Banebringer

by Carol A Park

He pushed the instrument away. “Let me guess,” he said quietly. “That was blood from the crazy woman.”

  Saylyn nodded. “It doesn’t affect her.” She cast a glance at Yaotel. “We thought to check it after we tried to Sedate her ourselves and nothing happened.”

  Vaughn recoiled. “You what?”

  “Yaotel’s orders,” she said, looking uncomfortable.

  Vaughn shook his head. Crazy or not, she was one of them. How could Yaotel have ordered such a thing? It was practically…blasphemous!

  Saylyn turned away from them, and Yaotel moved back toward the door. “You can question my methods,” he said as Vaughn followed him out. “But we had to know if she had really survived Sedation. Besides. She was out of control.”

  They walked in silence, back through the research wing, back into the main corridor, while Vaughn tried not to think about what he had just seen. It may have only been a smear of blood, but it had been disturbing to watch.

  Yaotel didn’t lead him back to his office. Instead, he headed for the library. “Now that you know the background, here’s how you’re going to help us,” he said, pushing the door open to the perpetually dusty-smelling room.

  The room was dark, and Yaotel touched the light-plate—a square panel attached to the wall that looked similar to a qixli, but designed for an entirely different purpose. Nothing happened, and Yaotel gave a sign of exasperation. He tried again, and a moment later a pale but pervasive light filled the room.

  They walked through the shelves, all the way to the back, where Yaotel stopped in front of another door. He turned to face Vaughn. “There’s something about that woman that resists Sedation.” His voice grew more urgent. “If we knew what it was, if we could discover…” He shook his head. “Use it, reproduce it.” He met Vaughn’s eyes. “It could change everything. You understand this? Everything.”

  It hadn’t occurred to him until Yaotel had started speaking, but yes, he understood it. If they could make themselves resistant to Sedation…they wouldn’t have to run and hide in fear of the Hunters anymore, and none would dare to kill them, not without completely re-thinking their strategy. The balance of power would shift in their favor.

  They could fight.

  Was this why Yaotel had agreed to the training? Because he saw a way forward that might make it possible?

  Yaotel was watching his face. “I know you disagree with my decision in that meeting,” he said. “But if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. And we’re going to do it with every possible advantage.” He paused. “Who knows. Maybe we’ll discover something that will placate that group a little while longer. Maybe if the priests know they can’t Sedate us, they’ll work harder to find a diplomatic solution.”

  Vaughn swallowed, feeling dizzy. This was the worst possible punishment Yaotel could have come up with. He was going to be forced to do research to help the very faction he so diametrically opposed. But he gave a rigid nod. He couldn’t argue with the benefit of the potential results of such a discovery, however they were used. And perhaps they could be used for a peaceful resolution, if they could be patient enough.

  Still. He hadn’t yet found the opportunity to tell Yaotel about the discovery he had made with Ivana about her ability to use aether, and he wasn’t going to yet. Yaotel would tell the faction that wanted to fight, and they would use it for advancing those purposes. Vaughn would wait to see how this played out.

  Yaotel pushed the door open to a much smaller room, even more dusty-smelling than the library, and activated its light-plate as well. The books on the shelves weren’t all intact; some were burned, some were old scrolls, some were missing their covers.

  Though he had never been in here himself, Vaughn knew what the room was. It was their collection of anything and everything that could have to do with the Banebringers, the heretic gods, how they got to be the way they were…

  The Conclave did their best to destroy such texts, when found. The sole task of some of the Ichtaca was to hunt and retrieve them before that happened. They knew so very little, thanks to the Conclave’s efforts to wipe out the memory of the heretic gods, and what they did know came from this meager gathering of incomplete knowledge.

  Yaotel walked over to a small pile of books that sat on the table in the center of the room. He laid one hand on the topmost book. “Dax brought these back last week. He found them fairly well-preserved in an old shrine in the far north of Fuilyn, almost to the border.”

  Vaughn didn’t need to ask why the Conclave hadn’t found them yet. Fuilyn was Setana’s northernmost region, mostly mountainous terrain. That far north, on the border with Xambria, the peaks were particularly high—and vicious, so he had been told. No one lived there, and he was, frankly, amazed that Dax had managed to traverse that land and get out alive.

  Then again, he had some vague recollection that Dax was an iceblood.

  Yaotel picked up the book and flipped it open, and then held it out for Vaughn to see. “Problem is…no one here can read them.”

  Vaughn scanned his eyes over the page. “That’s not Setanan,” he said.

  “No kidding. We have one woman here who says she’s pretty sure it’s Xambrian, but she doesn’t actually know Xambrian. Just did some business with a trader, back before the Conclave started shutting them out.” Yaotel tapped the book. “I read your file; you studied Xambrian.”

  Vaughn stared at the pages of the book. It was Xambrian. It was most definitely Xambrian. The script was unmistakable. But… “That was years ago, Yaotel. And to say I know it is a bit of a stretch.” He had a tutor who had taught him what he could, in the space of about six months, before his father had found out and had the tutor executed for heresy.

  “Whatever the case, you’re the only one here who comes even close to being able to translate it.”

