White Blood

by Holder, Angela

  But she was too late. A cold breeze tickled the back of her neck, out of place in the warm summer night. Maryn’s heart raced. She jerked around but could see nothing. A chill sank into her ankle, just where it was cool already from the wetness of the drenching blood. This was far icier. She looked down.

  An indistinct black shadow hovered over the spilled blood. It was as big as her spread arms, swirling and fluttering, giving an impression of a mass of dark wings beating. As she stared, horrified, it grew more solid, skimming the ground, an ever clearer form against the night. Dark glints like broken fragments of black glass glittered among its folds.

  Maryn scrambled backwards. A specter! She’d never actually seen one before, but she’d been warned against them all her life. This one looked very much as Maryn had imagined from the descriptions, though she’d never realized how eerily quiet it would be. Only a faint rustle like wind among grass disturbed the night.

  Another dark shape joined the first. Everywhere Maryn looked the night shifted and fluttered as more and more specters arrived, drawn out of the wild forest around them by the scent of spilled blood. A writhing layer of mist blanketed every spot where blood had slopped or spattered. The specters absorbed its power into their bodies, the insubstantial shadows of their wings becoming more real and threatening as they sucked up magical life. Several mobbed Maryn, beating around her drenched skirts. Already they were strong enough she felt the soft impacts of their wings buffeting and light scratches against her legs like the brush of a thorny branch.

  Soon they would be solid enough to tear into her skin like razors, freeing her captive blood to feed their hunger. The bucket had contained enough blood to turn a whole flock of them solid. They would go ravening through the night, attacking any who might provide the blood they craved. The city walls would be no barrier to their flight. The slaughter would draw others of their kind to feed, and they would spread in uncontrollable nightmarish horror.

  Maryn beat at the creatures, but her fists passed right through them. They felt like frozen slime mixed with shards of ice and glass. When she pulled her hands back her skin was scored with scratches. Not deep enough to bleed yet, but it was only a matter of moments. There was no time to choke out the many words of the cleansing spell or strip off her bloody skirts and run.

  She had only one hope. Against this supernatural danger nothing mattered but that he was human and had power to defy the monsters.

  Maryn scrambled on hands and knees toward the tree. “Help! Prince Carlich! Specters!”

  Carlich woke with a start and rolled up to a crouch. Maryn got her feet under her and ran toward him. Barilan began to shriek, flailing against her back. Carlich took in the spilled blood and the flock of specters with one horrified glance. “Gallows, girl, what have you done?”

  He leaped up and pushed past her. A few specters were strong enough now to go on the attack. Sensing a warm body pulsing with blood, they flocked toward him, dark glittering wings thrashing. The rustle of their wings was louder, but still far too muted for such large creatures, no more than the rattle of leaves in a soft breeze. Carlich drew his knife and slashed his arm. He raised his hands, shouted hoarsely, and waved with fierce urgency. Lightning flickered out, striking a specter and hurling it back. It screamed, thin and cold, almost too high;-;pitched to hear.

  Carlich sent more bolts lashing around the clearing. They damaged the specters they struck, tearing their substance into ragged fluttering tatters, but the creatures kept coming back, shrieking in their eerie piercing voices.

  Carlich exhausted the first flow of blood, and beat at his arm to extract more. When it failed him, he cursed and slashed again, opening a wider, deeper gash across his other arm. The blood poured out, and he gathered its power and hurled it against the creatures.

  Barilan was wailing. Maryn pulled him around from her back and gathered him in her arms. She huddled behind Carlich. The specters swirled around him, attacking from every direction. One of them came at her, and she beat at it with a clenched fist. This time the scratches it inflicted oozed red.

  Carlich managed to shred several specters into small enough tatters that they abandoned the fight and fled into the forest. But a great many remained. Carlich fought his way forward, heedless of the wings that beat around his head and tore deep lacerations on his face, trying to reach the remains of the spilled bucket, over which a thick carpet of specters clustered, feeding.

  More flew at Maryn. She pressed close to Carlich. He glanced back and sent a flash of lightning to blast away one hovering around her head. It shook off a shower of shadowy scraps and fled.

  Carlich’s wound was drying up. He bellowed in rage and slashed himself again. But he was growing pale, his gestures coming with greater effort. How much more blood could he lose, Maryn frantically wondered, before he passed out and left her helpless against the specters?

