Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  Shaking the sting from their hands, both men stumbled back in disbelief. They had heard the stories, even lived with this girl for some time now, but this was the first time they had witnessed her raw ability with their own eyes. It was unreal.

  Seeing a clear opening, Salina came up fast from behind. Viola’s ability was astonishing, but she didn’t have eyes in the back of her head. I’m sorry, Salina thought, her slashing sword already in motion. Just following orders. The healers will wake you in just a few moments.

  With the soaring weapon only inches away from the side of her head, Viola’s body seemed to explode in a blur of black. Scattered flesh whirled about like dark ribbons caught in the wind. Salina’s weapon passed harmlessly right through the living tornado. Pieces of scattered flesh melded together to form a funnel of cawing black birds. The funnel drifted back towards Salina, engulfing her completely. She screamed, dropping her weapon and covering her head. Birds screeched in her ears, their beating wings flapping against her head and arms.

  The living tornado drifted right through her before liquid black reshaped itself just behind her back. Salina turned just as two flesh blades crossed her neck, Viola staring her right into her eyes. “Yield,” Viola ordered. Like liquid metal, the flesh blades melted down as they reshaped into arms once more. Salina blew out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding, hands rising to cover her neck. Viola could have killed her easily had she chose to.

  “Relax,” said Viola, her smile disarming, a familiar twinkle in those red eyes. “You know I would never hurt you.”

  Feeling faint, Salina dropped a hand to her knee. “So the rumors are true,” she said, unable to catch her breath. “You are everything they say and more.”

  Viola shrugged, not really sure how to respond. It felt strange to expose herself like this, even if she did consider them friends. After this display, it was likely they would never look at her the same way. But there was nothing she could do about that now. Morphing her body into a cone of birds had never been difficult for her. She had been able to do that for as long as she could remember. But the flesh blades frightened her as much as they did anyone else. Sometimes it had just happened, usually when she felt scared or threatened. It was more a reaction than anything else, much like a blink or flinch. Now she could do it as easily as opening or closing her hand.

  But despite all she had suffered through, there was one change Viola was truly grateful for. She no longer suffered from the thirst. Even now with the collar’s shielding abilities lowered by Diovok so she could practice at full strength, she had no cravings for human blood. That alone made her want to sing. It made all the pain and torment seem worth it. She was no longer a danger to humans, and no longer a danger to Xavier. Although it was probably the side effect deemed least important by her captors—they really just wanted her to have total control of her body, to become a weapon with no limitations—it was a special gift to her. Odd to feel gratitude towards those who had made her suffer so.

  Viola looked up to the sound of clapping coming from above. “Excellent!” Kuuma called down. “Such grace, such power. Dare I say you are even more deadly than the other one? My dear, you have no limits! The king will be most pleased at your progress.” Still clapping slowly, he turned his attention towards Ozryn. “And you have done a fine job with this bunch. Your reputation precedes you, Ozryn.” Ozryn bowed his head in acknowledgment, but said nothing.

  “All of you have come into your own,” Kuuma continued. “I see no reason to delay your futures any longer. The city of Shadowfen has been denied your talents long enough. My children, it is time!”

  *

  The barkeep wiped his rag in circles along the bar, mopping up wet rings left behind by careless customers. Carefully, he washed around the unconscious boy, head down in the crook of his arm. He had been there for some time now and hadn’t stirred in quite a while. “Hey lad,” he said, touching Xavier on the shoulder. “Son, I think it might be time for you to go home.”

  When he didn’t move, the barkeep just sighed and shook his head. So young. What could have possibly happened to this boy that made him want to drink himself into a stupor every night? But the barkeep suspected the answer. The man was no fool and had once been Xavier’s age. Expecting no response, he leaned down on his forearms and whispered to Xavier. “When you wake up, boy, you’ll have to tell me her name.” He patted Xavier on the shoulder again. “Only a woman could have done this to you.” He carefully removed a half-full mug from Xavier’s loose grasp and set it under the bar.

