Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  She should never have put so much responsibility on Astrid. Astrid was at least as distraught as she at Knot’s capture. She should have taken some of the burden on herself. Instead, Cinzia and Jane had continued translating the Nine Scriptures faithfully, but no concrete help had come of it. Cinzia could not point at anything over the past four months that had been worth her time.

  But now, she was willing to try a last resort.

  It was completely dark by the time Cinzia was deep enough in the forest to be sure she was alone. She made careful note of the direction in which she walked, and her surroundings. A huge, wide, gnarly tree here, as big around as a wagon. A small clearing there, to the south. Fireflies winked on and off around her. In Navone and Tinska, Cinzia had grown used to not having them around. They never appeared that far north, even in the summer. But here, in Kirlan, they were plentiful, and gave the forest around her an otherworldly, fantastical feel. Very different from how Cinzia felt inside.

  “I am here,” Cinzia said out loud. “I am ready to speak with you.”

  She heard crickets around her, chirping merrily. She did not want to feel the ominous sense of horror that weighed heavily on her; the crickets, the fireflies, the moonlight streaming through the trees above, made the forest feel warm, inviting. But she could not avoid the fear that clawed inside of her, and the suffocating guilt that accompanied it.

  “I am here,” Cinzia said again, more emphatically. “I am ready to talk. If you do not take me up on this offer now, I will not attempt to contact you again.”

  Nothing but the sounds of the forest at night responded to her.

  Cinzia rejected the impulse to stamp her foot, to scream, to demand to be heard. Instead, she took a deep breath, calming herself.

  “I—”

  Then, silence.

  The world expanded around her, and Cinzia felt a rush. This was what she asked for. This was what she wanted.

  She had better make it count.

  Cinzia once again found herself in the blue-gray forest, without sound and without life. The trees, the grass and other foliage, even the night sky itself emitted a wispy blue light.

  “What is it you want?”

  Cinzia recognized Luceraf’s voice, low and calm, echoing just slightly in the space they now occupied. A slit of blue light slowly took form, growing into the shape of a beautiful young woman.

  “I want to speak with you,” Cinzia said, raising her chin high.

  “Clearly,” Luceraf said, moving towards her. Cinzia realized the woman—the Daemon—did not have feet, or at least not that Cinzia could see. Below her knees, the woman’s form grew nebulous, blending in with the iridescent blue mist that blanketed the ground. Luceraf did not walk, but levitated forward, hovering.

  “What is it you wish to speak about, Cinzia?” Luceraf said. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “I never said that,” Cinzia said. Though it was true, Cinzia no longer had a choice. “I have come to ask you about Knot.”

  “And what is Knot?” Luceraf asked.

  “You know who he is,” Cinzia said. “The Black Matron has him. Tell me where, and what they are going to do with him.”

  Luceraf sniffed. “The Black Matron has always been Azael’s creature. And Bazlamit’s, on occasion. I’ve always preferred more… colorful methods.”

  “But surely you communicate,” Cinzia said. “Surely you can find out.”

  Luceraf laughed, the sound echoing in the muted forest. It reverberated until it seemed there were a hundred women laughing instead of just one.

  “You really think I would tell you? I may not like Bazlamit. I may have my issues with Azael. But my lot has been thrown in with theirs. I have learned not to pretend otherwise.”

  Did that mean Luceraf had pretended otherwise at some point? Did that mean there might be some divide among the Daemons that she could exploit?

  If it did, it was a revelation for another time.

  “You want someone to be your avatar, do you not?” Cinzia asked.

  Luceraf frowned. It might, Cinzia realized, have been the first time she actually saw a look of displeasure from the Daemon. “Where did you hear this?”

  “And the avatar must be willing,” Cinzia continued. “I… I could do this for you, if you share information with me.”

  Cinzia swallowed. She could not believe what she was proposing, and yet… it was Knot. She had to do something to help him.

  And, perhaps in becoming Luceraf’s avatar, she could find a weakness within the Nine.

