Bloodmage

by Stephen Aryan

  After twenty minutes of painting a complex geometric shape on the floor with black henna and using incense and candles to decorate the room, it started to look vaguely mystical. The outline of the design was complete, but she still needed to tie all of the different symbols together to create the impression of a web, connecting the seven deadly sins.

  “It still needs some work,” said Katja as Faith moved towards the door.

  “You can finish it. I have other business elsewhere,” she said, checking the corridor before slipping out. Katja followed her to the door, listened briefly and then stepped into the corridor.

  From further along the corridor she heard women laughing and the sound of splashing water. Faith had completely disappeared. She considered her options and then stepped back into the room to finish arranging things quickly. A different idea occurred and Katja changed the centre of the design to save time, leaving two large empty spaces.

  Walking with purpose she strode down the corridor, ready to be challenged but the Venarras must have dismissed their staff as she saw no servants or guards in the house. The sound of intimate moaning drew her towards an open door through which she saw the Lady Venarra in a huge tiled bath. It was large enough to fit twenty people, but now it held only three naked occupants. Lady Venarra was being pleasured by both of the prostitutes and was completely oblivious to anything else. Whatever Faith had slipped into their drinks had removed all of her inhibitions.

  Her groans echoed off the bare walls and Katja hurried away, keen to find Faith and discover the real reason for their visit. In the next room she could hear Lord Venarra, who was equally busy, but she kept walking and came to a narrow set of spiral stairs. At the bottom the corridor split left and right but a faint scraping to her left drew her attention.

  Moving as quietly as possible Katja crept to the end of the corridor where she peered through a door left ajar. Inside, Faith was sat on the floor inspecting documents taken from a vault, its huge metal door swung open on hinges as thick as her leg. Inside the vault she could see shelves stacked high with rare and special valuables from all over the world, but Faith only had eyes for the documents spread out on the floor. She carefully picked her way through several before finding those that she wanted, which she took out of the stack.

  Katja made her way back to the sitting room where she poured herself a glass of wine. Faith appeared a few minutes later carrying two thick robes in the house colours.

  “It shouldn’t be long now,” she said, cocking her head to one side as the sounds of pleasure reached fever pitch. She glanced at the design on the floor and raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s a mix of all sorts, symbols of rebirth, together with nonsense I’ve made up. Where did you go?”

  At first Katja thought Faith wouldn’t answer but it seemed as if her actions had bought her some goodwill. “To obtain some leverage, just in case.”

  “Do we need to come back here again?”

  “Perhaps,” said Faith. Katja rolled her eyes and was about to say something sarcastic when she noticed something in Faith’s expression.

  “You don’t know what all of this is for either.”

  Faith grimaced. “No, but I can guess.”

  “So can I,” said Katja. “Blackmail. But why them?”

  Faith didn’t have an answer.

  Katja shook her head in dismay. “You’re letting Rodann treat you like just another puppet.”

  Faith paused in the door, a wry smile on her face. “Don’t try to turn me against him. I’m not easily manipulated.”

  “No, you’re not. And yet despite not paying for the hour, he’s still getting you to do what he wants.” Her words made Faith flinch as she went out the door.

  A few minutes later, dressed once more in their white robes, the prostitutes carried the naked Venarras into the room. Both were partially conscious and they seemed only vaguely aware of their surroundings.

  The prostitutes wrapped each of them in a robe then lay them down in the centre of the pattern on the floor. Katja painted more of the geometric pattern on their hands with henna while the others daubed red mud between their toes. They dribbled a little more mud on the floor, lit the incense and carefully backed out of the room.

  When they were a few streets away Katja turned to Faith.

  “What happens now?”

  “The fox-root will give them vivid dreams. When it wears off they’ll wake up with a strong sense of euphoria. They may ask us to go back. You’ll have to come up with something else at that point,” said Faith, giving her fair warning.

