All the roads into the Badlands start here, in Port Karess, where the dunes meet the sea at the Cliff of Gal. Behind us, the Badlands shimmered like broken glass. The pillars of stone balanced on narrow necks off in the distance, like the last bones of a world the gods had long forgotten. Ahead lay the port, a sprawl of timber and salt-stained stone crouched against the waves. Salty wind tangled with desert grit, stinging my eyes as we rode down the last stretch of the sandstone ridgeline. Two hundred feet below the cliff crest, the port stretched along the shoreline, roughly two hundred feet wide. The docks extended another seventy feet into the water.
The buildings were built so close together they shared walls. Some homes and businesses were carved into the cliff face. Only the rich could build wooden homes here, for it was so expensive to bring the lumber to the port by boat. The newer sections of the city were built of stone and brick. On the cliff crest was Fort Gal, the home of the governor and a company-sized unit of soldiers. Port Karess was a territory of the Kingdom of Aurelian.
Atop the cliff, Fort Gal crouched with its parapets aimed toward the ocean. The road down had been carved straight from the stone, a rugged ten-foot-wide descent lined with homes and shops chiseled into the cliff face. As we reached the bottom, we passed beneath a warped archway, half-collapsed from years of storm damage, the name PORT KARESS spelled out across it in rusted iron.
John smacked his lips and pulled down his bandana, then spat into the dust. "Never thought I'd see water again. Thought the Badlands had drunk it all." My gaze followed the gulls circling over the harbor cranes. "It's not the water you'll remember," I said. "It's the smell." The air reeked of fish oil, ship tar, and the sweat of a hundred nations.
Karess was where caravans met the sea, where desert gold and gems were traded for iron, silk, and sin. It was also where the law came to die. While the Aurelians ruled the area, there was only so much they could do about desert bandits or sea pirates.
The gate guards barely looked up; nobody expected a badge out here. We rode through the streets and down to the muddied market square, where children played between wagons and the shouts of hawkers drowned out the gulls.
John nudged my shoulder and nodded toward a few young women carrying baskets as they walked along the wooden sidewalks. I followed his gaze. He tipped up his dust-covered hat and pulled out his water pouch, taking a drink. The horses were flagging after the long ride.
"Need to drop the horses off at the corral," he rasped.
I tugged down my own bandana and tipped my hat back. "Yeah."
We guided the horses toward the stables. An old man slept in a chair, hands folded over his lap, his wide-brimmed hat pulled low. I cleared my throat and dismounted. The man didn't move. With my foot, I gave his boot a nudge.
The man jolted awake, blinking beneath the brim. "Howdy, sirs. What can I do for ya?"
"Two horses. Food and water," I said flatly as John dismounted and grabbed his saddlebags. I grabbed my own saddlebags and shotgun.
The man called out, "Max, Mitch, get on out here." After a moment, two boys appeared, possibly brothers with their matching golden hair and navy-blue eyes. They were dressed in dark trousers and blue plaid shirts. At most, they were twelve, maybe thirteen.
They each grabbed the reins and led the animals into the stables. John pulled four silvers from his coat and pressed them into the old man's palm.
Business done, "Provost's Office?" John asked.
I narrowed my eyes toward the heart of the port. "Yeah." I gave a nod. "Let's see if the law's still breathing."
I scanned the street as we walked toward the office. People moved freely and didn't seem scared or on edge. The town announcement board was covered in "Help Wanted" posters.
"Looks like the law's still around," John muttered.
I followed his gaze toward the tavern wall, where a row of faded wanted posters clung to the boards. Most of the faces were crossed out in red ink. The parchments fluttered in the sea breeze as the sharp tang of brine filled the air.
One poster was still up: Red-Eye Raven, also known as Johnny Dumbass. Reward: 35,000 gold. A scar ran from his damaged eye down his jaw. His bounty was high enough to tempt every blade in Algoldena.
I couldn't help but scoff under my breath. Johnny had given himself that ridiculous name, Red-Eye Raven. The tattoo of a raven on his forearm had earned him part of it, but the "red eye" came from a brawl years ago aboard a prison ship. Another inmate had nearly gouged the eye out, leaving a wound that healed into a red keloid. Now the fool had a nickname to match his stupidity.
We turned the corner, and the Provost's Office came into view at the end of the street. "Looks like it's still standing," John said, his voice rough from dust and travel.
I nodded, narrowing my eyes as I took in the weathered structure. The building looked sturdy enough, its porch sagging a little under years of salt air. We knocked the mud from our boots before stepping up onto the boards.
I gave the door a good rapping before turning the handle. It opened into a wide room with a wood-burning stove off to the left beside a small makeshift kitchen. In front of the two cast-iron jail cells sat a table with four chairs. Two souls occupied the cells. One held two cots and a small table with a deck of cards. The other had a single cot.
To the right were two tables that functioned as desks. One was buried under stacks of papers, while the other was neatly kept and occupied by a young woman. She wore a rusty-red button-up shirt, black trousers, and a black vest. Her golden locks were twisted up into some sort of bun, pinned with two hair combs.
"Ma'am," John said, tipping his hat. The woman looked up and smiled, surprise lighting her face. She pushed back her chair, jumped to her feet, and ran straight to me, throwing her arms around my neck.
"Junnie," I breathed, returning the hug. "Goodness, I missed you."
John chuckled. "Well, I'll be damned."
Junnie turned and grinned. "John, get over here!"
He laughed and accepted her embrace, the room filling with a warmth that had been missing from the road for far too long. She broke off the hug and waved us toward the table.
"Sit, sit!"
I did, dropping my saddlebags by the coat hooks while John placed his beside his chair. She fetched a dented coffee pot and three cups.
"Hungry?" she asked, already turning toward the stove before either of us could answer.
