobles hide in.

“The lickers intervened, as they do,” Vernon continues, “but the Bugs managed some sorta deal with the lickers. Not quite sure what it is, but it was made oddly quick and swift. Word is that it’s cause the Bugs are climbin up the ladder, tryin to position themselves in a way to merge with the Rubies. Weird, considerin Yaselle’s reputation but, anyways, that pissed off the Pitters.”

“Get to it!” Kim hollars with a laugh. He’s one of the youngest, seven or so, and he’s got absolutely no social awareness at all. He could walk into a room with eight muskets blazin and he wouldn’t do a thing. We found him half-dead in a sewer a couple peakings ago. He’d tried to kill himself or someone tried to kill him–either way, it was brutal.

“Was goin to, kid,” Vernon says. “Ana, Vip? You wanna take over?”

Ananiva and Vip are two of the original Garnets, along with Vernon and I. The four of us are the only remnants of the ‘origina’ group, the group that broke off of Vernon’s family crime trade, passin from Vernon’s father to Seran, his dead brother, and then to him, back before we were really a gang and more just employees and entertainment for his family’s gamblin hub. Loads of games, we played back then. My mask is from those days, back when I was Piebald, the two-eyed mime and one of the greatest bringers of coin–no tourist can resist a cute actor.

Ana steps forward. It was she that recruited me off the streets, so I wouldn’t be botherin Isaela and Sans no more. She’s the closest thing to an older sister I’ve got, but we ain’t as close as we used to be, since she’s spendin less and less time with the Garnets, tryin to see all she can as the plague slowly knits her bones together. Vip and I ain’t that close either, since he was always less about tryin to follow in Seran’s footsteps and more about tryin to get us all to move in legally with stable families. Never worked cause none of us wanted to go back to them orphan homes so he gave in to helpin provide for us. He got a job in a factory, till he realized just how dangerous factory work is and that no one really gave a damn bout his wellbein there, not the same way we do.

“Vip and I have been on watch at Punnet on and off for the last week or so,” Ana says. “Y’all know Mister Kamon?”

Mister Kamon lives in one of the three houses on Punnet Street. Not a dingy apartment but a real, nice single-story home, only slightly beat to the ground. He’s richer, Purer–stamped clean with approval by the Soul checkers for never missin his weekly appointments, and relatively new to the neighborhood.

“Well, he came to Vip and I right after the harbor scuffle happened, proposin this: while Yaselle’s group and the Five Pitters are goin at it like all Suns, we come and intercept a shipment. He hasn’t specified what shipment, he hasn’t specified when it comes. He hasn’t told us anythin until we agree,” Ana says.

“What?” Seht says. “What sort of deal is that?”

“A risky one,” Vernon says. “We don’t have to agree right now. He said that we just have to discuss it amongst ourselves and then a group of us will go meet with him about the peculiars.”

“What does he want with a bunch of street rats?” Seht says. “This feels like a trap.”

I have to agree.

We ain’t ever done a job for someone else before. Michie was one of our own. If one of our own gets into a rumble, we plan elaborately to save them. If one of our own gets caught for a petty robbery or con and we got to save their hind, we do. If one of our own is sick and needs a particular sort of medicine or if the plague’s got them rough and they want to do somethin specific before they meet the Suns, we’ll break into what we can, con who we can, fight who we can, to provide that for them. Like, when Mono Man was dyin, we stole eight dozen carriage wheels just cause he asked. Most of the time, we lay-low, though.

But, considerin how much focus we’ve put into Punnet Street, makin sure they know us and that we occasionally reap the beenfits of their businesses–like Michie’s crop or Dandelion’s weavin business–it makes sense that Kamon would take notice.

“Who would go discuss it with him?” Crimson asks.

“Vernon, Ana, and I,” Vip says, “but only if the majority of y’all are alright with it. Whatever the job may be, whether we agree or not, we agree as a whole.”

A part of me frowns at the list of names. I get that it’s because the three of them are all older, but I know it’s more because they’re all original Garnets. But wouldn’t that include me too? I don’t mind, though, cause I ain’t too bright.

“How come only you three would discuss it?” Seht asks. “Why don’t we go and come bringing that man to somewhere where we can all judge if he’s lying or not?”

Vernon exchanges a glance with Vip. “We can’t expose everyone. If it’s a trap and, worst-case, we’re dead, then he only kills three of us.”

“Or we’re better off with big numbers and we corner him so he doesn’t going round and doing any of those tricks,” Seht says. “What can he possibly offer us that we need?” Uyala awakens in his arms, mutterin, “Hmm?” Seht shushes her, urgin her to go back to sleep.

