Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1

by Mark Ryan

  Hands shaking from the effort, she withdrew and tried to gather her wits. All around her, the other girls sniffled and coughed, or whimpered and wept. Despite their fears, they shifted position to protect Halli, concealing her from the orocs as she recovered. Halli couldn’t sustain them all forever, not with her faded strength. They needed help.

  At least one oroc guarded their cage at all times. Halli motioned for the girls to disperse. Standing up, she edged over until she caught their current guard’s eye. A female holding a stone spear, the oroc squinted at her with gold and brown flecked eyes the color of autumn.

  “Please,” Halli said, “could you bring us some more water and food?” She mimed eating and drinking and pointed to the others. “We need more.”

  The oroc trilled in her own language and shook the spear. Not a promising response. Halli gripped a stiff vine and pressed her face against the cage side. “You don’t understand. If we don’t have more to eat or drink, some of us are going to start dying. Do you understand die? Death?” Reaching through the cage she grabbed the guard’s hand, pushing as much healing through the contact as she could. Maybe the gesture would help the oroc understand.

  It didn’t. The oroc shouted in alarm. Halli jerked away as the guard jabbed the spear at her stomach. Falling onto her back, she pushed back up and fought to keep her voice from quavering. “Please, you have to help us! Don’t just let us die.”

  The oroc took a step further from the cage, out of reach, and turned away. No further amount of pleading made her so much as glance Halli’s way. Giving up, she squared her shoulders and set her jaw before turning back to the other girls. Leesa and Laney were watching her with wide eyes. Halli scooted back into a corner and hunched in on herself, grasping at every desperate thought. Something had to change, or she’d be forced to watch the others drop way one by one.

  She started as another oroc came up by the cage, and studied her. A large male, he had dark eyes and wore an assembly of purplish vines over his mud-colored skin. He crouched to her eye level.

  “You are … Geist?” he asked. “Healer?”

  She nodded, trying to hide her astonishment at being spoken to by one of their kind. In all their weeks here, none of the orocs had shown any sign of being able to understand their language. “I am. Yes. I am a Geist.”

  He shifted his gaze to the other girls. “Saplings are sick. Make dying sounds.”

  Saplings? That must be how they referred to children. “Yes. They are. We … we need more food and water to get better. And better shelter. We will die if we don’t get warm and dry.”

  The guard said something to the crouching oroc in their native tongue. He replied and waved a huge hand at the kids around Halli. His lips peeled back, exposing surprisingly white teeth as he looked back to Halli. “I bring, you heal?”

  Halli rose onto her knees and bowed her head submissively. “I’ll try. I will. Yes. Please help us.”

  “You heal, you serve Gnarrl.”

  His name? And what did he mean by serve? It didn’t matter, though. She’d sworn to do whatever it took to keep the others alive. “I’ll do anything you want. Just give me a chance to help my friends.”

  He pondered this for a moment, and then rose and strode away. Leesa and Laney rushed over to her, excited, but scared to speak. Halli remained kneeling, head bowed and waiting, hoping beyond hope this might be the change they needed to survive.

  And praying it didn’t come at too high a cost.

  ***

  Chapter 22

  Tetra Bicks

  Tetra thought it was a simple enough problem. His goal stood before him with a number of obstacles in his way. He just needed to overcome them one at a time. Work it backwards. Too bad Halli wasn’t here, she was always better at thinking things through than him.

  In the end, that was his priority. Halli’s rescue mattered most. What stood in the way of accomplishing that? The orocs, of course. Now, to defeat the orocs, he needed strength enough to fight. And to fight, he needed his legs back under his control. In order to do that, he needed to overcome two more immediate issues: the persistent pain of his shattered spine and Alma’s watchful eye.

  With each day, the pain became more familiar, like a grumbling companion whose complaints comforted him, in an odd way. If the pain ever fell silent, that’d worry him even more. It reminded him that he still lived … still fought. It goaded him to push harder, to strain longer, to harden the stone at his core into iron. Or better yet, steel.

  After their initial argument, so long as Tetra lay in bed whenever the healer visited, Alma seemed content that he’d made his point. He brought him all the food he needed, inspected his back, and reminded him to rest as much as possible. Whenever he went to tend others—usually soldiers injured in training—his assistant remained nearby; but Tetra found a few gruff words convinced her to leave him alone well enough.

  When assured he had a few hours to himself, Tetra practiced. He started by grabbing his knees and ankles, forcing his legs to move around, stretching and bending them. Maybe by going through the motions, they’d be reminded of how they were supposed to work.

