Halcyon's Hero (Atramento Book 1) Read online

  Halcyon’s Hero

  Nix Whittaker

  Praise for Halcyon’s Hero

  The book is well written with many strengths in its plot, character and world-building.

  – Antony Millen author of The Chain.

  Other books by Nix Whittaker

  Wyvern Chronicles

  Blazing Blunderbuss

  The Mechanicals

  The Jade Dragon

  Wyvern’s trim and other stories

  Ruby Beyond Compare

  Wyvern Mysteries

  Lady Golden Hand

  The White Lady

  Lady Doctor

  © 2015 by Nicola Pike

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical facts, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  I wrote this book in my native English so if you are American you might notice more U’s and less Z’s but that is as intended. Also, a warning to those who love the oxford comma, you might see less of those as well.

  Originally published as Hero is a man.

  For my parents who have always encouraged me to dream through the miracle of the written word.

  Chapter One

  Whatinga: February 2086

  Three rectangular warehouses created a small courtyard, tall metal bars tipped off with filigree spikes fenced off the last side, keeping Misha and Waha on the outside on the abandoned street. The art nouveau gate, with some fancy intercom gadget, was out of place for the neighbourhood that sported boarded-up windows and industrial skeletons from a past that still haunted the land.

  Stomping to warm his feet, Misha tucked his arms under his armpits. His breath misted as he waited for Waha to make his move.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Misha wriggled so the collar of his shirt could cover more of his neck. He hated to think how cold it was outside of the Weather Shield that covered the entire city.

  Waha ignored him and leaned on the intercom button. Short for his age, Waha sported a vintage leather jacket that probably cost more than Misha’s apartment. Not that Waha owned anything else. Not when he mostly lived on people’s couches.

  Eventually, a woman’s voice answered. “What?” Her tone was sharp enough to cut. If it were a man on the other end of the intercom, Misha would have convinced Waha to leave. Angry men in this neighbourhood meant guns.

  Women’s rights might have come a long way before climate change had altered everything, but it had taken a hit in the last couple of decades where ‘might makes right’ was the watch cry. In rough neighbourhoods like this, women tended to be at the bottom of the ladder. So, despite her angry tone, Misha wasn’t worried they would be gunned down in a bloody mess on the side of the street. But that didn’t mean they were safe.

  Misha grabbed Waha’s shoulder, who merely shrugged him off. Waha mouthed for him to back off and Misha went back to trying to unfreeze his fingertips. He wasn’t even sure why he was here besides that he felt a need in Waha that mirrored his own. Both of them were alone in the world.

  Waha turned back to the intercom, bouncing on his toes. “Hey, I hear you do mean tats. I got money. I can pay you, man. Like heaps,” he pleaded.

  There was a long pause. “Are you alone?”

  Waha glanced back at him. Misha knew he wasn’t a small man and he would intimidate the woman who lived behind a tall fence and screened people with an intercom. Gesturing at Misha, Waha tried to convince him to stay but Misha shook his head vehemently. There was no way he’d stand out here in a dodgy neighbourhood in the cold by himself. He was trained to protect himself but he wasn’t going to do something risky.

  Blowing on his hands to warm them he stood his ground. He should have brought his coat. He’d been finishing up his classes at the local centre when Waha found him and whined until Misha came on this wild goose chase, which meant he didn’t grab it.

  Waha shrugged and leaned into the intercom. “I got a friend here. He is like a cuddly teddy bear though.” Misha huffed at the idea that he was like a teddy bear as Waha continued to wheedle the woman into inviting two unknown men into her home. There was a long silence as Waha waited for the answer.

  The answer was a buzzing noise and the gates opened. Misha stared at the gap in the fence with burgeoning surprise.

  Waha danced through the gates. “Come on, man, this will be awesome. Manu asked her for a tat last week and she turned him down flat, said he wasn’t macho enough.”

  Preening by tugging up his collar, he pranced like one of those fancy horses on the old Olympics shows. Bouncing feet and all legs.

  Skeletons of machines filled the courtyard. There was even a forge. The old kind you would see in a medieval movie. The place was eerie in the setting sunlight. Throwing deep shadows over everything. Lights led them to a warehouse with large windows. Old-fashioned neon lights made out the word Tattoo in fluorescent pink. Now it appeared like a tattoo parlour he was used to.

  When they entered, a bell tinkled above their heads. A petite woman with hair black as tar stepped out from the back of the building. Her short hair stood up on one side and as if she had run her hand through it. She had pale skin and eyes that said someone in her ancestry had come from Asia. She tied her blue overalls around her waist with a white T-shirt, more like a metal worker than a tattoo artist.

  Stopping by the door, she studied Waha first. She walked up to him, not showing any of the fear he had expected from the heavy security features. Her head tipped back as she was significantly shorter than even Waha. He babbled for a second about having cash, and about wanting a dragon. Misha wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he watched the way she moved. She circled Waha; running her eyes where her hands did.

  She tapped Waha’s chest with a sparkling blue fingernail. “No dragon.”