“Uh—a lot?” Crimson says. “We’re hardly surviving. Every day, we pray the lickers aren’t gonna get us or someone ain’t going to be shot in the street or—”

“And how is some kind of rich man from Punnet Street supposed to help with that?” Seht snaps. Uyala groans and wraps her arms around her neck. “Okay, okay. Hold on. I’m going to go find her a blanket. Did she stay up all night?”

“Couldn’t fall asleep without you,” Vernon notes.

Seht glances at her with the most lovin gaze his sharp features can muster. He steps away from the rest of us, goin into the corner where we have to sectioned off ‘rooms’ for the sickly in case they need rest without the rest of us loomin over all the time. They’re divided with blankets and wooden roots I grew into makeshift walls.

“I think we should just hear him out,” Vernon says. “He noticed us for a reason.”

Shimmy narrows his eyes. He’s from the Minee, which is technically part of Mecraentos, but also such a horrible slum that most folk consider it its own entity. He never got an education, but he’s observant and we all call him the smartest in our group, so we always listen when he’s got somethin to say. “Is that what this is, Vernon?”

“What do you mean?”

Shimmy glances at Lahla, Vernon’s lover.

Lahla is everythin Vernon is not. She’s taller than him, probably stronger than him, she don’t stay in one place, she’s quiet, she doesn’t have the power to bring people together with just her words like Vernon does, and she’s usually exceptionally more wary than he. She draws tattoos all over her body, goes to illegal artists and pays them double with coin she makes on her own time doin Sun knows what. No one knows where she came from, we can’t identify her accent and everyone’s too scared to ask her. We doubt even Vernon knows.

“No,” she says flatly. “But Vernon wants this and I trust him. If he gets himself killed when meeting with Kamon, that’s his own fault.”

He leans over to kiss her on the cheek. “You know I would never die in anyone’s hands except yours.”

She kisses him fully on the mouth, keepin it there for a full twenty or thirty seconds before breakin off, when Mustletop coughs awkwardly into his sleeve and Crass bursts out cacklin, callin them doxies. “I love you too.”

They’re adorable.

Shimmy taps his knee rhythmically as Seht makes his way back to the group, Uyala put to sleep. “I don’t know, Vernon. I don’t think we are ready for that.”

“Will we ever be ready?” Vernon challenges. “We have someone who is willin to give us a chance to prove ourselves, our worth as somethin more than street rats. He noticed us.”

“You said that twice,” Shimmy notes.

“What?”

“That he noticed us. This man coming in doesn’t mean he’s not going to be like–what were their names again? I don’t even know because of how useless they were to our functionality. Mono Man, right, Seht?” I wince for him. “Christy. The Gem Lady. He’s not going to be another one of them, and we don’t need another one of them, some bullshit adult that needs us to give them a purpose. If validation is what you want from this job–”

“It’s not,” Vernon says. “I’m hopin this man gives us status. This man’s wealthy. If he’s offerin a good price, we could finally have the funds to have somethin real again. We could maybe be the next Five Pitters, or Yaselle’s Bugs. Or, okay fine. Shoot lower. We can turn Punnet Street into somethin more than it is. We could have somethin of our own, like the old gamblin den again.”

We all have our own reasons for bein Garnets. Vernon and Seran’s reasons have always been the same—to foster kids that grew up in broken homes like theirs. That was the real purpose of the gamblin den.

But the way Vernon’s glarin at Shimmy makes me doubt that it’s just that, for a second. I don’t really care if it is, I’d like the notoriety too.

It’s hard not to watch the red-necked Rubies and not want that power. That’s their brand. Gettin red tats all over them necks. They look like they’re of real good Pure stuff, they’re so rich. And they have what’s nearly their own branch of authorities, of lickers. It’s only ‘nearly’ cause they got to pay the lickers and the lickers can stop them at any time, like with what happened at the Mushroom Dam. Sixty three Rubies dead at the ends of snake-skin vests and muskets cause their homes were gettin a little too fancy, lookin a little too rich, and connin just a few too many tourists. If we could be like that, Flynn and Ellie-Darlin could get a real education. They’d be top scholars, I’d bet. Real, real smart. Seht would probably start his own league of brawlers. He loves watchin the sport in the Cages. Uyala could walk safely down the streets, grow up like a rich girl, without rough-housin, and Seht would watch damn proud. He’d want that too, to spoil Uyala like a princess.

Less it’s a trap, I remind myself.

“I’d like a caretaker like the Gem Lady again,” Kim says softly.

We all glance at him.

“What?” he says, utterly clueless. Mustletop just pats him comfortingly on the back.

“I think we should at least see the meeting through,” says Ana.

“Where will it be?” I ask, realizin that hasn’t been revealed. “At Kamon’s home?”

“Yes,” Vip says, Vernon noddin along with him.

