The Scorpion's Lullaby: Luminous Lands, #1

By Juliet Vane

The Scorpion Raiders have three rules: Be ruthless. Be rich. Live like gods.

Joella's band of thieves lives deep in the jungle. Riding on giant scorpion dragons, they search the beautiful landscape for villages and caravans to rob.

When insidious forces interrupt a routine raid, Joella becomes separated from her people. She's alone except for a stolen book of legends and Marc, a pacifist dedicated to preserving the ways of the old goddess.

Searching for their tribes, Joella and Marc brave violent beasts, deceitful clans, and the sweltering days and freezing nights of their beloved jungle. They must trust each other to right the wrongs of the past and save themselves, or risk the very landscape they hold so dear.

The Scorpion's Lullaby is a fast-paced, lyrical fantasy filled with creatures and characters who will take your breath away. Get your copy today and be transported into an unforgettable tale in this luminous, unique world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juliet Vane
• Release date: Apr 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386930495

Book preview

Chapter One

My scorpion dragon, Amaya, sways beneath me, her rigid legs squelching across the muddy jungle floor. She waves a pincer in the air, and the leather bindings whip back and forth like the vines that choke the chantal trees.

She senses a hunt, and it excites her.

A dozen of my tribespeople follow behind on their own scorpions as I lead them to the village I’ve been watching for the past sevennight. I could get used to leading them—it feels natural to ride up front. We swish through the ferns and the broad-leaved lilies, breaking vines that block our path, scattering families of tiny monkeys that have come down from the treetops at midday to scavenge amongst the fungi on the jungle floor. They leap out of our path, screeching in indignation.

Lucien, our leader, whistles softly from behind me, and I pull Amaya’s reins to slow her. She hisses in irritation, and I pat her back. Lucien’s gold hoop earrings flash in a rare stream of sunlight that reaches through the canopy. He catches up to us and his scorpion nudges against Amaya. She hisses again, and I allow her a little slack in the reins so she can turn her pincer and knock it into his scorpion’s leg segment. Just a warning, not hard enough to hurt. We all need personal space.

Joella, Lucien whispers, you’re certain this run will be worth it? Claud reported that this is the poorest village he’s seen in ten suns.

Claud wears a jaguar fang around his neck for luck. Maybe he should find another charm—one for perception. He doesn’t have any sense for detail. The villagers are poor, but not that poor. I snort, and thread my words with derision. Claud wouldn’t know riches if they floated down the River Beline like pommes. I’m certain. The elder had a jeweled machete. It was dirty, crusted with mud, but I know what I saw. They probably don’t even know its worth.

Then I’ll go after the machete, he says, voice low. You, Claud, Therese, and the twins will go straight to the far side of the village, and each of you take a hut. Search for anything valuable. If we find enough, we’ll have a good trade downriver and we’ll live like gods and goddesses. Be smart. Be quick. Be ruthless.

I smile back at him, both of us bobbing and swaying on our scorpions’ backs. Ruthless is what I’m good at.

Lucien frowns. Doesn’t he believe me?

I’m going to make him proud today, and he’ll finally ask me to be his. A gentle bubbling feeling warms my gut and moves to my heart.

I hold up a hand, motioning the others behind us to pay attention. We’re here. It’s just through these trees.

Lucien signs for everyone to don their masks. I hold mine up, examining the nighthawk feathers that span the bridge of my nose. The black stripes are starting to lose their luster. I should forage for new ones. The brilliant blue lining the eyes, though—that’s my favorite part of my mask. It took me several sevennights to collect enough fallen morpho butterfly wings, and several nights more to painstakingly piece them together on the mask. With a smile, I put it on, and then I turn to take in my tribe around me.

The jungle is quiet; the only sounds are water dripping onto leaves. A single call from a confused araine bird.

It’s the breath held before a knife is thrown.

On y va! Lucien shouts. His dark hair ripples when his scorpion puts on a burst of speed.

The rest of the Scorpion Raiders echo, On y va!

We break through the foliage, crashing with the strength of a hundred falling trees. Therese pulls up beside me and we share a look of joy. We were made for this.

