by B. K. Boes
“Excuse me, my lord?” he said, his voice shaking.
“The stone with the chimney. I’m assuming we’re near the outside of the mountain? That hole must go somewhere.”
“Y-yes,” the cook stammered. He pointed to two other stoves just like it. “They all go up to the surface. It’s not a long way, and it keeps the smoke from building up.”
“Like I said, clever.” Moloch held out the root. “I brought this with me from Eikon. My mother is a physician, and I’ve picked up a few tricks from her. I believe I’ve found something to help Prince Durand’s illness.”
“What?” The cook forgot his formalities, and Moloch narrowed his eyes at him, cocking his head slightly. The cook realized his mistake. “I meant, what is it, my lord? Something I can help with?”
“Ah,” Moloch said. “You see, that’s the thing. The process of turning the root into tea is very precise. The powder must be very fine, and too much would have negative effects. I’m afraid I’ll have to do it.”
“I’m very skilled,” the cook said. “If it pleases my lord, I can surely handle this for you.”
“It doesn’t,” Moloch said.
“It doesn’t what, my lord?”
“Please me.” Moloch kept his smile wide. “Now, I need a pestle and mortar. And a grate. I’m assuming you have these things?”
“My lord—”
“Please fetch them for me.”
The cook looked back at the pot, but then bowed his head and hurried into an adjoining room. Moloch rushed over to the small pot and grabbed the ladle nearby.
“Keep watch,” Moloch said. “Better yet, go and keep him occupied for a few minutes.”
Bram followed the cook, and Moloch proceeded to fish out the thing the cook had dropped in the soup. Finally, the ladle produced a glass vial. And it was still corked.
Maybe there is a Sustainer.
Moloch grabbed a towel and picked the vial out of the soup. He wiped it down and looked over his shoulder. Bram was shaking his head and pointing at something.
“That one’s too big!” Bram shouted. “Get the smaller one. No, not that one.”
Moloch turned back to the vial.
They said it was venom. He held it up to the torchlight and racked his brain, trying to remember the deadliest poisons. Not a nakhar’s. That would be too quick. Even a small dose such as this could kill a man on its own. He studied the color and tipped the vial. Greenish tint. Thick stuff. Ah! Got it.
“That one will have to work,” Bram said loud enough for Moloch to hear.
He quickly dropped the vial back into the soup and put the handtowel back on its hook. The cook came in with the pestle and mortar and grater. “Will this one work?” he asked.
“Perfect.” Moloch said. “Where can I work?”
“Right over there is fine,” the cook said, pointing to one of many cleared counter spaces on the opposite side of the large kitchen area. “I’m finishing some things up for the prince right now, actually. You going to turn that into a tea of some sort? Or a paste?”
“Tea,” Moloch said. “But I’ll take it to the prince. Told him I would. I might as well take the soup while I’m at it.”
“My lord, I—”
“I insist.”
The cook deflated. “Yes, my lord.”
Moloch and Bram retreated to the other side of the large room, and Moloch began to work on the root. They spoke in hushed tones so the cook on the other side of the kitchen couldn’t hear.
“Shouldn’t we do something? That bastard is over there poisoning the prince’s food as we speak,” Bram whispered.
“No, let him be. I have a plan. Trust me, not one drop of that soup will touch the prince’s lips.” Moloch began to grate the root into the mortar.
“That won’t help poison, will it?” Bram asked.
“It will help relieve some of the symptoms, but no.” Moloch said quietly. “They’re giving him Juxquinn venom. I’m almost sure of it, though I don’t know the concentration. That presents a problem in terms of how to treat him.”
“How did they get ahold of a Juxquinn?”
Moloch frowned and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think. The beastly, giant scorpion-like creatures lived in the Strao Dunes. With a thick exoskeleton, three stingers, and rows of teeth extending far into their mouths, a Juxquinn was very hard to kill. They were such a danger, only hunters and madmen crossed the dunes by land instead of going around them by sea. “There are certainly people crazy enough to try to harvest a Juxquinn’s assets. The venom is just one of about five highly rare substances you can obtain from the beasts.”
