by Brian Fuller
Breathing deeply, he grabbed the two iron rings bolted into the doors and pushed. The hallway behind was empty save for a single figure who Gen scarce had time to recognize before a crushing scream only he could hear tore through his mind, ruining the spell he had ready. His attacker smirked at him as he fell to his knees in pain.
“Cute,” Padra Athan mocked, and Gen knew no more.
Chapter 65 - Blood Magic
“Are you sure you broke all the seals?” Athan asked a drawn Padra Nolan. Padra Nolan removed his hands from Gen’s head and walked unsteadily toward a pitcher of wine and a goblet laid out on a small, darkly stained table.
“I believe so. It is amazing the amount of information Mikkik packed away in his mind. The blood magic that Aldemar alluded to in his documents was gifted to Gen, as well. It is an odd form of magic, and corrupt, but what Gen needs to know for bringing Chertanne back is there. In fact, you could perform the ritual if you had time to learn it. I am shaken, Athan, shaken and scared.”
“What frightens you, Nolan?”
“The learning Mikkik bestowed upon Gen has revealed to me more plainly than any other study I have done the dark and devious nature of our common foe. But more particularly, by having the seals broken, Gen now possesses terrible knowledge to accompany his power, spells that far eclipse anything Chertanne was ever taught. I am scared to awaken this young man. If it weren’t for the necessity of Chertanne’s revival, I would kill him now.”
Athan nodded gravely, rubbing his chin. “Fortunately, Trys will not wax full for a few more months, and his power will be limited. The Chalaine will act as our check against whatever retribution he wishes to exact upon us.”
Nolan rubbed his eyes. “He does possess strong feelings for her, but are you sure it is safe to put her and the Child in her belly in the same room with him? What if there was something I missed? Some hidden command?”
“It is a risk we must take,” Athan said. “For the magic to work, the one bled must be willing, and she is the only one he will listen to. Do not fear. He prizes and honors her above all and surely would have killed her long before now if Mikkik controlled him. But I agree that he should be destroyed. If what you say is true, I cannot honor my bargain with the Chalaine. Once the ceremony is done, we will rake his mind thoroughly one last time and kill him.”
“That is wise," Padra Nolan agreed. "I would like to write down what I have learned while it is fresh.” He turned to leave.
“Yes, but one last question,” Athan said. “Are you sure that Millim Eri sealed Mikkik’s training from him?”
“I am positive. There were two—a male and a female—that watched over him during his youth and adolescence. They appeared directly after every one of Joranne’s sessions and blacked them out of his mind. With the Chalaine’s revelation about Aldemar still walking Ki’Hal, it is time to rewrite some doctrine as it concerns the Millim Eri surviving the Shattering.”
“Indeed. You may go. Send in the Chalaine.”
Padra Nolan cracked the door, revealing the Chalaine pacing in the hallway outside. As soon as the door swung open, she stepped past the genuflecting Padra Nolan before he could straighten and invite her to step inside the small room. Gen lay unconscious on a small pallet, and the Chalaine inspected him carefully, filling her eyes with his familiar form. She could find no injury upon him, and she tried to be as clinical and calm as she could, not wanting to show Padra Athan how desperately excited she was.
Gen breathed in and out comfortably. He wore traveling clothes, his face shaven and hair cropped neatly. The Chalaine choked back tears, and, noticing Athan’s watchful stare, steeled herself quickly.
She cleared her throat. “You cleaned him up.”
“Yes,” Athan confirmed, stepping forward to shut the door. “He and his companions arrived looking little better than slave beggars. “
“What did you do with Volney and Gerand?”
“They are resting comfortably in a cell with their fellow Dark Guard.”
“Then if you would kindly wake him and step out,” the Chalaine said, “I will be true to my commitment to convince him to aid us.”
“I will not leave, Chalaine.”
“But I said. . .”
