Before the release of our upcoming Western inspired queer fantasy, Blackblood, get to know the characters with this series of prequel chapters by Kree Sullivan.
Armina
Nine Years Before the Blackblood Drives West.
Averard’s been teaching me how to whistle since we pulled outta the mountains, and I think I'm finally getting the hang of it. Only when I do it, it's sounding like I'm hissing through my teeth instead of the clear sound he's making. I try again, puckering my lips like he showed me, but the air just blows out like ss ss ss.
“Getting better, Mina,” he says with a grumbly laugh that sets me sulking against the Blackblood's passenger door. I most certainly am not getting any better, and he knows it.
“Don't pout now. Any skill worth learning isn't mastered in a single afternoon.” He peels his hand off the steering wheel to drop it on my head, smooshing my hair into my eyes. “Just keep at it and you'll get there, I promise.”
He pulls his hand away, and I make a show of swiping my hair back into place, but I don't really mind it. Neither of us ever did learn how to brush and braid it properly, so it's always half a mess to begin with. Not that he braids my hair anymore at all now I've turned ten. For my birthday I got a pair of boots and my own revolver and a whole slew of new chores. Ten year olds, Averard says, clean up after themselves and do their own dishes and hair.
But I bet if I asked real nice he'd still help me with it.
We're headed out to a settlement called Antlerein, which I've never been to ’cause, as Averard says, “it's a junky middle-of-nowhere town where you can't even get a good meal or a bad drink.” Neither of us are hungry or thirsty though, so maybe it won't be so bad. Averard told me we're out to meet a client to drop off some enchanted medical supplies we collected for ’em. Don't know what good a bit of enchanted gauze’ll do, but Averard says specialty goods’re for specialty needs, and it's best to keep our noses out of other people's messes if we wanna keep ’em clean.
The town goes from nothing to something real quick, from flat old sand to neat little houses. People and dogs sit on porches and watch me watch them as we drive past. Averard puts a hand on my head and squishes me lower in my seat so only my eyes peek out through the window.
“Watch it, kiddo. Lots of Huntsmen to go around in these parts.”
Averard’s always fussing about Huntsmen. Neither of us are mages, but he says the big ol’ load of magical artifacts in the trailer makes us bad as one. I wonder what would happen if the Huntsmen caught us. Would we go to jail, or go to live with the mages in those Communities? I think I'd like to meet a mage, just once. Averard's met them, and he says they aren't scary at all like the Huntsmen say. But he doesn't answer most of my questions about either. Maybe when I'm older, I'll get to go on one of his super-secret business deals and meet them too.
He pulls the Blackblood into the truck lot, tucking us between two other semis so we look like a perfect stack of books. He hops out the driver's seat, then comes around to help me down. His arms loop beneath mine, and a second later I'm flying as he twirls me through the air. I laugh, clinging to his neck as he swings my legs around one more time before setting me down on the dusty asphalt.
He places a hand on his back and arches it. “You're getting too big for me to do that much longer,” he groans. “Or maybe I'm getting too old.”
“Both!” I say, swinging my arms as we head around to the truck's trailer. Averard lifts the hatch, and I pull myself up all on my own.
Once Averard climbs up, he closes the trailer so no one can see inside after us. Even after I flick on the flashlight, things’re one big blob in the dark. The black of magic makes everything blend together. Averard knows where he’s going though. He disappears around what I think is a dresser drawer and comes back a few minutes later with a black duffel bag and a frown only half visible in my flashlight beam.
He scrounges around in the pocket of his long black coat and comes back with a handful of bullets, which he drops into my outstretched hand. “Show me how you load your revolver,” he says.
I tuck the flashlight under my chin and pull out my gun. I thumb the cylinder release, loading each bullet one at a time and making sure to point the muzzle at the floor away from both of us. Once loaded, I flip the cylinder closed and look up at him expectantly.
“Holster,” he says, indicating to my hip. I carefully put the loaded revolver away.
He smiles. “Good girl. Now, go ahead and wait in the cab. I shouldn't be too long, provided I don't need to shake anyone down for our payment.”
I hop out the trailer, and as he closes it, I make my way around to pull myself back into the cab. It takes a little scrabbling as my feet don't reach the step yet, but with some muscle I'm back in the seat in no time. Averard beams at me as he cranks open my window a bit then closes the door.
“Remember,” he says. “Head down, ears alert. If any Huntsmen find you, play dumb until I get back to you. If any Huntsmen attack you,” his blue eyes level with mine, “shoot them.”