  “You would become my avatar?” Luceraf asked, the surprise clear in her voice.

  “If you tell me about Knot,” Cinzia said.

  Cinzia met the Daemon’s eyes, and she resisted the chill that crept up her spine. Luceraf’s eyes sparkled blue, glowing in the dusk-like space around them.

  “Very well,” Luceraf said. The Daemon nodded, as if confirming to herself. “I do know something of the Black Matron’s plan for Knot. They have spent the last few months attempting to break him in Kirlan.”

  Knot is still in Kirlan. She tried not to think what Luceraf meant by the Black Matron trying to “break” Knot.

  “You’ll be happy to know they have not succeeded. Now, they intend to take him to Triah.”

  “Triah?” Cinzia asked, panic rising within her. “When will they leave?”

  “I cannot say for certain,” Luceraf said with a shrug, “but within the week, I’d imagine.”

  “Within the week,” Cinzia whispered. “Will she take the Sons of Canta with her?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” Luceraf said. “The Sons are not hers. The Sons are here for you, and your sister.”

  “You need to be more specific than that,” Cinzia said. “Tell me where they will be, and when.”

  “I already told you, I cannot say for certain—”

  “Then figure it out, and tell me.”

  Silence descended on the ethereal forest as Cinzia realized what she had just done.

  Luceraf smiled. “I like you, Cinzia. You have fire. Very well. Get yourself south of the city. When you reach that point, you will know.”

  “How will I know?”

  “I’ll whisper it in your ear, darling.”

  Cinzia met the Daemon eye to eye, wishing she could trust what Luceraf said, but knowing she would never have that assurance.

  “What will they do to him if they break him?” Cinzia asked. She needed to know.

  “They have great plans for Knot,” Luceraf said with a smile. “He, too, will become an avatar.”

  “Knot would never willingly become the avatar to a Daemon,” Cinzia spat, although as she said the words, she wondered whether they were true. She would just as vehemently have said them about herself a few months ago. There was no telling what circumstances might cause a person to act in a way they never thought they would.

  “Knot might never choose such a thing,” Luceraf said, “but Lathe might.”

  Cinzia’s eyes widened. “Lathe is gone,” she said. “He was contained by Knot when Wyle helped him—”

  “Do you think they did anything a Daemon could not undo?” Luceraf asked sharply. “Do not underestimate our power. We have existed in the Void for millennia. If Knot will not turn, we will find someone within him who will.”

  “Why Knot?” Cinzia asked, shaking her head. “Why does it matter who you choose as an avatar?”

  Luceraf pursed her lips. “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

  “We could stop them,” Cinzia said quietly. “We could still help him.”

  Luceraf’s laughter again rang through the eerie grove. “I do not think so, my dear Cinzia. If I’d thought you could still help him, I would not have told you anything at all.”

  Cinzia closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out the sharp sting of tears.

  “Our deal does not count if there is nothing I can do,” Cinzia said. “I will never be your avatar.”

  Luceraf had been st
anding—or floating, rather—a few rods away from Cinzia. But in a fragment of a second, the Daemon had covered the distance between them, and suddenly their faces were only a few fingers’ width apart.

  “You cannot go back on what you have promised,” Luceraf hissed, and for the first time Cinzia caught a hint of something… something different inside the Daemon. Something inhuman. Her mouth elongated just for a moment, ending in a fiercely pointed beak. “I will come calling on you when it is time to make the bond between us.”

  The suffocating guilt expanded in Cinzia’s belly, overflowing up through her throat.

  “You can go—”

  Then, in a flash, Cinzia was back in the forest. Crickets chirped merrily around her. The fireflies’ lazy glow illuminated the dark. Her breath came in rapid, short rasps, and it took her a moment before she was sure she wasn’t about to faint.

  Slowly at first, then picking up speed, Cinzia eventually broke out into a run on her way back to the camp.

  She had to find Astrid.

  32

  Adimora

  “SO RIHNEMIN ARE THE remnants of tiellan power?” Winter asked.

