SongWeaver

by Derek Moreland

  About eight paces away, in the direction of the stairs that led up and out of captivity, there was a plate laid out with a few strips of boiled asparagus, a hunk of goat cheese and a quarter of goat haggis; next to it was a tall glass of tepid goat’s milk. Ven once again tried his best to ignore the temptation, but the smells were overpowering. Not only that, but vegetation was a rare treat this deep in the Blessing, which meant that his host was probably trying to show him leniency. He broke after only a few minutes and wolfed down the meal. It was the first time he’d eaten in a week, and his gut tried to rebel at the quantity and speed at which he consumed his food. It took an effort of will, but Ven kept his breakfast down and sipped at the milk to help calm his stomach.

  He was licking the crumbs from his fingers when the heavy tread of a Tanith--one of the pair that had forced him down here the night before--clumped down the stairwell. He shuffled, slow and obsequious, towards the empty plate. Ven could see he was malnourished; the heavy goatwool robes hung limply from arms that were too thin, a neck that was looked hollow. His creamy skin was sallow, and tinged with yellow. His talons were gnawed and broken; he'd seen hard labor, even though he looked barely two or three summers into adulthood. His dark, empty eyes were wide, staring. He gaped at Ven as he felt around for the crockery, too scared or too fascinated to take his eyes from the runaway.

  “So, got a name?” Ven asked. It couldn't hurt, he figured.

  The Tanith just stared at him. If it was possible, his eyes got wider. He froze; his hand hovered over the plate, but didn't touch it. The poor kid was working his mouth, trying to speak, Ven saw. But fear stilled his tongue.

  Ven's experience told him the fear was not for him.

  “I'm not supposed to talk to you,” the Tanith mumbled. He blinked, but otherwise remained stationary.

  Ven’s sigh held a touch of the theatrical. “Yeah, that makes sense. Wouldn't want you to get any untoward ideas, I'm sure.”

  The Tanith's hand continued to hover over the empty plate. “I don't… I can't… it is a pleasure to serve,” he blurted out.

  Ven rolled his eyes. But he closed the lids first, so the kid wouldn't see. “Yeah. I know. And you know what the worst part is? It really can be.” He paused, took a long breath.

  “I know. I know that's the mantra, that's the lullaby that put you to sleep when you were still in the nest. And you think, hey, it is a pleasure. I feel good when I do things for others. That's how you rationalize it.” He paused, but the kid didn't speak. He didn't move. He barely blinked. He doesn't know what to do. Just by listening to me, he's broken every vow he's held sacred. “Can I ask you a question?”

  There was silence as the Tanith's face twisted and contorted, emotion warring with curiosity across the battlefield of his features. “No,” he said. But he still hadn't moved.

  “When was the last time you ate, kid?”

  The young Tanith swallowed. “I don't… what?”

  “Food. Eating.” Ven mimed holding food to his beak; he exaggerated a big bite, then smiled and rubbed his belly. “When did you last do that?”

  The Tanith's eyes took an angry tint. At least they were registering an emotion. “I'm not simple,” he said. “I know what eating is. I get my meal at Full Dusk, every night. Why do you need to know that?”

  Because you look like an emaciated scarecrow, kid. “And how much do they give you? When you eat.”

  “Enough,” the Tanith said, his voice flat. His hand, which had been shivering with tension, suddenly reached out and scooped up the plate.

  “Okay,” Ven said, trying to be conciliatory. “Okay. I believe you. But.” He held up a chained hand before the Tanith finished standing. “Do me a favor, if you feel like you can. I'm more or less on death row here, and as far as I can tell, your Rahvin is trying to keep me going until mine decides what to do with me. Does that sound right?” The Tanith gave a curt but uncertain nod. “Okay. Good. If you think you can, I want--I would like you to head to the kitchens and tell them the prisoner, the Tanith your Rahvin is safeguarding would like seconds. If they give you another plate, bring it down here.” Ven took a breath. This was the hard part. A good Tanith would rather drown than accept a life rope his Rahvin had not approved. “Once it's down here, you can have as much of it as you like.”

