White Blood

by Holder, Angela

  Back at the boat, Carlich summoned her aboard. He hauled at the body of one fisherman. “Grab his feet,” he ordered.

  Maryn thought she might vomit, but she took up the man’s limp legs, and they lifted him onto one of the boards that spanned the boat and served as a seat. Carlich arranged him so his head and torso hung down on one side. “Hold on to him; don’t let him slip.”

  He positioned the empty bucket under the man’s neck, and with a quick slash of his knife cut his throat. Blood drained out in a gush. Maryn’s head swam, and she had to turn away.

  Carlich fussed with the body as the flow slowed to a trickle, raising its limbs so that the force of the stream was increased. When for all his manipulation he could extract no more blood from the body, he spoke sharply to Maryn and she was compelled to help him heave the corpse over the side of the boat into the water.

  Dimly Maryn heard Barilan’s forlorn cries from the shore. She turned automatically and stepped toward the prow of the boat. Carlich scowled. He looked up and down the empty river and deserted shore. “He’ll be fine. Ignore him. You can get him when we’re done here.”

  The spell forced Maryn to turn back and bend to aid Carlich in his work, though her heart felt torn as the miserable wails continued, and a warm rush of milk drenched the front of her shift. They repeated the process of draining blood with the other fisherman. By the time the man’s body splashed into the river and sank out of sight, the hour was growing late.

  Carlich surveyed the products of their work with satisfaction; the bucket was more than three;-;quarters full of thick red liquid. “Let Voerell try to catch me now. I could hold off an army with this.” He gestured at Maryn. “Get Barilan and bring him aboard. I need to make sure this doesn’t turn into a clotted mess, and set wards to keep the specters out. Then we can head across the river.”

  Maryn had grown increasingly worried about Barilan all during the time Carlich had kept her working. At some point his cries had ceased, and she quaked with fear for what might have befallen him. Now, freed by Carlich’s words, she scrambled for the prow and jumped to shore, ignoring the buzz of power behind her.

  Barilan had rolled and squirmed a few feet from where she’d left him. His face was red and blotched with grimy tracks of dried tears. He broke into fresh wails as soon as he spotted Maryn and reached for her as she gathered him up. Guilt assailed her at the thought of him crying for her all that long lonely time, until at last he gave up and sank into the despairing misery of the abandoned. She clutched him to her breast. “I’m sorry, little one. I wanted to come, but I couldn’t. I’ll take care of you, as much as I can, as much as he lets me…”

  She thought about attempting again to flee, but the spell was still too strong. She trudged down the bank to the boat.

  Carlich looked up from where he was just completing his spell. “Climb in and let’s get going.” He set the lid firmly on the bucket and stowed it carefully in the stern. As soon as Maryn and Barilan were settled on the rear seat, he untied the prow rope and took up the oars. He grimaced as the many cuts on his left hand contacted the rough wood of the oar. “Tear another bit off your skirt for me.”

  Maryn perforce complied. He wrapped the long scrap of linen around his palm and tied it, pulling on the free end with his teeth. “That will help a little. I’ve got to find some healer who’s willing to teach me more of the art. They’re all so close;-;mouthed with anyone who’s not subject to their oaths and binding spells.” He set his hands to the oars and began to pull with powerful strokes toward the middle of the river.

  The current pushed them downstream as they cut across the wide expanse. When they veered close to a large trading vessel headed upstream, Carlich paused for a moment to dip a little blood from the bucket and work shielding wards around the boat. Maryn was hungry enough that the mass of fish crowded into the large wooden tank amidships looked appealing, but not yet so hungry she was willing to try how they would taste raw. Barilan kept her busy, his mood by turns irritable and playful.

  The pace of Carlich’s rowing slowed, and several times he went to the bucket for a dab of blood. He’d wave and mutter, blue sparks would fly, and he’d bend to his task with renewed energy. But each time the effect was shorter;-;lived.