“I thought those were only stories. Juxquinn hunters. I never thought…” Bram trailed off, his face pale.
“It’s dangerous. Most die in the attempt.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“They seek out patrons in Eunoya from time to time,” Moloch said. “Upfront money in exchange for part of the profits. Of course, it’s risky. But more than worth it if the hunter is successful.”
“Huh.” Bram scratched at his cheek. “Do you have anything to heal the prince?”
“It’s such a rare substance,” Moloch whispered. “No cure has been created. But, thank the Sustainer, there is a chance of recovery if we stop it, depending on the concentration of venom and the length of time it’s been administered. If I know those two things, I can come up with some sort of treatment plan.”
Moloch finished grating the root and began to grind it with the pestle and mortar. He finished, and turned around, raising his voice so the cook could hear him. “I’ll need some flour and hot water.”
“Yes, my lord. I have a kettle on already. I figured you’d need it to make the tea.” The cook went into the pantry and came out with a small bit of flour in a bowl.
“That will do,” Moloch said. He took the flour and mixed it with the ground root. Once the water was done, he added just a tad to the mixture and ground it all into a paste that would easily dissolve in the hot water. He garnered a ceramic tea pot from the cook and mixed the boiling water with the paste.
“Is the soup finished?” Moloch asked once he was done.
“Yes,” the cook said, “But I—”
“Bram, why don’t you grab that tray and load it with tea and a nice, piping hot bowl of that soup?” Moloch patted the cook on the shoulder. “Smells delicious,” he said.
Bram finished loading the tray, and they both headed toward the archway. The cook called out feebly, but Moloch pretended not to hear. Once they were out of earshot, Moloch let his smile fade. It was time to tell Prince Durand his cousin was poisoning him.
Chapter Forty-Four
Moloch
The City of Pytar, Ergon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
“That’s insane!” Prince Durand said. “My cousin would never do such a thing to me.” The prince rose from the sofa and paced the tiled floor of his personal sitting room, shaking his head with vigor.
“I know it sounds that way,” Moloch said. “But it’s true. I heard it, and then Bram and I confirmed it, just as I told you. If he hadn’t dropped the vial, I might not be sure, but now I am. I saw it, and the symptoms are very much like kolinapsis.”
“How would they even obtain such a venom?” The prince continued to pace. “And you Eikonians might be so ambitious, but it’s abhorrent to think of an Ergonian turning on a family member. It goes against all of our ideals. No river of brotherhood flows as deep as the blood of Ergonians. Loyalty above all else. The Sustainer be witness.”
“That’s a beautiful sentiment, but—”
“It’s not a sentiment. It’s our way of life.” Prince Durand ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Every Ergonian child learns that mantra. We take care of our own.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s true.” Moloch stood. “You have to believe me. Or you’ll die. Soon. I don’t know how long it’s been happening, but you are being poisoned.
”
Prince Durand turned away and put his hands on his hips as he hung his head. Moloch looked down at the bowl of soup.
I have to do something to prove it.
He reached for the bowl and put the edge of it to his lips.
“Moloch! No!” Bram rushed at him.
Moloch quickly downed most of the soup before Bram could knock the bowl out of his hand. The prince turned, wide-eyed, as he watched Bram nearly tackle Moloch.
“You crazy… I can’t believe you just did that.” Bram’s face turned a bright shade of red. He pressed his lips firmly together, probably to keep profanity from spilling forth in the presence of Prince Durand.
“What did you do?” Prince Durand looked from Bram’s fuming face to the bowl and splotches of yellow soup strewn in its wake.
“I drank a dose of the poison.” Moloch said. “Damn the Other.” He sat back down. “I just poisoned myself.”
“And for what, you moron?” Bram burst at the seams. “You, of all people, know what that stuff will do to you. Why? I’ll be blamed, you know. Me!” His eyes widened, and he dragged his hands down the sides of his face. “Sustainer be merciful.”
