(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters

by A. C. Ellas

  Tebber took a deep breath and tightened his grip. Jisten stroked Rak’s wings as he sang, keeping the Loftoni calm.

  “Easy cousin, this is for healing, not for hurting,” soothed Forael as his fingers drew near. “You must know that. Do not fight me like a frightened horse.”

  Rak shuddered. “ Com’do oper’non,” he gasped. His unreasoning terror had caused him to lapse into Zafirin slave cant.

  “Know that I am here to help you, just as you help your frightened animals,” Forael said and then he probed.

  Rak screamed, thrashed, and part of him reacted. Forael hated to see those beautiful wings flailing, even as they tried to bash him away. Jisten bravely refolded them to Rak’s back and held them there. Forael silently cursed the way of the world that destroyed those men who stood for what was right, whether they be House of Night or House of Day.

  “I’ll need to suture.” Forael ran his hand along Rak’s backside so as not to startle him with the needle. Rak hissed. Forael murmured, “Sorry cousin, but you will feel a little pinch.”

  Rak started to whimper again. “Do not, oper’non…” he pleaded, losing himself in the fear once more.

  Forael set his heart in stone, firmly grasped around the tear, and drove in the needle. Rak howled. Tebber was nearly thrown to the ceiling by Rak’s kick. Jisten was forced to abandon the wings to add his body weight to Rak’s legs. Forael stitched quickly, ducking beneath the renewed attack of the wings. In… out…knot. In…out…knot. Jisten and Tebber were being pummeled, but they held Rak down. Everyone studiously ignored Rak’s other reaction. After the third suture, Rak went limp, mercifully unconscious.

  Forael deftly tied the fifth and last knot, cut the suture and sagged back against the bathroom wall, drained. Tebber had a nice bruise purpling up on his cheek where Rak’s kick had smashed him into the rim of the tub.

  “Cover him and keep him warm. Blood loss makes one cold,” Forael advised.

  “Yes, Ylion,” said Tebber. He went into the bedroom to turn down the bed. Jisten wrapped a towel around Rak’s groin, picked him up and took him to the bedroom. He laid Rak in the bed and gently arranged the wings to his liking. He tucked the blankets in around the drowsing priest while Tebber stoked the fire in the fireplace. The room would be toasty in no time.

  When Forael came out of the bathroom, cleaned of all evidence, Tebber bowed. “Allow me to escort you home, Ylion.”

  Forael smiled and agreed. They walked out of the palace just in time to intercept the rescue party from the Sun Temple. But he did escape before the king arrived in Rak’s suite demanding to know what was going on.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Mai’eras

  “Dragons blasting down Sun Temples, sun priests invading the palace, Captain, please do tell me what is going on?” Owain looked at his Captain of the Guard with an air of expectation.

  Jisten snapped off a salute. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Your Majesty!”

  Owain stared at Jisten with great suspicion. “You consider this sort of thing ordinary?” “Yes, Your Majesty! No one was hurt. Your son’s dragon displayed not only his power, but his affection for Ylion Forael. Both work for your benefit, Sire.”

  “Yes,” mused Owain. “I am growing fond of that dragon. Do you think Araken will give me a ride sometime?”

  “Best to ask his dragon, sire. It is quite sentient,” Jisten advised. “The odds of Zotien and the Bitch making up their differences are higher,” muttered Scorth as he walked into the bedroom to check on Rak.

  “Ask the dragon?” Owain snorted. “Very funny, Captain.” “Your Majesty, perhaps you should let your son, the high priest, rest some more?” Jisten offered. Small chance of that, but he had to try.

  “He has duties, just like his brother. I expect both my sons at dinner tonight.”

  “You can’t make him attend dinner,” snapped Scorth.

  “Scorth,” Jisten whispered urgently, “He’s the king!”

  Owain gave Scorth a withering look. “Araken will be at dinner. Or else.” He nodded once and strode out.

  “Or else what?” growled Scorth. But the king was gone.

  “Please, Scorth,” Jisten whispermoaned. Scorth looked at Jisten. “The only way Rak will be attending dinner is if you get him up and dressed.”

  Jisten sat next to the sleeping Loftoni and his resolve failed him. “Let him sleep. I’ll tell the king something, anything, and take the punishment. He looks so tired.”