  Vaughn ran a hand over his face. “Why is this so important now? Is there something that makes you think these are connected to the woman?”

  Yaotel slid a folded piece of paper out from between two of the books, unfolded it, and spread it out on the table. “This.”

  It was a drawing, or perhaps a tracing, of the aether bugs. “Where…?”

  “It was painted on the wall of the shrine. There was some other art too—pictures of the gods, we presume, since they look like other paintings we’ve found—but this was the most interesting, since we’d never seen anything like it before. Dax copied it the best he could and brought it back. Of course, he didn’t know at the time how interesting it really was.”

  “So you think these books might have something to do with the reason that woman can’t be Sedated, because there was a weird painting of aether on the wall where the books were found? That seems a bit of a stretch, Yaotel.”

  Yaotel shrugged. “Yes. It is. But it’s all we have, and if there is anything in those books that could give us a hint, we have to find it. Meanwhile, our researchers will be working on the scientific angle.”

  Vaughn groaned and let his eyes drift over the pile. “This is going to take me forever.”

  One of Linette’s bindbloods slipped into the room, and Vaughn tensed. He whispered to Yaotel, who nodded, and the bindblood left.

  He turned to Vaughn. “Well then. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know that woman you risked so much to save.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Pretensions

  Vaughn didn’t even ask if Yaotel was done with him before turning and striding toward the infirmary. The wave of relief that had swept over him on hearing the news that Ivana was alive was more intense than he had expected.

  Yaotel caught up with him a short way down the hall. “They’ve already moved her to a guest room,” he said.

  Vaughn paused and let Yaotel take the lead. They wound their way back through the common living space, the dining hall, and into the underground portion of the manor that held bedrooms and suites.

  Hueil was leaning against the wall opposite a door that Linette was just leaving when the
y arrived. Linette turned to face them as they approached and held up a hand. “She’s sleeping,” she said. “And probably will be for another day or so. Let her be for now.”

  Vaughn halted. “Another day or so?”

  Linette cast a glance at Yaotel. “We had to sedate her.”

  Vaughn stared at her, confused. “Sedate her?”

  She smiled shortly. “The old-fashioned kind. Woke up halfway through our work on her and gave us a bit of trouble.”

  Yaotel growled from behind him and move forward. “What sort of trouble?”

  “Nothing to worry about, Yaotel,” she said. “Just tried to flee. Tried to grab one of the scalpels and gave us a fright. But between her injured leg and obvious disorientation, we had no trouble containing the situation. No harm done. The poor dear was obviously terrified.”

  Vaughn had to stop himself from snorting. He would never have applied the moniker “poor dear” or description “terrified” to Ivana.

  But Yaotel was giving him a look that made it clear he was the one responsible for her actions. He gestured to Hueil. “Lock the door and keep it under guard. Switch off with Danton if you need to.”

  Vaughn stepped in front of Hueil, blocking his way. “Look—I don’t think that’s a good idea. If she wakes up in a strange place and finds the door locked, she’s going to assume the worst. I guarantee that’s not going to make her…transition here easy.”

  Vaughn didn’t actually know how Ivana would react, but he was sure a simple locked door wouldn’t keep her in—and the last complication he needed was her assuming that anyone she met was hostile.

  Yaotel glared at him, but relented. “Fine. Keep the door unlocked, but under guard. Let me know as soon as she wakes. If she leaves, follow her. Don’t answer any questions. She can go to the common area and the dining hall. If she tries to go anywhere else, stop her.”

  “And if she refuses to cooperate?” Hueil asked.

  Yaotel looked at Vaughn as he responded. “Kill her.” And then he turned and walked away.

  Linette gave Yaotel’s back a disapproving stare, but merely clucked her tongue and left in the opposite direction.

  When both were gone, Vaughn turned to Hueil. “All right. I know what Yaotel said, but seriously. If she gives you trouble, send for me before you start using deadly force?”

  Hueil chuckled. “No problem. Yaotel’s just being his normal grouchy self. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Vaughn shook his head. He wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t going to argue that point. “All right. See you around.”

  He headed back to his own bedroom. The exhaustion of the past week was more insistent, now that he knew they were both safe for the time being. And if he had to spend hours on end staring at a language he hadn’t studied for more than a decade, he’d need to be rested.

  It took Ivana five seconds after she woke to realize she wasn’t in her own bed. The mattress was too firm, and the blankets weren’t right. She touched her thigh and found her dagger missing, along with its sheath. She sat up, instantly wary, and evaluated her situation.

  She was in a small, modest bedroom. It contained the bed she sat in, a bedside table, a chair, and a washbasin and mirror. One door, no windows, and empty of anyone else but her.

  Someone had garbed her in an ankle-length nightgown—not hers—and she was clean. The sweat, dried blood, grime, and most notably, stench of the past few days were gone. She sniffed her arm, and a faint citrus scent filled her nostrils.

  She pushed back the bedclothes and gathered up the nightgown to examine her thigh. The wound itself was covered by a clean bandage, and after prodding the area experimentally a few times and finding less pain than she would have expected, and after noting the carefully wrapped and secured bandage, she determined that it must have been cared for by an expert.

