Family Ties

Book 1: Crossroads Chronicles

by BR Kingsolver

Genres: Visionary & Metaphysical; Supernatural suspense; Paranormal

Synopsis

Sometimes family is there to love you, and sometimes family is there to kill you . . .



When a man came into my shop in the Great Marketplace at the Crossroads of the Worlds and tried to kill me, it completely ruined my day. Not only did I have to clean up the blood, but disposing of his body made me late to meet my friends for drinks.



A nagging little detail kept bugging me, though. As he died, he said he was hired by my mother's family—people I hadn't seen for more than a decade. Then I discovered that assassins had made attempts on my brother and sister as well. As much as I didn't want to, I decided I should find out who wanted us dead, and put a stop to it.



Talk about stepping out of the pan into the fire . . .



Contains mature themes.

Release date: February 27, 2022

Print pages: 280

Sample

Closing up one evening, trying to get out early to meet up with friends in Dublin, I started toward the front of my stall to roll down the metal door. At that moment, a man strolled in, head swiveling about, looking at the pictures of my work on the walls, and then leaning over the display cases. My inventory was very low, with one sword, two knives, and a few pieces of jewelry the only things available.
“As you can see,” I said, “I don’t have much in stock at the moment.”
He shook his head. “I’m actually looking to have something custom-made. A sword.”
I surveyed him. His hair was gray and receding. He was about my height, and although he appeared to have once been athletic, he was gaining weight with age. I didn’t recognize his clothing, but the fabrics were rich, the colors bright, the seams tight. The leather of his boots was shined, smooth, and clean.
“I do make custom swords,” I said. “But I’m closing up for the day. Come after midday tomorrow and I’ll record your requirements. I require payment of half in advance for custom work.”
“I’m leaving tonight,” he said. “I’ll be back in thirty days, and would like to pick up the sword then.”
He pulled a cloth bag from an inside pocket of his cloak and poured the contents into a shallow dish on the counter. The rubies ranged from the size of my thumbnail down to the size of the nail on my smallest finger. The diamonds ran from one-third to half a carat. I picked up the largest ruby, and my magic told me it was real. Fourteen rubies and forty-two diamonds.
Rubies were not only valuable as gemstones, but they were used as focus points to concentrate magic. Just as they were used for lasers in technological Worlds, they were used in magical worlds for the same purpose.
I gave him a questioning look.
“I need a dress sword, but I want it functional if need be.” He gestured to the sword in the display case. “Fancier than that. Slimmer. Gold and silver settings for the stones, both on the hilt and the scabbard. Take the gems you need for your payment, and set the rest.”
“Straight or curved?” I asked. “Single or double edged? Are you right or left handed, and on which side do you plan to wear it? Length?”
He knew what he wanted, so I quickly recorded his specifications. A lump of soft clay provided the size of his hand, and another the size and dimensions of the hilt he desired. When we finished, I separated out six rubies and twelve diamonds.
“That will be my payment,” I said.
“Thirty days?”
“It will be ready for you.” I pushed a card toward him. “If I am not here when you come, check with this man. He will be able to give you the sword.” I held up two tokens, gave him one, and dropped the other into the bag of gemstones.
“And if I’m not happy with it?”
With a shrug, I said, “Whether I’m here or not, if you aren’t happy with it, I will make you another.” I looked him in the eyes. “And you’ll pay for the second one, as well. Wear the first one, give it as a present, throw it in the river. It’s all the same to me. It’s not like a new cloak. I can’t adjust it once it’s finished.” I gestured to the pictures on the wall. “My work. I assume you inquired about me before walking in here with a fortune in jewels.”
He nodded, turned, and walked out into the street. He turned to the right, the air shimmered, and he disappeared. A Walker. There weren’t too many people who could Walk between Worlds, and even fewer were completely Human.
I took the bag of gemstones to the back and placed them in my safe, then locked it and sealed it magically. Hearing a noise from the front, I realized I hadn’t closed and locked the door. I hurried toward it but slowed as I saw a man standing in the shop, staring at me across the counter.
