Blood of Jackals

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  “She told me the truth.”

  “Why did you not come to me?” Lilth intoned, psychically lifting Vialette in the air as a yellow glow surrounded both her and the porcelain figurine.

  “She said you would kill Derrick no matter what in the end.”

  Lilth smiled. “I guess she told you the truth after all.”

  At the barest lift of Lilth’s finger, the yellow light around Vialette and the figurine intensified. Vialette’s mouth opened in shock as she felt her awareness streaming toward the figurine. It was all over in a moment.

  Lilth Morays called for a servant.

  “Yes, m’Lady,” a young man said, his head bowed.

  “My niece has fallen ill,” Lilth said, pointing to Vialette’s body on the floor.

  The man looked down as if just seeing Vialette. “I’ll call a doctor, m’Lady.”

  “Good. Monitor her closely. She may need life support.”

  “As you command, m’Lady. Will there be anything else, m’Lady?”

  “Yes,” Lilth said, waving her hand vaguely. “That statuette on the table. Find a place for it somewhere. I do not care where.”

  “At once, m’Lady.” As the servant left with the porcelain image of Lilth’s goddaughter, another woman entered the room.

  “You called for me,” Hestori said, greeting Lilth with a respectful bow.

  “I trusted morons to watch Derrick,” Lilth said, tossing her hand in the air. “I cannot afford to trust them to find him.”

  “So Vialette knew nothing of any use?”

  “The soror-bitch told her only what she needed to know,” Lilth spat.

  “I see. We must deal with the truthseer from Valier later. In the meantime, are there to be any boundaries in our search for Lord Derrick?”

  Lilth knew what the other woman meant. “None. You have full sanction. Derrick must be back in our control, or dead.”

  “As you wish,” Hestori said with a bow.

  - - -

  Special Agent Jair Meres watched as Derrick, wrapped in a night cloak against the cold wind, stood up against the railing at the ship’s bow.

  It did not seem that long ago when Derrick, then heir to the throne, had visited a remote HOPIS field office and demanded to see a recently transferred junior agent barely a year out of the academy. Meres had learned a lot since that encounter. His mastery over the Disciplines had improved. Having the seal of royal favor, he had also been given several choice assignments, ones that not only honed his skills, but had also proved them. Meres’ career had been on the rise.

  But no more. Just when Meres had earned the freedom to pursue the cases that interested him, Derrick Possór had reentered his life. Only this time it was not as a noble, but as a fugitive, one that did not know who he was, and one that could not be safely returned until he did.

  Although the Disciplines no longer held the mystery they once did, Meres did not pretend to understand the how and why of Derrick’s situation. The psychic bar over his memory was clear enough. The difficulty of implanting a psychic homing beacon, while also protecting the identity of the planter, explained why Derrick’s captors had not already come to reclaim him.

  What Meres did not see was why he could not return Derrick to the Palace, or place him under the protection of the Holy Church. In that he had to trust the judgment of Soror Cathena Barell, the truthseer for the trial of Derrick’s father. According to her, no one connected to the government could know of Derrick’s location until he regained his memory. That included the Miran Church. It was an odd command from a sister in one of its Holy Orders, made more complicated by Meres’ belief that his selection for this task was not by chance.

  Prior to the trial, Meres’ knowledge of Seffan Possór’s guilt, coupled with Meres’ low proficiency in the Disciplines, had put his life in danger. The fear was that, through Meres, Soror Barell’s psychic vision would see incriminating events that would have otherwise remained hidden. The choice for those knowing the risk was either killing Meres, or letting him increase his psychic ability so he could shield himself from the truthseer’s vision. Derrick chose the latter. Yet now this truthseer from whom Meres had worked to keep himself obscured had picked him—of all the people on Legan—to come to Derrick’s aid. The implications were disquieting. More so, given that Meres had found himself quickly believing the young acolyte that Soror Barell had chosen to deliver her message.

  Take the ball and run. Then hide and wait.