  The barkeep turned at the sound of the tiny bell just over the door. There stood a royal courier. His suit was red and gold with an image of a black raven embroidered on his chest. With numerous paper rolls tucked under his arm, he marched right up to the barkeep and handed him one. The courier clicked his heels and spun about, then headed right back the way he came. The barkeep was used to their odd behavior. These royal couriers were not allowed to speak with anyone when they went door to door, handing out posters featuring the city’s latest news and events.

  The barkeep unrolled the poster and clicked his tongue. With a shrug, he reached under the bar and retrieved a hammer and two nails. Trying his best to be quiet, the light tapping still managed to rouse Xavier from his drunken sleep.

  With heavy eyelids, Xavier squinted to see the source of this disturbance. His head pounding, the room spinning, he wanted nothing more than to just throw up and go back to sleep. Blurred vision focused on the paper as the barkeep tapped the second nail on the bottom portion to keep it from rolling back up. After a few blinks, the double images blurred together as one. He blinked again, not sure he believed what he was seeing.

  “No,” Xavier whispered to himself. “No, no, no,” he repeated, louder this time.

  “Ah, I see you’re up at last,” the barkeep said, giving the nail one last tap. “Why don’t you head on home, lad? Sleep it off and I’m sure you’ll feel better in the mor— ” Xavier hopped up over the bar and ripped the poster right off the wall. “Hey!” the man called, watching helplessly as the young man stormed from the tavern, the crumpled paper clutched in his hand.

  Xavier stumbled drunkenly through the streets. The dark sky flashed, followed by a low, rolling rumble. Seconds later the rain came, heavy drops that sent people scattering into shops for cover. Rain peppering his face, he tripped repeatedly while trying to make his way through the downpour. Seeking relief from the sky’s onslaught, he staggered around a corner and into an alley. He was still getting wet, but here at least he was somewhat sheltered from the driving winds. It had gotten bad in a hurry.

  Wiping rainwater from his eyes, he suddenly realized where he was. Whether by chance or by some unexplained pull from the back of his mind, he had stumbled right into the alley where he had last seen Viola as a free woman. Goodbye, Xavier... He could still hear her fitting last words to him. It really had been goodbye.

  Xavier reached out, his hand swiping at her ghostly image as he tried to grab her, tried to hold her memory before she leaped from his life. If he had just been faster... If he had just recognized the pain in her eyes... If only he had known what she was thinking, he could have stopped her before—

  He glanced down at the poster in his hand, then crumpled it in a fist. Raising his fist to his forehead, he began to weep. I failed you. I’m so, so sorry. His sobs intensified as all the pain he kept bottled up inside came rushing out in a flood of unbearable sadness. Even the steady flow of liquor could no longer subdue his agony. Sobs turned into wailing as he released his torment the only way he could. Drink could no longer contain these demons. He had to face them head on, or be consumed by them.

  Back against the stone wall, he slid down until he was seated in the mud. Rain came down hard, pelting his head and shoulders. He blew out a deep breath, finding some level of composure at last now that the breakdown had played itself out. Xavier looked to the sky, the large droplets of rain coming straight at him, giving the illusion that he
was falling up into the clouds. A part of him wished he would.

  “I failed you,” he said out loud. “And since that day I have been lost without you. I cannot go back in time, and I cannot change what has happened. But I’m done feeling sorry for myself. I failed you once, and it will not happen again.”

  *

  Back at the inn, the others were spread around the room busying themselves with various tasks. Thatra and Assirra sat in the corner, comparing one set of notes to the next. Information gathered by Liam did not always match up with what Owen had uncovered. Their job was to find the similarities and jot those down as being most probable.

  Although Jarlen had spent considerable time in the pit, he had always been contained to the same small chamber. Having seen little, he couldn’t be of much use here.

  Liam and Owen stood in the far corner eyeing several maps of what the pit’s corridors might indeed look like. Some of these crude maps were drawn by drunken soldiers, eager to please Liam so they could get back to drinking. Others were drawn by Owen himself as a bloodied thug spilled his guts about what he might or might not remember about his time there. Just to make sure neither set of notes was influencing the other, they kept Owen’s pile separate.

