Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  He would lose that carefree nature as he grew older. When he had a daughter out in the worlds somewhere alone, and a wife who refused to answer his calls, he would know about cares.

  Aysun grouched his way back to the main room of Rheas’s house. He collected a mug of beer for himself, refusing to acknowledge the grey-haired man in the rocking chair. But when he turned to leave, he only made it halfway across the room before Rheas spoke.

  ‘No answer again, I take it.’

  ‘What do you know of it?’ He glowered heavily at his abominable parent, fiercely glad to have a target for his irritation.

  ‘Were you planning to do something about it, or will you settle for stamping about my house all day?’

  ‘Like what?’ Aysun demanded. ‘I’m stuck here for the present, playing nurse-maid to that child out there.’

  Rheas smirked. ‘I could do that without your help.’

  ‘Ynara asked it of me.’

  Rheas shook his head. ‘You’re a pushover.’

  Aysun’s fists clenched. ‘Shut up, old man. You forfeited your right to criticise my doings long ago.’

  Rheas shrugged. ‘I was going to suggest a solution, but if that’s the way you feel about it I’ll stay out of it.’

  ‘Oh, for the love of...’ Aysun massaged his temples. Never was anybody cursed with such an irritating, reprehensible, aggravating excuse for a sire. ‘Fine, make your suggestion.’

  Rheas’s eyes glinted. ‘It means accessing those summoner abilities you’ve been busy denying, my boy. Still interested?’

  Aysun took a long breath. ‘All right. Yes.’

  ‘Good. You haven’t forgotten Prink, I’m sure.’

  Prink? Aysun didn’t recognise the name, but he did recognise the colourful bundle of fur and wings that zipped past his nose.

  ‘Odd name.’

  ‘Your daughter’s choice, not mine. Prink will take you as a passenger for a short time, if you’re good and don’t snap at him.’

  Aysun frowned harder than ever. ‘A passenger? You’re talking nonsense.’

  ‘If I am, it’s remarkably effective nonsense. I’ve kept a close eye on our Llandry for years by this very method. And before you object, I’m the reason she survived that fight. I got her out, and that was due to the help of Prink here sticking to your girl like a burr. Still want to argue?’

  Aysun shook his head, mute.

  ‘Right. You’re going to have to do something pretty uncharacteristic for you. You’re going to have to forget yourself. For the next hour, you and Prink are the same. Now reach out to him. Not with your eyes or your ears; use those summoner senses you pretend you don’t have.’

  This came hard. Used to brutal denial of this traitorous, dangerous part of himself, Aysun struggled with the command to open himself to it.

  In the end, though, it wasn’t that hard. The very strength of his summoner nature was part of the fear. It rested just below the surface of his conscious mind, always threatening to break free of his ruthless control. No matter how hard he tried to be an ordinary engineer, magicless and safe, he had never managed it.

  He felt Prink’s mind like the touch of a feather on his skin. The little beast was enjoying the sensation of air across its wings, welcoming the room’s draughts like caresses.

  ‘Good,’ Rheas approved. ‘We don’t have time to muck about with this so I’m going to help you out. All right?’

  Aysun didn’t have time to reply before a mental blow struck him. He reeled in confusion as his befuddled mind divided between defending itself, fighting back and understanding what had happened.

  Juicy.

  The thought flitted across his own mind, but he knew it wasn’t his. Then he tasted something crunchy in his mouth - his mouth that remained, he was certain, empty - and a hot, sharp liquid ran over his tongue. He crunched the insect down, swallowing it with satisfaction. His wings beat frantically multiple times per second, but he didn’t need to concentrate on that; they took care of their own rhythm.

  And alongside all this he was still Aysun, a tall human with two arms and two legs and a deeply confused brain.

  ‘Talk to me,’ came Rheas’s voice. Looking his way, Aysun saw him through Prink’s eyes: enormous, hairy in the wrong places and imposing. But, oddly enough, the irilapter felt a pulse of affection for the man.

  ‘Hello?’ Aysun’s lips formed the word clearly; for a moment he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to manage speech anymore.