Athan stepped forward. “I know what you said, Highness, and I did not agree to it. I must remain here and addle his mind sufficiently so that he cannot work his magic again, lest he conjure a way to escape and start another bloodbath in the Keep. I don’t expect you to like it, but those are my conditions.”
“He is strong-minded, Athan. He thinks you’ve tortured me these past weeks. Are you sure you want to risk it?”
She knew it a desperate argument, but she had to confess her love to him before the secrecy drove her mad. With Chertanne dead, the guilt she felt over her feelings for her Protector had dissolved into the winter wind. He had to know, but she would not speak of it with Athan in the room.
“I am confident in my skill, my Queen,” Athan pronounced expressionlessly. “Please prepare your arguments well. His mind will be impaired, so keep your speech and questions simple. Remember, he must accept with an oath.”
Athan stepped to a corner outside Gen’s field of vision and incanted. Gen’s eyes popped open. Immediately the Chalaine could discern the effects of the spell. His green eyes that had always shone with nobility and intelligence were dimmed and cloudy. It required several seconds for him to recognize his companion, and when he did, he smiled drunkenly, his hand flopping tentatively for hers.
“Chalaine,” he intoned pleasantly. “Did you bring the cards? I’ve come all this way for a game.”
Her tears came freely now, and she rubbed his hand and arm briskly, hoping the friction would polish some clarity into his eyes. “No cards today, Gen. Listen carefully. Do you know about Chertanne?”
“Yes. Good old Jaron. Good man, that one. Happier days for you, then? I bet Dason is pleased, eh?”
The Chalaine bit her lip at his implication and tumbled on. “Gen, the Padras say you can bring Chertanne back to life.”
He laughed, and when he talked, the words came slowly and a little slurred. “Like anyone wants to. No one knows how to do that. . . Do they?”
His eyes widened and rolled about questioningly for several long moments. “I . . . I know how to do it. . . I know. . . horror upon horror!”
He pulled his arm away and convulsed, falling from the palette. Padra Athan incanted again, and Gen fell back into a sleep. The Chalaine knelt beside him as he twitched uncomfortably.
“What is he talking about?” the Chalaine demanded, noticing Athan’s troubled look.
“He is coming to grips with Mikkik’s training. I underestimated the effect it would have upon him. I will try to calm him.”
The Chalaine watched Gen’s face, his eyes convulsing behind his eyelids. “Mikkik’s training?”
“Mikkik taught Gen many things that the Millim Eri hid from him. Of a necessity, we had to reveal them to him.”
“So you admit, then, that Gen was not complicit with Mikkik when he attempted to kill Chertanne in Elde Luri Mora?”
Athan shrugged. “Perhaps not consciously. But we’ve no time to be pedantic about this. One moment and I will wake him again.”
When Gen opened his eyes again, he lay perfectly still, eyes open, face bewildered, ashen, and lost, like a drowned man staring up out of the water. The Chalaine stroked his face gently, trying to comfort him, but his terror and stupor diverted his attention inward, and several minutes passed before his eyes finally found hers, now filled with sadness and concern.
“Gen. . .”
“Do you want me to do this, Chalaine?” he groaned. “Do you want me to help you bring Chertanne back to this world, to be its King and your husband?”
She couldn’t tell the truth, and she didn’t have the heart to say yes, so she chose something in between. “It must be done, for the sake of the prophecy. You must swear to it. The lives of us all are at stake.”
“Then I will do it, for your sake. I swear.”
Before she could utter another word, Athan incanted and Gen fell back into slumber. She grabbed his hand fiercely and pressed it to her cheek as the tears ran unseen down her veiled face. Frustration and self-loathing smothered her, and she fought to breathe.
“Well done, your Highness,” Athan complimented her smoothly. “We will begin immediately. I will keep him asleep during the bleeding. When it comes time, I will of necessity need to allow Gen his full faculties. When he performs the ceremony, no one is to be in the room with him save Chertanne. Wait here a moment while we clear a section of the lower prison. Guards! Take Gen below. I will retrieve the Chalaine personally in a few minutes.”
