by Carol A Park
Vaughn regarded him, a little stunned. He had never seen Yaotel get so worked up before. So that was why Yaotel was so agitated about finding an answer in those books. He did still want to prevent war between Banebringers and the rest of the world; he had simply cracked under the pressure that Perth and the others were putting him under, felt he had to compromise. Now, he was feeling the press of time.
Vaughn’s irritation at him lessened a bit. In fact, he felt sorry for the man.
“Why couldn’t her patron have been damned Zily? Then all she’d do is sit around on her ass.” Yaotel cursed one last time. “You stink. Go take a bath.”
Vaughn slid out of his office. Gladly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Etiology
“You didn’t show yesterday,” Ivana said without looking up as he entered the back room.
“Sorry,” he said. “Another attack the night before last. I was beat.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure that I need the transliterations anymore, anyway. I think I’ve got a handle on translating directly from the Xambrian.”
“Was that a subtle hint that you prefer to work alone?”
“Nothing subtle about it,” she said.
Vaughn sat down in the chair across from her and studied her for a minute. “Why are you doing this?”
Silence.
“It has something to do with that note from your friend, doesn’t it?”
Of course, she didn’t answer.
Vaughn wasn’t stupid enough to think she was doing this out of the kindness of her heart. She had an ulterior motive, he just wasn’t sure what it was yet. He considered sneaking into her room and trying to find the note. Between her lessons and their work, his Xambrian was passable again.
But that was foolish. If the note was that important, she probably kept it on her. And there was only one way to solve that problem.
That particular fantasy of his didn’t seem likely to happen, however.
“What are you grinning about?”
“Huh?” Oops.
Her eyes were dark with disapproval, almost as if she knew where his thoughts had gone.
“My older brother and I—the second oldest—used to write notes in codes,” he said, turning the subject away from one that would likely arouse her ire. And back to secret notes.
She rolled her eyes and continued working.
Maybe he could annoy it out of her. “It drove my younger brother crazy, because he never could figure the code out.” He smiled at the memory of lazy summer afternoons, too young to have real responsibilities, but old enough to know when to flee the estate after their schooling was done for the day, lest their mother engage them in some tedious task.
And then he halted, his chest tightening momentarily, and he pushed it away. “Our oldest brother always thought we were foolish. Especially after he came of age. Airell was always like that. Thought he was better than the rest of us.”
There was a snap, and Ivana cursed. Vaughn glanced over; she had broken the tip off her pen. “How in the abyss did you do that?”
She glared at him, as though it were his fault, tossed the pen aside, and snatched up Vaughn’s, which lay unused in front of him. That was a bit of an over-reaction when she was usually so cool.
And then he remembered. Airell. She had said that name once, hadn’t she? When she was delusional. Obviously thought Vaughn was him.
Coincidence?
“Did you know Airell?”
Tenseness rippled through her body. “Pardon?”
“Airell,” he repeated. “My oldest brother.”
“How in the abyss should I know one of your brothers?”
He shrugged. “You mentioned the name when you were delirious. Back at the safe house. You seemed to think I might be him, for a moment.”
“As you say, I was delirious.” Her voice was cool, edging on cold. “What was the attack this time?”
The shift in subject was abrupt, for her. He sensed it would be dangerous to press her, so he let it drop. For now. But his curiosity had been aroused. She was an expert at hiding her emotions; for his question to provoke a reaction so powerful a reaction? There had to be a connection. But what was it? And was it also connected to her hatred for his father?
What had his family done to her?
“Three bloodhawks and six bloodcrabs. We almost lost someone this time. Not good.”
“And if you lose someone…”
“Yeah.”
“Any way of knowing what kind of bloodbane will be summoned?”
He shook his head. “As far as we can tell, there’s no link between type of bloodbane and type of Banebringer. There might be a correlation between how much a Banebringer uses their powers and the strength of the monster, but we don’t exactly go around killing each other to find out.”
“Makes sense,” Ivana said.
“Not killing each other? Obviously.”
She rolled her eyes. “The possible correlation between Banebringer powers and the bloodbane that get summoned. If it’s true that when you use your abilities it creates a greater draw on the spiritual realm at the sky-fire, it makes sense that stronger monsters would be attracted when the veil tears when one of you dies.”
“Well, I guess that’s—” He halted. “Where did you hear that?”
“What?”
“The thing about…using our abilities drawing more monsters.”
“Danton.”
He tapped his finger on the table several times. “I see you weren’t kidding when you said you were going to find other allies.”
“Of course I wasn’t kidding. But I learned that the first time I talked to him.”
He shook his head. “That kid is completely infatuated with you. If you’re going to use someone, can you please leave him out of it?”
She didn’t respond to that. “He said you were the one who brought him here.”
“Yes. Rescued him on the way to wherever it is they take Banebringers for Sedation.”
She turned back to her work. “Seems like with the ability to make oneself blend in with one’s surrounding, he could have escaped easily enough on his own.”