  Near sunset, they reached the far side. Carlich dragged with weariness as he moored the boat at a convenient tree and hauled his precious bucket up the rocky bank. He staggered as he deposited it under a tree. Rubbing at his eyes, he sank to the ground. “Give me Barilan,” he ordered hoarsely. “I think it’s safe to make a small fire. There must be flint and steel on the boat somewhere. Find it, cook us some of that fish.”

  Maryn reluctantly surrendered the sleeping Barilan into his arms. Her volition was beginning to trickle back, enough that she could think with sufficient clarity to conceal its return. She set industriously about the tasks Carlich had set her, terrified lest any hesitation on her part warn him that his spell was losing effect. Searching the boat, she discovered a box under the front bench where the fishermen had stowed their gear. In addition to a fire;-;starting kit she found a filleting knife, a frying pan, and a small flask of oil, along with a flagon of ale.

  Maryn eyed the knife thoughtfully and shot a glance over at Carlich. He had his eyes closed, his head leaned back against the tree, while Barilan slumbered in his arms. She tested to see if she might be able to hide the knife away under her skirts. She couldn’t quite manage it, but she thought she might be able to soon, if Carlich didn’t notice the weapon and order her not to use it.

  She spent a long time starting and building up a small fire, and wielded the knife as unobtrusively as possible to clean and gut several of the fish. She rinsed the knife in the river and wiped it on the grass. She still couldn’t force her hands to hide it on her person, but she did, with much effort, tuck it under a bush on the far side of the clearing from where Carlich drowsed. She returned to the fire, heated oil in the pan, and put the fish in to fry.

  The smell set her mouth watering long before the fish were ready. She burned her fingers and tongue sampling a flaky white bit. Just as she was about to decide they were cooked enough, Carlich stirred and came over to stand beside her, looking down at her handiwork. She gestured to where she’d set the flagon. “I found some ale, my lord. The fish are almost done.”

  “Excellent.” Carlich seated himself cross;-;legged by the fire and set Barilan in his lap. He uncorked the flagon and took a long swig. “Gallows, I needed that.” He thrust the bottle out toward Maryn. “Here, have a drink. You deserve it after your hard work.”

  She accepted it obediently, though she squirmed within at the warm camaraderie in his tone. She only worked on his behalf because he forced her to. But if he wanted to fool himself into believing she was a willing partner in his flight, let him. It could only make it easier for her to escape. She feigned taking a long, thirsty draught of ale, though in truth she only sipped until she had swallowed the minimum required to fulfill the enforcing magic’s idea of “a drink,” and the compulsion waned.

  Carlich showed no such restraint, drinking heartily and wolfing down the fish. He praised her cookery extravagantly. Gaining the far side of the river seemed to have greatly cheered him.

  “Go on, have some more,” he urged Maryn, passing her the flagon. She drank and passed it back. “Tomorrow I’m going to see about stealing a horse or two. It’s a long way to Ralo.”

  He was taking them to Ralo? She’d never expected to return there. The thought of familiar surroundings was comforting in a way. Perhaps she could find someone she knew to beg for help. But what good would it do to see friendly faces, if the spell that kept her in thrall to Carlich prevented her from reaching out to them? And Maryn wondered how she could bear the constant reminders of her former life that were sure to assault her from every side.

  Her inner conflict must have shown on her face, because Carlich squinted at her in the firelight. “Something’s bothering you. What is it? Tell me.”

  S
he had to comply, though she was able to choose her words a bit. “Ralo is my home. I lived there before my husband and child died, and I came to Loempno to be Barilan’s nurse.”

  “Hmm. You’ll be glad to return, then.”

  “I suppose.” The magic didn’t keep her from formulating a question for him. “Why do you want to go to Ralo?”

  He picked up a stick and poked at the fire. “Priest Vinhor has his seat there. He’s always been friendly to me. I’m sure I can get him to listen to my story, take my part. Especially if I promise to make him Prelate once I’m king. He’s been building his influence for years, trying to maneuver himself into position to succeed Kiellan. With him to bolster my claim to the throne, I can start to build a base of popular support. Also, last I heard the Twenty;-;ninth Division was stationed at the garrison there. They served under my command three years ago, during the last big conflict on the Hampsia border. They’ll follow me sooner than Voerell.”