  Using the ones pinned up in front of him, Liam drew a quick map with limited detail. These various sources of information needed to match if they had any chance of storming the pit and breaking Viola out. When seconds counted, they needed to know where each corridor was, and where the guards were usually stationed. The map needed to be as accurate as possible if they were going to have any chance. Liam held up his crude drawing and eyed Owen, hopeful. Looking down at his own maps, Owen frowned and shook his head. They weren’t even close to a match.

  Liam crumpled his map with a grunt. “How many different versions of the same place can there possibly be?” he asked, exasperated. He threw the crumpled paper across the room. “We’re running of time! If we can’t make sense of this soon—”

  The door flung open and in walked Xavier. Drenched from head to toe, he was pale as a ghost and had the look of death about him. “Where have you been?” Owen asked, already sure he knew the answer. Where could he be found every evening these days?

  “You’re drenched,” Thatra said, rushing up to him with a blanket in hand. “You must get out of those wet clothes and into something dry. Xavier?” He just stood there, his expressionless pale face difficult to read. “Xavier, is everything all right?”

  Ignoring her while looking at Liam, he held up the poster. It was plenty wet and the ink had smeared, but Viola’s image was obvious enough. The day they had long feared had finally come. She was going to fight in the pit. They were too late. Liam stared at it long and hard. His mind spun with denial, twisting and turning with every conceivable reason why this couldn’t possibly be true. But his denial was short-lived. This was really happening.

  He spun about, an angry fist ripping through a line of hung maps. Xavier dropped the poster, Viola’s red eyes staring up as if trapped inside a dark mirror. No one spoke. The silence hung like fog as they reflected on the fate of their friend.

  Once again they had failed her.

  *

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Rishima asked, sneaking up from behind to wrap her arms around Bella’s waist. “Well, have I?” she purred, kissing her way down the side of Bella’s neck.

  “At least a hundred times,” Bella giggled, leaning away from her probing lips.

  “Then I think it’s only fair to warn you,” Rishima said, pressing hard against her back, her hands moving up to cup Bella’s breasts. “I think you might be in for another hundred or so.” Bella stood up straight, moaning softly as the grip on her chest tightened. “Maybe two hundred,” Rishima whispered in her ear.

  Suddenly, a woman rushed into the room, startling them both. Bella jumped, then began fidgeting with fabric around the neckline of her gown, one breast already fully exposed. But Rishima stayed her hand, shaking her head. “As you were, my love,” she said. Reluctantly, Bella lowered her hand, leaving herself exposed. But she understood. A leader should never show any level of discomfort or uncertainty around those she ruled, no matter the circumstances. It came across as weak.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Rishima asked the woman. Her hair was in disarray and her hanging clothing was less than modest, but she stood tall with the air of a queen. She needn’t explain her actions to anyone...ever.

  “Moon Mistress… Er, I—” The woman eyed Bella uncertainly, then looked back at Rishima.

  “Queen Bella’s authority is not in question!” Rishima said, irritated. “Anything you have to say to me, you can and will say in front of her. Now, unless you’re wasting our time for no reason—”

  “It’s about the girl!” she blurted, too desperate to waste any more time deciding what she could or couldn’t say in front of the human.

  “Viola?” Rishima asked, her voice suddenly calm.

  “Yes,” the woman confirmed. “We have received word that she is in danger. I’ll explain, but we must leave for Shadowfen, now! I’m sure I don’t have to remind you how important she is.”

  “No, you do not,” Rishima admitted, taking deep breaths. She paused, then glanced at Bella with a worried look. The messenger stood near the entrance awaiting further instruction. “Assemble the guard,” Rishima ordered.

  “How many, Mistress?”

  “All of them,” Rishima said, slashing her hand in the air. “We leave within the hour!”

  “Mistress,” the woman acknowledged with a quick nod, then turned and left to go carry out the order.