Crimson whistles. “You better pocket something.”

“Oh we will,” Vernon says heartily. He squeezes Lahla’s hand. “I’ll get you somethin real expensive, my jewel.”

We vote. Most are in favor of Vernon, Vip, and Ana at least meetin wiht Kamon. Everyone except Shimmy, who says he knew he’d be outvoted. The meetin is set for later today, so everyone wants to help the three dress in their Suns-Day best, clothes that had been stolen off of a few drunken tourists. I don’t like wearin them, I prefer the cloak from Mono Man or pieces sewn by Sans. I do help Mustletop and Kim and Crass make a fool out of eldest with the worst clothing combinations imaginable. I leave before the fun really starts, though, when Genavieve and Ellie-Darlin pull out mineral makeup dyes, to check on Flynn and Asher.

***

A light rain’s startin to pour. I glance up at the dark red sky as white drops race to bruise my skin. I leap over rooftops and slide down infected vines, whistlin to myself. I find the base of the tree that houses Flynn’s Hollow and shimmy my way up, expandin my senses and lettin leaves and branches brush against my affectionately. This tree is probably over fifty legs high. You can see the whole City from up here.

I reach the top and move into the hallowed part. There are still blood stains where Flynn’d manically began to tear at the bark with his own fingernails, breakin them off. I wish I had been there for him in those days, but we don’t live long enough to wallow in regret.

Suddenly, an arrow whizzes past my head.

I react just in time, lettin my grip on the bark free and fallin a few legs before whisperin and extendin a branch to catch my, effectively cuttin my forearms.

“What in the sweet world?” I call against the steadily growin winds.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Flynn says. “Come up, Asaio!”

Flynn’s Hollow was not always as comfortable as it seems now. Now, the hollowed-out wood is covered with carved statues and a rare shroom lamp and bunch of Flynn’s prized possessions, like his braid bands and a weird, flat, comb-lookin thing that he’s had since we met him. I don’t know what it’s for cause, whenever we ask, his cheeks go all red.

Flynn stands in the back of the hollow, Asher’s bow held wobbly in his right hand.

“I don’t think you’re left-eyed,” Asher observes.

“Left-eyed?”

“Yeah. If you’re shooting, the way you shoot depends on whether or not you are left-eyed or right-eyed.”

“Not… handed?”

“Well, yeah, sure, it’s sort of the same thing.”

I wave a hand, movin the branches at the entrance into a tight-knit web to better keep out the rain. The sound of the steady pour is like a rhythmic drummer’s. “You’re teachin Flynn how to shoot?”

“It’s not working very well,” Flynn says.

“Oh, you’re fine,” Asher says, but he’s starin behind me, at the entrance I made move. He blinks. “Sorry. Asaio—I know you said… but that’s not normal.”

A cheeky grin comes across my face. “May not be normal, but it’s kinda cool, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says.

I tell him and Flynn about Kamon and the meetin.

“Don’t worry,” I tell Asher. “If we end up doin the job, you don’t got to be involved. We get to choose whether or not we do stuff like this, like how us here volunteered to help Michie even though Vip and Ana and the others could’ve done it too. Once you go back to Punnet Street, we’ll probably have you work with Michie about growin that crop and keepin us on good terms, you know? You can stay doin your own thing, most of the time.”

Asher makes a face I can’t read before coverin it up. I’m about to ask if he would rather not do that when he speaks.

“Is there an… initiation to be a Garnet?”

“What?” Flynn says.

“The Rubies,” Asher says, pointin to his neck. “Or the Lime Men? They all have those black fingernails, did you notice? And I’m sure they have them work a job so that they’re official.”

“Nah,” I say. “You only got to steal from a noble to be one of us. Kiddin, kiddin. That only happened once. We don’t do anythin like that. We’re chill. You’re a Garnet if we can rely on you.”

“What is it you Garnets do if jobs like the one Kamon’s asking are rare?” Asher asks.

“Petty crime, sometimes. Avoidin the bug lickers. Pranks. Uh–what else? I don’t know, games? Avoidin Mothers from the orphanges, they can get real feisty. We’ve been real focused on tryin to protect Punnet Street, so we’ve been doin a bunch of stuff related to that. Keepin creepy men away and root-sellers and all. We help, a few of us. Flynn and Seht and Ellie-Darlin and I, at least.”

“Help?”

Flynn and I exchange a glance. “Come on. We’ll show you. It’s been a while since we dropped by The Shaver anyways. Unless you want to wait till the warehouse has cleared out so you can get a tour of the place?” I add, rememberin the reason why he followed us anyway, to investigate the Garnets, see if we are a suitable company.

“No,” Asher says. “I like to keep busy. I don’t want to wait and sit around.”

“I like you so much already.”