  She and Mazille walked alone around the large rihnemin at the center of Adimora’s upper level. It was early morning, and the sun had yet to rise. Winter was due for another sparring session with Urstadt in an hour or so, but had asked Mazille to walk with her for a while. There was still so much she wanted to know.

  “Not remnants,” Mazille said. “Receptacles.”

  “Receptacles of power,” Winter whispered. “Like voidstones?”

  “In a way, yes. But how they hold power is altogether very different.”

  Mazille looked up. Winter followed her gaze to see the countless stars above, barely visible as the sky turned from black to a dark, purplish hue. “All the power that tiellans once had still exists,” Mazille said. “Just have to learn how to access it.”

  “Have you tried?”

  Mazille laughed. “Course I’ve tried, many times. I’ve sent tendra into the stone, and made a rune or two glow briefly on the surface, but only for a moment.”

  “You’ve made runes glow? Like the runes beneath the Undritch Mountains?”

  “Aye,” Mazille said with a smile. “Nowhere near that many, but aye. Seems to be a connection there.”

  “What kind of connection?”

  “If I knew that, I’d tell you.”

  Winter wished she could trust Mazille, but there was so much she still didn’t know about the woman.

  “Do you believe the stories you have told me?” Winter asked.

  “Course I believe them, child. That’s why I’m recounting them to you—”

  “My mother did not believe them,” Winter said. “Is there any real evidence one way or the other?”

  “Our existence ain’t evidence enough?”

  It was not enough for my mother. “Were the two of you friends?”

  “We were… close, for many years,” Mazille said. “But we also had our differences.”

  “What was she like?” Winter asked. Her father had told her, of course, but she could only glean so much from a few stories told over and over again.

  “I’d be lying if I said she was a kind woman,” Mazille said, after a long pause. “She… she spoke her mind, without regard to how her words might affect others. More often than not, she was right, though. She had a softer side, too. A side reserved only for those closest to her. I suspect your father got the large part of that side of Effara, as much as so many others would have wanted it.”

  “Would she… would she have made a good mother?” Winter asked.

  Mazille barked a laugh, her whole frame shaking. “Effara would have made a wonderful mother, my dear. And, at the same time, she would have been abysmal. No mother is perfect, and yours certainly would not have been. But she would have been good, I believe.”

  She burned with a desire to know more. And yet, Winter was not here to talk of her mother. Another confrontation with Khale was imminent; Urstadt thought it might come within the next few weeks. Scouts said nothing of any forces on their way, but Winter felt it in her gut, too. Something was about to happen.

  She needed to be prepared for it when it did.

  “You mentioned the human king’s dagger, from the Age of Marvels,” Winter said. “The Blood Dagger. This weapon nullified psimantic ability?”

  “So the legend states.”

  “What do you know of the Ceno Order?” Winter asked.

  Mazille frowned. “The ancient Rodenese religion?”

  “It is not ancient anymore. The religion has resurfaced.”

  “Wasn’t aware of that,” Mazille muttered, her eyes glazing over. Then, quickly, she refocused on Winter. “Roden’s the least of our problems, ancient religion resurfacing or no.”

  “The monks of the Ceno Order can block psimantic ability,” Winter said.

  Mazille stared at Winter. “You cannot know such a thing.”

  “I’ve been to Roden, encountered these monks, and they’ve blocked my power. Is there another way to block psimancy? Other than with the dagger?”

  Mazille shook her head. “The stories from the Age of Marvels are not clear by any means. The power may have rested only with the dagger itself, but there may have been a way to extract its power. To share it with others.”

  Winter stopped walking. They stood at the base of the rihnemin, which was taller than any building Winter had seen, save for the imperial palace in Izet. Now that she’d been into the gorge and seen the real Adimora, she knew this was only a fraction of its true size.

  “Mazille, it occurs to me that you could help me with something.” She took a frost crystal out of her pouch, slipping it into her mouth. “Do you have faltira on you?”

  Mazille eyed Winter’s pouch. “You must have a large store to take it so casually.”