“Calm down, Bram,” Moloch said. “It won’t be pretty, but one dose won’t kill me. It’ll hurt, but I’ll recover.”
“What are you talking about?” Prince Durand asked.
Moloch met the prince’s eye. “The first time you’re exposed to a poison like this, your body rejects it. The first several times, actually, and then your body begins to crave it. I’m staying here tonight, and you’ll witness something familiar in how my body reacts. Cold sweats. Vomiting. Uncontrollable trembling. Severe stomach pains. Headache. Light sensitivity. Sound familiar?”
Prince Durand’s face went white. “I experienced an entire span of that before it passed, mostly. That soup was what made me feel better…” He trailed off as it began to sink in. “I have to have it. Every day. That soup. It… comforts me. I thought… I never realized…”
“Well, now you do. And as I go through the pains of first exposure, you’ll go through withdrawal. If this is proof enough, I suggest you let the withdrawal run its course. Bram and I will care for you, but no one must know what’s happening here. Your cousin must not be given the chance to run or figure a way out of this.”
“I can’t believe Morrwin would do this to me.” Prince Durand sat back down. He held up a hand. It was shaking, just slightly. He looked at the splotches of soup on the floor again and turned away in disgust. “I almost want to lick the stuff off the floor. Stars and moons, you’re telling the truth.” He buried his head in his hands.
“I wish I wasn’t.” Moloch doubled over as the first pang hit his stomach. He grimaced as another wave of pain hit, this one stronger. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Bram tended to both Moloch and Prince Durand, as the prince had dismissed all but two of his most trusted guards. He gave strict orders that no one come or go, and no one did. Both men went through hell. The prince struggled through the intense craving his body had developed, and Moloch through his first dose of the poison. They were simply exhausted. Moloch blacked out before the sun rose and didn’t wake again until late afternoon.
Consciousness swirled into dreams and nightmares.
Moloch was running through the Strao Dunes, a Juxquinn twice his height on his heels. The sand was hot beneath his bare feet. The scorching sun was nearly unbearable, but he kept running. A hissing sounded from behind him, and the earth shook. He looked over his shoulder. The creature had jumped, and Moloch followed it as it soared overhead and landed on the other side of him. Moloch fell backwards as the Juxquinn loomed over him, its three tails, complete with stingers, twitching above its head. Monstrous black, beady eyes came close enough he could see his reflection in them. Its mouth was closed by a set of triangular pincers, and when the pincers opened up, they revealed rows and rows of teeth. Mouth open wide, it made a clicking sound in an unnatural rhythm that made Moloch’s skin crawl. He held up an arm and squeezed his eyes shut.
And then soft music was playing in the near distance. He opened his eyes to find himself in fine clothing, standing inside an ornately beautiful sanctuary. Junia stood opposite him, and an Oracle spoke a blessing of marriage over them. Light shone on Junia’s face. Her green eyes sparkled, and her smile gave Moloch a shiver of pure joy. He knew then that he had won. He would be the next Duke of Eunoya. He reached out to caress Junia’s cheek.
A hand slapped his away, and suddenly Moloch was no longer looking at Junia but at a dignified older man. It was Waen, his wife on his arm, and his children watching from a few paces away. Moloch begged for a little money, but he was met with only scorn. His clothes were ragged, and his stomach growled. He had failed. There was no title. His father had disowned him, just as Junia’s father had predicted. Now Moloch was a beggar, poor and alone and destitute. He laid down on the cobbled street and curled up in a ball as Waen walked away with all the things Moloch had ever wanted.
The cobblestones turned soft, and the daylight turned into dim lantern light. Moloch was in his own bed in Eunoya, and he was only a child. His mother was sitting on the edge of his bed, and she was reading to him. He squinted at the book, but couldn’t make out the golden embossed letters. His mother leaned over to show him an illustration which depicted the three Ancient Bridges.