  Carlich drew his lips back in a grimace and prepared to sink the knife once more into his own flesh. Maryn thrust her arm in front of him. “Use mine!”

  He spared her only a single glance before he ripped his knife through her sleeve and skin, opening a long, shallow gash up her arm. Maryn’s head swam as the blood poured into his ready hands. Lightning crackled around them, sending specters spinning away on every side.

  Twice more Carlich cut her as they fought their way to the rocks and the puddle of spilled blood. Carlich waded in among the feeding specters, ignoring the way their beating wings shredded the legs of his trousers and cut deep abrasions into his calves. Dropping to one knee in their midst, he put his hands down to the blood;-;soaked dirt. He barked a short incantation.

  Blue fire erupted from the ground with a roar. Everywhere the blood had spread it leaped high into the night. Specters blasted upward, shattered into a million fragments. Maryn’s bones rattled and her skull shook. She clamped her eyes shut against the fierce glare and hunched over Barilan until the blaze faded and she dared peek out again.

  Black shreds of shadow floated down like icy rainfall. Stragglers raced screaming away into the forest, pursued by a few last bursts of power from Carlich’s hands.

  Carlich sank back to a crouch. He put both hands flat on the ground and dropped his forehead to his upraised knee. Maryn stood panting. Gradually Barilan’s wails penetrated her daze, and she automatically positioned him to nurse. She felt too numb to do anything else, though his squirming body dug cruelly against the gashes in her forearms.

  As Barilan fell silent, Carlich looked up. His face was pale, streaked with sweat and grime. He shook his head. “Gallows, girl,” he whispered.

  Then he staggered to his feet, grabbed Maryn’s shoulders and shook her, yelling in her face. “By the black beak of the Vulture, do you realize what you could have done? There were enough specters there to devastate all Loempno! The last time an infestation took root it killed thousands before we were able to stop it! What were you thinking?” He slapped her face, a solid crack that sent Maryn’s senses spinning, and raised his hand to strike her again.

  But he mastered himself and dropped his arm, turning away. “I swear, if it weren’t for Barilan I’d kill you right here and now. I should anyway. He’ll make it until I find someone else. To pour out two whole bodies’ worth of blood, in the middle of wild land…you might as well leave a battlefield uncleansed!”

  “It was an accident, I swear!” Maryn shook, her vision a blur of tears. “I didn’t mean to spill it!”

  “What, you want me to believe you tripped over it in the dark?” Carlich looked pointedly from the sticky patch of residue at their feet to the distant spot under the tree where he’d left the bucket.

  Maryn ducked her head over Barilan. “No. I…I meant to dump it in the river.”

  Carlich stared, uttered a muffled snort, and broke into jagged, crazed laughter. Maryn stared at him. He bent over and braced his hands on his thighs, struggling to get his breath. “In the river. Of course. Because you’re not an idiot, just a Vulture;-;blasted nuisance. Why can�
��t anything be simple and go as I plan? No, even the servants think they can defy me. Gallows, sometimes I wonder why I even bother trying…”

  Maryn glared at Carlich. Even after everything that had happened, even after she’d drawn the specters and helped defeat them, he still didn’t consider her either an ally or a threat, but only a nuisance, an annoying obstacle between him and his goals. She drew a deep breath. He was exhausted, and weak from loss of blood, and his attention was momentarily turned from her to his bitter musings.

  Maryn sidled around Carlich and broke toward the riverbank and the boat. But she’d overestimated Carlich’s incapacity. He caught up to her in a few quick strides and grabbed her arm with both hands, dragging her to a halt. To her horror, her grip on Barilan loosened, and he slid from her grasp. Barilan wailed and flung out his arms.

  Carlich released her and grabbed his nephew before he struck the ground. Maryn darted toward the boat. She snatched the knife from her waistband and set herself with her back to the river, brandishing it.

  Carlich halted when he saw the weapon, and stood holding Barilan. “Go on, then!” he shouted over the baby’s cries. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth! I don’t need you! Take the boat, go back, tell them all what happened. I don’t care. I’ll be far away before they can get here. Leave Barilan with me. He doesn’t need you!”