  She slid out of the bed, and her bare feet sank into the thick pile of a rug that covered most of a stone floor.

  As she put weight on her right leg, it gave a twinge of protest. However, after a few cautious steps she found she was able to walk—if with a slight limp.

  A pile of neatly folded clothes lay on the chair, and she moved to examine them. They also weren’t hers. The top garment was an unadorned muslin dress, and underneath was a set of underclothes and a pair of soft leather shoes. She cast another look around the room and then shed the nightgown to change.

  The dress was long on her, but otherwise fit tolerably. It wasn’t fashionable, but the material was of a high quality.

  Someone had kindly left a few necessities at the side of the wash basin—a pitcher of cool water, a chunk of soap, a clean towel, and even a comb. She washed her face and did the best she could to make amends with her tangled hair, and then turned toward the door.

  Wherever she was, her best assumption was that Vaughn had brought her here, and it was obvious that she had been taken care of. But that didn’t mean she could assume that the environment was friendly toward her. Whoever had seen to her had not thought it necessary that she have her dagger back.

  She had her suspicions.

  She limped to the door and noted on the wall nearby both a lit lantern on a hook, and a small panel next to it that looked almost like Vaughn’s distance-speaking device. She touched it, but nothing happened.

  She then tried the handle of the door, half-expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. Still, she patted her thigh, wishing again she had her blade.

  She opened the door.

  An unfamiliar man slouched against the wall directly across the hall from her door. He was young, perhaps only eighteen or nineteen, and boyishly handsome. If he was supposed to be guarding her room, he wasn’t taking it very seriously. His hands were in his pockets, and he was scuffing one toe against the floor. When she emerged, he appraised her from head to toe, and then he met her gaze and straightened up—but his hand didn’t stray toward the short sword at his hip.

  She tilted her head and appraised him in the same way he had her. “Dal,” she said. “Might I ask where I am?”

  The man shifted. “Well, I’m not supposed to answer questions…” He shrugged his shoulders apologetically and then offered a sheepish smile.

  She didn’t press him. Instead, she looked down one end of the hall and then the other. It stretched in both directions, the occasional door punctuating the wall. “Am I allowed to leave the room?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Just can’t go everywhere.” He clapped a hand over his mouth and spoke between two fingers. “That was answering a question, wasn’t it?”

  The observation drew a smile from her. “I’m sure that one was harmless,” she said

  He brightened and returned her smile. “I’ll tell you if you have to turn around.”

  “Fair enough.” She chose to head left, and he fell in behind her as she walked. So she had a guard, but was free to move about within limits.

  The hallway walls were stone, but a thick cream rug stretched wall to wall, and she noted that their way was lit by evenly spaced lanterns. As she walked, she passed a decoration here or there—a painting of some generic nature, a potted plant…

  This was no prison, nor a hospital. It looked like the modest surroundings of a minor lord’s manor—which was as unlikely as it was curious.

  Her guard followed two steps behind, and when she glanced back, his eyes were studying her curiously. “Am I allowed to know your name?” she asked, stopping to face him.

  He hesitated, and then shrugged again. “Danton,” he said.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Danton. My name is Ivana, though I suspect you already knew that.”

  He chuckled, which was affirmation enough, but didn’t respond until she started walking again. “Begging your pardon, Da, but…they’re saying you and Vaughn are…well, you know. Together.” He quickened his pace a bit, to walk by her side instead.

  So Vaughn was known here. That confirmed her initial conclusion. “Vaughn said that?” She glanced at him.


  He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no. He’s quite insistent otherwise.”

  He had used present tense—meaning, Vaughn hadn’t merely brought her here. He was still here, wherever here was.

  Danton was still talking. “I have no reason to doubt him, especially since everyone knows relationships aren’t his thing.” He gave her another one of his sheepish grins. “But now that I’ve seen you, I wouldn’t blame him…”

  He blushed, as if realizing after the fact what he had said, and looked down at his feet. “And, you know, he brought you here. Can’t help the rumors.” And then he peeked up and flashed her a smile.

  She returned his smile. “I understand,” she said. “No harm done. If I were you, I would be more inclined to believe Vaughn’s assertion.”

  His smile widened. “Of course.” And then the grin slid off his face as she crossed an intersection of halls and headed toward the door at the end of the one she was walking down.

  His shoulders tensed, and he hurried to move in front of her. “Begging your pardon, Da, but you can’t go that way.” His hand twitched a little closer to his weapon.

  “Ah,” she said, stopping. “Well, Danton, I know you’re not supposed to answer questions, but I might find what I’m looking for sooner if I knew where I was going.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Something to eat, of course.”

  He relaxed visibly, and a full grin broke out on his face. “That I can help with. Follow me.”

  Ivana followed him for a short ways and then fell in beside him, deciding to hazard a question based on her suspicions of where she might be. “So, what can you do?” she asked at last, careful to scan the walls casually, as if interested in the paintings hanging there rather than her question.

  “Pardon, Da?”

  “Well, you know. Vaughn can turn invisible and throw water around. What can you do?”

  He seemed uncertain, as if not sure if she was supposed to know that information, but unsure what to do since it was clear that she did. “I don’t know if…”