The pain was, as usual, delayed in coming while his brain worked to catch up. He had enough time to watch Ferin’s face as she registered what he’d done before…
Whatever had made up the persona of the woman he loved fled her body, and he crumpled around her while his self-edifice collapsed around him, its central support kicked away.
NO! He nearly screamed the objection, shoving the memory into the hole where it belonged and hastily flinging irrelevant ones back over it. He reached up with a trembling hand for the next needle.
This one belonged to his pointer finger. The pain should come much faster now that his brain knew what to antici….
His brother hung from a tree, body swaying back and forth in the air. Fortunately, the corpse hadn’t been there long enough to bloat yet. He’d have to find an ax to cut through the rope holding his sibling up. Hopefully, he could bury the entire family before the shock wore off.
He plodded toward his home’s gaping doorway. The black hole was a suck on his soul, drawing him to the horrors that waited within.
He shook his head violently. Still not close enough.
Drawing another needle for the middle finger, he shoved it between the cuticle and the nail bed, truly beginning to acknowledge the…
“Get out of here, Khel,” his father urgently commanded, shoving his back.
A small band of Kiraak burst into the house, and the noises of ecstasy and anticipation chilled him to the bone. His father faced them, and he turned to help the human.
“You have to protect your mother and Ren!” his father yelled back at him. “Run!”
He gaped, helpless in his current state, at this human who’d chosen to become his father and was going to die now for that choice. He turned and ran, cursing his eleven-year-old body.
Ooohhhhhhh gooooooddddssss, the paaain… Acid shot down his fingers and the back of his hand, coursing over his wrist and up his arm. His forearm, already rubbed raw from the leather pulling against it, strained up desperately in a futile attempt to escape. Had he really told that woman he had a high tolerance for this? There was no way he could do a fourth.
His hand shook so badly that he had to swipe for a needle twice. He stabbed his fingertip three times before he got the tip to the right place and thrust…
He could reach mother in time if he ignored the danger of sprinting down the steep hill pell-mell. She was fending off her attackers quite well. In fact, she’d dispatched the final one before he’d reached the bottom.
“Mother!” he yelled as he reached the river’s bank.
She turned with a smile at the sound of his voice, and from behind, a horde descended upon her. The ripped her limb from limb while her son watched from the opposite shore. He gawked in horror while his mother was reduced to meaty mash, specks of her blood flying across the water to splatter his face.
If he could get close enough, he could steal that one’s weapon, climb his back, and slit his throat. The female would be an easy target if caught unaware.
She flicked her face forward and bared her bloody teeth at him. He fled.
His throat was raw, and his mouth gaped open. The pain couldn’t be intense enough for him to lose control like that. Could it?
He dazedly cast about for the last needle. It must have fallen somewhere, and he couldn’t find it! There was something… something he needed to finish. What was it?
His eyes slit, and his head drooped. Before he could totally drift away, a foreign hand shoved a needle into his and closed his fingers around it. Oh, yes. The pinky finger, ever the last and least. Like him. His lips twitched as he forced the last needle into place.
Tears streaked across his cheeks as he raced to find his sister. There she was, idly laying on the bank and singing to herself. How had she missed the village’s destruction? Was she too trapped in her own little world to notice their’s ending?
Just as he was about to scream her name, she leaped to her feet with full alertness. She was unharmed but frantic as she cried for her brother, the first positive of the day.
Finally, the correct memory to expose to Raimie.
“Take it, Ferin,” Kheled panted.
Now, he only needed to remain conscious. He soon felt something tug from his arm and immediately began flinging needles across the room while Ferin untied his bonds. He hugged his bloody fingers to his chest, hiding them from view, and closed his eyes.
“That was horrible!” Ferin whispered fiercely. “Where did you find the strength to do such a thing?”
“Sorry I had to involve you,” Kheled murmured.
He was fighting for consciousness still. That had been much more agonizing than he’d remembered.
When he opened his eyes again, he snorted back a laugh at his fellow room occupant’s queasy looks.
“You should get used to this,” he told them. “Torture such as this is commonplace on Auden’s shores.”
Ferin squeaked.
“Why would we ever return to such a place?”
“Would you rather allow such evil to fester and grow?”
She considered his response, and the Zrelnach behind her remained, as ever, implacable.
“May I go home?” he asked wearily.
Ferin’s head snapped up.
“You have what you need,” he gestured to the full syringe she held.
“Of course!” Ferin answered, shaking herself. “You’re free to leave.”
She gestured, and the Zrelnach parted. Kheled glided between them, clutching his hand to his chest. He made sure to take a few turns before he intruded upon a classroom full of children and collapsed into a chair at the back.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, waving at the instructor.
The teacher turned back to his demonstration, and Kheled released the illusion. He watched the instructor moving figures across a modeled battlefield while he rode out the exhaustion.