  Once the woman was out of sight, Rishima seemed to deflate. This was the last thing she needed to hear. After pacing back and forth several times to clear her thoughts, she turned to Bella. “You will stay here in the tower while we handle this. I’m not yet sure of the danger we face, but at least this way I’ll know you’re safe.”

  “And to what end?” Bella asked. Rishima looked at her, confused. “You saw how she behaved around me. Not one of your subjects takes me seriously.”

  “Our subjects,” Rishima corrected. “And I promise you that they will eventually. It’s just going to take some time.”

  “And that’s my point. They don’t take me seriously because I haven’t done anything for them. I can’t fault them for that. Who is this human that shows up at the tower’s doorstep and suddenly commands authority for no reason at all?”

  “You are their queen!”

  “Their queen in title only,” Bella said softly. “My former title carries no weight with them, nor should it. I have done nothing in their eyes. You repeatedly say I am your equal, yet you’re quick to wrap me in blankets and hide me in a closet when there is trouble, as if I were made of glass. Am I your equal, or just your lover?”

  Rishima stepped towards her in a rush, pulling Bella into a warm embrace. “You are both,” she whispered, lightly kissing her cheek.

  “Then don’t ask me to stay behind as you race off to face this danger alone,” Bella whispered back. “I swore an oath to you, to the tower, and I intend to fulfill that oath. Let your people see me stand by your side, and even fall if need be.” Rishima stepped back to face her directly, still gripping her by the shoulders. She didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

  “Yes, that is what my oath means to me,” Bella continued. “They will not follow me otherwise. The proud spiritists are your people today. I hope by the time we return, they will be my people as well. But until I have proven myself in their eyes, I expect nothing from them.”

  Rishima sighed sharply but nodded. “Very well then. I understand your position and I respect your judgment. It’s just that the thought of losing you—” Unable to finish her sentence, she bowed her head and bit her top finger on a closed fist. She shook the fearful thought away and continued, “No matter what danger we face this day, you must stay with me at all times. Promise me that much.”

  “
Of course I will. I know how to survive, if nothing else.”

  “Very well. I say again we leave within the hour. Prepare yourself and I shall do the same.” Rishima spun away and left the room.

  Bella smiled at her back as she watched her lover go. She knew that must have been hard for her. Love did strange things to a person, sometimes causing them to be overprotective to the point of absurdity. But staying behind was not an option, either. If she was to rule with Rishima, then she would fight with her as well. The spiritists needed to trust her, and that trust had to be earned.

  Bella made her way to the basin just down the hall. She looked in the uneven mirror, her reflection warped and distorted. After splashing her face, she dipped her fingers in a small jar of blue paste set on the edge of the basin. “I am the queen,” she said, making three blue lines across her right cheek. “And even though you humiliated me, and even tried to have me killed, my resiliency has made you the fool.” She streaked three blue lines across her opposite cheek. “You’ve failed, Milo. You should have finished me off when you had the chance. Each breath I draw is a gift, and I shall not waste that gift again. I know you think you fear nothing, but that will change soon enough. Mark my words.”

  She glanced back up at her warped reflection and smiled a chilling, determined grin. “You should have killed me.”

  Feeling empowered, she turned away from the basin and headed back down the hall. The time had come. As she walked, she visualized herself moving through Shadowfen’s keep as she had done so many times before. Pictures of kings and queens, the leaders of years past, had stared back at her in judgment. How could she ever live up to their expectations? But the idea seemed so absurd to her now. Who were they to judge her? They were but a product of their society, puppets in motion providing the illusion of leadership while others pulled the strings. It was all but an act. This she now knew all too well. Real leaders cared about their subjects. That was the kind of leader she wanted to be.

  She worked her way up the stone steps, the stairway lined with spiritists standing guard. Each acknowledged her as she passed, a hand rising to their heart as they bowed their heads. A blast of cold air blew her hair as one opened the door for her at the top of the steps. She stepped out to see mounted ravens in rows, each carrying a single rider. There were hundreds of them, maybe more. Lightning flashed constantly in the distance, illuminating snow-peaked mountains miles away. She spotted Rishima at the head of the formation, mounted on her black raven, and marched over to her.