  “Dinner isn’t for another two hours,” said Scorth.

  “Good,” Jisten said, gaze glued on the sleeping form. Rak opened an eye and looked at him. “Cold,” he murmured, despite the heaped blankets and blazing fire in the hearth. Rak’s eye closed again. Jisten crawled under the covers and spooned with him.

  After a while, having noticed that Rak wasn't warming up like he should, Jisten felt Rak’s pulse then scooped the smaller man out from under the covers. He carried Rak into the parlor, and the better lighting enabled him to see the Loftoni’s paleness. Scorth looked up from his book.

  “I must take him to Clan Grandmother’s, the Mai’eras.” Jisten included the terms from both Koilathan and Valer for the dragon.

  Scorth shot to his feet and opened the door for them. The black man looked worried. “I can barely hear him. I thought it was the morphea.”

  “Come, Scorth. The Mai’eras has her own powers,” Jisten said. “And the best knowledge of Loftoni in Karpos City. Forael is too tired to heal him even through my sunset bridge. I don’t know if a lesser priest can utilize it.”

  “The roof?” asked Scorth.

  “Yes, best place. No guards there.” Jisten smoothed Rak’s wings. “Can you ask Morth to clear the hallways ahead of us?”

  The death hound wuffed from Jisten’s side and trotted on ahead. Muffled shrieks were heard ahead, but the path was clear when they arrived. Scorth chuckled as he opened the staircase door and gestured Jisten through.

  They looked around as they emerged on the roof to make certain they were alone. Once they determined that nobody else was present, Scorth immediately transformed. The leather harness was still on his draconic body.

  Jisten set down Rak gently and clambored on Scorth. Sure enough, the rope was there. He let it down, and then slid down Scorth’s side. He hefted Rak over his shoulder, murmuring apologies, and then climbed up Scorth’s side again, this time using the rope. Scorth helped as much as he could.

  On Scorth’s back, Jisten cradled Rak, almost frantic that the high priest hadn’t wakened, protested, or even moved during the jarring journey up the side of the dragon. Scorth caught his worry and powered straight up at his best speed. Jisten hung on to both Rak and the harness. It would have been a short flight under normal circumstances, and as it was, Scorth went straight up, tipped over, and went straight down onto the target he plucked from Jisten’s mind.

  The Valers showed no fear of the dragon, though their shouts and pointing fingers proved they’d seen him. Young boys were chasing chickens and goats out of the open square that was the heart of the Valer barrio. The dragon stooped on Valer square, pulling up at the last moment, landing heavily right before the door Jisten was focused on.

  Jisten slid down, high priest in his arms. The Valers ooohed at that. Then boys began offering goats and chickens to the dragon. Scorth watched Jisten anxiously. Do I need to transform? Do I need to come in? He ate a few whole chickens to appease the boys who chased them right under his snout.

  “Stay in draconic form,” Jisten advised. “Safer from attack. The Valers can’t fend off guards or sun priests.”

  Scorth shook out his wings and coiled his tail around his legs and proceeded to look fierce, which didn’t stop the goat and chicken offerings. You can count on me, Scorth told Jisten as he ate a goat.

  The Mai’eras opened her door. Her bright eyes looked at Scorth, then at Jisten, and then at Rak.

  “Mai’eras, I bring S’Rak, High Priest of the Thezi sect under Lord Zotien. He was injured. Ylion Fora
el sutured him using me as a sunset bridge, but now he’s in shock and I didn’t know where else to go. The Ylion is exhausted.” Jisten gazed at her with trust and hope.

  “No want blast in Sun Temple, eh? Only highest sun priest manage sunset bridge.” Asfalea waved her carved walking stick at Jisten. “Inside! Inside!”

  Jisten carried the injured man into the lopsided cottage. The old lady pointed to a couch. Jisten sat on it and kept Rak on his lap. Asfalea nodded in approval, set down her walking stick, and stood over the two. As she was extremely short, she could reach Rak easily. Her gnarled hands were gentle as she ran them over the high priest. She stopped over Rak’s belly, made noise, and then moved on.

  “What? What is it, Mai’eras? Why did you make that noise?” Jisten asked, rapid fire. Rak stiffened and buried his face against Jisten’s tunic. “You know what it is? What is it then? Will he be all right? Can you help him?” Jisten continued, half asking Rak and half asking the old lady.