We shared a look, and John shrugged. A moment later, she returned with two steaming bowls of stew and a rough hunk of bread for each of us.
"Thank you, Junnie," John said, wasting no time before digging in. He was truly hungry. I took a slow sip of coffee, my eyes narrowing slightly.
"Junnie… why are you here at the Provost's Office?" She curled one side of her mouth into a wicked grin. "I've gone into the family business." John's spoon clattered against the bowl. He stared at her, mouth hanging open. Which I'm sure matched my own silly, shocked expression.
Junnie laughed. "Y'all will catch flies like that. Go on, eat. Provost Oldham'll be back shortly."
She poured us another cup of coffee and leaned back in her chair. "I caught those two lowlifes over there," she said, nodding toward the men in the cells. "They were trying to rob a ship."
One of the prisoners, the one with dark hair and a blue shirt, lifted his head. "Nuh-uh, she tricked us! Told us she was a—uh—lady of the evening. Said if we wanted a good time, we had to come with her. We didn't know we was goin' back to the damn jail!"
The other prisoner, with dark green eyes and dusty-blond hair, spoke up. "Yeah, she tricked us. She sure did."
Junnie flashed a wicked smile at John. "Well," she said sweetly, "if it worked, it worked."
The door banged open behind us, letting in a burst of salt air and the noise of the market. A man stepped through, broad-shouldered and gray around the temples, his long coat dark with sea spray. His badge caught the lamplight, dull brass with its edges worn smooth.
"Didn't figure I'd ever see you two again," he said, his voice gravelly with age and smoke. "Kalen Volran and John Issacson, the Badlands' own Marshals. Had enough of the dust yet?"
John grinned through a mouthful of stew. "Provost Kev Oldham. Still too mean to retire, I see."
Kev chuckled, hanging his hat on the peg by the door. "Mean enough to keep this place from turning pirate." His gaze slid toward the cells. "Junnie? You bag them yourself?" He grabbed a cup and joined us at the table.
"Yes, sir." She straightened with a proud smile. "They tried to rob a ship in the harbor. They thought wrong." Kev nodded approvingly before turning to us. "So what brings you in from the dust?" John set his cup down and reached for his saddlebag. "We're turning in a few bounties." John smirked at Junnie. "Kev, why'd you let her work here?"
Kev settled into a chair and leaned back with a tired smile. "I made a promise to her father that I'd look after her. Figured the best way I could do that was to keep her close."
Indeed, our father had been Oldham's partner back in the day. When he died just after a shootout in Targona six winters ago, promises were made—and now, apparently, promises kept. Still, I doubted this was what my father had in mind.
Kev's expression hardened. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Junnie could've... probably should've... chosen another path. But this is the one she wants, and I won't stop her." I met his eyes. "Just don't let her chase Red-Eye Raven."
Kev's jaw tightened. "I was hoping you'd go after that one anyway." He looked toward the window, where the sea flashed gold and ruby under the setting sun.
"Raven's not just running contraband. He's moving something else." He rubbed his chin, collecting his thoughts. "I need you two to find out what it is." The room fell silent. Even the prisoners quit whispering, which they'd been doing for some time.
John's hand drifted toward his badge, his gaze meeting mine. "Where was he last seen?"
Kev took a slow sip of coffee. "Riding off into the Badlands. I was hoping you were bringing him back." Junnie's eyes moved between us, worry softening her expression.
I rose from my chair and moved to the window, staring out at the ocean. "We'll stay the night," I said quietly. "Head out at first light."
John nodded. "Dust before dawn, then."
Kev let us use the room above the office, one reserved for traveling Marshals. John could sleep anywhere, but for me, sleep wouldn't come. I needed to clear my head.
I wandered down to the docks, the night air heavy with salt. The tide was low, and the water sang a slow rhythm against the pylons. Four piers reached out into the dark water like fingers grasping at the moonlight shimmering across the ocean's surface. I walked to the end of Pier One, watching the silver ripples dance across the sea.
Behind me, the boards creaked under light footsteps. I heard the rustling of her petticoat as she approached. I didn't need to turn to see who it was. Her perfume of jasmine and rose blooms reached me before she did.
"Not going to stop by, Kal?" Her soft voice was trying to sound coy.
Knowing I had to say what needed to be said, I turned. Her fiery, coppery curls framed her face. She wore a silken navy-blue dress instead of the traditional robes of her people. Her skin glittered in the moonlight, highlighting her emerald-green eyes and red lips.
"Didn't think you'd want to see me, Sandra."
She stood in the pale glow, wind tugging at her hair. "Bastard," she said quietly. "You're still my husband." She clutched her handbag, smacking a hand against the side of her dress. Angry. Clearly.
I just couldn't bring myself to care. She had run off with this woman—not even a person of her kind. Just some silly human. I took a long breath and smirked at her. "You must want money. Go ask the woman you've been keeping company with." I waved her off with my hand. I had no time for her.
Her face went pale, her mouth falling open. "You… you know?"
I stepped closer, boots thudding on the wet planks. "Of course I know. I'm a man who rides the Badlands. You really think word doesn't reach me?"
She took a step back. I took another step forward.
"I'm just surprised," I said, my voice low. "Didn't expect it to be another woman instead of a man." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "And a human? At that."
Sandra's voice trembled. I could see her trying to regain her composure. "I still love you, Kalen."
What was this woman trying to accomplish? I rolled my eyes, my expression turning to cold iron. "That's not my problem anymore."
I had to leave this woman's presence. I brushed past her, the smell of sea and whiskey clinging to the air. I stopped, turned back, and stared her in the eyes.
"You smell like lies," I said.
"Go to hell," she spat.
I gave her a wicked grin and a half wink. "Gladly. The Badlands are hell." I started walking away. "And I leave for them at dawn."