“You’ll fail, my dear son,” she said, smiling.
Moloch reached for the book, but she slammed it shut. Moloch jumped, and he was pulled out of his dream state and back into reality.
He sat up, though his head was pounding, and looked around the room. The dreams echoed, like a ghost trying to be remembered. The last one of his mother pricked at Moloch’s deepest fear.
You’ll fail, my dear son…
A loud and long snore from Bram, asleep on the opposite sofa, drew Moloch’s attention. His mind was clearing, and he pushed away the dreams. He glanced around the room, but the prince was nowhere to be seen.
“Prince Durand?” he called out, nervous for a moment that the prince had strayed from their plan and gone out to confront his cousin.
“I’m here,” the prince came in from the bathing room with a basin of water and fresh towels. “I’ve been awake for a while. I washed up and thought you might need to wash your face once you came around.”
Moloch let himself slouch back onto the sofa and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said.
“No,” Prince Durand set the basin on the low table between the sofas with trembling hands. He looked weak, the circles under his eyes darker than ever. “Thank you. You’ve saved my life.”
“It will take a while for the poison to completely leave your system. But in time, you should begin to get better.”
“I believe you,” the prince said. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
“I do. You can back my plan to secure Ergonian borders.”
The prince sighed. “Lord Sarrem, my father will never allow it. He believes those Bridges are gifts from the Sustainer.”
“What if we convince him they’re not?”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet,” Moloch said. “Your father seems to have little appreciation for the Oracles. We could find one willing to cast doubt on the origin of the Bridges, but that wouldn’t do much good, would it?”
“No, I don’t think it would,” the prince said.
“So, we can’t use that angle tomorrow night.” Moloch sat back, the weight of the second dinner with King Gonnoss seeming too heavy. Moloch rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He sighed and looked at the prince. “Do you see the value in blowing the other two Bridges? How much simpler it would be to protect Ergon?”
The prince was silent for a moment. Then, he folded his arms and shook his head. “I see the practicality of it.”
“But you don’t like it?”
“No.” Prince Durand took a deep breath. “But I’m willing to consider it. I owe you
my life, after all. Speaking of which… have you heard of an Ergonian bloodbond?”
Moloch took half a step backward. “Y-yes, your majesty, but it is an honor I can’t—”
“No,” Prince Durand said. “I am bound to you in spirit because of what you’ve done. It is only right that we perform a bloodbond as well. It is our tradition.”
Moloch took a deep breath. “I… would be honored,” he said, unsure of exactly what was involved. He only knew that an Ergonian bloodbond created a familial connection, sort of like the Eikonian tradition of a Legacy Child except between brothers.
The prince walked over to an axe displayed on a nearby wall. “This has been in my family for generations. I keep it sharpened, practice with it… if I were to go to battle, this axe would go with me.” Prince Durand took the long handle with both hands and lifted it off the wall. He set it on its end, blade upward, between them. “It seems fitting that we use it in the ceremony.” The prince pricked his finger on one end of the double-bladed axe. “Now, you do the same.”
Moloch set his fingertip on the sharpened blade. It was cold to the touch and very sharp. It didn’t take much to prick his finger on the tip. The prince held up his finger, blood welling at the tiny wound.
“Touch your blood to mine,” he said.
Moloch did so, the warm substance slipping as he pressed his finger to Durand’s. His finger throbbed, but he kept it in place.
“May the Sustainer bear witness,” Prince Durand said. “You are my brother, and I yours. You have saved my life; our bloodbond will stand as my thanks.”
The prince closed his eyes for just a moment before letting his hand fall. “It is done,” he said.
Moloch didn’t know what to say. “I’m… honored.”
“You must have a plan going forward,” Durand said as he picked the axe up, wiped the blood off with the hem of his tunic, and put it back in its place on the wall. “Do I need to inform my father of what’s going on? I’ll follow your lead on this; I’m afraid my foresight has been blinded by my cousin’s treachery. All I want to do is split him with my axe.”