  “No know?” Asfalea asked, her bright button eyes fastening on Jisten.

  Rak’s fingers gripped Jisten’s uniform jacket, knuckles white. “Know what? Do I have to tell you what happened?” Jisten blushed. “Do you need details?”

  “You dare give child to sacred kironi?” She whacked him on the head with the staff.

  “Ow! Child? What?” Jisten cringed and held his bruised head.

  “You shame your clan!”

  Jisten’s face blanched. “I have. I didn’t protect S’Rak.” “Go to hearth,” Asfalea told Jisten. She chanted something low, deep, and threatening.

  Rak focused as she chanted. “Stop!”

  Asfalea stopped obediently. “Yes, High Priest? You wish revenge?” “My Valer did not hurt me. Only helped me. Jisten did not do this.” Rak touched his belly, flushing.

  “Jisten no make baby, who then?” Asfalea asked.

  “Baby?” Jisten asked in a small voice. He tightened his grip on Rak. Asfalea whacked Jisten again, but lightly. “No know sacred kironi! Bah!” She muttered darkly about lost knowledge in the present generation.

  Rak froze again and made a small noise deep in his throat. “I…I remember fire and pain and light, but not that. Not that,” he whispered.

  “I tell, if want,” Asfalea said. “Si’Yeni always tell sire. But heal first. Then talk.” She continued her exam from the belly onwards.

  She clucked when she reached Rak’s groin. She slid her hands around back to his buttocks. She cursed in Valer.

  “Can you help him, Mai’eras?” Jisten looked up at her, trying to impress his own sense of urgency on her.

  “Need power,” the old woman muttered. She shuffled away, toward the hearth.

  From a back room, a middle aged woman shooed out a young apprentice with wide green eyes. “I will help, Mai’eras,” Elenna said. She had wide matronly hips, with the pleasant plumpness of a mother and the calmness of the same.

  “Grain, wine,” Asfalea ordered. “Not bad enough for greater summoning. Lesser enough.” She threw something into the fire on the hearth. A sunset flared up inside the stone hearth and she sang to it, crooning in her old lady voice. Elenna bustled back with the items in her hand.

  “Grain, for family,” Asfalea said and threw the grain into the sunset on the hearth “Wine, for joy in night,” she said and poured the wine into the fire. The offering was consumed and glowing power visibly infused into her tiny frame. “Now can heal.” Asfalea stood over Rak and laid her now flawless hands on him. She began to sing a lullaby.

  * * * * Healing warmth flowed from Asfalea’s hands. They were the loving hands of Drespel, of Tyll, of Ave, of his children. The hands stroked him and healed his hurts, and Rak’s eyes opened and he focused on the priestess. He remained still until her healing was done.

  Asfalea staggered back and Elenna guided her to the intricately carved chair with the black and tan embroidered seat.

  “Who is guarding Jethain?” asked Rak as he stabilized.

  “Sedrael and Orste. They’re good men.” Jisten stroked Rak’s wings. “They can stop Murson?” “Senior sun priest Murson?” Jisten asked. “They’ll let him right in!” He reflexively clasped Rak to him as he sat straight up in alarm.

  Rak tried to sit up himself. “He will kill Jethain. We must go and stop him.”

  “There is no we about this,” Jisten said.

  Rak yawned. “Okay, you stay here and I will go. Where did I leave my boots?” “At the palace,” said Jisten. “I didn’t stop to change you out of your sleeping robe before I carried you here. I have to warn Sedrael and Orste.” His voice was heavy with regret as he slid Rak off his lap.

  “Send a mastigi,” said Rak. “Message.” Trelo crawled out of Rak’s hood and clicked. Once the message was winging towards the palace, Asfalea cleared her throat, drawing their attention.

  “Baby sire also named Murson,” Asfalea said and frowned. “Same Murson sun priest?”

  Rak blanched. “Thatvlakas! Kåratånio! Blast him to the abyss!” “Rapist is viaotys,” Asfalea said, proving that she knew some of the ancient tongue. “Si’Yeni’s deepest hell for rapists.”

  “But why?” asked Rak. “Why would he do this to me?” The old lady chewed her lip. “High Priest know. Murson not what look like. Monster wear sun robes.”

  Rak focused on her again. “What do you mean? Evil can wear any color.”