  Waha’s face fell with disappointment and it drained his tone of energy. “All right then, whatever you want. Maybe a tiger?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Why come to me if you want something so generic?”

  Flapping her hands, she walked away from him and muttered something under her breath. At the counter, she pulled out some business cards and discarded one after the other onto the table.

  “No, not that one. Ah, here it is.” She passed him a card with the tips of her fingers crossed over. “Go to Carlos. He’ll paint you up good and if you look in the back room, he has something special.” She waved the card impatiently when he didn’t take it. Waha took the card with the very tips of his fingers. Misha wasn’t sure what he expected from the card, maybe some contact poison. But the woman didn’t look like a killer.

  She patted his chest and cajoled, “Trust me, you’ll like the surprise. It will make your day, or year. Mm, I wonder if tonight is the heavies.” Her voice faded off as she talked to herself.

  Waha glared at the business card in his hand while she stalked Misha like he was prey. She walked around and prodded him. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Misha.” His own eyes trained on her movements as he purred out his name. He liked the way she moved. Graceful but with no extra movements except for her hands. They did their own thing, twisting and curling as she moved. She didn’t react at all to his flirtatious tone.

  “Mmmm.” She stopped in front of him and placed both her hands against his chest. Waha made a comment about getting a room, Misha was too busy watching her to care about Waha’s comment.

  Misha watched people for a living, and he k
new she practised her every move. Graceful and considered, the woman moved like those ballerinas his mother had loved watching on TV. “Are you a dancer?” His voice was rough with his wonder.

  She flashed him a smile before she wriggled her fingers against his chest. “I think a strength tattoo. I’ll give you a tattoo that will give you strength. It should work, I hope.” She winced as she said the last, then went on with more confidence and tapping just her fingertips along his chest while her palms remained flat. “It will go here. It will do some mumbo jumbo stuff to you that is too complicated to explain, but it will strengthen you than you can dream of. It will hack your biometrics and redirect your chi into other cells in your body. You understand?”

  Misha muttered agreement to cover that instead of listening he had been contemplating her lips. And whether the perfect pinkness of her lips was natural or lip gloss. If it was gloss, it would have to be peach. She was too eccentric to go with something as generic as strawberry. The urge to lower his head and kiss her to find out had rendered him deaf for a moment. But vaguely he liked the idea of being stronger. Maybe if he had been stronger, he could have saved his father. Or the kids he mentored at the centre, in his line of work strength was a definite advantage.

  “Take off your shirt.” Without looking back to see if he would comply, she moved over to the chair in the centre of the room.

  “I’m not here for a tat. I don’t like the things.” They reminded him too much of the gangs. And in this neighbourhood, almost everyone had some affiliation with the gangs. He had always kept his nose clean and out of that mess.

  “This one is different. It won’t look like anything the gangs do. I promise you that. Take off your shirt.” She set out her gear and kicked the chair into place.

  He hesitated, surprised she had guessed his objections. His mind could only think of prolonging her hands on his body. The tattoo would be under his shirt, so it wasn’t like others would know he had it. The other reason he didn’t like them was the cost. “I don’t have any money.”

  Waha grumbled, “Yeah, and I sure as heck ain’t going to pay for his tat.”

  She ignored Waha. “It won’t cost you money. I’ve never done this tattoo before. You are my test subject.” She motioned for him to get on the chair.

  “I don’t enjoy being in debt to anyone, if you won’t take money would you take a favour?”

  She waved off his objections with a flick of her hand. “Great, I could do with some help around here. Besides, I’ll be able to see how that tattoo is working.”

  He didn’t have a full-time job, so a little labour wasn’t a bad thing. It would also mean he could ask her out later.

  Pulling off his shirt, he laid down on the chair. She turned on the heater and it blasted him with hot air. The chair rose into position, so he was out of the direct heat, but now he was warm for another reason as it set him at the perfect height to view her chest. The white shirt left little for the imagination. She wasn’t voluptuous but there were curves enough. Her hand on his chest didn’t help his temperature regulation.

  Waha grunted. “No shortage of space to do a tat.”

  The woman turned to Waha. “If you want that special surprise, you need to leave now. I’ll look after your friend.” She patted Misha’s shoulder reassuringly.

  Waha hesitated, his fingers running over the card in his hand. He must have decided it wasn’t poisoned. “You going to be all right?” he asked Misha without looking up from the card.

  Misha waved him off. They had both caught the bus to get here, so it wasn’t like he was leaving him stranded. Waha left to find someone to give him a tat. If Misha had been in his shoes, he would tell everyone the girl had given it to him. He wouldn’t be the first to lie about something like that.

  Misha looked her over. “I don’t see your tats.”

  She pointed to her cheek. “Look closer.” Leaning closer and angling so he could see her cheek.

  He moved his eyes over her cheek and he only saw the marks when she moved. He could barely make out letters or symbols. They were pink like her skin, so it blended in. She was right that this wasn’t anything like the tattoos the gangs favoured.