“I’m closing,” I said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“Diana Smith?” he asked, his voice a deep growl. In contrast to my previous visitor, he was rough-looking. He had several days’ growth of beard, and straggly brown hair framed his face under a battered, broad-brimmed hat. The duster he wore over his clothes was stained and had seen better days. His eyes were hard, the lines of his face set.
“Yes?” I said, palming a knife lying on the table next to me.
His right hand came up, and I saw a pistol. The knife flew from my hand and hit him in the chest. The crossbow bolt from his pistol embedded into a table leg to my left.
The man took a shuffling step backwards into the door jamb and dropped the crossbow. I rushed around the counter and slammed my forearm into his throat. With my other hand, I triggered the overhead door to drop.
“You’re going to die,” I said through gritted teeth. “You can die quickly, or slowly and painfully. Who sent you?”
I think he must have felt his lifeblood draining away, because I saw the fear in his eyes. The knife had been a lucky toss, missing bone and burying itself in his heart.
“Believe me, I’m a mage. I can keep you alive for days, but you won’t enjoy it.”
“Schlekek,” he croaked.
To most people—even in the Market—the word wouldn’t have meant a thing, or even been recognized as a word. I pulled the knife from his chest and drew it across his throat, then jumped back. I managed to avoid most of the blood spray, as well as his body falling to the floor.
I quickly locked the door and set a magical ward, then trotted to the back of the shop, and pulled a canvas tarp from a shelf in the storeroom. I rolled the body onto the tarp and searched through the assassin’s pockets.
He didn’t have any identification, which I expected, only the entrance pass for the Marketplace and a key for a hotel room in Iri City, outside the Marketplace boundaries. There were also at least half-a-dozen different kinds of weapons, a butane lighter, and a package of Earth cigarettes. That didn’t mean he was from Earth, as I could buy that brand and the lighter at dozens of stalls in the Marketplace in the World of Irilor.
I cast a spell to clean up the blood and glanced at my chrono, which gave me the time and day of the Marketplace, and the time and day of my home city in Earth. I needed to dump the body, but I figured I might still be able to meet my friends for dinner.
~~~
I was the oldest of three—triplets, born in the bucolic World of Tilondra. Like my siblings, I trained as a Smith when I was young. It was an honorable profession, handed down to us by our father. He had a Smith’s magic, which we inherited, but we were different, as he married an Elven mage.
In addition to working with metals and various kinds of engines, we also learned to craft wood, and wands, and wards, and magical means of transportation. We inherited our mother’s ability to Walk between Worlds, and so she first took us to see the Great Marketplace at the Crossroads of the Worlds when we were very young.
I was entranced, enthralled, and never got over the wonder I felt the first time I walked into that glorious, colorful, exciting, noisy, raucous, confusing, smelly, and bewitching place.
I was restless, a wanderer, and spent more than two decades traveling the Worlds. One night, in a tavern in the Great Marketplace, a merchant put up his stall in the Marketplace as stakes in a card game. I wanted that particular stall—and its forge—very badly, so I cheated and won. I never felt guilty. If you’re a fool, with a weakness for drink, sooner or later someone will take advantage of you. Just as a warning, don’t gamble with a mage.
The Great Marketplace was open twenty-seven hours of the Irilorian day, every day. Its size and shape were constantly changing, but in general, it was about nine kilometers square, on three levels. Livestock and live animal dealers clustered at the south end on the west side. Tanners, leather workers, and metal workers’ shops were north of there.
Since I mostly ran my shop by myself, customers had to catch me when they could. Even when I was there, I didn’t always respond to customers stopping by. Hammering on a sword or pouring white-hot liquid metal into a mold were activities that didn’t lend themselves to interruptions. But my reputation for craftsmanship spread, and I didn’t lack for customers.
~~~