Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  As they both struggled together to subdue the stronger opponent, she saw a large shape rushing toward them. It was fast, and while she would have normally been able to react in time, the desperation of the moment muted her pack mind and heightened awareness. As such, she was unable to respond quickly enough and was struck hard in her side by a bludgeoning force strong enough to send her tumbling. She had been struck harder before on several occasions and did not struggle to recover. She was neither injured or shaken. However, she did find herself isolated and facing the daunting task of facing a demon on her own, one that was every bit as powerful as the one her brother was now battling against.

  Demons were stronger individually, much stronger. And while their pure strength could not be matched by any member of her pack except possibly The Huntmaster himself, she knew her speed was something no demon could match except possibly the strongest of the Demonkin. While her superior speed would provide an opening for her to exploit and attack, by herself, it was unlikely she was going to be unable to subdue it long enough to send it back to its own realm. Nevertheless, she had to try. The lives of her packmates, nay, the very continuance of creation, might depend on it.

  She huddled low to the ground, teeth bared in a threatening growl of divine calling. Such was her mission, a divine call placed upon her will and intent by The Huntmaster that none could refute or ignore. The boring of His will into her consciousness was like the flooding of a great river. Slow, intentional, relentless and unstoppable, it could not be denied. So, she prepared for this confrontation with that gravity added to her own soul of agelessness. The demon must have sensed it within her, for it too grew in aspect and swelled its misshapen chest as it raised its evil weapon to accept the challenge offered in her guttural solitude. She gathered the substance of her resolve, bowed her head slightly in humble thankfulness, and charged.

  Her eyes popped open. Though she awoke completely lucid, the images of her dream were quickly dissolved by the ethereal nature of the sands of sleep and time. Though the images faded, what lingered was her enhanced experience of creation. Not that she was more alive in her dreams, but that life had been more vivid and carried a realism and intensity she could never duplicate while awake. Her dreams were growing more intense as time passed. Before, she dismissed them as simply a byproduct of the connection she had with Inglorca, but as they persisted and progressed, she began to see them less as dreams and more as memories. Memories of a time and urgency long past and even longer forgotten.

  As the lucidity of her dream passed and she adjusted to life while awake, she sat up and looked around. Unlike the goblin cell, this one was clearly made by man. She was unsure how long she had been held captive by the wizards of The University because there was no schedule by which to estimate time. Meals, as small as they had been, were served at deliberately random intervals. Sometimes hours would pass between meals, and other times only minutes. Their sleep schedule also remained random fluctuating between the time periods as her meals.

  Whether it was their intent or not, though she suspected it was, the randomness of their capturer’s schedule created a low level of disorientation. Physically, she was weak, but more so she was weary of mind and weary of spirit. Since she and her brother had left their home, she had been held captive for various amounts of time. She had been held in a suspended cage by goblins, she had been held by the group of mercenaries for months until they had been assimilated into their ranks, though not a formal form of captivity, they were captives nonetheless. And now she was being held in perhaps the most secure place in all of Avendia. But, unlike the first two, she did not know her present warden's motivations. She suspected it had something to do with the changes both her and her brother were being subjected to, but for certain she could not say.

  Living on the outskirts of any organized city or town limited her exposure to wizards, whether from direct contact or indirectly through rumors. Either way, they remained more obscure to her than they would to most people, which is to say they were only slightly more of a mystery to her. But as much of a mystery as they were, she was sure of one thing, they all endeavored, with a singular ferocity, toward understanding that which evaded their knowledge. And when something new intervened into their structure of understanding, they attacked it relentlessly. Because of this, she was sure of only one thing regarding their captivity regardless of how disoriented she had: they would not be released until all questions were answered.

  Part of her disorientation came naturally as a condition of time. Being held captive by the Goblins was much different for a couple of reasons, but the most evident was the amount of time she was allowed to spend within her own thoughts. Quite frankly, there had been none. Rony’s quick and timely rescue of her avoided any such prolonged periods wherein her mind could wander. And while she was with Borinth and his Mercenaries for much longer, such was the rigidity of her training, that it offered no time for similar distractions. But that was not the case with the Wizards who seemed content to let her thoughts wander away for hours on end.

  During this captivity, her mind was lucidly under her conscious control for most of the time; however, when she became tired, and the disorientation set in, her mind would free itself of her conscious ties and roam on its own. Most frequently, they would fall upon the shores of her childhood memories, particularly those she shared with her brother. She could feel her eyes becoming heavy again, though could not estimate how long she had been awake for, nor could she estimate what time of day it was. She tried to fight it, but her resolve for maintaining an understanding of time was slowly being drubbed from her intent. This was probably the intent of the wizards, though she could not say for certain because they maintained much of their mysterious shroud.