He found it supremely amusing to listen to history lectures such as this. People never stopped making the same mistakes. For this modeled battle, Kheled joined in and imagined he was the scout, seemingly insignificant enough to ignore but one who could affect the outcome in his own small way.
When he could manage to stand, he backed out of the classroom, shushing a student intent on alerting the instructor of his escape. He meandered home, taking a slightly different path than normal. The change in scenery centered him, a fortunate happenstance as he’d forgotten what he’d left in his clinic.
“You look like hell,” Dath commented as he came in.
“What are you still doing here?” the healer blurted before he could control his mouth.
Dath stiffened, and any chance for reconciliation passed.
“You have to tell me I’m healthy enough to leave,” he said sullenly.
“You’re fine,” Kheled informed the trainee, “except that your arm should be in splints. What happened to them?”
“You’re not the only healer in Allanovian. I sought counsel elsewhere, and would you look at that?” Dath waved his injured arm in the air. “It’s just fine.”
Kheled refrained from informing the young warrior that his arm would be fragile and easily broken for another week. Instead, he dismissed his concerns and provided instructions to Dath for caring for this latest injury.
“Watch for constant recurring headaches, nausea, or excessive fatigue. Come back if you notice any such symptoms.”
Without a word, Dath climbed out of bed and stiffly marched out.
Kheled took in his clinic. What was he supposed to do while waiting for the second trial?
He was fiddling with a conjured wooden scout model when an aide interrupted again. He glared irritably at the government official.
“The Council asks that you retrieve it and bring it to the arena.”
The wooden figurine splintered in Kheled’s hand. Did they send an aide to tell him to fetch? To bring Raimie to the place where his exposure would unfold?
“Request received,” he told the aide f
ragilely.
Chapter Eleven
“Erianger, we’re going to be late!” my wife called from the door.
I checked my appearance in the mirror one more time before joining her. Today was Rafe’s twelfth birthday, and I’d volunteered to be the entertainment for his party. I’d altered my face, adding cat ears and luminescent eyes, and I would also provide my characteristic science show for the kids. As I passed the kitchen table, I grabbed my bag of tricks, full of vials of colored glass, sparkers, and other equally crowd-pleasing items.
At the door, I kissed Lirilith, and the two of us strolled to Arivor’s home. From far away, the screams and giggles of happy children playing reached our ears. Lirilith’s face fell as she remembered how hard we’d tried to have that joy in our own home, and I grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“That’ll be us soon enough,” I said confidently.
Once at the house, Lirilith and I walked to the back gate and through the ivy wall supported by trellises and arbors. In the enclosed garden, children dashed and darted around the grown-ups, involved in games of imagination. Arivor, noticing our arrival, waved for us to join him and his wife beside a table stacked high with gifts.
“Hi, Clariss,” I said, hoping today was one of her good days.
“Erianger,” she replied, smiling slightly.
Her melancholy must have receded quite far this afternoon if she could greet me so cordially.
“Uncle Eri!” a cheerful voice rose above the general merry-making.
Rafe pushed his makeshift wheelchair over the grass, and once he was close enough to appreciate the sight, I spread my eyes wide and twirled for him.
“What do you think? Will your friends like it?”
He examined me thoughtfully for a moment and broke out in a smile.
“If they don’t, then something’s wrong with them.”
I chuckled as I crouched in front of him.
“Now, remember what we discussed,” I whispered. “No cake and no sweets today except for what your Aunt Lirilith brought, all right? All of that sugar makes you worse.”
He nodded conspiratorially.
“Rafe!” one of the boys on the opposite side of the yard called.
“Better get back to it, buddy,” I said.
Rafe yelled back at his friend, unsteadily rolling to join the fun. I watched the children playing, a bittersweet feeling overtaking me. Not only was it unlikely that Lirilith and I would ever experience the joys of our own children, but it was unsure how many more years we’d have with our adoptive nephew.
“You can set up your science show over here, Erianger,” Arivor gestured to a table cleared of any gifts or food.
“Looks like you’ve finally given me enough room to work with this year,” I replied, remembering many other disastrous shows where some of my more experimental substances had started fires because of close proximity to gifts and other flammable objects.
“We can only hope,” Arivor chuckled. “When you’re finished, we need to talk.”
He grabbed my arm and leaned close to whisper in my ear.
“I think I found it.”
I nearly dropped my bag of goodies out of shock. If he knew where the body was, then maybe my fears were unfounded. Maybe Rafe would have more birthdays. Maybe he’d have a lot more.
In a small room beneath a mountain, Raimie dozed fitfully, completely oblivious to events in the waking world.
* * *
“You have returned,” the stranger said with his clipped monotone voice.
“Hooray for me!” Raimie exclaimed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“You sound less than pleased.”
The stranger sawed at the last tie holding his left arm down.
“What gave me away?” he scoffed, “My constant irritation or my obvious distaste in dealing with an unknown man in possession of a knife while at his mercy?”
