by RJ Blain
The thunder masked the sound of his fall.
It took Blaise several minutes to orient himself and shake away the dizziness that kept him from rising. When he did manage to stand, a webbing of cracks marked where he’d fallen. Some of the slate tiles were little more than dust from the force of his impact, revealing pale rock beneath. He couldn’t make out the pattern of the mosaic, but he took a perverse satisfaction in tearing apart the tiles and cutting deep groves through the underlying stone. The scent of a divine was so strong it deadened his nose to all other scents. Several sneezes ripped through him and he hissed at the pain.
Had his divine self been polluted by his time living as a mortal? Lifting a hoof, he rubbed at his beak to dispel the itching in his nose. He had hoped he was done with sneezing.
Blaise bristled and snorted his disgust.
The wind tugged at him, and Blaise followed, neck arched so he could keep a careful watch on his footing and test each and every place he set his hooves. While the building was made of stone, he couldn’t afford punching a hole through the roof. If he got stuck, he’d lose his chance to find out what was happening to Mikael.
Another tug, this time at his wings, antagonized where his feathers had been yanked out during his short, haphazard flight. While some of his primary feathers still overlaid the leathery membranes of his wings, many were broken or verged on falling out.
Blaise resisted the urge to preen and put them back in order, not that it’d help him fly without aid. There’d be time enough for his vanity, after he found Mikael. Drawing a deep breath, he forced his attention back to his task.
His focus didn’t last long.
Hunger stabbed at his stomach, and he hissed again. If he needed to escape, unless nature intervened once again, he’d be in a lot of trouble. Broken feathers and sore wings couldn’t stop him from feeding, and he doubted he’d be able to escape the estate without devouring those in his way.
Blaise ducked his head low and felt his fur and scales bristle. The mortals would learn a reason to fear the unknown, but they’d wouldn’t live long enough to take advantage of their new knowledge.
Unlike the Imperial Palace, the estate’s roof was dotted with glass windows embedded in the stone. On the other end of the building was a faint glow. Blaise weaved his way to it. Water pooled on the panes and ran through channels carved in the stone. The temptation to break the glass and ruin the rooms below almost got the better of him. It would’ve satisfied his growing irritation. Instead of shattering them, he avoided them, clacking his beak a few times before letting out a low huff.
If his hunt didn’t go well, he could always return and destroy them at his leisure. Finding the place again wouldn’t be difficult. Satisfied by the thought, he took a few more steps. The thoughts he didn’t want plagued him. If the hunt didn’t go well, he wouldn’t be around to break the windows. He might be able to put the pieces of his soul back together if Lucin or Mikale got a hold of him, but Blaise doubted it.
He hadn’t been able to restore Aurora. For that, He would’ve needed to get Mother involved.
If the hunt didn’t go well, he could only pray the humans didn’t learn how to control Mikael and Lucin’s powers. Either one of the relics and the souls imprisoned within them could destroy the Erelith Empire.
Blaise bobbed his head. So long as he could keep the Hand of God separated from its vessel, he could deal with the Eye, one way or another.
The light drew close and Blaise eased his way forward, nostrils flared. The overpowering scent of the divine wasn’t enough to mask the fear, blood, and bitter hatred wafting from the room below.
He narrowed his eyes and sniffed again. The window should’ve dulled the scents. The largest was made up of many square panes, and spanned the roof from eaves to peak. Most importantly, it was wide enough for him to drop through.
Below, three figures sat on divans fit for the Emperor. It was as though nature held its breath, too enraged to make any noise at all. The winds stilled, the sky remained dark, and the rain refused to fall.
Blaise’s gaze snapped to the smallest of the humans below, and his breath froze in his lungs. Fear stopped his heart from beating.
Cloaked in a black miasma, the Hand of God rested on the lap of its vessel.
The wind moaned.
Blaise was too late.
~*~
Terin didn’t close the box. He couldn’t close it. While the Hand of God no longer touched him, the uncertainty of what would happen if it were taken from him froze his muscles in place. Would he, like all of the others who had tried to steal the Hand, become crazed as soon as it left his possession?