  Barilan stirred in Carlich’s arms. He passed the baby to Maryn. “He seems to be doing all right. You care for him well.” He stared off into the woods. “My nurse’s name was Kegill. She always told me being chosen to nurse me was the best thing that ever happened to her. When I turned twelve and became a page Father set her up with a nice house in the best part of the city. I still visit her sometimes, on the Sabbath; she always fixes me a big meal of all my favorites. She won’t believe Voerell’s lies. She’ll know the crown should be mine. When I defeat Voerell and come back to Loempno in triumph, Kegill will be the first to greet me. You wait and see.”

  Maryn toyed with Barilan’s hair as he nursed. The ale must be affecting Carlich, though he was still enunciating his words clearly. He’d drunk nearly the entire flagon. “She must love you very much.”

  Carlich shrugged. “I suppose. Or maybe she just loved the good pay and easy work. Do you love Barilan the way you loved your own baby?”

  Maryn gulped, but the magic was still strong enough to compel her to answer truthfully. “Not…not the same way as Frilan, no. But I do love him,” she hastened to add.

  He gave a little mirthless laugh. “Of course you do. But not like a mother loves her own child.” He was silent for a long time. Maryn thought he was done, and was glad to be through with the awkwardly intimate conversation, but eventually he spoke again. “I barely remember my own mother. I was only four when she died, along with the baby after Voerell. And even when she was alive, I didn’t see her very often. I do remember one time, she went walking with Kegill and me in the garden, and told me the names of the flowers. Not much else, though.” He turned his intense gaze on Maryn. “Tell me about your mother.”

  Maryn wished he would leave off this uncomfortable questioning. He was acting as if she were a person of importance, a friend, whose history and feelings mattered to him, when they both knew that wasn’t the case. He would never look twice at her if they hadn’t been forced by circumstances into flight together. But the ale had put him into a maudlin mood, and she had no choice but to answer. “She’s a serf on Lord Negian’s estate. I’m her first child; I have three younger brothers and two sisters. Mother’s name is Eryr. She makes the best rye bread of any of Lord Negian’s serfs; all our neighbors trade with us for it. And she’s a good spinner; she taught me, and Edrich always said my yarn was as fine as any he’d ever worked with. What else do you want to know?”

  Carlich shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything. Does she love you?”

  “Of course.” Maryn almost didn’t know how to answer that question. Her mother had never been vocal or demonstrative about her love for any of her children, but it had always been there, like the air a bird flew through or the water a fish swam in. It felt strange even to think about whether it existed, as if there were the possibility it might not. “Don’t all mothers love their children?”

  “Does Voerell love Barilan?” The question darted at her, quick and urgent.

  “Yes.” Maryn made her voice as strong and certain as she was able. “I know it doesn’t always look like it, but Litholl said she loved him so much she had to try to distance herself from him. Because otherwise it hurt too much to have to give him up to someone else.” She struggled for a moment with the power of the spell, but Carlich so clearly wanted her to carry on a conversation that she was able to force out even words she was sure he wouldn’t want to hear. “She’s probably dying inside right now, missing him, worrying whether he’s safe.”

  Carlich jumped to his feet and began to pace beside the fire. “You’re wrong. I don’t believe you. I mean, I’m sure she cares about him a little. But she’s barely seen him since he was born. She’ll manage. She’s regent, she has all the power of the Kingship now. That’s what she wants. She was always angry that she couldn’t be one of Father’s heirs because she was a girl. I bet she hated it that her son could have what she couldn’t. She’d probably be glad for him to be gone forever if it meant she could keep the power for herself.”

  The spell was weakening with every successful effort Maryn made to defy it. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “What do you know about it?” Carlich took a step toward her, raising his hand. “You’re just a hired servant. Nursing a prince doesn’t change that. You’re only a serf; you know nothing about royalty. We’re different from you lowborn scum!”

  Maryn cowered away. “Whatever you say, my lord. Of course you’re right.”