  Then he propped himself up on the edge of the bed. His back never failed to clench and spasm at this, but he waited until this eased—and it always did after enough time. The first few times, he had almost blacked out. But as he grew used to his constant companion, it lost its control over him.

  Tetra delighted in realizing the pain exhausted itself before he did. Even though it launched into each of their private battles with renewed fury, it always gave up the fight before him.

  Once balanced, he then used his Graviton affinity to lighten his torso while keeping his arms strong and weighted. This way, it proved easier to haul himself up, using his arms like posts on the bed while his legs dangled below. Then he commanded his legs to stiffen and let himself drop. Each time he fell, he dragged himself back into the bed and repeated the process. After a dozen tries, he at least learned to either catch himself or fall without a bruising thud.

  After another dozen, he tried increasing the density of his legs, envisioning them as unbending stone columns. This kept him upright for a second or two longer, but still sent him toppling. Days and then weeks had gone by with him repeating this process, wearing himself out, sleeping between tries. Occasionally Kafa would pad into the room, licking his face when he fell. On rare occasion the hound would curl up on his bed, head stretched across tetra’s stomach, and sleep with him.

  After the first couple weeks, Tetra scooted the table and chair around the room, just within reach, and increased their weight so he could shove off them without knocking them over. Using these, he began taking laps around the bed, using it as a support while dragging his legs, until his arms trembled and his tunic lay soaked against his skin. Then he would flop back into bed until the burning in his muscles eased enough for him to start it all over again.

  And again.

  And again.

  The few times Alma came in to find him drenched in sweat, Tetra convinced him it came from wrestling with a particularly nasty back spasm or from straining for the water jug on the bedside table. The healer reprimanded him each time, saying he should’ve called for help or asked for more medicine, but didn’t press it further.

  Perhaps he conceded this one bit of independence out of pity. Whatever the reason, so long as Tetra maintained the illusion of being a willing patient, Alma stayed almost cheerful about his recovery. Every night he would focus on Halli, feeling for the connection to her. The cooling Geist magic would wash over him, and his spine and will would strengthen.

  Kafa stayed in the room after his master left with increasing regularity, watching Tetra with his keen blue eyes. Tetra fed him a few scraps of his own meals to try and keep him quiet. During one such visit, the hound watched him on his fourth attempt to stand. When he dropped with jarring force, the dog whined.

  Afraid the whines would draw notice, Tetra pushed up on an elbow and glared at the bea
st. “Don’t sound like that. Legs aren’t that important. I knew a man a few villages over who had a three-legged dog once. Didn’t stop him from being one of the best pelt hunters around.”

  Kafa trotted over to lick his face. Tetra jerked away, not wanting slobber up his nostrils. Smiling, he gave in and rolled onto his back, letting Kafa lick him. Kafa lathered his cheeks as Tetra pet him.

  Relaxing, Tetra focused on his legs, willing them to move on their own. As he pet Kafa, the room vanished, so intent was his focus on his legs. He ignored everything, staring at his feet. Sweat broke out on his brow. The connection to Halli was strong, and his own magic was at work, coursing through his body.

  “Move, damn you,” he grunted.

  His toe twitched.

  ***

  Chapter 23

  Malthius Reynolds

  Reynolds leaned against the window sill, Corporal Kellian Mikkels at his side. They often used this room. Its view, overlooking the main training yard, was ideal to study troop maneuvers, or confer on scouting trips. Yet it also let them see part of the infirmary ward—specifically, the window into the boy’s chamber.

  A few days after hearing that the boy had woken Reynolds had visited him. It had been weeks since the attack. He noted the weaving placed on the bedside table. Tetra had a healthier pallor to his features; though, oddly, he breathed heavily and sweat glistened on his brow.

  Sitting in the only available chair, he placed his helm in his lap and tried for a comforting smile. “I’m Sergeant Reynolds. I believe Healer Alma mentioned me?”

  Tetra gave a small nod. “He said you rescued me.” The surgeon’s dog was in the room, resting his head in the sick boy’s lap, getting petted in return.

  Reynolds chuckled. “I brought you back after the battle, yes, but you didn’t need much rescuing during the encounter. Do you recall what you did to that oroc?”

  The boy frowned. “I … don’t remember much from the whole thing.”

  “Not surprising. I’ve had soldiers forget whole days after a shock like that. It was an impressive feat, though. I’ve never seen anyone do what you did.”

