Family Ties (Crossroads Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  FAMILY TIES

  Book 1 The Crossroads Chronicles

  BR KINGSOLVER

  Family Ties

  The Crossroads Chronicles, Book 1

  By BR Kingsolver

  https://brkingsolver.com/

  Cover art by Lou Harper

  https://coveraffairs.com/

  Published by BR Kingsolver

  Copyright 2022 by BR Kingsolver

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  The Schlekek Clan

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  THE SCHLEKEK CLAN

  CHAPTER 1

  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.

  CHAPTER 2

  My original plan of going home, taking a shower, and dressing in something sexy to go out was shot. I did have a small apartment with a toilet and a shower in the back of the shop. Metalwork isn’t the cleanest profession, and I often cleaned up prior to leaving. My smithing clothes—brown and black leather thick enough to provide protection from melting steel—didn’t exactly coincide with Dublin fashion at the time. And usually, I wasn’t concerned with cleaning up blood.

  After washing myself, I checked the apartment’s small closet and found some decent clothes. Bra and panties, a thin, ribbed, V-neck gray pullover, black tights, a darker gray wool skirt that hit me a little lower than mid-thigh, and ankle boots. Perfectly fine for a Friday night out in Dublin.

  I tied a rope around the tarp, then cast a spell to float it off the floor. Heading toward the back of the shop, towing the body behind me, I pushed against the Veil and Walked through a silvery shimmer in the air into another World—another dimension.

  I had heard it debated, but never heard a definitive number, as to how many Worlds existed in the universe. Most people never experienced a World other than the one where they were born. But some mages could feel the Veils that separated the Worlds. I only had to extend my consciousness, feel the Veil, and then push on it with my magic. It would part, and I would walk through it into another World—sometimes similar to Earth, or Irilor, or my native Tilondra. But some Worlds were very alien and ruled by creatures who weren’t Human.

  After four more such transitions and a two-mile hike, I stood in the middle of a forest at the base of a hill covered in loose rock. Black sky and sharp, white stars overhead, along with a slight breeze, were as far from the hustle of the Great Marketplace as one could get.

  Pulling my burden behind me, I climbed up the hill. Two-thirds of the way to the top, I pulled a dead tree and a couple of small boulders out of the way, dissolved the illusion spell, and revealed the entrance to a cave. I had discovered the place more than twenty years before, and the visitor that evening would be the third body I dumped there.

  I dragged the body into the cave and dumped it into a deep hole in a branch to the left. Walking back out into the moonlight, I hid the entrance again.

  Another cave in the area had also occasionally served me as a place to hide. I was one hundred fifty kilometers from the nearest road, the nearest town, in a part of a World that was lightly settled. It was my personal hiding place, a rural World with only basic technology and basic magic. A place no one paid attention to, and where no one would ever look for me.

  Taking stock of my hair and clothing, I decided I was still presentable.

  Instead of going back to the Marketplace, I took a shorter route. I Walked through two Worlds, and the third crossing put me in the churchyard of Christchurch Cathedral in Dublin. It was dark and late enough that there wasn’t anyone about to see me appear, and early enough that there weren’t any drunks staggering past.

  It took my eyes a minute to adjust when I walked into the pub. Then I saw Donny getting up from a table across the room and waving at me. I smiled and waved back, and went up to the bar.

  “A Smithwick’s and a shot of Redbreast,” I told the barman. “Maybe make it a double.”

  “Rough week?”

  “Rough day.” Realizing I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I said, “And a chicken potpie, if you please.”

  “Sure. Where are you sitting?”

  I pointed. “With Donny.”

  “I’ll have someone bring it out to you.”

  He gave me my beer and whiskey, and I paid him and made my way across the room. A group of people, including Donny and Siobhan—my closest friends—sat around the table, and the empty glasses and plates let me know they had been there for a while. They were all single, young professionals, about twenty to twenty-five years younger than I was. I looked about their ages due to my Elven heritage.

  “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get away tonight,” I said.

  “Don’t you hate that?” Siobhan said. “Especially on Friday. My boss doesn’t want to go home to his wife, so he thinks everyone else wants to hang out with him.”

  “These were clients,” I said, downing a slug of whiskey and chasing it with a deep drink of beer. “One of them was important to take care of, but the other guy was a complete waste of time.”

  My friends thought that I worked for an international logistics consulting company. It covered my frequent travel and prolonged absences. Earth was among a number of Worlds where most of the people had no awareness of magic, or of other Worlds. But when I acquired the stall at the Marketplace, I decided to settle down and bought a condo in Dublin’s center. It gave me a place to hang my clothes, an address to send my mobile phone bill to, and a bug-free mattress that was comfortable.

  There were other Worlds I could have settled in, but Ireland was a friendly place, the food was good, and it was beautiful. In twelve years, I’d never had an assassin come looking for me there, either.

  The conversation I interrupted had to do with plans for the weekend.

  “I’m off to France in the morning,” Donny said. “Want to come with me?”

  I shook my head. “I wish, but I need to visit my mother this weekend.”

  “In the States?” Saoirse asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that a long trip for just a weekend?”


  With a shrug, I said, “Yes, but that’s where she is. I have business there next week, so I can have my company pay for the flight, and get a chance to spend some time with her.”

  That was something everyone understood, and it also set me up for the prolonged absence I suspected was coming. If someone wanted me dead, I couldn’t just ignore it. Of course, no one in Earth knew about the Marketplace or other dimensions, let alone that I was a Walker. But I knew from experience that if I just disappeared, my friends in Earth worried. Normal people didn’t wander off for months at a time, I guess.

  In my family, if I didn’t hear from someone for a couple of years, I assumed they were doing well, having a good time, and didn’t need me to help bail them out. It had actually been more than a year since I last saw my parents. And no one—to my knowledge—had invented a device that could communicate across dimensions. I did subscribe to a service that transported birthday cards to my parents and siblings—assuming they let me know if they moved—but it was automatic and paid years in advance.

  About the time my pot pie arrived, a group of musicians struck up a song. There really wasn’t room to dance, but it being Ireland, a couple of people cleared a small space and put on an exhibition. The craic was flowing.