The villagers scatter—some into the huts arranged in a circle around their main village fire. Others flee into the jungle beyond. Those who are left tremble at the feet of our scorpions. We’ve surprised them before they have time to fight, if that’s even something they’ll do. Lucien’s scorpion makes a straight line for the village elder, identifiable by her bald head, her neck draped with necklaces of braided vines and leather, and the giant machete gripped in her fist. I don’t hesitate to watch Lucien jump down and pry it from her, but follow my orders and race to a hut at the back of the village.

I pull Amaya to a halt just outside the door. From her back, I’m nearly as tall as the hut. She won’t fit inside. I release the bindings of one of her pincers so she can defend herself if she needs to, but these villagers are just sitting at the feet of their now-machete-less elder. They’re probably pacifists from Beline’s order of Paix-Rivière. Fools.

Our good luck.

Two crying children clutch each other beside the doorway, frozen in fear, but I ignore them. I wouldn’t hurt a child. Even on a day like today, my blood pumping with the joy of a raid, I can remember what it was like to be small and scared.

I step into the hut and immediately start coughing. The sandalwood incense mixes with a sweet medicinal smell. I found the healer’s hut. Already I can imagine my lungs contracting with some evil illness. Several of the beds are occupied, the patients moaning in fear or fever, I can’t tell which. I pull a cloth from my pocket and press it against my nose and mouth.

A tall figure steps forward in the center aisle formed by the beds. He wears the white robes of a healer, but he’s maybe five years older than I am, no more than twenty-two or twenty-three.

We have nothing of value here, he says. His voice is as deep as the River Beline. Please be on your way.

There’s too much desperation in that voice, and I smile behind my cloth. I don’t believe you.

Please.

A patient thrashes on the bed nearest me, her dark hair wet with sweat.

What do they have? I ask sharply.

It’s not contagious.

Is it the mists? They should be killed. Don’t wait for them to go mad and murder everyone in the village.

The healer’s eyes flash with outrage. We would never kill a person.

If your religion forbids it, they should at least be bound until the sores kill them for you.

It’s not the mists. It’s a mosquito fever.

I inch away from the patient’s bed, not entirely reassured. A person suffering from the mists could go mad slowly, or quickly. Usually quickly. Where are the medicines?

When he doesn’t answer, I pull one of my knives from a sheath along my arm. I aim it at his chest, but he stares bravely back. Usually the threat of death, or even pain, is enough. But not for this healer. I don’t like acting on my threats. I’ve never had to kill anyone yet, and I don’t want to start today. So I slide my aim over to the patient nearest us and allow a calculating smile to play upon my face.

It’s here, he says quickly. Just, don’t hurt them. Please.

I follow his gesture to a cabinet nestled against the wall, facing a window. Marching over, I fling it open. I stoop to peer inside. Jars and vials are stacked along the shelves within, and I open one after another, sniffing.

Blasted sandalwood, I mutter. I can barely smell anything over it.

There’s got to be something valuable here. My mother was a healer, and although my village never had much, she kept a few precious medicines and herbs. I reach into the cabinet and sweep a handful of vials from the shelf and into the sack draped over my shoulder. When I reach for a jar placed far at the rear of the cabinet, the healer flinches beside me.

Aha. I wrestle the lid off and glance inside. Faint purple powder, shot through with white. Mashed roots from the ben’etre fern? I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

This is something. My mother would have protected this with her life. It will heal all manner of illnesses that don’t respond to other medicines. It’s also worth more than my saddle. Maybe more than the jeweled machete. I jam the lid back on and move to stuff the jar into my sack.

The healer puts out his hand, but pulls back before he touches the scars lining my arms beneath the knife sheaths. I smirk behind my mask. I earned these from training scorpions; they’re nothing to fear, but they do make me look tough.

Not that one, he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t give orders today, Healer.

Lucien’s voice echoes over the shouting and sounds of fighting outside. On y va, Scorpion Raiders!

I stand, shoving the jar into my sack.