  Agent Meres sighed. He would do as he was told. In time, Derrick’s memory would poke through the bar, hopefully without triggering any adverse surprises left by the person who created it. Meres only wished he knew how much time it would take. Sooner or later, Derrick would be found. And as Meres understood it, everything depended on Derrick recovering first.

  Meres stepped up behind Derrick, wondering at his silent thoughts.

  “I know she searches for me,” Derrick said evenly, watching the distant docks slowly became bigger as they approached. “The woman who imprisoned me.”

  “Lilth Morays,” Meres whispered, as if speaking her name too loud would summon her. He had heard stories about Dark Witches.

  “And not just her,” Derrick went on. “Other women. Other witches.”

  Meres shook himself of his fears. There was no point in letting doubt infect them both. “You’ll be ready when she finds you,” Meres replied easily.

  “You do not know that,” Derrick corrected as he turned to face him.

  “I will do everything I can to protect you,” Meres said, turning his surprise at Derrick’s reaction into determination. “We will see this through. Believe me.”

  “She is a killer of hope,” Derrick breathed, gazing at an unseen terrain.

  “Then you can borrow some of mine,” Meres said, putting a reassuring hand on Derrick’s shoulder. “I will not fail you.”

  Derrick bowed his head. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I believe you. But can you be so certain that I will not fail you?”

  - - -

  Jordan pretended to examine a new figurine in his sister’s salon as Lilth railed against First Advisor Sukain. The body was fine, if one like waifs, but the face was rather plain. Why make an image of a girl if she is not going to be in any way attractive? Jordan turned away, troubled more than he was willing to admit, and not knowing why his eyes had been drawn to the modestly decorative piece.

  He had thought little of Vialette, but after seeing her mindless body, one lesson was clear: Lilth did not tolerate betrayal from anyone. If she would sear Vialette’s mind for mere stupidity, what might Lilth do to one giving evidence against their cousin Seffan to the Imperials, letting Burin be killed for it, along with his son, and making his own secret deals with telling her?

  Jordan once more eyed the porcelain image.

  “And with Derrick’s escape,” Lilth said, pacing the room, “naturally the Consortium, Brotherhood and NDB have stepped-up their demands to see him.”

  “They smell blood,” Jordan replied, distancing himself from the statuette that he now found disturbing. “But they have no leverage…unless they find him first.”

  “I am not prepared to admit to losing him,” Lilth declared.

  “But if they already know—”

  “Come here, Melvy,” the child’s governess called from across the room. Catching the fleeing boy, the governess caught sight of Lilth Moray’s favorite pet. “Oh, look who is here, Melvy,” she said without enthusiasm. “It must be Muffy.”

  Jordan turned to where the governess pointed, and saw his sister’s fur-covered snake slither across the marble floor.

  “My, he’s big,” the governess remarked, glancing about worriedly.

  The snake came up to the child, flicked its tongue, and circled around the boy. The child laughed, petting the soft fur that covered the snake’s solid muscle.

  “Melvy and Muffy meet at last?” Jordan asked, glad for the distraction.

  “Yes,” Lilth replied, waving h
er hand dismissively. With the governess there, Lilth switched to telepathy. “How is HOPIS’ search for Derrick coming?”

  “HOPIS is still looking for both Derrick and Curin,” replied Jordan. “And they are looking for hostages, not for someone without any memory of who he is, and who is being helped by a friend or two. Of course, the NDB initiates are still playing along, not yet knowing that he is missing. By the way, how long will that mental bar you placed in him hold back his memory?”

  “We have time, but ultimately the bar will begin to fail. Pieces of his memory will return, until he reaches a point when the rest will just flood back to him.”

  With the snake now coiled around the giggling child, the governess pulled at the creature, refusing to let it tighten its hold. The snake gazed at the governess venomously. Another giggle was cut short as the snake opened its mouth to expose its large fangs and expel its foul breath in one slow rumbling exhalation. Fainting in the snake’s surging grip, the child went flaccid, flopping about wordlessly as the governess fought to unravel the beast.

  “Pity you cannot kill him now,” said Jordan, ignoring the nearby struggle.