Two burly Eldephaere grabbed Gen under the armpits and dragged him indecorously from the room. The Chalaine sat on the palette where Gen had lain and put her head in her hands. Gen had no future now, and for all her thinking she could find no scheme or leverage to employ to win his freedom or even his life. Athan held complete control, and with her mother imprisoned and herself restricted to her room, there was no influence she could bring to bear to manipulate the inevitable path before her. She prayed to her God and hoped he would find some way to see Gen through whatever Athan held in store.
The Padra did not tarry for long, opening the chamber door and signaling for her to follow. She smoothed her dress as she crossed through the open door and down a gray spiraling stairway discolored black and green by moisture and mold. The scent of mildew and uncleanness spun her head, the enclosed space upsetting her frayed nerves. Rats screeched as soldiers ahead of her kicked them down the stairs or crushed them outright.
After several turns, the stairs terminated on a small landing. Directly in front of them was a heavy wooden door with a set of small bars affixed in a square at head height. To their left, another stairway, even narrower than the one they had just descended, dropped off into the dark, moans and sobs ascending from it as if the prison below were the belly of some beast slowly digesting its victims.
“This place is not humane!” the Chalaine exclaimed as a whimper of terror greeted them from below. “Please tell me you do not have my mother in this place!”
“Open the door,” Athan commanded the Eldephaere, ignoring the Chalaine’s question. The door shrieked open, and Athan followed her inside. From appearances, the room was used for storage. Barrels and sacks had been shoved to the side to make room for a massive cauldron. A single lantern atop a pile of grain sacks glowed dimly, and the Chalaine felt like a thief meeting someone surreptitiously in some dark place to divide ill-gotten spoils. Gen lay in a heap on the floor, guarded by two Eldephaere.
“Take three of the barrels and place them in a line next to the cauldron,” Athan commanded. “Lay Gen on them and hang his arm over the cauldron.” This was done quickly. Two other Padras joined Athan as he removed a thin-bladed knife from his robes. The Chalaine swallowed hard.
“Come near him, Chalaine. Whatever the cost, do not let him die. Do you understand?”
She nodded her head in acknowledgment but felt fearful. Usually, she could tell when someone neared death by touching them, but touching Gen would heal him prematurely. She had to rely on sight and sound, and she feared her own inexperience might kill him. Before she could think about it, Athan slashed Gen’s wrist, blood spurting into the cauldron. Thanks to Athan’s magic, Gen did not twitch or cry out, though she knew even awake he would have shown no reaction. As for herself, her stomach lurched, and it felt as if her knees might buckle at any moment.
Walking carefully forward, she put her face close to his so she could see it more clearly and watch the rise and fall of his chest. Time crawled by haltingly on broken legs, discomfort and disgust apparent on every face. Slowly Gen’s face paled. His breathing slowed, and the blood pulsed more and more weakly from his wrist. As his breath grew ragged, she healed him, health and color returning a warmth to his marble white features.
“Six more,”Athan announced gravely, slashing Gen again. The Chalaine closed her eyes and groaned inwardly as the blood ran into the cauldron, the drips echoing uncomfortably in the small room. By the time they finished the fourth bleeding, the Chalaine’s head throbbed from the intense concentration.
“I need rest before I can continue,” she complained. “I need fresh air and some refreshment.” Athan measured her up for a moment and then acquiesced.
“Take her to her quarters for half an hour. I will stay with the blood.”
Emerging from the dismal pit of the dungeon and into the comparatively well-lit confines of her room eased the constriction squeezing her chest and mellowed the headache. She threw herself down on her bed and exhaled to expel the tension.
She did not want to brood anymore on the impossibility of freeing Gen, and she quashed the tears threatening to well in her eyes. Flutterings in her belly, growing stronger by the day, distracted her, and she was reminded that within the confines of her womb grew the object worthy of sacrifice. She had hoped that if any sacrifice were needed, it would be her own life and not those whom she counted so dear.