“The kid was fifteen, barely even knew what he could do yet. Besides, blending in doesn’t do much good if you’re trapped in a steel cage.” He knew that all too well. He craned his neck to look at the book in front of her. “Found anything else interesting?”
“Actually…” She picked up the original, flipped back a few pages, studied them for a moment, and then looked back at her translation. She frowned.
Vaughn sat up straighter. This sounded promising. “Ivana?”
She stared at the page hard again and then turned it around so Vaughn could see it. “What does this mean to you?”
He read silently. The passage described a battle—apparently the epic battles between gods that Ivana had been translating, and this one was between Danathalt and Ziloxchanachi. And it seemed that many of the other gods had taken sides, for there were several named on both sides, some that he recognized, and some that he didn’t.
Vaughn became lost in the story for a moment—even the endless list of warriors that the head god had summoned to his side in heaven, since he had never heard of the creatures before. He had to assume they were some sort of heavenly beings, or perhaps “good” monsters, since they were enumerated, rather than named.
In the end, Ziloxchanachi and company won, casting Danathalt back into the abyss with his armies with a proclamation:
And Ziloxchanachi was so angered at the rebellion that he swore on his own name that no longer would the father of gods engage in the petty schemes of his sons and daughters. “Your blood and the blood of your subjects be on your hands!” And then he cursed them, saying, “As you have schemed against each other, so you will be bound. God to god, in blood and strife.”
The story ended there. “Interesting to have more information on Danathalt, but does this have something to do with Sedation or our friend in
the basement?”
Ivana tapped her finger on the translation. “You told me that Ziloxchanachi sat around and did nothing.”
“Well…that’s what we knew about him up until now. But perhaps that’s not precisely true?” He raised an eyebrow. “Still not seeing the connection.”
She picked up the page and read from it aloud. “No longer would the father of gods engage in the petty schemes of his sons and daughters. No longer. That seems to suggest that he had been involved before then, at least enough to now swear he wouldn’t be.”
Vaughn stared at her, brow furrowed. He didn’t want to admit again that he wasn’t seeing it, lest she think him dense. So he sat in silence, furiously thinking. To give credence to the idea that he was making progress in his thoughts, he got up to go look at the translation again, for himself, leaning over Ivana’s shoulder.
And then it dawned on him. “This is old,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Well, sort of.” She stood up and started pacing. “While the myths don’t always agree in details, this is likely an etiological story explaining why it is that the most important god apparently did nothing. It’s meant to take place before the other myths.” She waved her hand, as if to stave off an objection. “Whether it was penned before the other myths is irrelevant.”
She was clearly excited. Ivana. Excited. Her cheeks had taken on a slight flush, and her eyes sparkled. Even a long length of hair had fallen out of place, tickling the side of her throat, which only served to enhance the image of the slightly eccentric professor. He couldn’t help but smile.
She stopped pacing abruptly. “Why are you smiling?”
“You’re doubly appealing when you use the word ‘etiological,’” he said, before he could stop himself.
Predictably, her eyes flashed.
“What?” he asked, holding his hands out to the side in defense. “Is a man not allowed to appreciate the fine intellect of a woman?”
She snorted. “I wasn’t aware you knew how to appreciate anything in a woman other than a fine body.”
He met her eyes. “You’re not just any woman, though, are you?” Had he really said that? Did he actually believe that?
And then, he wasn’t certain he was still breathing. The surroundings faded, and for a moment that seemed to paradoxically stretch out forever and yet be over before it started…he wanted to take her in his arms, breathe her, kiss her, know her.
Something flickered in her eyes. “Stop,” she said. Her voice was tight.
The moment passed, and he turned away, disconcerted. “Stop what?”
“How many women have you told that to? You’re not going to seduce me with smooth talk.”
He wanted to protest. He hadn’t ever told a woman that before, in fact. But she wouldn’t believe him. Why should she? He didn’t blame her, and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to believe him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted what he obviously wanted.
The path those thoughts led down were uncomfortable, so he retreated to a safer place. He stepped closer to her. “Does that suggest that there might be some other way to seduce you?”
She didn’t move back, and for a heartbeat, he thought she might be receptive. But then she spoke, softly. “Perhaps you should know that there are only two reasons I will sleep with a man,” she said. “First, if I want to use him.”
He grinned. “That sounds exciting.”
Her eyes turned to flint. “Second, and more likely, if I intend on killing him.”
He swallowed. A subtle reminder of whom exactly he was dealing with. It had been easy to forget. But he didn’t want to remember. His fear of her had eroded, and he had no intention of allowing her to put the layers back.
“I see,” he said solemnly. “You like women.”
She arched one eyebrow. “I shouldn’t have to explain this to you,” she said. “My job is dangerous and my identity everything. I can’t afford to engage in anything that might erode my reason.”
“Ah. How sad.”
“No sadder than your sleeping with so many women in order to keep your heart intact.” She gave him a shrewd look and turned away.
It was his turn to blink. “That’s ridiculous.”