~No,~ the calmer, friendlier voice reassured him. Terin shivered, unable to think about anything other than the fact he was taking comfort from a voice in his head.
Terin was aware of the more malevolent presence, lurking in a quiet corner of his thoughts, but it remained silent. He frowned. Hearing the song of Speech wasn’t much different than the two things in his head, but there’d never been true intellect to the song before. The words never belonged to someone who could talk to him. The voices in his head were different, bodiless yet alive.
“Close the box,” Zurach said with a smile that broadened to a grin revealing the Citizen’s teeth. Many were broken, the only evidence the man had once been Catsu, the Hero of the Arena.
“This is a fake, isn’t it?” While it was Terin’s voice, it wasn’t him who spoke. Part of him meant to obey the man’s command, but he couldn’t force his hands to move.
The collar warmed, but as if confused by the conflict within Terin’s body, it didn’t burn him.
Emeric looked worried, but Zurach laughed.
“It’s real. His Imperial Majesty wouldn’t be in such a state if it weren’t,” the former convict replied.
“I think I have an idea, brother. Humor me, if you would?” Emeric started to smile, and it was so cold and unpleasant Terin recoiled, pressing his back to the divan. With nowhere to go, he stayed silent and still, hoping they’d ignore him.
The two Citizens, if for a moment, had forgotten about him and the box he held.
“What?”
“It’s true we haven’t confirmed it is the Hand of God,” Emeric began, pausing for a long moment to stare at Terin with a predatory gaze. Terin shivered again under the man’s scrutiny. “We also haven’t confirmed he is able to use it.”
“Then what do you call that?” Zurach pointed at the pile of ash on the floor. “That used to be a table, brother. What other proof do you need?”
“Hear me out.”
Terin fidgeted in the long silence following Emeric’s words. Zurach shrugged.
“I’ve the ideal slave to test it on. She’s displeased me for the final time. I can’t get rid of her in the arena—curse you for that, by the way. This way, I can get some use out of her before I throw her off the cliff and be done with it.”
“Ah, the one who bit you.”
“Zurach,” Emeric growled.
“I’ll admit I did assume you got me the real thing. I’m content with that pile of ash there, personally, but it might be wise to do it your way. Go fetch your slave. Let’s see what this thing can really do.” Zurach didn’t smile, and for some reason, Terin took comfort in that.
His mouth dried out and his heart pounded in his ears and throat. Neither presence within him seemed at all disturbed by the plans being formed by the two Citizens. If anything, the two waited, listening to each word eagerly. Their acceptance of such a thing chilled him even more than Zurach’s unwavering stare. Emeric rose and hurried from the room.
“I won’t say I’m sorry, boy,” Zurach said. The man’s eyes drifted to the door before settling back on Terin. “I’m not. One way or another, you’ll do this. The girl dies. Understand? If you’re merciful, you’ll use the Hand on her like you used it on the table. Your alternative? Watch as we wrangle the life out of her. After we’ve had our fun.”
Terin held his breath an
d felt the blood drain out of his face. The sneer on Zurach’s face was all he needed to understand what the man meant.
Zurach rose and stalked around the divan, and Terin stiffened. Breath warmed the back of his neck. “Unless, of course, you want to play with her too. I might be willing to reward you. Who knows? I could make a Citizen out of you yet. I can, when this is done.”
Arms draped over Terin’s shoulders and he shuddered at the man’s touch. Resisting the temptation to shrug his way out of the embrace, Terin sat still and endured. The anger was back, tightening his chest and drying out his mouth and throat. He wasn’t certain if it belonged to him or the two still present within his head.
“Obey, boy. It’s the best thing—the only thing—you can do. Things will go much easier for you, I promise. Just kill her with the Hand. It shouldn’t be hard. What’s one more death to you, after all? You’re a combat slave, aren’t you? You looked skilled enough in the pit. It’ll be over in a moment. She won’t suffer anymore, and you won’t be punished. If you obey. If you don’t, well, all I’ll say is that by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be praying to your wretched little god to have mercy on you, because I won’t.”