“You know I could never hurt you,” the stranger said, puzzled. “Do you honestly not remember me?”
The binding snapped as the question flung itself into the air.
“Finally!” Raimie exclaimed, triumphantly throwing a fist into the air above his head.
He immediately stretched over his chest to tug at the ties confining his right arm to the ground. He yanked away at nothing. Running his free hand up and down his torso and thighs, he grunted in confusion. He couldn’t find any rope or other binding material anywhere on his body, but something definitely kept him from rising.
“It does not work that way,” the stranger said as he stepped over Raimie’s head to kneel on the right.
“What do you mean?”
“The process of freeing us involves a partnership. I require your consent, and you require my knife.”
The stranger waved the switchblade in the air upon referencing it.
“I cannot approach you without your permission, and you could not touch my blade, even if both of your arms were freed. If you desire your freedom, then we must work together.
“The right arm is next!”
Raimie hissed at the seemingly nonexistent cut into the meat of his upper arm. He growled at the stranger, baring his teeth.
“Do not display irritation to me,” the stranger protested, throwing both hands up. “I did not set the rules.”
“Then who did?” Raimie snarled.
The stranger stood, and the murky outlines of a face beneath the superimposing hood glared down at him.
“I understand that you are frustrated. The freeing of one limb may have led you to believe you could release the rest without my continued help. I do apologize if that is the case, but I do not have to accept your rude behavior. I will leave you to calm down.”
He disappeared into the dark. The captive roared after him, thrashing against his bindings to no avail.
* * *
Raimie screeched himself awake and bolted upright. Breathing hard, he took in his surroundings. He was sprawled in the same tiny room, but he’d been moved into a corner and covered by a blanket.
He fingered the hole in his shoulder, relieved to feel his grandfather’s distinctive stitches holding it closed. The smaller lacerations on his arms and sides had been sutured together as well, and a new dressing had been wrapped around his ribs.
Raimie would be hard pressed to number the times Eledis had patched him up during his childhood and adolescence. He’d been an extremely rambunctious child, receiving an inordinate amount of bumps, bruises, scrapes, and cuts whilst adventuring with his imaginary friends. It was comforting to know that his grandfather still cared enough to patch him up.
“I wonder when he’ll take notice of us.”
“Excuse me for a moment. I must apply my spooky face.”
The whispers jerked Raimie’s head up in time to observe white Raimie shoot a glare at black Raimie. Both of the figments leaned on opposite sides of the doorframe with arms crossed. He froze, panicked puffs whooshing through his nostrils. Black Raimie caught him staring and made a face.
“Stop that,” white Raimie scolded.
Black Raimie bristled and brought a hand up as if to hurl an unseen object.
“Do you want to start something now?” it asked.
“No, you simpleton. I merely suggest that we explain ourselves before he perishes from fright.”
Black Raimie lowered its hand reluctantly, and the two quickly crossed the short distance between the door and the human, each leading with the opposite foot. Once they’d reached an appropriate distance for conversation, they sank to the floor, folding one leg under the other as they descended.
Raimie merged with the wall at his back as much as he could. He curled his legs in closer and plastered his arms against the cool stone.
White Raimie trailed its gaze down the human’s tense body.
“Relax,” it said. “Neither of us is here to hurt you…”
“Yet,” black Raimie interrupted.
White Raimie tensed, drawing its hands into balls.
; “Would you hush? You’ll have your turn to speak.”
Black Raimie mouthed several unspoken words, bringing one hand up to mime talking, and white Raimie shook its head despairingly.
“I’m sure you’ve many questions, young man,” it said calmly. “We’re here to answer them and provide guidance should you wish it, but before we begin, I want to assure you that you’re completely sane. Your mind hasn’t snapped, and you’re in full control of your faculties. That seemed the obvious first question, so I thought I’d tackle it ahead of time. Now, what else would you like to know?”
Raimie peeled his body off of the wall. He couldn’t bring himself to trust these two doppelgangers, but attempting to persuade the stone to swallow him seemed futile.
He also didn’t believe that the figment spoke the truth concerning his sanity, no matter that its assurances loosened a solid kernel of worry stashed away and added to since Shadowsteal and the cellar. If he had broken something in his brain, wouldn’t his figments tell him that he was completely sane? His sanity would require further scrutiny at a later date. For now, however, he’d play along.
He had to clear his throat several times before he could speak.
“Excuse me for being crass, but who the hell are you?”
The two apparitions exchanged confused glances. Black Raimie gestured for its counterpart to answer.
“We are –zzzz-,” white Raimie began before halting with surprised consternation painted across its features.
Black Raimie burst out laughing until its utterances transformed into buzzing as well. Its fury was a blatantly painted picture, the enormous childlike temper tantrum it unleashed upon the room speaking without words.
“Oh, I see,” Raimie murmured as comprehension dawned. “You’re Bright and Dim.”
He pointed at each of them in turn as he spoke their names.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 18