She ignored his assertion. “Logical deduction.”
Ridiculous, he asserted to himself again. He slept with so many women because he didn’t want commitment. He didn’t need commitment. Because he couldn’t get drunk, damn it all, and what else was there? “You have no idea what you’re talking about. And how did this get turned around on me?”
She smirked. “You bandied words with a woman of fine intellect.”
This subject had thoroughly run its course, in his estimation. “So the story is old, or meant to be taken as old. But how does this help with what Yaotel wants?”
She eyed him, still smirking, and then looked back down at the papers on the table. “I’m not positive that it does, but…” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you could get me into the research wing to take a look at some blood and run a few experiments?”
“Probably. Yaotel won’t be happy when he finds out, but…” He shrugged. He really didn’t care.
Chapter Thirty
Aether
Ivana followed Vaughn down the halls, down a set of stairs, until they reached a long hallway punctuated by doors and windows facing out. It wasn’t as comfortably decorated as the rest of the manor, but it wasn’t stark either. Merely more practical, the walls dressed in beige and brown, and a tighter knit, less-plush carpet beneath their feet.
Vaughn led her into a room two-thirds of the way down the hallway. One long table encompassed the perimeter of the room, with cabinets and racks and vials and—yes—the microscope, much more elaborate than the simple one her father had built. He would have fainted in ecstasy at the sight of such resources.
There was one other person inside, who turned as they entered and then paused, eyes darting back and forth between Vaughn and Ivana a few times before finally resting on Vaughn with a distinct look of distaste.
Great.
“Is she allowed to be down here?” the woman asked.
Vaughn didn’t even look at her. “Nice to see you too, Citalli. Ivana needs to verify some of our recent experiments with the…” He coughed and gestured to a microscope sitting on a side table. “New device. For our research for Yaotel.”
The woman hesitated, and then shrugged. “Very well.” She walked to the other side of the room and busied herself at the table against that wall, but Ivana could see her casting sidelong glances their way every so often.
Vaughn gestured to the room. “Well. Do whatever it is you need to do.”
She walked over to the microscope and ran her hand down one side. The body was metal, rather than wood, like her father’s had been.
It was still beautiful. “Show me what you saw before.”
Vaughn nodded. “Look at your own blood first.”
Ivana glanced toward the researcher, but she didn’t seem intent on providing any aid, so Ivana opened the cabinet above the microscope. Sure enough, the cabinet held a long row of glass slides. She selected several, along with a blade. The razor was encompassed in a long tube until the end, where it came to a slanted point. She used it to prick her own finger and smeared a drop of blood on the slide. She put it under the microscope and looked through the lens.
She couldn’t help but gasp. “Burning skies,” she muttered. “I can’t believe how magnified this is…how?”
“Um…lightblood aether. Or so they tell me.”
Of course. The magical properties of that particular type of aether must cause the light to be refracted at a higher rate, thus resulting in a greater degree of magnification. Fascinating. She shook her head and went back to the task at hand, studying her blood. She set the slide aside. “Your blood.”
He wiped off the edge of the razor and pricked himself, and then copied what she did. “Quickly,” he said. “If you want to see it.”
She
observed what he had told her. Tiny, almost bug-like blobs, scurrying around the blobs that she had seen in her own blood. As she watched, they started to consume the blood itself, until they were finished, and slowed, and then froze altogether. The sample took on a shiny, silvery quality, though she could still see the frozen aether-bugs. She pulled back and looked at the slide. Sure enough, it had turned to aether.
She set it aside. “All right. Now I need to see what happens when the Sedation formula is mixed in.”
Vaughn looked at the researcher. “We need a sample of the Sedation formula.”
The researcher ignored him.
“Citalli,” Vaughn said, more loudly. “I’m talking to you.”
The researcher—Citalli—cast him an irritated look, but moved to a beaker over a flame. The aether within was liquid. She carefully drew a small amount into a syringe and then handed it to Vaughn, who handed it to Ivana. Vaughn gave her another sample of his blood without being asked, and she squeezed a drop of the formula into it, and then quickly slid it under the microscope.
It was just as he had said. The foreign aether bugs, distinguishable because they were part of the silvery substance slowly swirling through the blood, cornered and surrounded the native aether bugs until they froze, with the exception of tiny tremors. Thus done, they proceeded to eat the rest of the blood, until the entire substance had turned to aether.
“Huh.” She picked up the syringe. “So this is a mix of many different types of Banebringer blood?”
“That’s what our ex-priest said,” Vaughn replied. He eyed the syringe nervously, and she rolled her eyes and set it down.
“Relax. Why do they use so many types?”
“No idea,” Vaughn said. “You’d have to ask him.”
“Because it works,” Citalli said from behind, engaging for the first time. Ivana turned to look at her.
She shrugged. “Perrit doesn’t know why it works, and he said the priests don’t know why either. But using only one or two types doesn’t appear to work, whereas using as many as possible does.”
“Presumably they harvest the blood for the formula from the Banebringers they have in their asylum?”