Zurach’s fingers traced his jaw and Terin flinched away from the touch. “Yes, sir.”
The collar didn’t burn him for his lie. He kept still and struggled to keep his breaths slow and even.
So long as Zurach believed him, until the moment he was forced to act, hope existed. Whether or not the collar punished him wouldn’t matter. He’d rather die to the collar’s wrath than live knowing he’d have to kill another slave. If he was forced to kill her, they’d all perish together.
That much he could do.
~*~
~Wait,~ the wind begged, and Blaise bowed to its will. Instead of crashing through the window, as he intended to do until the single word, the tug at his aching wings convinced him otherwise. He stood ready, with wings clamped to his sides and his neck strained for a better view of those below. It was already too late, but he wasn’t sure if the situation couldn’t be salvaged.
If the boy was a true vessel, it was possible.
If they didn’t all die due to the scheming of the two foolish humans below.
Startling the vessel would startle Lucin. Startling Lucin could result in something irreversible, and Blaise didn’t want to be devoured, even though he was aware the too-real risk of it happening.
Maybe the wind had it right, and waiting was Blaise’s best—and only—option. If he wanted to help Lucin and Mikael, he needed to be alive, not just another devoured sacrifice.
The darkness coiled around the slave boy, Terin, he reminded himself with a shake of his head. One of the men left, and for a long moment, no one moved. Then, the remaining man said something he couldn’t hear, stood, and circled around the divan to pull the boy in an embrace.
Blaise’s growl was the same, deep rumble of thunder. More words were spoken in a whisper, and it wasn’t long before the other human returned. He couldn’t stop from gasping in recognition.
Broken and bleeding, with her once-proud head hanging low, the pleasure slave from the Arena staggered into the room, her golden hair clutched in the Citizen’s hand. In the lantern-light, he could see the smug face of the Citizen who’d sat beside him in the Emperor’s observatory.
“Kill her,” the man ordered.
~Wait,~ the wind begged Blaise again. He clacked his beak and clenched his teeth, but obeyed.
If there was a reason nature wanted him to be patient, he could, even if his every instinct screamed at him to jump and shred the two men below to bloodied ribbons.
The chains Blaise hadn’t noticed manacled to the girl’s wrists rattled as she swayed. If she was aware of her death sentence, she showed no sign of it.
If it’d been Blaise, he would’ve panicked. But, then again, he knew what fate awaited her. Not just death, but complete and total annihilation.
Blaise flexed his talons and eyed the distance between the window and the ground. Without room to spread his wings, he’d land hard. While he doubted the humans would be able to do much to him by the time he recovered from the fall, the possibility existed.
The humans didn’t worry him too much. Lucin, however, did. It worried him enough his scales rose and his fur stood on end despite the weight of the rain soaking him. If the boy turned out Obsessed instead of proving to be a true vessel for the divine’s powers, he didn’t know what he could do, if he could do anything at all.
Devouring the boy might be his—and their—only hope.
If he could get down intact, without drawing Lucin’s wrath.
However much he didn’t want to admit it, waiting was the wisest option, but it would cost the slave girl her soul. Something bitter washed over his tongue and he swallowed.
No one deserved that fate. Not even the two human men, despite the anger Blaise couldn’t force away.
A sigh escaped him.
~Sorry,~ he whispered to the storm, to nature, and to Him.
Blaise plunged through the window, aiming at the adults.
A rain of glass fell on the humans, and their screams were partnered with the sweetness of blood in the air. The scent was fresh, vibrant, and full of life. The two slaves remained silent, and judging from the surge of fear from the girl, Blaise suspected they were too startled and frightened to make any noise.