  He grunted. “Hope you won’t make mine pink.”

  She brandished a bright smile. “No, your chi isn’t right for rose quartz, Ammonite maybe. Besides, this was for my illness.”

  “Illness?”

  Amazed by the sudden concern for her when he thought she was sick. She waved it off and settled on the stool. She pressed him down to keep him in place. This time it was while she wore gloves, so not as pleasant as before. Her touch, though, was tender.

  “Cancer, but it is gone now,” she stated with no emotional inflection. It must have been some time ago.

  She didn’t look sick. Her short hair though had a new meaning. He reached up to brush her hair back from her forehead and then touched just the edges of her pink tattoo. His chest tightened.

  “Is that what is in there, a stone of some sort?”

  She nodded and set her gun with the right ink.

  “I’ll be using turquoise and ammonite with you.” Turquoise was blue, he could live with blue.

  “There is some other stuff in there, but it’s all blue stones,” she said absently as she worked. She went through the process like any artist with casual care and laid out her tools, touching them with reverence.

  Misha shifted his weight on the chair. “Aren’t you going to show me what you will ink on me?”

  She flapped a hand at him, already sinking into her work. He liked the way she moved her hands. If she slowed down, he saw she curled her entire hand in the motion one finger at a time.

  His mother had been an artist, so he understood he wouldn’t get anything coherent from her at this stage. She might babble stuff she thought made sense but to normal, non-creatives at least, it would be gobbledygook.

  She splayed her hand against his chest and made a humming sound. If she were a cat, she would have purred. Misha liked the sound. It bugged him for a second as he tried to figure out if she had made the sound because she was touching him or because she was excited about inking his skin.

  “So, do you have a name?” Misha asked.

  “Hal,” she answered offhandedly as she put together the tattoo gun she would be using.

  He frowned. “Isn’t that a boy’s name?” Though it wasn’t the most unusual name he had heard for a girl, but it was odd for anyone regardless of gender as it was an old-fashioned name.

  “It’s short for Halcyon.” Her eyes were on the business end of the gun, flicking her eyes up to his own as she answered him. He hoped he wasn’t the only one who felt the heat in that gaze. A smile touched just the corner of her mouth before she went back to her work. Her hand again on his chest.

  “Peace,” his voice hoarse.

  Hal jerked, disbelief in her eyes. He blushed as he explained, “My mother was into word games like Scrabble. I know a lot of words I pretty much never use.” He didn’t want to admit that he had some education as this neighbourhood looked down on those who had bought into the propaganda of the University on the hill.

  She returned to her task with a soft smile on her lips; it made her look pretty and as exotic as her name.

  The tattoo gun buzzed and she didn’t talk as she worked. Misha watched her hands in awe. When she wiped away the ink to reveal the pattern, it was so fast that he didn’t get to see much more than a glimpse before she returned the needle to his flesh.

  When she finished, he looked down at his chest and ran his hand over the tat. It was already a little red and puffy from the needle. He rather liked the blue.

  The design didn’t sparkle like the pink in her cheek. It was a very vivid blue. He wondered if it would glow in the dark; it was that vivid. It wasn’t an image at all. They were like old letters you might see in the Middle East or some such. He looked up to see she was already putting away her things.

  Rubbing his chest thoughtfully, he asked, “Wh
en do you need me here to work?”

  She made a motion with her shoulder to indicate her apathy. “Whenever you’re free. I’m around most of the time.”

  “Tomorrow then.” He didn’t like owing anyone. Besides, it would give him a good excuse to see her again and he didn’t think he could put that off any longer than possible.

  ___

  Hal glanced up when the buzzer went on the gate. She stared at the camera, a frown creasing the corners of her eyes. Her Guinea pig had arrived. Leaning over, she buzzed him in. He was rather prompt. Without another thought to him, she returned to her work.

  “Halcyon?” his voice echoed in the warehouse as he called for her. He found her before she could indicate her location, making his way through the labyrinth that was her workspace.

  Hal blinked as she looked up from the screen. It took a moment to realise he was speaking to her. No one called her Halcyon. He raised his eyebrows in a query, and she brought her thoughts back to the world instead of designing in the abstract.

  “Oh, yeah, um, I need some help to clear up some things,” she said this out loud, more to remind herself of the lie she had told him than to inform him what she wanted. She didn’t really need any help around the place. The clutter was just her aesthetic.

  The tattoo was hidden underneath a black T-shirt that was tight enough it showed off his muscles. They were impressive and shouldn’t interfere with the outcome of the test of the strength atramento. She had recorded his aura from before the atramento to compare to the changes that would come about because of the tattoo. Already she could see it feeding into the atramento and to her mechanical eye it glowed with the throb of power. She made notes of the levels in a blink of an eye. Her bioware spoke to her other devices.

  She saved what she had done on her tablet with a wave of her hand over the keyboard and took him on a brief tour of her compound. The courtyard comprised her workshop and home in one building. They joined to a large warehouse shaped like an L shape.