  Maryn’s heart leaped at her sudden freedom, and the last trace of the compulsion spell responded to Carlich’s words, urging her toward the river. But she hesitated. Barilan screamed and twisted in Carlich’s grasp, reaching toward Maryn.

  Maryn knew she should jump into the boat and go. Surely she could serve Barilan best by alerting Voerell to the direction Carlich had taken him. Carlich would be slowed and hampered by the need to care for the baby or seek out someone else to help him. Maybe an attempt to seize some other woman to nurse Barilan would lead to Carlich’s capture. She should grab her chance now, for he’d never allow her another.

  But she couldn’t do it. Barilan’s cries were like a physical force, dragging her back as strongly as Carlich’s spell ever had. She couldn’t leave him helpless in Carlich’s power. Even if Carlich could not act directly to harm Barilan, would Froethych’s dying magic prevent Carlich from neglecting the helpless babe? What was to stop him from simply laying Barilan down in some apparently safe spot and walking away? If Barilan died, the biggest obstacle between Carlich and the crown of Milecha would be gone.

  She trembled, staring at Carlich. Barilan’s sobs were weaker now, but he still stretched imploring arms toward her. Carlich turned his back contemptuously. “Come, Barilan. It’s a long way to Ralo.” Barilan renewed his shrieks, but Carlich only tightened his grip on the thrashing baby.

  Maryn’s numb fingers dropped the knife. She stumbled forward and dropped to her knees at Carlich’s feet. “Please, my lord. Don’t take him from me.” She bowed her head, the words pouring forth. “I can’t leave him. I can’t bear to lose him, too. I’ll stay with you, I won’t try to escape again. He does need me, he’ll starve without me. I won’t trouble you any more, I swear, just let me hold him…” She ached to reach for Barilan, but she kept her hands clasped before her. She must show Carlich she was ready to submit to his will.

  After a moment, she risked a look upward. Carlich stared down at her, a sneer on his lips. “Why should I believe you, girl? You’ve been nothing but constant trouble. Why shouldn’t I just kill you now and be done with it?”

  Maryn couldn’t answer. She only ducked her head again and pressed closer to the ground.

  The sound of Carlich’s knife sliding from its sheath scraped across her ears. She flinched, and momentarily fought the urge to flee after all. But she didn’t move.

  Carlich gave a deep, gusty sigh. “Hold out your arm.”

  Without looking at him, Maryn complied.

  The cut Carlich inflicted was slow and deep across her already wounded arm, as if he wished to cause pain as much as draw blood. She sank her teeth into her lower lip but didn’t cry out. The magic crackled in her ears and buzzed in her jaw.

  “Do nothing except what I expressly order you. As soon as you begin to feel the spell begin to weaken even slightly, inform me. I’ll renew it every hour, if I must, if that’s what it takes to keep you compliant. Now take Barilan and quiet him.”

  Maryn despaired in the moment before the familiar numbness settled over her thoughts. With these new restrictions, she’d never have another chance to flee. But even under the weight of the spell she knew, as she accepted Barilan into her arms and he clung to her, burying his head against her shoulder, that her choice had been the right one. He needed her, and she needed him.

  He was so upset it took a long time to settle him, but at last she managed to persuade him to accept her breast. Carlich examined her bloody skirts and worked the cleansing ritual on the few spots the specters hadn’t consumed.

  When Barilan came off her breast, she stood motionless until Carlich ordered her to fasten her shift. After that he had to specifically tell her to change Barilan’s diaper, and even to go into the trees to relieve herself. She lay down with Barilan in the spot he indicated. Carlich scrupulously warded the clearing, though his hands were shaking by the time he finished. He settled near her, and soon all three of them were asleep.

  Thirteen

  Maryn woke to the pain of Carlich slicing into her arm. She opened her mouth to scream, but he snapped, “Be silent,” and the magic forced her to swallow the sound, choking. The numbness that followed the renewed spell did nothing to dull the pain.

  Misery and despair overwhelmed the tiny corner of her mind that remained hers even when the spell was strongest. She’d squandered her chance to escape, and now Carlich was on guard against her. There was no point anymore in resisting his control. She sank into a dreamlike daze, barely noticing when her body followed Carlich’s orders to nurse Barilan, clear the camp, and follow him through the forest. At some point he placed bread and cheese in her hands, and she ate. She replaced her specter;-;torn garments with the fresh ones he threw at her feet. After that there was dirt road beneath her trudging feet.