The healer crouches on the floor and touches the edge of my tunic. Please. It’s the only thing that can save these people. Some of them have children to care for.

Those children, crying outside the door. I thought it was me they feared, but no, it’s something worse than a tribe of raiders. It’s the dark edges of death. They fear reaching out in the frigid nights and finding ghosts clutched in their empty hands, finding they’re alone.

On y va! Lucien shouts again. Time to go.

I hesitate. This is not ruthless, but those children need their parents, as I used to need mine. I thrust the jar down to the healer, feel him lift it from my grasp.

Thank you, thank you, he says, and tears leak from the corners of his eyes. Beline be with you. She’ll bless you, she will.

Beline has forgotten me.

I glance out the window to see how many of my people are ready. Amidst the action and the movement, one figure is still: Claud. His high ponytail is motionless, and his jaguar fang necklace is a dull white that stands out against his neck. And visible through his silver araine-feathered mask, his eyes are on me, staring. Claud, who has never liked how much attention Lucien pays me. He’d love it if Lucien never chose a Madame, and instead chose Claud to be his second. Did he see me give the jar back to the healer?

On y va! Lucien shouts. The third call. I whirl around and rush from the hut. The children, their faces streaked with tears, watch in silence as I leap from the ground to one of Amaya’s knees, and from there clamber into my saddle.

As we race away from the village, I can’t escape the feeling of Claud’s gaze on my back.

Chapter Two

Our whoops rise through the jungle, echoed back by the capchaine monkeys and the parrots, everyone celebrating. A successful raid. We’re riding too quickly for me to see who’s here. I look to Lucien at the front of our group, at his straight back, his shoulders wide, relaxed. There were no deaths. I sigh with relief and pat Amaya’s back. I don’t know if she can feel much through her thick exoskeleton, but we understand each other. I am happy, so she is happy, too.

Except I still don’t know what possessed me, what made me give that medicine back to the healer. I look around for Claud, to see if he’s still looking at me with that odd expression. Reproach? Confusion? Beline’s ass, I’m confused. Giving up something valuable, that’s not what I do. I take, and take, and take. Several times I consider reining Amaya around to go back to the village and get the medicine. I learned to live without my parents, and those kids would learn to live without theirs.

But I’d be going back alone, without my tribe’s protection. Even with my knives, it’s too much of a risk.

By midafternoon, the sound of the rushing river guides us back to our point of rendezvous. We’re far enough from the village that they couldn’t possibly follow us before darkness falls. Lucien calls a halt, and we remove our masks. Therese has been riding beside me, her long braids swinging in a similar rhythm to mine. We slide down from our scorpions simultaneously. I land in mud, which squelches around my boots.

Therese giggles. Graceful, Joella.

Aw, it’s all over my boots, I moan, as if it matters. They’re sturdy and functioning, meant to withstand the hazards of walking through the jungle and protect my feet from the bitter cold that descends at night.

I bend down as if to clean away the mud, then gather up a handful. Therese is busy unfastening her tent bundle from her scorpion’s back. I lob the handful of mud over Amaya. It lands in Therese’s hair. Parts of her blond braids are now as brown as mine, and I smirk, pleased.

She squeals. "I will get you for this!"

She chases me around Amaya, who is still and careful—that is how well-trained my scorpion is. Therese and I leap over Amaya’s legs until I land in the mud once more, slip, and fall on my bottom.

Beline’s ass, I curse, and Therese laughs. Come a little closer, and laugh again, I challenge, but she isn’t a fool. We joined the Scorpion Raiders at the same time and have been friends for years. She knows when to walk away.

Her green eyes twinkling, she returns to her scorpion to gather her tent bundle and bow and arrows, and I stand, filthy, to retrieve my tent and spare knives.

Joella. Lucien strides forward, somehow missing every mud puddle without even looking at his feet.

Lucien. Monsieur. I nod, ignoring the fluttery, breathless feeling I get whenever he looks at me. I’ve been ignoring the feeling for years; it’s almost instinctual.

After we move our prizes to the temple, see me in my tent. I wish to have a word with you.