  Carlich’s arm dropped. “And don’t ever forget it!” He stood panting a moment before he waved a dismissive hand around their campsite. “Clean up all this stuff. And put the fire out; we don’t want people to see it. Then get some sleep; we’re leaving at first light for Ralo.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Maryn held very still as he stormed across the clearing and threw himself to the ground, rolling to face away from her.

  Twelve

  Maryn followed Carlich’s orders as slowly and quietly as she could. She disposed of the fish bones in the river and scrubbed the frying pan out carefully. The work was awkward at first with Barilan in her arms, but she found a length of netting in the boat and fashioned a rough sling to tie him to her back. After that her tasks were much easier. But she still dawdled, and the night was well advanced when she finished. She used the empty ale flagon to carry water from the river and quenched the fire in billows of steam.

  Carlich didn’t stir, even when the roar and hiss of the drowning fire echoed around the clearing. Maryn held her breath and crept close to study him by the pale light of the moon. He seemed to be deeply asleep, even snoring a little in occasional sudden starts. The combination of blood loss, magic, hard physical work, and ale must have drained his reserves and tired him deeply. He had fallen asleep without remembering to set wards or to renew the spell that compelled Maryn’s obedience.

  She was exhausted herself, but she dared not sleep and miss her chance. She tried to go for the knife again. This time she succeeded by thinking fixedly about how she intended to use it only to gut more fish for breakfast. She tucked it into the waistband of her skirt, where it bumped cold and sharp against her leg.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Barilan slept, his body limp against her back, his head lolled to one side. Confident the baby would stay quiet, Maryn went back to Carlich. She could see no sign to indicate his slumber was feigned.

  The bucket of blood sat against a tree trunk not far from his feet. The wards around the rim glowed dim blue. If she left the blood, he would have nearly unlimited power to use pursuing her once he woke. If she could dispose of it, at least he would be limited to what he could spare from his own veins. She wished she had the ability to wake power from all that rich crimson fluid, but without knowledge of the proper words or gestures it was useless to her, only a grisly reminder of Carlich’s ruthlessness.

  She could perform the ritual which would release its potential harmlessly into the air, but that would be noisy and create a great deal of light. Carlich would be sure to wake. Besides, she’d never cleansed even a fraction
of the huge amount of blood contained within the bucket. So much power could easily overwhelm her and cause her to lose control of the spell.

  She’d dump it into the river. That would put it far beyond Carlich’s ability to use. The fresh flowing water would dilute the blood and carry it away. In the unlikely event some ghoul or specter managed to locate and consume enough to pose a threat, it would happen far from here.

  She hefted the bucket, its handle digging into her fingers. She had to struggle against the certainty that this was something profoundly against Carlich’s wishes, but the spell was quite weak now, and he hadn’t thought to specifically forbid this particular action. The magic dragged at her like an extra weight, but she plowed her way through it.

  The rocky slope down to the river was difficult to navigate with her burden. Maryn stepped cautiously, testing each foothold before trusting it with her weight. But despite all her care, one flat stone shifted under her foot. She lurched, the unfamiliar weight of Barilan on her back throwing off her balance. Instinctively she flailed her arms. The lid of the bucket came off. Blood slopped against her skirts.

  She recoiled, trying to avoid the spilling liquid and right the bucket. Her foot came down on a patch of gravel slick with spilled blood. It skidded forward, and she sat down hard, her rear slamming into a stone. The impact traveled from her tailbone up her spine to her jaw. She flung her hands back to keep from falling on top of Barilan, letting go of the bucket. It capsized in a scarlet flood.

  Maryn smothered a cry. Surely Carlich must have heard and would come to recapture her. She hunched forward, fighting tears of anger at her failure and despair that she would ever escape. But when nothing happened after a few moments, she looked over to where Carlich slept. He remained stretched out on the ground. Maryn looked over her shoulder to check on Barilan. He had stirred, but now was still again.

  She held her breath and gathered herself, preparing to rise. If she was stealthy enough, could she still creep down to the river and take the boat? At least she had to get away from the dark slick of blood that coated the stones and sank into the earth.