Centaur Breaker

[Chapter 1]

First working sketch of Letto [by yours truly and subject to change]

The day was hot and dusty, like every other day along the Rift. Letto wiped his brow with a handkerchief and checked its colour, the way a plains peasant might gaze at the horizon to tell the weather.

The only thing that ever changed in the Rift was humidity. The occasional rain turning the dust to mud and marking the beat of the seasons. Dust or mud, muddy dust or dusty mud, red from the clay strips in summer, or shimmering gold with sand blown from the glass sea in spring and fall, and in the winter—what passed for it in the Rift—the cerulean blue of sky tides, when clouds grown fat over the Hegous Sea belched down silt and iron sulfide.

Letto’s handkerchief came away damp and its habitual grey, which meant the air was clear, too heavy and still to carry anything. It was a wonder to him there was no blood mixed in with his sweat, for talking to Marius felt like torture on the best of days, and this wasn’t one of them.

‘You can’t possibly be serious,’ Letto repeated, searching the man’s face for a hint of something. Humour, deception, new depths of stupidity... Anything.

‘Of course I am,’ Marius replied, unphased. ‘What else do you want me to do?’

He waved at his ranch, encompassing the crowded paddocks and dilapidated stables. One of the latter was stripped bare and shrouded in scaffoldings. Cured wood planks awaited in messy piles, ready to be hoisted up for a new roof. The storage sheds yawned open, a constant flow of day workers and hands coming and going, carrying tools and supplies. The central house was the only building in good repair, but it too was under work. A young woman in stained overalls sat in its shadow among canisters of green lacquer, smoking a cigarette. It was late in the season to treat against wood mites and redworm, and then they’d still have to paint it.

‘I’m running out of space, money—and patience,’ he continued. ‘What do you care anyway? Aren’t you full as well?’

‘They’re foals, Marius. Foals! A decade too young for you to make that call. There has to be a better solution than selling them to the arena. You know what they’ll do to them. Sell them on or throw them in the pits.’

Marius crossed his arms and huffed. Not a scrap of doubt to be seen on his rough hewn face, not a glimmer of compassion in his dark purple eyes. ‘The eldest is already covered in scars, she’ll never sell for anything as a breeder, and she’s poorly broken in. The young one bit a stable hand. They were both born in captivity, mind, but their last owner...’ He spit on the ground between them. ‘Idiot left them to be reared by their ma, and she was wildborn. Never broken, neither. Inherited a feral temper from her and nothing to be done about it.’

It took a considerable effort for Letto to retain his composure. What a boring old story. ‘Let me guess. She died, maybe trying to escape, and you got her foals at a discount? Let me guess a little more: you figured you’d risk those feral tempers because they have such rare coats? Got them for cheap at an auction, so you think nobody else will want them?’

He’d only caught a glimpse as he’d followed Marius up to the house, two young foals tied to a post, one berry perlino and the other a true blue appaloosa with frost pattern over her rump. Letto couldn’t even recall the last time he’d seen a true blue coat, especially not so far down the Rift. He could understand Marius’ impulsive purchase, if not his desire to be rid of them.

‘Figured they’d be tamer,’ Marius says with a shrug. ‘I’ll recoup at the arena.’

‘Never mind that. How much do you want for them?’

‘What?’

‘I said—’

‘I know what you said, I just don’t see why you’d care. They’re already broken in. They won’t do anything for your reputa—’

‘How much?’

Marius scoffed and threw his hands up in the air. ‘They’re pretty but they’re worthless, Letto. Decades worth of expenses and repairs! The elder broke their stable door three times in two weeks, you hear? They aren’t even worth the training time.’

‘Marius!’ came a bark from below. Layan, the true owner of Yellow Ridge ranch, or at least the person with the largest stake in the co-operative, approached fast. ‘Stop driving your price into the ground and fucking sell them to him.’

Letto turned to nod his greetings. Layan was a woman of good sense, much easier to reason with than Marius. She was tall, swarthy, burly, and made quite the picture hiking up the dirt track towards them. She hauled armloads of bridles and ropes, a leather saddle balanced over her right shoulder. Her belt-clip held half a dozen tools and her pockets bulged. Sweat stained her top and stuck her dark hair to her brow, most of it held back in a thick braid.

Despite all that she walked with eerily quiet strides, hardly kicking up any dust—her past as a scout shining through to this day.