  Katja didn’t ask why, as she knew Faith hadn’t been told how the disparate pieces of the plan connected. The brooding silence and twitching muscles in Faith’s jaw told Katja that this wasn’t over. Her words had stung Faith more deeply than she had admitted. Now Katja wasn’t the only one desperate to uncover the truth about what lay ahead.

  For the first time since she’d agreed to infiltrate the group, Katja felt as if she was doing something proactive. It wasn’t much but it was a start to finding some real answers.

  CHAPTER 25

  Early morning sunlight shone through the glass roof of the theatre, bathing one section of the seats in golden light. In the glow Choss could see the grain of the wood beneath the varnish, swirls and knots that should have felt rough but were smooth under his fingertips. Someone had spent countless hours crafting the chairs, honing the wood, sanding and polishing until it was perfectly smooth.

  It brought back memories from his childhood of sitting in the back pew of the church of the Maker. He’d listen to the sermons, but not watch or engage with anyone else. Instead he’d focus on the wood beneath his fingers, tracing lines and patterns, imagining they were mighty rivers or secret maps that led to hidden treasure.

  Closing his eyes Choss let the silence of the theatre wash over him as light played across his eyelids. The silence felt very different here compared to the church. The building was quiet, but there was no peace to be had, no comfort in the uniform empty seats or silent stage. The air hummed with expectation, like the moment before a fight.

  Far below he stared at the two empty chairs on the half-stage. They’d soon be occupied by Don and Dońa Jarrow. When one stood in front of them the chairs were imposing, but from up here they looked small and insignificant.

  A set of heavy feet thumped on the stairs and a minute later Don Jarrow sat down, his wife beside him. Choss didn’t look around but the two shadows that fell over him told him that Vargus and Daxx were in the row behind. Waves of anger and hostility poured off Daxx towards him but Choss ignored it.

  “My wife tells me you’ve been busy,” said Don Jarrow, gesturing at the cloth bundle on Choss’s lap. He passed it over and the Don carefully unwrapped it, making sure his bare skin didn’t touch any part of what lay inside. The venthe plant looked fairly innocuous, a grey white stalk with bulbous white and blue mushrooms, but all of them knew how lethal it could be.

  “Tell us what you found,” said Don Jarrow.

  Choss glanced at Dońa Jarrow for some guidance as to how much he should mention about her involvement, but as ever her expression remained unreadable.

  Choss started with the Don’s plea to his people to find out who was responsible for the new lethal dose of venthe. He skipped over how he knew it had come from Don Kal, as it would put some of the blame on Vinny and the arena for not dealing with Brokk sooner. Instead he focused on his ventures into the meat district and finding the warehouse where they’d been growing the venthe.

  “The albino. Did you recognise him?” asked Don Jarrow.

  Choss shook his head. “No, first one I’ve seen in the city.”

  “And you’re sure it was Don Kal?” asked Dońa Jarrow, her piercing eyes locking onto him. She probably thought he’d been hit in the head too many times and couldn’t tell one Morrin from another.

  “It was him. I’m certain.”

  Don Jarrow sat back and the chair creaked under his weight. He clos
ed his eyes and tilted his chin up until the sunlight fell across his face.

  Seeing Don Jarrow up close Choss noticed the bags under his eyes looked more pronounced than usual, the notches between his eyebrows deeper. White hairs amid the black in his beard sparkled in the light, glinting like broken glass. Don Jarrow sat perfectly still, taking deep breaths, soaking up sunlight like a cat. Choss could see his eyes twitching beneath his closed lids and knew the Don rarely had moments of peace like this.

  After a couple of minutes Don Jarrow cracked open one eye and tilted his head towards his wife. “Will the other Families agree to a meeting tomorrow night?”

  “I think so,” she mused and shook her head, faintly annoyed. “This can’t wait. I’ll make sure they understand the urgency.”