Instead of the vivid green of the Daughter, the slave boy’s eyes—Terin’s, he reminded himself yet again—had changed. The left was rimmed in the same crimson of his hide. The other was the same blue of the divine, brilliant and pale as the sky. Reacting to his presence, the miasma spread to cover the boy’s chest.
Blaise ignored his instincts, turned his back to the bearer of the Hand of God, and lashed out his tail to drive back the man holding the girl. With a startled cry, the Citizen retreated, letting go of the girl’s hair. Blaise struck out a second time, bristled his scales and fur. He spread his wings and hissed. The two men retreated toward the door.
One began to mutter, and Blaise recognized the intonations of Speech. Rearing up, he whirled around to face the vessel and the Hand of God. It took one sweep of his broken, battered wing to send the Hand and its box bouncing across the floor toward the two men.
The Speech cut off in a terrified cry. The surge of fear set his mouth to watering.
Blaise crowed his triumph. Without the vessel, Lucin couldn’t unleash his power. Without the Hand nearby, he had hope of escaping without having to devour the General’s slave.
He could spare Terin’s life, for now.
The taller of the two men dove for the cloth-wrapped Hand.
“Kill it!” the man gasped out.
Blaise hissed and clacked his beak at the human, reaching out with a taloned hoof to shred the arm of the nearest divan with a single swipe.
“Move!”
The taller man took up the Hand of God, slammed the lid of the box closed, and retreated. Once again, the whisper of Speech came from the human.
“Wind, roar,” Blaise hissed instead of Speaking, hoping his request was heard by nature or by his benefactor.
He didn’t care where the help came from, so long as it came.
For a chilling moment, nothing happened. The tall Citizen grabbed the other man and dragged him toward the door. The gust blasting down from above knocked Blaise off of his hooves, slamming one wing down to the floor. He heard something break, and the pain of it sucked the breath out of him.
The two humans and the Hand of God were tossed through the door and out of sight. Blaise opened his beak to trumpet his rage, but no sound emerged. The wind kept him pinned, battering his head down to the floor and tearing out his feathers.
All other sounds faded to nothing before the winds subsided. Blaise’s chest burned with the need for air, but he couldn’t force himself to draw a breath. His legs and wings twitched. The edges of his vision turned gray.
The wind blew again, but instead of beatin
g the life out of Blaise, it rushed through his opened beak and forced breath into his stunned body.
He choked and coughed, and as if reminded of its duty, his body breathed on its own. The darkness over his eyes receded, but he didn’t quite dare to move. Something heavy lay over him, and he lifted his head.
Terin rested on top of Blaise’s flank, pinning his wing to his side. The boy’s eyes were closed, and he felt the faint warmth of breath against his exposed wing membranes. The girl rose to her feet, her eyes wide and staring at him. A few cuts marred her pale skin, too fresh to have come from anything other than contact with Blaise’s crystalline scales and broken feathers.
The rain falling through the broken window was warm.
~*~
Blaise wasn’t sure where the pleasure slave had found the fire poker, but he didn’t want to be on the receiving end on it. He already had too many extra holes in his hide. She stood stiff, holding it in both of her hands as if she intended to club Blaise over the head with it. When he didn’t do so much as twitch his tail, she stood still and waited.
The scent of roses hung in the air, but the boy sprawled over Blaise remained warm with life, though he didn’t move. He let out a relieved sigh, and with one eye on the blonde-haired girl, he eased his tail over his back. If Terin was conscious, he didn’t react to the feel of scale, feather, and fur coiling around him.
“Put him down,” the girl hissed out, jabbing out with the poker. Blaise jerked a hoof up and the tip bounced off of his scales. She managed to keep her hold of it, but a single swat knocked the tool out of her hand. It bounced across the floor and cracked against the tall window stretching across most of the room.
The noise she made wasn’t quite a scream. It roused Blaise’s hunger and his need to hunt. His position on the floor kept him from falling to the temptation. Lurching upright didn’t work. The boy’s weight across Blaise’s back knocked him off balance. His pinned wing didn’t ache—it throbbed with such intensity he struggled to breathe.