Marius hurried off to meet her, smart enough to relieve her of the saddle without being asked. ‘I’m just telling him he’s wasting his time,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m going to the arena tomorrow anyways. Didn’t I say I’d recoup there?’

‘You’re wasting mine now,’ Layan snapped. She stood a whole head over him, and used the difference to glower down in full force. ‘We sell them now and put the money to better use. We need more day laborers, not more mouths to feed.’

Marius gaped blankly, as if struggling to process the order. Layan piled ropes and bridles over the saddle, nearly toppling him over, and gave him an encouraging shove towards the nearby shed. ‘I’ll take over,’ she said.

‘Arena was going to pay me twelve a head for them!’ he yelled over his shoulder as he went. ‘Don’t you sell them for under twelve!’

‘Sure. Get going and load them up in Letto’s truck.’ Layan turned to Letto with an apologetic smile. ‘How does twenty clips total sound, then? Steel, mind.’

Letto laughed. ‘I hear the eldest breaks doors and the youngest bites? I think seven clips per head is fairer.’

‘Ten for the eldest because scars or not a true blue coat will resale and we both know you’ll have her trained within the week. The young one for eight because biting is the least of your problems. I also heard you were full, Letto, and with a wild Hoiho stallion giving you trouble? If you want them this bad, you’ll have to pay for it.’

‘Eight each and whatever bale of grass they come with, and you have a deal.’

‘They could go to the arena tomorrow,’ Layan countered with a shrug.

‘Where they’ll be priced at five a head because they’re foals and there are no jobs for foals at the arena. Come on, Layan, don’t play these games with me. Markus sang their praises and the clerk gave him a fantastical price to make him come along with them so he could have a look. We all know how this ends. Eight is generous.’

She sighed and showed her palms in surrender. Rough and callous, mapped by the ranch’s hard labour. ‘I’ll call seventeen generous, bale included.’

Letto grunted in agreement, careful not to show any emotion as he opened his purse and counted out the coins, sifting out triangular copper clips and selecting only his finest steel. He had nothing but bland curiosity in his voice as he asked, ‘How come you let Marius make such purchases? How come you bother with him at all?’

Layan accepted his coins and checked each one carefully before sliding them in one of her bulging pockets with an approving nod. She whistled to summon a hand, and a scrawny boy came running. ‘Go help Marius in there, then help him load up the foals—he’ll know which—and tell him to get their grass and grains.’

The boy darted away without a word, and Layan waved for Letto to follow her to the main house. They settled on the porch, catching much welcome shade as well as a strong whiff of fresh lacquer. She offered refreshments, which he refused, begging for time, but he accepted a seat. She clearly had something to say, he may as well be comfortable while it happened.

‘Believe it or not, Marius is good at his job,’ Layan said as she poured herself a glass of water from a decanter.

‘I’ll choose to not, then,’ Letto replied with a laugh. ‘You could spit with your eyes closed at market and hit a more competent man in the eye.’

‘I also don’t own him. He paid for his share of the co-operative, and he hasn’t been losing us money. Not much, anyway. He’s good at spreadsheets, budgeting, all that numbers crap. He worked hard to make this renovation happen. Just so happened we needed someone at that auction and Mayri was bedridden and I was away.’

‘How’s Mayri?’ Letto asked with genuine concern. ‘I hadn’t heard anything.’

‘Oh, don’t fret, it was just a migraine that got out of hand.’

A common ailment for people who spent their days under the suns. Chewing on blue grass helped, but some were more prone than others. Letto would know.

‘I need reliability, not competence,’ Layan continued, ‘and Marius is reliable.’

‘A reliable pain.’

‘Either way it’s done and dusted. Now, tell me, you ignored my question earlier, but how’s that stallion coming along?’

Letto lied with ease. ‘I’m making good progress, whatever rumours you’ve heard. He’s smart. He listens.’ That last part at least was true.

‘Will he be ready for the solstice games?’

‘How uncouth of you, probing the competition like this.’

Layan snorted. ‘Just wondering.’ She put down her glass and ran a sleeve over her sweaty brow. She looked out over her ranch, then back to Letto, her expression pinched, lips thinned.

‘Just come out with it. I’ve never seen you fidget this much.’

‘Yes, well...’ She stepped closer, voice lowered to a husky rasp. ‘You heard about what’s happening over at the Meraldas?’

‘You’ll have to be more specific. There’s been a lot of chatter about them recently.’