  She yawned as she closed her eyes. She wondered if her sleepiness was also caused by the wizards as a direct effect of their magic, or if it was just a consequence of their exhausting schedule. Having worked some very hard days at their home, and then again while with the mercenaries, she was used to the muscular weariness caused by prolonged physical labor. However, she never considered its opposite would produce a similar exhaustion in her mind. She was beginning to see that sleep paid no distinction between its motivations. Physical or mental, she was tired and struggled to keep her eyes open. She yawned again and before she knew it, she had reluctantly given in as all of the sand drained from her hourglass of awareness.

  "Rony, I do not want to be trapped," she said as he led her to the familiar spot where she always pretended to be a princess trapped in her tower by a huge dragon.

  Bending down, Ronialdin addressed her concern, "I know you do not like it, Zyn, but who else is going to?"

  "Ask mother. You know she will do it. Then I can save her too," said the six-year-old Zyndalia.

  "You already know she will say no, Zyn," Rony replied. He knew his sister detested pretending being trapped as part of their game. She would always protest vehemently, but he would always win her over by promising to allow her to save him the next time they played. "She is too busy trying to get all of the pelts ready for the merchants. There is no way she will play with us right now. You must do it. For me,” he added.

  "Alright, Rony. I will. But next time you get to be the one who is trapped. And I get to save you," she said as she turned to walk toward their make-shift, pretend tower jail.

  Her eyes opened again as she woke to the sights and sounds of their current entrapment, which is to say she woke to the visual and auditory splendor of dust, dirt, and isolation. Over the duration of their incarceration, her thoughts would occasionally drift to her childhood memories of when she and her brother would engage in their games. Most of them centered around her being trapped by this creature or that creature and her brother playing the rescuing knight in shining armor. Until recently, she thought her brother’s arrogance and sense of superiority were the main driving forces dictating the roles they played as children. But the revelation of his burden allowed her to see that he needed
to play that role to help him shoulder the burden of his role in their father's death. In a way, every time he saved her from a horrible and fantastic monster, he was actually saving his father from the bear. And more importantly, saving himself.

  She understood him so much more and saw so much more in him since the day they set out to find their new home. Though the burden he carried now was every bit as heavy, since the incident with Miligos, she had seen it change. He had become withdrawn and much less controlling, especially with her. Before, when they were first with Borinth and his band of mercenaries, though Rony was not the leader, he still tried to pretend he was, at least with things concerning her. Often times his vocal objections and opinions would be met with laughter and mocking, and on a few occasions, resulted in fisticuffs. However, that all ended the day after he had first transformed. With each demon he defeated, she saw his burden grow heavier, as if each transformation did not leave him completely, but lingered more and more, attaching itself to his soul. He spoke less, and only when directly engaged by another. He trained less with others, preferring instead a life of withdrawn solitude. She could not possibly understand what he was going through, but could tell it was taking its toll, a toll she was not convinced he could continue to pay.

  But his was not the only burden that had changed. As Rony became more withdrawn, she saw Liani grow more sorrowful. It was clear she had developed deep feelings for him in no small part because he carried her from the goblin cave. It did not take someone with advanced observational skills to see that her burden was directly linked to her brother’s. So much had changed since then. She saw the small woman transform from a withered villager into a lethal combatant with her own capabilities and will as strong as Dianali’s. Yet, as much as she had opened up and grew comfortable with the others, she was still intimately linked to him as sort of a providing care-giver. She always made sure he had food, even when he was absent during their mealtime. If he fell asleep before her, she would always cover him with a blanket before retiring herself. Though their physical contact had been limited because of the withdrawn nature of his burden, she was always present.

  As the fog of sleep lessened, and her mind cleared itself of its wandering thoughts, she took stock of herself and noticed just how sore her joints and muscles had become from their stagnated condition. Over their time with Borinth and his mercenaries, she had become inducted into a lifestyle that demanded motion, hard motion. Aside from sleeping, there were very few moments when she was not engaged in some sort of physical exertion. Because of that, her muscles and joints were having a difficult time adjusting to a lifestyle void of all exertion whatsoever. In an attempt to appease her complaining body, she had adapted a routine where she attempted to exert the full range of her motion. Though her cell was completely inadequate to practice any martial technique, except those of the closest proximity, it did allow her to stretch a few key muscles. And while her larger joints, those responsible for more of her gross motion, had remained aloof from the aches and pains of immobility, her neck and spine were not as fortunate. Though she stretched them as much as she could, she had developed a small ache right between her shoulder blades that radiated upward to the base of her skill. It was not painful, but it was present nonetheless.

  When she had just finished her stretching routine, she thought she heard a voice quietly call her name. “Zyn,” it said.

  "Rony? Is that you?" she answered.

  "Yes. If you stand and press your face against the bars, you should be able to see me. At least I can see you that way," he replied.