  The Tanith stiffened, then stood; his eyes blazed, and he raised a forearm in a sweep, as if to strike Ven. Then he let out a short, strangled, gasping cry. Slowly, his arm came down to rest by his side. His head hung low, his tongue lolled out for a moment. Then he straightened again.

  “Tholan,” he whispered. “I am Tanith Tholan.”

  “Ven,” he responded with a respectful nod. “Take care, Tholan.”

  Tholan's eyes widened again, and he scurried up the stairs. Ven leaned back, rested his head against the wall, and smiled a little. Not, he was surprised to admit, because he had fomented some small measure of rebellion in another Tanith (though he would be lying if he said he didn't find some measure of satisfaction in that.) But what really made him happy was the idea that the poor kid, Tanith Tholan, might actually get another meal tonight.

  He spent most of the rest of the evening alone, sitting against his wall, eyes closed, ears open, trying to plot a way out of his most recent crisis. He'd all but given up on the kid when he heard the stairs creak again as someone came to join him. He grinned again, but kept his eyes closed. Best case scenario, Tholan would assume he was asleep, and eat the food without prompting. He didn’t move until, to his surprise and dismay, he heard a grief-choked voice sob, “Oh, Ven. Oh my cherished friend. What happened to you?”

  Ven opened his eyes, his grin sliding down to a worn, tired smirk. “Hey, Jakat.”

  Chapter 23

  “Hey yourself,” Jakat said, crouching down in front of Ven. Ven was taken aback by how old he looked. His once proud mane of jet black hair, already so rare in males, hair that Ven had admired as a child, had receded until it hung limp and feckless off the back of his head, leaving a prodigious bald spot. His horns had been broken or rubbed away to mere nubs along his skull. He smelled ashen and dusty; the vibrant, buoyant tan of their childhood was gone. His skin was sallow and pulled tight over his bones, not at all the toned golden brown of his youth. And his eyes…his eyes had been almonds, in shape and color both. Now they were a collection of heavy bags and broken blood vessels and time.

  “Sir, you may want to step back from the prisoner,” one of the Taniths--neither one Thalon, Ven cursed inwardly-- advised from behind Jakat. Ven hadn’t even noticed they were there until one had spoken. The two flanked Jakat, supposedly giving him protection. Really, though, they were just there to remind both him and Ven whose home they were in, and to whom Jakat was to direct his gratitude. They were holding their crossbows in easy, relaxed positions, ready to point and fire in an instant.

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Jakat said evenly, not taking his eyes from Ven. “He’s my friend, I’ve known him since we were kids. We’re fine, aren’t we Ven?”

  “Other than the whole ‘restrained and imprisoned’ part, sure, we’re great,” Ven said. “And if I’m being honest, yeah, this is pretty much how I pictured this reunion going.”

  Jakat laughed, deep and rich and real. “Give us some space, boys. I’m okay here.” He waved a dismissive hand in their direction. One of them gave an angry snort, but they left all the same.

  “How are you?” Jakat asked, crouching in front of him as the guards went upstairs.

  Ven rattled the manacles a little. “I won’t lie to you, I’ve been better. I’ve been better. How about you, how are things?”

  “I have a good life,” Jakat said. “I…well, I got married. Had a couple of hatch cycles. Five boys, seven girls.” He smiled a little. “Convinced the wife to name our second rookery’s oldest son Talo’Venlath.”

  “Wow, you named a kid after me, kind of. I’m touched.” Ven was trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He was failing. All the anger, all the
frustration and rage he'd bottled up for the better part of three decades, was roiling inside him. Staggering him, threatening to engulf the entirety of him. You asked me to kill my father. You couldn't just take my side, not even then. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and asked, “Hey, how’s Uncle Michi?”

  Jakat blinked, and his eyes lost focus for a moment. “My father…passed away six years ago.” He shook his head, a gentle back and forth rattle, as if disagreeing with himself. “I took over the firm when he died. It’s a good job, keeps food on the table, and it's honest work. I keep it honest, anyway.”

  Ven bit back a dozen bile-filled, hateful retorts. “Jakat” and “honest” were not words Ven would have used in conjunction, at least when it came to how Jakat thought of himself. Instead he said, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He was kind to me when he didn’t have to be.”