  ‘Good. Getting the hang of it?’

  ‘Mhm.’ Aysun’s attention was only half on the conversation. The rest of his brain experienced Prink’s world with fascination.

  He was almost jolted out of Prink’s consciousness when Rheas opened his mouth and bellowed a single word. ‘MAGS!’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ The little woman’s answering cry came merrily down the stairs and she herself soon followed.

  ‘Gate,’ Rheas barked. ‘Quickly.’ He pointed at Prink.

  ‘Right,’ said Mags placidly. She worked fast. Almost immediately a gate opened right in front of Prink’s long proboscis and, with a small cry of indignation, the irilapter was sucked into it.

  Aysun tumbled along, his soul protesting vehemently as the two parts of his mind were spread across two worlds. He was Aysun, standing in Rheas’s parlour before the fire, and he was also Prink, tumbling out of control through the Sanfaer house in Waeverleyne.

  If Prink didn’t get control of himself soon, they were going to crash into a wall.

  Use those bloody wings! he roared.

  Shout less. Prink arrested his headlong flight inches before the far wall of Aysun’s kitchen. He banked sharply and flew back into the middle of the room, his mind ablaze with indignation.

  ‘Sorry,’ Aysun said. He wasn’t sure whether his physical lips moved as he said it; was he speaking the words aloud, or only to Prink? No way to tell.

  He forgot Prink when he noticed the state of the kitchen. The first thing Prink’s surprisingly impressive vision centred on was a stack of washing-up lying next to the beautiful big, stone sink he had built for Ynara. The woman was obsessive about leaving the kitchen tidy when she went to bed, but those dishes looked as though they’d been there for longer than a few hours.

  He nudged Prink to make a circuit of the room, noting that the surfaces were gathering dust - something else Ynara hated. A cup rested on the table, full of an unidentifiable liquid that was covered in a layer of mould.

  They made a tour of the rest of the house, and what he saw heightened his anxiety beyond anything he’d known since Llandry was carried home, her small body a mess of blood. Everywhere were signs that Ynara hadn’t been home in a while. He knew her habits so well, he couldn’t believe that she’d simply become sloppy in the time since he’d left.

  Something big had to have happened. Something bad, to have kept her away from her home for days at a time, without warning him first and without taking his voice box device with her.

  Back to the portal, he told Prink. The irilapter dithered, attracted by some passing fragrance. Merciless, he used his anger to drive the creature on, back to the kitchen, through the gate that still hovered in the air.

  Back in Rheas’s house, he wrenched his consciousness free of Prink’s, ignoring the flash of pain that sliced through his skull. He crossed to the chair in which Rheas still sat, his fists instinctively clenching. He felt like striking the old man.

  ‘What was that about?’

  Rheas had the cheek to offer him an innocent look in response. ‘What?’

  ‘That was completely unnecessary. I could have gone through the gate myself and achieved the same. What game are you playing?’

  Rheas chuckled. ‘Couldn’t miss an opportunity to teach you a lesson, boy.’

  ‘What lesson?’

  Rheas sighed. ‘Apparently it failed.’

  ‘And how in the blazes is it possible to open a gate from here right into my kitchen?’ Sorcs couldn’t simply pick a location to gate
to, that he knew. A gate opening in the Uppers would appear in the corresponding location in the adjacent realm. That meant... ‘You’ve been living practically on top of our house all these years? And you never said anything? Never even told me you were alive?’

  ‘We’ve discussed all this.’ Rheas didn’t look at his son.

  Aysun struggled to keep his temper in check. He could beat his father senseless, and he felt so sorely tempted, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself afterwards.

  The old man wasn’t worth it.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ he said instead. ‘I have to get home.’

  ‘You were planning to tell us, weren’t you Ays? Not thinking of ditching your old buddies again, surely?’ Rufin wandered in, slouching as if he didn’t know the meaning of the word urgency.

  ‘Someone’s got to stay with that kid.’ Aysun jerked his thumb at the door, beyond which Orillin still frolicked with Graaf.