  She turned toward his direction and was about to do as he instructed, but before she did, she noticed that she clearly saw his outline. "I can see you now. You cannot see me?"

  "Barely," he said. “But only if I press my face against the bars. It is so dark.”

  "How did you know I was here if you could not see me?" she asked.

  "Your smell. As soon as they brought me here, I could smell you," he said.

  "Rony, what is happening to us?" she asked as she looked around.

  "Clearly we are being held captive, though for what reason, I am not sure," he stated flatly.

  "You know what I mean," she said as she put her hands on her hips the way their mother used to when they were intentionally feigning ignorance.

  "Yes, I know what you mean," he replied and seemed to drift into a far-off place.

  "What do you think it is?" she asked again.

  "I do not know. I cannot even describe what it feels like, you know, when it happens," he said.

  "About that," she said as she let the thought trail off. After he returned with only silence, she asked, "Do you think it has something to do with the wolves?"

  "I am certain it does. I keep having dreams that I am one," he said.

  "I have the same dreams! When did you start having them?" she said with the first bit of excitement she had felt in a very long time.

  "Not too long after we found them. I mean, you found them. They started simply enough. Just small sensations and things of that nature, but after it happened, I cannot go one night without dreaming that I am immersed in a battle against demons of all sorts. No matter how many dreams I have though, I do not think I will ever get used to the taste of their skin. It is the vilest thing I have ever tasted," he said as he sat down, drawing his knees into his chest.

  "Rony! Why did you never say anything?" she asked him. Though her voice was hushed, he could tell it carried an implicit admonishment.

  "Because, Zyn, I did not want you to think I was stranger than you already do, or did."

  "Well, I have been having the same dreams. And no, I do not think you are strange."

  "If I had known that, I probably would have said something sooner. But I just did not want to scare anyone more than I already have. It is not easy, Zyn, being this different," he said as his voice trailed away.

  "How do you think they are doing?" she asked assuming he would know her question was a reference to Inglorca and Xunmerco.

  "Well, that all depends on who you are referencing, my dear," said a smooth and silky voice from the opposite direction of her brother's cell. Both Rony and Zyndalia's heads quickly turned to observe who had intruded on their conversation. "It is good to see both of you up and around finally. I was beginning to worry that you both would be unable to bear the strain of your incarceration." Hearing no response from either of them, he said, "Very well. Shall we begin?"

  "Begin what?" asked Rony.

  "My investigation, of course," said the voice, as if they both should already understand.

  "Your investigation into what exactly?" Zyndalia asked.

  "Well, into exactly what you two are," responded the voice under a slight chuckle.

  "What do you mean, 'what you two are'?" asked Zyn, trying to feign ignorance.

  "Please, my dear, I know you are being held within our dungeons and I am quite sure that accounts for the development of a certain amount of allowable animosity towards us. But please, there is no need for outright denial. We know there is something different about you," said the voice as it walked over to Rony’s cell.

  "Whoever you are, I can assure you that we are no different than anyone else you could have picked up from the street. We are but simple hunters who were," Rony paused, searching for the right word, "enlisted into the service of a group of mercenaries. There is nothing special about us."

  Running his hands across the bars, the voice replied, "Well, at least we can agree on that."

  "Then why are we here?" demanded Zyndalia.

  Turning his attention toward her enabled her enhanced sight to see him. He was tall and lean. Dressed in a completely black robe, he had tied it loosely at the waist with a simple black sash. She was unable to discern his facial features, however, because they were hidden deep in the folds of his hood.

  He walked slowly over to her cell and rested his face on the bars, "My dear little pup, I did not say there is nothing different about the both of
you, I simply said there was nothing 'special' about you. That is why you are here. Because you are different, a difference that I have not encountered for many ages. A difference I had previously thought to have been eliminated," he let the implied threat linger for several moments. "But before we come to that, I must first be sure. Afterall, one cannot rely on the accounts of mortals for much. So prone are they to exaggeration and misinformation."

  "What are you going to do to us?" asked Zyndalia.

  "Nothing that has not been done before, my dear. Well, at least, to your brother. So, I will begin with him. His transition will be more easily provoked and should result in less discomfort. Yours, on the other hand, may require a special touch," said the voice under a wide grin. "Now, we have wasted enough time with idle chatter. Let us begin."

  He smoothly stepped away from her cell and glided more than walked to her brother's. He stopped short of the bars, but was still within reach of them. He stood completely still. With her enhanced sight, however, she should have been able to still see the gentle ripples in his robes from the easy rise and fall of his chest. But she did not. In fact, there was no movement reflected in any part of him. He was, for lack of a better explanation, completely and utterly stilled. Not even his breaths were detectable. After what seemed to be an exhaustingly long period wherein her anxiety grew from his unnerving stillness, she heard it.