  There was a long pause, pregnant with all the words neither of them were saying, words neither could begin to say. Once they had been closest friends, closer than any two beings of their kind had known; now there was an insurmountable gulf between them, a rift filled with the ghosts of betrayal, and guilt, and want.

  “So what are you doing now, so far from home?” Jakat asked, his voice thick.

  “Bounty hunter,” Ven said, surprised at how casual he sounded. “When I left…I just went north. It was the only direction I knew the Blessing wasn’t. I…after a few days, I was starving, dehydrated. I was ravenous, little more than a terrified animal. I met a bandit on the road…he tried to hurt me when he found out I didn’t have anything to steal, so I…I killed him, I cut his throat. When I finally found a city, I went to the first official looking building I could find. I thought it was a police station. I thought if I confessed, maybe they’d lock me up, give me a bed and a meal, right? But it wasn’t the cops, it was a Guild branch. I gave the goblin at the desk the description of my attacker…he matched it with that of an open contract. Asked me for my license. I told him I didn’t have one…so he paid me the standard rate for interdicted bond fulfillment, and walked me to the Department of Authorization to get me one. I’ve been Hunting ever since.”

  “Oh…my,” Jakat said, after a long, quiet moment. “I had no idea…Ven, my dear friend, I am so sorry.”

  “No you're not,” Ven said.

  Jakat's face fell. His eyes narrowed, just a touch. “Why would you say that?”

  “Why would you say you're sorry? Because I went out on my own, made something of myself out from under your shadow? Because outside the Blessing, I can be something I can never be while I’m here?”

  “You are what you were born to be, here,” Jakat said, his voice picking up heat. “But then, you always did have ideas above your station.”

  “You sanctimonious ass. You really don’t get it, do you? I like who I am. I love what I do. You, Uncle Michi, everyone, you told me to kill my father. Because that’s what was expected, that’s what was tradition.” Ven spat out the last word, glowered up at his former companion. “And you know what, you didn’t even come looking for me! You sit there now, your face all tired and worn out from a life you don’t even want to live, and you pity me? You should have come and found me! I would have cut you in, we could have been partners! Together!”

  “Do not presume to sit in judgment of me, Tanith,” Jakat said, his eyes drawing into slits, his scent darkening to a roiling purplish onyx. “When you left, I was the one who had to clean up your mess. You abandoned your responsibility! I was the one who convinced Dad not to track you down and shatter you in your sleep! And! And! I took your punishment for you! I took the beatings, I took the humiliation! I dropped to Lanthess for three years before I could earn my way back to my caste, to my birthright! You left me, Ven! You left me alone without a word! Look for you? I was too busy fixing your mistakes!”

  “Why?” Ven exploded. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he knew he was being too loud, that the Taniths would be jackbooting down the stairs any second now to silence him, but he didn’t care anymore. The dam had burst, and with it, his sense of decorum. Not to mention his survival instincts.

  “Why bother standing up for the twisted little Tanith freak who hung around you like a lost puppy? I loved you, Jakat, I fell in love with you, and you used that, you used me. You had all the fun you wanted with my body, my feelings, but when I showed the first signs of independent thought you threw me to the wolves!”

  “Threw you…you puerile idiot, are you even listening to me? I saved your life! I stepped up! I stayed here so that you could be free, so that you could have the independence you thought you deserved! What you craved, what you thought you needed! Part of me hoped that you would come to your senses, that you would come home to me, that you would take your place under me and let me take care of you again!” Ven scoffed at that. Jakat ignored him. “But here you are, bound and chained, because you used that freedom to what, to become a hired killer?”

  “I did what I had to do to,” Ven said, anger dripping from every syllable. “I would have done worse if it meant that I got out from 'under' you.”

  Jakat stood up. “You were like a brother to me! I was responsible for you, and I did what I thought was best for you!” He swallowed hard. “ And I’m starting to realize that maybe I was wrong.”

  Ven bolted up as well. “One question Jakat…one question, and then I’m done here. Who threw the first stone?”

  “…What?”