  “Sun priest no touch high priest of night, eh?”

  Rak hissed out a breath. “Ix. Sun priests cannot touch me.” Asfalea nodded and Jisten looked between the two. “How can he be an imposter? He works with Forael!” Jisten said. “He has to have some kind of power.”

  “Chaos mage,” whispered Rak, remembering what he’d been forced to forget. “They excel at mimicry.”

  “Chaos?! But…” Jisten fell silent. “There’s been too much of that lately. How long until you can kill him?”

  “Three of your months,” said Rak. “Until then, Forael cannot know. He would be forced to act if he knew.”

  Jisten took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then slowly blew it out. “I think he deserves a discreet warning, with the reason why he can’t kill Murson. He would delay revenge for your life, S’Rak. In the meantime, hecan take measures to limit Murson’s involvement in the Sun Temple. And… scorch it! Murson’s the Senior sun priest assigned to the palace!”

  “You are right. I would do my cousin a disservice by keeping the truth from him. We will have to work harder to protect the prince from him. Thus far, we have not done very well.”

  “High Priest, perform Zotien rites here, please after sunset rites? We honor you, Zotien, you feel better?” Asfalea asked and Rak found three sets of light eyes watching anxiously for his response.

  “I would be honored,” said Rak, suddenly happy. He was delighted to find people here who actually wanted his rites.

  “Ritsa help you!” Asfalea pointed her stick at her young apprentice still peeking in the window. “Get whatever high priest want.”

  Rak sat up, looking around a little. “Where will I set the altar, Dhelion?” he asked politely.

  “Across from hearth,” Asfalea said. “Unless cheeky enough to put next to!” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Zotien does not stand opposite the Lady of Sunset,” Rak replied solemnly. “And there is just enough room beside that hearth.”

  Asfalea smiled as he passed her test. “Yes, you true high priest.” Elenna held out a flask of oil to Jisten. The captain uncapped the oil and the warm, reassuring scent of amber wafted over. Rak looked at the oil, and then at Jisten.

  “May I?” Jisten asked humbly. “Wings?” Rak nodded and Jisten tipped the oil into his palm. He pocketed the vial and then warmed the oil with both hands. His palms touched Rak’s wingbases and spread outward.

  Rak relaxed into Jisten bonelessly, submitting to the wing oiling with a deep feeling and a sigh of contentment. The warmth and adoration rolling off the captain into him was unreal, but Rak so desperately needed it tha
t he didn’t question it.

  Asfalea leaned against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. She was asleep in seconds. Rak was also feeling the drain of the healing but fighting it.

  “Please, High Priest, you need rest,” Elenna said. “Jisten, put him in the guest room.” Jisten stood and carried Rak into the small room. He placed Rak in the bed by lying down with him, still stroking those marvelous wings. Elenna covered them with a black and tan quilt.

  Rak stroked the quilt. “Beautiful,” he murmured. He was completely distracted by the geometric pattern and the feel of Jisten’s hands on his wings.

  “It’s yours, High Priest. Sleep well and dream the best dreams of the Lord of Night,” she said, gave Jisten a significant glance, and slipped out, closing the door.

  Rak whispered, “Hold me, please.” Jisten gathered Rak into his arms and the high priest fell asleep. Once Trelo returned with the confirmatory message from Sedrael in his distinctive scrawl, Jisten joined Rak in sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen: Valer Square

  Rumor flew faster than a scalded dragon. Within an hour, Despina learned that her Jisten had been claimed by the high priest Loftoni. Rumor said that the Loftoni was at Asfalea’s, and that the Loftoni had been horribly hurt somehow, but not by Jisten.

  Despina made the chicken soup that had restorative properties and the pastina in its blandest form. She retrieved the precious hard cheese from the cheese cellar to increase flavor, if S’Rak could tolerate it. She whispered the proper prayers over both dishes, mentioning that the victim was Loftoni.

  * * * * As fas as Asflaea knew, Rak still slept in the small guest bedroom, curled beneath a black and tan patterned quilt. Elenna was teaching Ritsa weaving on the hand held apprentice loom, to keep the house quiet. When she'd gone outside to harvest herbs from her garden, she'd seen that the black dragon had relocated to the roof of her cottage to enjoy the late afternoon sun. Splayed out, with his wings spread, he made a very odd sight.