  Winter frowned. “I told you, I have enough for my needs. Do you have one of your own?” She could tell the woman was thinking about how to respond. Mazille’s eyes did not move from the pouch at Winter’s waist.

  “I… I have one of my own,” Mazille finally said, reaching into a pocket within her dress.

  “Take it,” Winter said. “I want you to show me what you’ve attempted with the rihnemin.”

  “No need to be so hasty,” Mazille said, shaking her head. “We will have time enough to—”

  “Do it,” Winter said. “We are going to start now.” If she was going to be able to use the power of the rihnemin, she wanted to figure out how sooner rather than later.

  With a deep breath, Mazille took the crystal she’d pulled out of her dress pocket.

  “Now show me,” Winter said, the rage of frostfire burning through her.

  “Give me a moment,” Mazille grumbled, glaring at Winter. “You can’t possibly tell me you’re already feeling it?”

  Winter shut her mouth. She’d forgotten how quickly frost affected her. Nash had told her that others had a significantly slower response rate, but it had been so long since she’d interacted with any other psimancers at all.

  When they were ready, Mazille approached the rihnemin. “I haven’t tried in some time,” she muttered. “I don’t even know if it will work.”

  “Try it anyway,” Winter said.

  Mazille stopped, looking up at the massive stone. “Goddess help me,” she whispered.

  Thought she didn’t believe in the Goddess. Winter would have said as much, but she didn’t want to distract her. They had already wasted enough time.

  Winter tasted blood. She concentrated, trying to discern Mazille’s tendra. She could not see them, but slowly she became aware of their presence. Two or three of them, but not more than that. They snaked around the rihnemin, searching. Probing.

  Above them, a light shone in the pre-dawn dark. Winter looked up. One of the faded runes carved into the massive stone had begun to shine a dull orange color, pulsing gently. Winter looked in awe at the rune, now emblazoned on the stone’s s
urface.

  Then, simultaneously, two other runes lit up the early morning. One a faded yellow, blazing up near the first, and the other, by far the brightest of the three, almost directly in front of Winter’s face.

  Winter stared at the blood-red rune before her, mesmerized. A series of hard, straight slashes were etched in the stone in a circular design. She had no idea what it meant; no one, not even the tiellan elders, could read or speak the ancient runic language anymore.

  Slowly, Winter ran her hand along the stone where the red rune shone. She felt nothing; the stone was cool, and no different than if nothing had been burning on it at all.

  Then, abruptly, the lights disappeared. Winter looked over her shoulder, and saw Mazille take a step back, breathing heavily.

  “That’s it?” Winter asked.

  “I told you…” Mazille gasped between breaths, “I have not accomplished much. There’s… a reason I stopped trying… so long ago…”

  Winter frowned, looking back up at the rihnemin.

  “Besides, the only crystal I had with me was of poor quality. Perhaps if you’d let me try one of yours…”

  Winter ignored Mazille, instead taking a step back herself. Then, she launched a dozen tendra towards the great stone. Behind her, Mazille gasped, but Winter paid the woman no mind. She ran her tendra along the stone’s surface, as she’d sensed Mazille do a moment before. She felt nothing.

  Nothing, until suddenly she did. One of her tendra moved past a carved rune, but Winter felt pulled back to it, as if by a magnet. Winter retraced her tendron, and almost of its own accord it attached itself to the rune.

  Immediately, the rune lit up in a blazing bright blue, far brighter than any of the runes Mazille had revealed.

  In quick succession, each of Winter’s other tendra—she restrained herself from sending out more, wanting to keep Mazille ignorant of how many she could actually wield—found other runes, and in moments the dawn sky was ablaze in a rainbow of bright blues, reds, greens, oranges, and purples.

  “Goddess rising,” Mazille whispered.

  The runes blazed, but nothing else happened. Winter’s tendra certainly felt no more powerful than they had before attaching to the rihnemin. She itched to send more tendra out, to scour the thing and light up as many runes as she could, but she refrained. Now was not the time.