  “Who threw the first stone, Jakat?” Ven’s voice was suddenly ice, cold and even and still. “It was supposed to be me. I wasn’t there. I’m assuming my father still died that night, because tradition, because responsibility, dictated. So…who threw the first stone, Jakat?”

  Jakat straightened, looked Ven in the eye. “I did, of course,” he said. “It hit him in the shoulder.” Jakat leaned in, grinning. “He felt everything, you callow little wingless abomination.”

  Blood was pounding in Ven’s ears, behind his eyes. His vision tunneled. With an effort, he choked out, “Well. I finally know where we stand. I hope the money I’ve been sending was enough to wipe my father’s blood from your hands. I really do.”

  Jakat looked surprised. “The money…you’ve…oh, that’s been you? All this time?”

  Ven’s eyes narrowed further. It was getting hard to focus. Anger was strangling his senses. “Of course it’s been me. I’ve sent you the lion’s share of every bounty I’ve collected for the last twenty-odd years.”

  “Lion’s share?” Jakat actually chuckled a little. He suddenly smelled blue. “Ven, don’t think it wasn’t appreciated, but…that wasn’t exactly the kind of income my family and I are used to bringing in. I mean, thanks for keeping my kids in extra toys around the holidays, but…what, were you trying to bribe me? I told you, I paid my penance for you years ago. Maybe you should look to your own hands for that blood.”

  Ven couldn’t think. His vision went red. He couldn’t control himself, not his words, not his actions. “You son. Of. A. Bitch!” he snarled, and cracked the stone from the gravel pit over Jakat’s balding skull.

  The other male crumpled like a pile of laundry before him. His knees hit the ground, then his hands. He tried to push himself up.

  “What…what are you doing?” Jakat’s voice was a clogged bark. “You can’t kill me, they’ll…take your license, you’ll be…just a common murderer.”

  “You think?” Ven hissed, so low Jakat may not have heard him. “You really think? I have news for you, Rahvin. Twenty years ago, when I collected my first bounty--when I learned how the system worked? The very first thing I did was place a contract of my own.” He threw the rock against the far wall; it smashed to jagged bits and powder on impact. “I put out a contract on Rahvin Jakat, for the bounty of five gold pieces. The standard rate for an interdicted bond.”

  “What? Wh…why?”

  “I was angry. I was a child, and I was lost, and I was alone, and I was so, so angry. You wanted to kill my father. You were going to kill him,
and you were using me as your weapon.”

  “Tra… tradition....”

  “Shut up!” Ven screamed. “I don't care about traditions! You could have said something, you could have argued to let it go that! One! Time! But you didn't even try!” A manic smile crept across his face, a lunatic’s grin carving itself into his beak. He couldn't help it. He knew now where this was going; like a body falling from the cliffs of Lath'shial, he knew how tonight was going to end. And he couldn't stop himself if he wanted too. “And hey, guess what else, Rahvin?” He rasped. “I checked the books, back at Guild Headquarters. Just to see for myself, just to see how young and stupid I used to be. Your name is still in the ledger. Your contract…it’s still open.”

  Jakat made a sudden lunge, trying to scramble away, crying out for help; Ven caught him with frightening ease, letting the old man’s throat catch in the chain that bound his arms, and jerked back. Jakat uttered a low, gagging groan, and clawed weakly at the makeshift garrote. But Ven could see he was dazed and only half-conscious from the blow to his head, and couldn’t mount any real defense. He started screaming as he pulled.

  “You son of a bitch! You hypocritical bastard! You think you’re the only one who’s suffered! You think you’re so clean! You think you’ve washed away all your sins! You think you can buy your happiness! That your money and your job and your life make up for your guilt! You lie and you compromise and you smile and play pretend! But ghosts always come back, you bastard! Don't they? Ghosts always come back!”

  With a heaving gasp, he let the chain loose. Jakat’s hand had fallen away, his body still and unmoving, a sack of meat held up only by the force of Ven’s grip. Ven let go, and the body of his oldest, dearest friend, his first and only love, slumped to the ground before him. A moment later, Ven joined him. He was empty, drained. Nothing left.