I search his face for any sign of pride or happiness in victory, but I only find his emotionless warrior face. There is no mark of the regard he holds for me, or of the unspoken promises so often hinted in his eyes.

Oui, Monsieur. I step from one foot to the other, and the mud slurps beneath me.

His lips curl upward in amusement. Ah, you may bathe also, before you report to me.

I’ve always been the one who could break through his seriousness, and the thought makes me feel jubilant. I bat my eyelashes and he presses his lips together, holding back a laugh.

I rush through unsaddling Amaya and setting up my tent. On my approach to the river, I startle a family of capybara, who retreat on their stumpy legs through the ferns, snorting indignation from rounded snouts. One of my brothers had one as a pet. He named it, even, and I remember his arguments with our mother, who wouldn’t allow a rodent to sleep in our hut whether or not it had a name.

The River Beline is beautiful in the mid-afternoon, shining in the center where the canopy doesn’t cover her. The water moves steady and bright. Closer to the banks, the current is slow, the waters dark. Even though the Scorpions move from place to place, setting up and taking down camps, we stay near the river. She’s the closest thing we have to a home. Perhaps the goddess has left us, but the river, her namesake, has always been a comfort and a friend.

Several other raiders are already bathing, including Claud. I stare at him, hoping to catch his eye, trying to figure out if he saw me in the healer’s hut, and whether it bothered him. He wrings water from his ponytail and meets my gaze. Ça va, Joella?

Oui, ça va, I say, bending to splash water at him.

He splashes me back, easing my doubts. He didn’t see anything, or he wouldn’t be playing with me now. Now I only have to answer to myself. I got weak when I saw those children. I didn’t want my theft to sentence their parents to death. But weakness is unacceptable. I shake my head. It’ll never happen again.

After one last splash at Claud, I undress quickly and rinse my tunic and leggings in the river. The clear water turns momentarily muddy. At least today I only rinse away dirt. There have been times when we wash away blood. Not all villagers are so willing to part with their riches. I whisper short blessings and bits of prayers of gratitude to Beline, out of habit rather than a belief that she listens to me anymore. Some fragments of the old prayers, the ones I grew up with, have flown from my memory, and I long ago gave up trying to remember them. I try to picture my father’s sad disappointment that I’ve forgotten our ways, or my mother’s angry disapproval. With a pang, I realize I’d much rather be able to see their faces in my mind’s eye than reconstruct any prayers to a goddess who ignores me. I bend in the slow-moving water, letting the current carry me for a little ways, farther from Claud and the others.

Are you all right? Therese, naked from the waist up, calls out to me from the bank.

There’s no room for sorrow in ruthlessness. My life with the Scorpion Raiders is good. They’re my family now, and I’m content.

I’m fine. The river floor grasps at my feet and becomes murky. I float toward Therese and the shore, wanting the protection of numbers in case a caiman glides over, curious about our splashing. If I’m honest with myself, though, it isn’t caimans I fear. I fear being alone. Like I imagined those children, I fear reaching out and finding no one there.

Do you think Sebastien likes me? Therese asks.

Sebastien’s upriver with Claud, maybe out of hearing. Maybe not. Therese has never been shy. He turns his head toward us, and his short black hair glistens with water.

All the boys like you, I tell her.

Not as much as they like you, chère.

Doesn’t do me any good. Lucien won’t let anything happen.

She laughs and flips her blond braids over her shoulder. Monsieur’s scowl alone would deflate even the strongest partner.

I laugh, too, but at the same time, mourn all the missed opportunities to play at romance.

Don’t worry, Therese says, sensing my mood. Monsieur will make you his, and you’ll rule at his side as our Madame. Next time he sits close to you, squirm like there’s a centipede in your leggings. Move against him.

I laugh, imagining how silly I’d look. Is that what you plan to do with Sebastien?

No, I’m going to be more direct. Sebastien, she calls.

He turns to look at us and grins. Hello, beautiful girls.

Do you like me?

His grin broadens. He wades toward us, tall and lanky as a jaguar. The water barely reaches his navel.