A timid knock at the door brought her to her elbows. “Come in.”
A waif of a girl, no older than twelve, entered, carrying a plate of dried apples and cheese in one hand and in the other a goblet of wine. The door shut behind her and the Chalaine waived her over, signaling for the girl to place the tray on the small table near the bed.
“What is your name?”
“Rena,” she answered with a curtsy, voice nasal and high.
“Thank you, Rena.”
“You are welcome, Lady Khairn,” she replied, and the Chalaine paused. Am I still Lady Khairn? She rarely saw anyone, and everyone she did see called her Chalaine, even Athan. It was as if even those committed to the idea of her marriage could not, deep down, think of her as Chertanne’s wife. And yet this very day she was taking part in a scheme that risked the life of the man whose name she would wear proudly for the sake of one whose name had already worn off.
“Are you well, Milady?”
“Yes, yes,” the Chalaine answered, emerging from her stupor. “I am sorry. Thank you again for the food. I will be finished and gone in half an hour. You can return for everything then.”
The Chalaine wanted to remove her veil to eat, but her young servant stood fidgeting nervously. “Are you sure there is nothing else you require?” Rena inquired, voice desperate.
“I do not. . .” Then the Chalaine saw it, the servant’s veil pitched slightly to the left. Rena had a message. “Now that you mention it, I wonder if you might brush my hair? It is a bit tangled, and I find it soothing.”
Rena relaxed. “I would happy to, Lady Khairn.”
“Please, call me Chalaine.”
“As you wish,” Rena said, pleased. The Chalaine removed her veil and chewed on a leathery apple slice while she waited for Rena to stop gawking. Once Rena began, the Chalaine focused, waiting for the girl to begin the conversation that would contain the indirect message.
“Do you and your mother look much alike?” she asked.
So the message is from my mother.
“I believe so, though I have always thought she had an elegance that I do not.”
The girl said, “I am sure she is thinking about you, wherever she is. She did arrive with you, did she not, along with several of your guards?”
“Yes, though I have not seen her or them since. I wish I could see them.”
“I imagine so.”
“I fear for their health and safety,” the Chalaine said. “I think the Padras locked them up in the miserable dungeon they have in the bottom of this place.”
“Well, if they did, then they all probably sit around and wonder if you’re being treated well, since they wouldn’t get any news of you down there.”
Does that mean they are all in the same place? the Chalaine wondered. If true, it would be good news.
“I think they know that I have to be well taken care of. I am car
rying Eldaloth within me, after all.”
“Of course,” Rena agreed. The Chalaine ate quickly as Rena remained silent. Was that the extent of the message? Was there no more?
Rena alleviated her worry and spoke again. “I do not wish to offend you, Chalaine, but I have heard so many stories about the man Gen. Are they true?”
“I would have to know what stories you refer to.”
Rena swallowed. The Chalaine could sense the confusion and difficulty in her voice. “Is it true he came here looking for you?”
“Yes.”
“Were your frightened? He is the Ilch.”
“I would never be frightened of Gen. He is not the Ilch. He is my loyal servant, and I care for him deeply. He would no more harm me than he would harm you or any other innocent creature. He has saved me so many times and in so many ways, I could never repay the debt.”
Rena breathed more easily, though the Chalaine could not tell if her next question was part of the message or part of her curiosity.
“Well, I heard that your mother is very fond of him and worries about him continually.”
“That is true. She loves him as much as I do.”
“I apologize for asking such sensitive questions. It is not my business.”
“No need to apologize.”
More silence ensued. Rena continued working at the Chalaine’s hair, using the pause in the conversation as a transition.
“Did you know that Ironkeep has many Portals within it?” Rena asked a couple of minutes later.
“I had heard that.”
“They are all over. There are some that haven’t even been discovered. I’ve never been through a Portal. Is it really as sickening as they say?”
“The first few times, yes,” the Chalaine explained, wondering where this was going. “Though you get used to it.”