  A blast of blue lightning and buzz of power startled her back to awareness. Carlich jumped to grab the reins of a rearing horse as its rider slid lifeless from its back. He turned his sorcery against the rider’s companion, and the man slumped across his horse’s neck. The spell prevented Maryn from feeling anything but resignation at their deaths, though deep inside a tiny voice was screaming.

  At Carlich’s word she helped him drag the bodies into the trees beside the road. He lingered wistfully over the last body, fingering the soft skin at the throat, but in the end only cut a shallow gash and used the blood to restore his strength. He ordered Maryn to mount the more docile horse. She sat awkwardly astride, her skirts bunched up around her legs, Barilan in her arms. Carlich swung easily up on the other steed and directed him with expert skill, leading Maryn’s mount.

  He pressed their pace, forcing the horses to canter until they stumbled, dropping to a walk only as long as it took to keep the beasts from foundering. None of the other travelers on the road spared them more than a brief glance. The miles passed rapidly. Around noon they rode through a small town, and Maryn recognized the inn where she’d spent the night on her journey from Ralo to Loempno. Her stomach rumbled in response to the rich scent of roasting meat coming from its chimney, but Carlich didn’t pause.

  Perhaps the smell awoke his hunger, too, though. A few miles further on he halted the horses. Maryn looked up from where her head had drooped over the sleeping Barilan. She saw a raggedly dressed boy sitting leaned against a rock not far from the road, scratching the ears of a black and white spotted dog that sprawled at his side. Sheep dotted the rolling green meadow beyond him.

  Carlich swung down from his mount and approached the boy. “Do you have any food?”

  The boy jumped to his feet, round eyes taking in Carlich’s stern features and the sword at his side. He gestured to
a leather knapsack lying on the ground. “Just my lunch, sir.”

  “Good. Give it to me.” Carlich gave a sharp nod and held out his hand.

  “But sir, it’s all I’ve got. And it’s not fit for a lord like yourself.” The boy cast a pleading glance at Maryn. His dog crouched, drew back its lips from sharp yellow teeth, and emitted a low snarl.

  “Give it to me!” Carlich took a step forward and half drew his sword.

  The boy scrambled back with the speed of one practiced in dodging blows. He gave a piercing whistle as he pelted away across the field. The dog barked at Carlich, a few high;-;pitched yips, before whirling to race after the boy.

  The noise woke Barilan, and he wailed. Carlich stooped to pick up the knapsack and rummaged through it. Pulling out a loaf of coarse brown bread, he broke off a chunk and tossed it up to Maryn. “Eat. It’s not much, but it will have to do.”

  Maryn caught the bread and obediently bit into it. Barilan’s sobs grated in her ears. Didn’t the baby’s cries bother Carlich? They tugged at her gut and sent warm waves through her breasts, but she was powerless to respond. She watched Carlich cut slices from an onion to go with his share of the bread, wondering resentfully when he would deign to notice Barilan’s distress and speak the words that would allow her to tend him.

  Anger at Carlich flooded her. Maryn reveled in the unexpected rush of emotion. Before these last few days she’d never appreciated what a blessing it was just to be able to feel her own feelings, without a smothering blanket of sorcery numbing them. Carlich’s spell over her must be weakening again.

  No sooner had the thought stolen into her mind, than she blurted, “My lord, the magic you worked on me is beginning to lose its effect.”

  Carlich’s lips stretched in a humorless grin. “It is, is it? Let’s correct that.”

  Maryn hated the smug way he sauntered over to her horse, finishing up the last few bites of his bread. He was so pleased with himself for coming up with this clever twist on the compulsion spell which forced her to be her own jailer. The intensity of her emotions pushed against the weakening effects of the spell. She could clearly picture her foot lashing out to kick the face that looked up at her with such contempt as he drew his knife and held out his hand for her arm. She could imagine the crunch of her shoe smashing his nose, the scarlet of the blood that would pour out. Let him use that, if blood was what he wanted! She longed to act with an ache as sharp as his knife on her skin. But she couldn’t move. His magic was still too strong.