  Don Jarrow grunted and turned towards Choss. “You’ve done well, far better than any of my incompetent Silver and Gold. I would thank you, but my gut tells me this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “At least give the man something for his trouble,” said Dońa Jarrow but Choss felt a cold prickle up his spine at her words. For some reason it felt more like a threat than the promise of a reward. He turned his head slightly and from one eye corner saw a look pass between Daxx and Dońa Jarrow. She shook her head slightly and Daxx frowned, clearly disappointed. The moment passed and Choss would’ve thought he’d imagined it, if not for the worrying prickle across the back of his scalp.

  “Yes, of course,” said Don Jarrow, clapping Choss on the shoulder and offering him the semblance of a friendly smile. “How about I arrange for you to spend a little time with one, no, make it two girls from the Blue Lotus?”

  The Blue Lotus was one of the most elite and expensive brothels in the city. It only catered to the rich and hired the most beautiful and talented women from across the world. Choss had heard the stories, but knew of no one who had actually set foot inside the establishment.

  “That’s very generous, but I’m not interested,” said Choss, which wasn’t strictly true, but there were more important issues to think about than his gratification.

  Don Jarrow raised an eyebrow and Choss heard the chairs creaking behind him as Vargus and Daxx shifted, but he didn’t turn around to see their faces. Only Dońa Jarrow seemed unsurprised and her expression didn’t change, but he sensed tension in her body as if she were poised to fight.

  “The arena,” said Choss, before Don Jarrow could offer something else or speculate about the nature of his refusal. “That’s all I care about. I want this thing with the venthe and Don Kal settled as much as you do, so I can get back to work. If there’s anything else I can do to help, just ask.”

  “You’re a strange man, Choss. There’s not many who would turn down a night at the Blue Lotus.” Don Jarrow chuckled and shook his shaggy head. “But I’ll keep your offer in mind. You’ve certainly proved yourself.”

  Despite all the money he’d made over the years Choss had few possessions and most of those held more sentimental value than monetary worth. Perhaps it came from growing up with so little and having to fend for himself in one way or another from an early age. The only exception to the rule was the investment he’d made in buying his own home.

  After every fight, right from the start when he’d begun making money, he’d put a little of his winnings aside. Years later it allowed him to buy a house overnight. He never had to risk getting caught in a cycle of borrowing from unscrupulous lenders to pay his debts, or making deals with dodgy landlords when times were lean. Whatever happened he would always have a roof over his head. He’d seen too much of it as a boy. Families turfed out of their homes for falling behind on the rent. Corrupt people wielding tiny amounts of power over others as if they were kings, taking away what little remained from those already at the bottom of the pile.

  Choss shook his head as he ascended the steps of his home, trying to get rid of the melancholy that had settled over him. His meeting with the Jarrows had gone well and yet something nagged at him.

  Gorrax was exactly where he’d left him, asleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs. At first the Vorga had found the idea of sleeping on such a soft surface quite distressing, but now he looked quite comfortable lying with both arms spread out. His ears flicked slightly as Choss came into the room but he kept his eyes closed.

  “There are many things about your city and your people that I will never understand,” said Gorrax. “Why you cover everything in stone. Why you eat cows and pigs and why many of you live away from the sea inland. But this,” said the Vorga, opening his eyes and smoothing out the woollen blanket. “This is nice. It feels very soft.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” said Choss, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t you have anything like it in your country?”

  Gorrax sat up and clacked his tongue. “Yes, but only a little. Wool is not so good when wet. Mostly we trade for cotton.” He thumbed the vest he always wore. “More useful. Lasts longer and less expensive.”

  It wasn’t often the Vorga spoke about his homeland so freely, and despite being friends with Gorrax for years, Choss still knew very little about his family.

  “Why did you come here? To this city?” asked Choss. It was a question many had wondered about, but no one had felt brave enough to ask.