  ‘I’m not a nursery maid,’ Rufin growled. ‘I’m perishing with boredom up here. What did you need me for anyway?’

  ‘You’re a crack shot, Ruf.’

  ‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘Soon as I have anything to fire at, that is.’

  ‘Fine,’ Aysun snapped. ‘I don’t have time for this. Eyas will stay. You and me are going back.’

  Rufin touched two fingers to his forehead in a facetious salute. ‘Cap’n.’

  ***

  Minchu. Do you remember how you reached out to Isand, when she was still in her grave? I need you to do that now. Look for your mother.

  Llandry obeyed Pensould’s instruction without hesitation, anchoring her mind to Ynara’s essence. Instantly her delicate senses were overwhelmed with the wrongness in this fragile body. Bones were broken throughout her mother’s frame; her beautiful skin was torn and ruptured and bleeding. There was so much blood, seeping away as Mamma lay white and still.

  She was really dying, her life seeping out as Llandry watched. She could feel the life-energy fading second by second. The realisation smote her hard, closing her throat and filling her eyes with blinding tears.

  Pensould, she’s almost gone! Hurry, faster, please...

  You must stay calm. Above all, you must remain rational. We are going to use our own life-energy to restore hers, do you understand me? She is draykoni in large part; it will work. But you must not go too far. If you allow your emotions to rule you, your father may have to bury you both. Do you understand?

  Llandry nodded frantically, consumed by her urgency. Yes, yes. Now please, help her.

  Then follow my lead. Llandry watched in her mind’s eye as Pensould cocooned Ynara in a soft blanket of his own energy. He steadily increased the flow until the life-force surrounded Ynara in a ceaseless, whirling current.

  And yours, heart-of-mine.

  Llandry gulped down her panic and obeyed, letting her own energy stream out of her to join the river that supported her mother. Soon the flow grew so bright that she could hardly focus her mind on it.

  Good. Pensould’s thoughts shifted as he redirected the current. It streamed into Ynara, mingling with her fading energy, reinforcing her life. Pensould directed the healing force first at Ynara’s heart, stabilising its slow, irregular rhythm. Next he turned his attention to the lungs filling with blood and water; he purged them, searing away the choking fluids. Ynara’s breathing cleared.

  But Llandry was beginning to feel the pressure. It started as a crushing tiredness that hit her all at once, draining her strength. Holding herself upright became too much; she dropped to the floor.

  Hold on! There is much yet to be done.

  The blood that seeped away internally, drop by drop, slowed as Pensould strove to rebuild Ynara’s broken internal functions. He too was flagging now, his own life-energy burning lower the longer the healing went on.

  Llandry’s world shrank down to the simple task of drawing breath. One after another, in and out... even drawing in air came to seem almost impossible, but she hung on, grimly determined to last as long as her mother needed.

  Pensould’s voice broke in on her suffering, his words weak and hard to hear. I can’t - stop the bleeding, entirely. The damage is too much. We are spent. Time to withdraw.

  No! Finish it.

  I dare not -

  Llandry gritted her teeth and reached deeper, finding new stores of energy inside herself. She didn’t question where they came from; she merely thrust them at Pensould, willing him to continue.

  Please!

  With a cry of anguish, Pensould did as she directed. Her mother’s wounds began to close, bones began to knit, but so slowly, not fast enough...

  Llandry hung on until she truly couldn’t breathe. Her exhausted body lacked the energy to operate itself. The last thing she heard as her eyes closed was the sound of Pensould cursing.

  ***

  Aysun had never run so fast in his life. The distance from his home to the city’s main infirmary was not inconsiderable, but he never hesitated. Ignoring Rufin’s gasped protests stuttering on from behind him, he powered on.

  It had taken no time at all to learn what had happened. The minute he emerged from his house, a neighbour had descended on him in a flurry of wings and excitement. She had badly garbled the recent events in her haste, but he had understood enough.

  It took twenty minutes of hard running to reach the infirmary’s gates. He didn’t pause to explain his errand to the desk clerk; he merely gasped his wife’s name.

  The clerk’s eyes widened. ‘Second floor. Room thirty-two.’