It’s surprising he’d want me to shoot ’em, as Averard always says that killing don’t help no one, and that a body’s less useful than a raincoat in the desert. But his tone’s serious, so I nod and pat my hand over my holster. He turns around without another word, coat sweeping behind him as he winds through the parked trucks.
I sigh and kick my feet up onto the seat. I wanna go on deals so bad. I'm not a baby anymore so I know I'm too old to whine and beg to go along, but it's boring in the truck. I wish I'd at least be allowed to sit with the artifacts, but Averard says I'd accidentally blow us to the other side of the cosmos.
At least he's quick as promised. Not a half hour later him and his black coat round the trucks again, sun highlighting the grays he's got growing in his hair and beard. He's also frowning and keeps glancing backward with his eyebrows all scrunched. That kinda Averard look means a bad idea’s burrowing in his brain.
I sit up straight as he throws his door open and pulls himself inside, but he doesn't close it. He's still staring in the direction of the settlement's darkened buildings, right where the sun's setting between them and casting creepy orange shadows. He sighs and shoves back in his seat, one foot up on the chair, a hand massaging the crease between his eyebrows.
I give his knee a nervous pat and stare into his grimacing face, hoping I’ll get some kind of response. He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then shakes his head.
“Hey, Mina? I have a very important question to ask you.”
I scoot closer. Am I finally gonna get included in a decision about the Blackblood? Maybe Averard'll let me check the maps, or run the radio, or organize the artifacts. I've watched him do all that before and could do it too, no problem.
His mouth remains a real thin line, and suddenly I'm pretty sure whatever he's about to ask me won't be very fun at all.
“In about five minutes, I am going to do something very, very stupid.”
I nod. This is more notice than I usually get.
“This stupid thing is going to affect our lives forever, in ways I can't predict. Things might get difficult for a while. We’ll have to be on the move more, and, honestly, it’ll be more dangerous than ever. So my question is.” He looks down at me, mouth lifted in a sad smile, looking half a second away from crying. “Will you forgive me?”
I blink at him and sit back on my heels. “Is that the stupid thing?” I wonder. “Asking me that?”
He laughs, and it sounds more like he's choking. He ruffles my hair and slides back out of the cab. Then he's gone.
I dunno what he meant by any of that. Did he rustle up a new artifact? A super big, super dangerous job? Is he gonna sell me to an orphanage?
The last thought sends ice spikes through my chest, needling into every layer of my skin, and I almost throw myself out the truck after him. I thought I'd forgive him easy for anything, but I'd never forgive him for that. I pull my knees up to my chin and rest my forehead on ’em, trying to breathe like Averard showed me that one time I woke up from a nightmare. In. Hold. Out. Over and over until the rhythm sets in and I can do it without thinking.
He’s gone even longer this time, the sun disappeared behind the horizon and my vision turned magic black before the truck rattles with him opening the door. He shoves a massive bundle at me, then jumps in and starts the engine. No chatting, no messing around with artifacts and luggage, he just steps on the accelerator and throws us out of the parking spot, ignoring how we scrape against the truck beside us with a metallic screech.
I peek at the bundle beside me, irregular shaped and wrapped top to bottom in Averard’s coat, then up at Averard, whose eyes’re glued to the road as he drives faster than I've ever seen him.
“Averard?” I ask. He doesn't respond.
Then the bundle moves, and I yelp. When it stills again, I reach over and peel back the lapel.
A face. I shove against my door, hands yanked back like the person’s on fire. It's a girl wrapped in Averard’s coat. A real, live one. She has dark skin and buzzed hair, and her eyelashes are a thousand miles long. She's asleep, I think, or at least unconscious, since her eyes stay firmly shut even as the road bumps beneath us. She's about my age. Maybe a little older.
I've never met another kid. I haven't met many people at all. Her breathing is shaky as she dreams, and a small whine escapes her throat. She curls up tighter on the chair and tugs the coat closer.
Her eyes slit open.
It's too dark to make out the color, really, but the expression in them is so clear and beautiful that for a moment I’m stuck. She seems confused, but there’s a calculating gleam there I can’t stop looking at. Her attention slips along my face as she studies me. She cuddles deeper into Averard’s coat, but she doesn't fall asleep again. Neither do I. Through the long hours of the night, we sit there and watch one another.
Maybe Averard did do something stupid after all. But, to be honest, I think I would've done it too.
Armina's story continues in Blackblood out April 1st and available for preorder now wherever books are sold.
Come back next week, when we meet the Hunstman, Renn and subscribe to the Tiny Ghost Newsletter for more bonus content.
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