As always. The Meralda ranch, by virtue of being the largest business this end of the Rift, was under constant scrutiny. What they traded, how their grass grew, who the head of their clan talked to about the latest batches of algae. No detail was too small for rumour. Who their kids drank with, danced with, fucked or fought with. What they rode on at market. What they bred.

Layan had something specific in mind. She gave Letto a look, like he was being obtuse—which he was. ‘They received an envoy,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Letto grimaced. He was very much on top of gossip, but this was no rumour. He had heard several first hand accounts of the arrival of a man from the Steel City, come in a palanquin with four servants; a tall, gangly man, pale skin painted red with layers of clay, his blond hair twisted in the impossible braids city folks affected, all wrapped in silk. Not some crop-counting clerk, not even a tax man. Someone of means. ‘I heard, but all I can tell you is that he’s real and that he’s not been seen taking a step outside the Meralda property yet.’

Layan sighed. ‘As I feared. Ah, Marius is coming. Your truck must be loaded.’ She turned back to Letto, leaning over and giving him a taste of that glowering she was so adept at. Her eyes, the dark gold of aged mead, seemed to shine with a light of their own. ‘Do me a favour and share anything you hear about that man with me. I’ll owe you. All of us here will.’

Letto shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but he met her gaze without flinching. ‘I don’t have any spies over at the Meraldas, if you think this is what you’re buying.’

‘Any rumour, anything you witness, I’ll have it,’ Layan pushed. ‘Anything your people hear. Don’t play games with me either. We all know you’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. And you and I, we’re not competing.’

The Meraldas, on the other hand, competed with everyone. Layan’s concerns were understandable. This corner of the Rift rarely ever saw direct patronage from the City. Such a boon could tip the balance of power. It could make kings out of ranchers like the Meraldas.

Letto nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to promise. Favours always came in handy. ‘Fine, you’ll be the first to know.’

Layan acknowledged this with a look, as Marius bounded up the steps to join them. A secret deal, then.

‘You’re packed and we’ve unloaded your crates,’ Marius said, all business-like. ‘Am I interrupting?’

‘How kind of you to ask,’ Layan replied tartly. ‘But no, Letto’s ready to go, isn’t he?’

‘I should already be home.’ He touched a knuckle to his brow and sauntered off, Marius following on his heels.

‘How much did you pay for them, then?’

‘You can have that talk with your boss.’

‘She’s not my boss. What are you going to do with them?’

‘I guess you’ll find out eventually.’

Marius nudged him with a sharp elbow. ‘You know what people are saying about you now, don’t you?’ he asked teasingly.

Letto chuckled and picked up his pace. ‘Enlighten me.’

‘People’re saying that this Hoiho stallion will be the one who finally breaks you. Breaks your streak.’

‘Wouldn’t people love that, eh? People just love to talk. Go wild and tell everyone you just burdened me with two useless foals, make the rumour machine happy, you have my blessing.’

‘You really don’t care, do you?’

‘About what, my reputation? Why should I? If I wanted fame I wouldn’t be a fucking rancher.’

‘Yet here you are, the centaur breaker, who can spot a crack in the worst of tempers and bring them all to heel. You’re pretty famous—for a rancher.’

Letto gave him a sardonic smile to better hide the bitterness the title always sparked. Few understood what he did on his ranch, often wilfully so. It was easier to praise him, to call his methods mysterious and be jealous of his record, like it was something they could achieve, too, with their brutish ways.

‘Jealousy, Marius? From you?’

The man laughed. A hearty, grating sound. ‘No way. I wouldn’t swap my position here for your entire estate, fame and all. Besides, I’m looking forward to making fun of you when solstice comes around.’

They arrived at Letto’s truck, and just in time. He adjusted his handkerchief over his nose so he could scowl in peace. He checked the back doors’ handles and padlocked them. The ancient machine was unpleasantly warm under his touch, like a feverish beast, despite being parked in the shade of a skinny tree. He opened the driver’s door and climbed in, kicking the gears awake. The fuel gauge blinked on, an angry orange, and the engine coughed and sputtered.

Letto leaned out of the window and looked down at the small man, always so abrasive, so short-sighted and mean spirited. ‘I hope you have your fun,’ he told him, ‘but the one who’ll laugh best is the one who’ll laugh last, so enjoy it while you can. I paid seventeen total, by the way.’

The truck’s rumble drowned Marius’ shouts.