  “I do not have that kind of implant in him,” Lilth said, visibly annoyed at the rising level of noise. The battle between the governess and the snake raged on as the child regained consciousness. “Anything like that would be traceable to me. The same for homing marker. If Derrick survives to get his memory back, he will not remember anything about us, and there will be nothing left lingering about to point in our direction. We have nothing to fear from that angle, at least.”

  Having threatened the snake with an improvised weapon, the governess freed the child sufficiently so he could breathe. His scream echoed off the walls.

  “What in Hell is going on?” Lilth demanded, turning toward the scream.

  Instantly the snake went limp in the governess’ arms, its tongue dangling from its open mouth. Seeing her pet’s motionless head hanging upside down in the woman’s grip, with her hold a weapon, no less, brought Lilth to her full fury.

  “What did you do?” Lilth demanded, her voice psychically shaking the room. As she advanced on the woman, an unseen force pushed furniture out of her way.

  “M’Lady,” the governess stammered. “It was hurting Melvy.”

  “Nonsense!” Lilth snapped. The snake’s tail twitched as its eyes remained closed. “Muffy was just playing with the child.” Lilth took the snake from the governess and cuddled it. Slowly the snake began to respond. “Such stupidity is outrageous!” The snake wavered its head about dizzily before draping itself over Lilth’s shoulder. “This creature is highly sensitive.”

  “I was only protecting the child, my Lady.”

  The snake tenderly opened and closed its mouth, as if testing its jaws.

  “There, there,” Lilth cooed, patting the snake gently. “It will be all right.” She turned to the governess. “You are lucky nothing serious happened, and that the child is here right now watching us. You are dismissed. Get out of my sight.”

  The governess curtsied to Lilth’s back. As she looked up, she saw the snake watching her as Lilth continued to pet it. To the woman, the snake sticking out its tongue in her direction was only the final insult. She left without further word.

  “Melvy,” Lilth said, “run along and go... play in the garden. Out that balcony. I need to feed Muffy, and make sure that mean woman did not hurt him.”

  “But...” the child began.

  “No buts. Run along.” Having no choice, the child obeyed.

  “The next governess should love beasts and children,” Jordan quipped.

  “The boy is old enough to handle himself without governess,” said Lilth. “It is time he learned about responsibility, and consequences.”

  “Survival of the fittest,” Jordan agreed, watching the child go to the garden.

  Melvinor looked up at the tall, thick plants of Lilth Moray’s favorite garden. Carefully stepping forward, the little boy’s breath halted as several plants slowly turned in his direction, with every appearance of looking at him expectantly.

  - - -

  Jair Meres approached the door and stopped. He could hear Derrick behind him, stepping to the side, away from where the door would open.

  Cautious, Meres thought, knowing Derrick had reason to be. The weight loss suffered during his captivity, along with his dyed and restyled hair, sufficiently disguised him for now, but Meres knew that eventually he would be recognized. He just hoped that it did not happen too soon.

  Meres knocked at the door. There was no answer. Following Derrick’s example, he moved to the side and knocked again.

  “A bit late for visitors,” said a young voice behind the door. “Who’s there?”

  Meres guessed that the voice was to the left of the door. That meant his mother was to the right, armed with a lasrifle. Meres smiled. He was home.

  “It’s me, Kaela,” Meres said. “Jair. Tell Mom to put the gun down.”

  Agnes Meres opened wide the door and rushed to embrace her son. Caught in his mother’s bearish hug, Meres nodded to his younger brother, Gawin, standing behind her. He too was armed. The boy smiled back.

  “Who’s your friend, Jair?” Kaela asked, her gaze lingering on Derrick.

  “He’s our cousiné Angren from Landover,” Meres replied, touching his mother’s hand and catching her eye meaningfully. “One of the Sean relatives.”

  “He looks a bit small to be a Sean,” Agnes Meres remarked, eying her oldest son. “They be having any problems we don’t know about?”

  “Work is scarce, but things should turn around. I just thought Angren might visit with us for a while until they do.”

  “Well you two come inside,” Agnes said, her left eyebrow raised at Jair. “No sense risking further exposure in this cold.”