  Blue Vorga were the most common tribe seen in the human cities. They understood trade far better than the rest of their people and they had the most even temper. Brown Vorga rarely ventured out of their swamps and the coastal green Vorga were notoriously ferocious and the most unsociable outside their own people. At one time Gorrax had told him they were also the biggest and best warriors in the world, respected and feared by all. Choss had a different opinion but he didn’t argue the point. The blue Vorga also seemed the most intelligent, but Choss kept that to himself as well.

  Gorrax said nothing for a while and sat with his head bowed and eyes closed. The bruising and injuries from his beatings in the tombs had completely healed, returning his skin to its usual green and white hue. Eventually Gorrax looked up and Choss saw something in the Vorga’s eyes he’d never seen before. Uncertainty.

  “Explain this to me. What is a prostitute?”

  The question took Choss by surprise, but he chose his words carefully before answering. Gorrax had been living in Perizzi long enough to grasp all aspects of human society, including the sex trade, but as ever with the Vorga a simple question hinted at something else. “Someone who sells their body for money.”

  “Among my people no one buys or sells sex. Everything is within marriage.”

  “Did you visit a prostitute?”

  Gorrax clacked his teeth in frustration. “How do you choose a husband? A wife?”

  “You spend time together. You talk and learn about the person. Then you decide together to get married.”

  “There is no deciding made for the woman or the man?” asked Gorrax.

  “Some faiths have arranged marriages, but it’s uncommon these days. Mostly people choose for themselves.”

  “Among my people strength always decides. A female can choose a male and challenge him to a fight. If she wins she is the main provider and they will marry. If she loses she was weak and unworthy. A male may also choose the female in this way. One always leads the other. Nethun wants only the strongest to survive and have children.”

  “Is that why you left your people? You didn’t want to marry the female who defeated you?”

  “No. No one bested me, not until you,” hissed Gorrax, getting frustrated. Choss sat down beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me.”

  Gorrax let out a sigh that went on for a long time before he spoke again. “No, Choss, you should know this, but it is hard to explain. Years ago I found someone I liked, someone worthy. We fought and I was the strongest, but the one I chose was not the same. My people could not accept my choice.”

  “They were from another Vorga tribe?”

  “Something like this,
” said Gorrax. “My family killed them for being different. I did not share in their shame so I left before they killed me as well.”

  Of all the possible reasons to explain why a green Vorga had fled his own people, forbidden love was not one Choss had considered. He’d expected it to revolve around revenge or a blood debt, which Gorrax had spoken about, or one of the long-running feuds between the tribes. Most people thought all Vorga were war-hungry savages who ate their own young and did nothing but fight. After years of hearing stories from Gorrax, Choss had a better understanding of their culture than most, but this latest revelation skewed everything he knew.

  “I must go,” said Gorrax, getting up and heading to the front door in a rush. If he’d been human Choss would have said he was embarrassed, but until today he’d not thought the Vorga capable of it.

  “Wait,” said Choss, taking the stairs two at a time and catching up to Gorrax at the front door.

  “I have been behind stone walls for too long,” said Gorrax. “I need to swim in the sea. I will come back in a few hours.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I’m honoured you shared this with me,” said Choss, knowing that Gorrax had found it difficult. The Vorga tried to say something but changed his mind and went out the door without another word.

  Choss tried to imagine all that Gorrax had been through but struggled to compare it to something from his own life.

  He had very few memories of Seveldrom, as his father had moved the whole family to Yerskania before his third birthday. For many years the winding streets of Perizzi were all he knew. Eventually he’d made the pilgrimage back to the country of his birth, but by then it had become just another place. He had no family ties in the area and no friends or memories to anchor his emotions. He’d quickly grown bored of exploring and come back home to Yerskania. Being forced to flee his home and leave behind everything familiar or risk being murdered by his family was difficult to imagine.

  A loud knocking at his front door pulled Choss from his reverie. Much to his surprise he found Dońa Jarrow standing in the street. He glanced up and down the road but there was no sign of Daxx.