I look sideways over at Therese. If he gets into much shallower water, you’ll find out very quickly if he likes you or not.

She laughs and I swim away, leaving them to their flirtation.

Upriver, several Scorpion Raiders push a raft onto the water and start loading our treasures on top of it. I swim over to hold the raft in place while they pile on clay jars of food, strands of necklaces, jeweled belts, and baskets laden with vials of medicines and precious herbs. The pile is taller than Lucien, even; we’ve been saving it over several raids. At some point though, enough riches would tempt villagers to cross even us, so we stash them across the river.

You coming, Joella? Cece asks from atop the raft. Several other raiders stand with her, including Lucien. He’s adjusting a length of embroidered fabric so that it won’t fall into the water. As if sensing my gaze, he turns and smiles.

Yeah, I’ll come. I spin in the water to find Therese and Sebastien. I hold my hand halfway up, unsure of whether I should wave them over, or leave them be.

Therese sees me anyway, though, and swims to my side. To the temple? she asks.

Ouais.

I’ll swim alongside you, then.

Claud swims to the other side, and the three of us help steer the raft. The river forces us across at a steep diagonal, but we planned for that, and when we reach the bank, we’re close to the old ruins.

Claud, Therese, and I step out of the river and help unload the raft. As I lift a basket full of jewelry, Lucien comes up behind me, holding the embroidered fabric. It’s a deep blue, terrible for camouflage, but the stitching along the edges outlines whorls and swirls, reminding me of Beline’s hair.

You don’t have your clothes, he says.

No, they’re on the other side. I was bathing.

Nakedness usually isn’t noticed by the Scorpion Raiders, but his gaze moves up and down my body. I stand before him, unflinching.

He drapes the fabric over my shoulders and smiles. You could pretend to be a queen.

My heart thumps erratically as I lean forward. This is the boldest thing I’ve ever done. Putting my lips close to his ear, so close he must feel the faint puffs of my breath, I whisper, I don’t pretend.

Let him make something of that. I shrug off the fabric, which he catches before it falls to the trampled vegetation. Swinging my hips, I join Therese on the trail to the ruins.

What was that about? she whispers.

I’m not sure. I hoist my basket higher.

Therese carries the jeweled machete. Sure enough, a dip in the river cleansed the mud, and it sparkles in the weak sunlight forcing its way through the canopy.

What did Monsieur say to you?

Shh. I turn my head sideways to spy from my peripheral vision. He’s following us with Claud at his side. They’re talking quietly, so they won’t hear what I say to Therese. I recount what Lucien said, and how I responded.

She nudges my arm with hers. That was well done. The closer you can get to him, the less he’ll be able to control himself around you. Soon, he’ll be yours.

Pursing my lips, I try not to smile, but Therese knows me too well, and she laughs. It’s okay to feel smug, chère. He’s been making you wait far too long—it’s time you take some control for yourself.

We reach the old temple—a dun-colored pile of rocks covered with vines and leaves. It reaches up into the towering géante trees, and it’s impressive now as a ruin, so it must have been breathtaking when it stood high and proud, the stone glinting with its filigree of gold. The eyes on the creatures carved into the stone were punctuated by gemstones. Scorpion Raiders before my time looted the temple, chipped away the gold filigree and the gems. An absent goddess has no need for such things.

Besides, we like being rich.

I follow Therese into the temple. There used to be multiple chambers filled with treasures, the walls covered in designs and pictorials telling the story of Beline’s time in our jungle. Now the images have faded, but the stories are common enough—I grew up listening to them.

After piling our goods inside the temple and securing them behind an elaborate series of doors and locks, we hike back to the raft. The entire way there, and back across the river, Lucien doesn’t look at me. I wonder what has changed, and I try not to worry about what he was discussing with Claud.

After we reach the other side, I have to wade upriver to find my clothes. Lucien is faster on land and he reaches the place before me. He waits, standing above my wet clothes, and my set of dry ones. I grip an exposed tree root to haul myself up the riverbank, and Lucien offers me a