  Aysun ran on. He skipped the new-built elevator in favour of the stairs. At last he burst into room thirty-two, limbs burning and chest heaving, with Rufin not far behind.

  He found two beds, both containing a wan and still occupant. One of them was Ynara, her normally vibrant skin drained of colour and her eyes closed.

  In the other bed lay his daughter, her state alarmingly similar.

  Pensould sat in a chair beside Llandry’s bed, holding one of her limp hands in his own. He too looked drained, dark circles staining the stark white skin beneath eyes that stood out harshly in his exhausted face.

  ‘What happened?’ The words came out louder than Aysun intended.

  ‘We did a healing,’ Pensould said. His voice was weak and he struggled to breathe properly. ‘She went too far. I warned her, but...’ He shook his head. He was gripping Llandry’s hand hard, Aysun noticed, his knuckles white with effort. It was as if he intended to hold Llandry to life by sheer force of will.

  Perhaps that was exactly what he was doing.

  ‘Are they...?’ Aysun couldn’t say the words.

  ‘They’re both alive. But their - our - life-energy was used up in fixing, and mending, and - and -’ He paused to breathe, slow, laboured breaths drawn with a struggle. ‘They - have not enough left for consciousness. Maybe not enough to live.’

  For a moment Aysun said nothing, merely gulped in air. For once, Rufin had no facetious comment to make. He stared at the two still forms, mute.

  ‘What can I do?’ Aysun said, when he had breath enough for speech.

  ‘Nothing,’ Pensould returned dully. Then his eyes sharpened and he gazed keenly at Aysun. ‘Or perhaps...’ His gaze flicked to Rufin. ‘Him I cannot use, but you! Yes, it makes sense. Draykoni at heart, both of you. Of course you would be, it is why she is one of us...’

  The man rambled, his utterances incoherent and nonsensical to Aysun. Frustration flooded him. His wife and daughter needed help; Pensould merely sounded insane.

  ‘Pensould. If you have a way to help them, then please. Get on with it.’

  ‘It might be enough.’ The words were rasped, spoken by a soul pushed almost beyond endurance. Pensould lunged at him suddenly, and Aysun jumped as the man’s free hand fastened around his wrist, hard.

  ‘What -’ Aysun had no time to say anything else. He felt pulled, all his strength and vitality suddenly sucked out of him with a force that drove him to his knees. Pensould’s grip on his arm h
urt, so much he feared the man might break the bone, but Aysun hadn’t the breath to object. Now he understood how Pensould had felt moments before. Breathing was enough of a challenge; talking could wait.

  He didn’t understand what was happening. He heard Rufin curse behind him and then the gunman’s hands were pulling at him, dragging him away from Pensould.

  ‘Stop it,’ he managed. ‘Leave me - be -’ Rufin swore again and backed away. Whatever Pensould was doing escaped him, but that he meant to help Ynara and Llandry was sufficient. Aysun endured.

  ‘Enough,’ gasped Pensould at last. The dragging sensation stopped and the terrible grip on his wrist eased. Aysun tried to get to his feet, but his legs gave way and he dropped.

  Rufin caught him and hauled him up. ‘There there, old man. You’re all right.’

  Was he? It was hard to tell. He was still breathing, at any rate. That was a good start.

  Pensould, however, looked ready to die where he sat. If he had been exhausted before, he now looked... there wasn’t a word for it. For an instant Aysun feared he was dead, but his chest still rose and fell.

  Then his eyes opened and he actually smiled.

  ‘Look,’ he said, his eyes moving to Llandry’s face.

  Aysun looked. She still lay unmoving. He tried to convince himself that her face held more colour, but he couldn’t really see any difference. And Ynara was the same.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re stabilising. Energy regenerating... faster.’

  ‘You’re using yourself up,’ Aysun said bluntly. ‘You’d better stop. It’s not helping.’

  ‘My fault,’ whispered Pensould. ‘I woke them up. Never meant for her to be hurt. Either of them. I have to... fix it...’ His eyes glazed over and his body swayed.