  - - -

  X

  Having brought Derrick to the one safe place he knew, the Quetana outlands, Jair Meres ate hurriedly, hungry after their journey, but anxious to tell his mother about his “cousin” in private. He owed her that much, given the possible dangers.

  “So Angren,” Gawin said, sitting at the handmade wooden dining table as his brother and Derrick continued to eat. “What did you do in Landover?”

  “I was in civil service,” Derrick replied, drinking from a chipped cup.

  Gawin wrinkled his nose. “You mean a government chair-warmer, like Jair?”

  “Mind yourself, Gawin,” Agnes scolded. “Your brother does important work out there. I’m sure Angren does too. No doubt cities would sink without ‘em.”

  “Nothing Jair ever says sounds important,” said Gawin. “If you’re gonna work for those Possórs, you should at least carry a gun. And work for HOPIS: House Possór Internal Security.”

  Meres carefully lifted another mouthful of food to his lips.

  “Not everyone in HOPIS caries a lasgun,” Derrick said easily.

  Something caught in Meres’ throat.

  “Do you carry a lasgun, Angren?” Kaela asked, breaking her silent observation of Derrick. Derrick looked at Meres’ sister for a moment.

  “No,” Meres answered for him, taking a drink so he could speak more clearly. “And you shouldn’t either. I keep telling you, Ma, those things are illegal.”

  Having put away her lasrifle, Agnes Meres patted the right pocket of her dress. “There’s a reason why we live far away from Possór Palace. We have our own ways out here, and don’t impose on no one. Someone tries to steal from us, we shoot ‘em dead. Including government money sniffers. If you can’t defend yourself against a thief, you’ll have nothing protecting you but his mercy. People who are fine with that just figure that the bigger thief is the one on their side.”

  “Lasguns are still illegal, Ma.”

  “Being illegal doesn’t mean it’s bad. Often it just means some bastard with power doesn’t want you to have the kinda life that he’s got. The more government makes you helpless, the more you’re its prisoner.” The woman
paused, regarding Derrick carefully. “Whether it’s over lasguns or sit-on-your-arse subsidies,” she went on, “those Possórs want us to depend on them for everything. Out here, we depend on ourselves. We take from no one, and don’t let others take from us.” Agnes looked at Derrick again, but was surprised that he had no reaction to her politically charged words. Derrick only nodded respectfully. She glanced at Jair.

  “It’s wise to guard your personal views in a stranger’s house, Angren,” Agnes said. To Jair, she looked more intrigued by her guest’s lack of reaction than disappointed. “But we’re family. You don’t have to be so pent up.”

  “Government employees often have a different perspective, Ma,” said Jair.

  “One of protecting your job,” Agnes muttered. “At least you’re loyal, even if it is to the devil that pays you. But you both must be tired. Gawin, show Angren to Jair’s old room.”

  “That’s my room now, Ma,” Gawin said grudgingly.

  “Mind your manners, Gawin. Angren’s a guest. Kin too, I suppose.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble,” Derrick said, hesitantly rising from the table.

  “It’s no trouble,” Agnes replied. “Gawin can sleep on his old bed, and Jair can take the couch. Kaela, go get some fresh sheets for the bed.”

  “Alright,” Kaela said, nearly jumping from her chair. Agnes and Jair looked after her suspiciously.

  “Go ahead, Angren,” Agnes said. “We can talk further in the morning. Jair, come with me. There’s something in the barn I want to show you.”

  Agnes Meres rose, grabbed her patched coat from the rack by the door, put it on along with a headscarf and left. Jair was only a few steps behind, nodding to Derrick before leaving.

  -

  “So, what trouble have you brought us, Jair?” Agnes asked as they walked to the barn. Jair sighed, giving in to the inevitable.

  “You know who he is, don’t you Ma?”

  “Given what you do, and hearin’ of the kidnapping, it was an easy guess. And I’ve seen pictures of him. Did you snatch him yourself?”

  “No, Ma. I rescued him.”

  “Too bad. Snatchin’ him would’ve been more interesting. What’s wrong with him anyway? He didn’t even blink when I cursed the Possórs.”