  Tetra looked away. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The healer says I’ll never walk again.” Tetra was reaching over the hound’s head, rubbing self-consciously at his dead legs.

  Reynolds hid a scowl and silently cursed Petrius. Alma had mentioned the severity of the boy’s injuries and mentioned his doubts, but he’d not made any official report the sergeant knew of. He should’ve known better, giving such hopeless news to someone who’d already had so many things ripped out of his life. What would a lie, even a temporary one, have hurt here? It might’ve at least given the boy a goal to cling to during his recovery.

  “Do you think he’s right?” Tetra asked, turning to face him again.

  This was tricky territory. Reynolds fiddled with his helm, thinking, then finally sighed and answered. “Tetra, I’m a Tempest, not a Geist. Healer Alma has saved the lives of my men numerous times, even from wounds I thought for sure would be the end of them. I believe he always tries his best.”

  The boy’s expression darkened and he looked ready to speak, but just glanced down at his hands. The set of his jaw firmed, and he began petting the hound again.

  Reynolds stood, tucking his helm under an arm. What could he say to help the boy understand that all wasn’t lost? Nothing. Giving him a parting nod, the sergeant strode to the door, but paused right before exiting. A thought had occurred to him.

  “He always tries his best,” he said, “but it doesn’t mean he’s never wrong.” Without looking back, he headed out, leaving Tetra to decide what that meant.

  Now, a week later, Reynolds and Mikkels watched Tetra make another pass across his room. His legs still trailed, unmoving, and the men exchanged uncomfortable glances each time he fell.

  Mikkels shifted in place. “Should we tell Healer Alma, sir? I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of what the boy’s doing.”

  The sergeant looked at the other man askance. “Do we tell Petrius everything that goes on in this castle, Corporal?”

  Mikkels frowned. “No, sir.”

  “There’s a good reason for that. Not every man here needs to know everything going on around him—especially if he might use that knowledge to another’s detriment.” Reynolds rubbed at the back of his neck, easing the tension there. Lately sleep had not been a luxury he could indulge in often, and his muscles were starting to complain. “What the boy does gives him hope. Who are we to take that away from him?”

  The corporal’s frown deepened as he worked through the logic behind this. “You don’t think Healer Alma can be trusted? I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

  Reynolds walked from the window to study a parchment detailing the latest troop orders. “Oh, I don’t doubt he holds the welfare of Lord Drayston, as well as that of his patients, at his heart. But there are plenty of ways one could interpret loyalty to our master.” He looked up at Mikkels without raising his head. “For instance, one could argue that unswerving obedience to our lord’s commands is in his best interest. After all, he needs to rely on loyal soldiers, doesn’t he?”

  “Sir.”

  “But what if the commands he gave were a bit … shortsighted? What if they didn’t take into account a larger, possibly growing threat right on our borders? A vulnerability we needed as much information about as possible, yet which he’s ordered us to ignore?” The conversation, which had started with the boy, had quickly moved to the pressures Reynolds was feeling. There were few of his soldiers that he could speak openly with, and he took the opportunities when they came up.

  Mikkels’ lips quirked. “I think I see your point.”

  Reynolds rolled up the parchment, which detailed the last few squads he’d sent into the Rocmire. They’d not encountered any orocs yet, but he knew they were there. It was just a matter of time before they stumbled over one of their tree platform villages.

  “If Alma found out what our scouts are up to, he wouldn’t see it as a military necessity. He’d see it as disloyalty, and would no doubt report us within the hour. In the same way, this boy is a fighter, and I don’t feel Alma respects that about him.” He rejoined Mikkels at the window and resumed watching Tetra’s struggles. “So, no, Corporal, we won’t be informing on our guest from Jaegen.”

  Mikkels gestured down at the boy, who braced against the back of a chair. “What if he hurts himself again, though?”

  “He will. There is no prize worth capturing that doesn’t come with some pain and loss. If it eases your mind any, I’ll take full responsibility for that.”

  “Hate to say it, sir, but it being your responsibility won’t help him much if it happens.”

  Reynolds eyed the corporal, who shrugged and waved a copy of new scout orders. “I’ll just go deliver these then?”

  Reynolds glanced down at Tetra’s room as Mikkels headed for the door. Then he held a hand out. “Hold a minute, Corporal.”

  Mikkels stood at attention. “Sir?”

  Reynolds stared at Tetra across the courtyard, disbelieving what he saw. The boy stood. His legs wobbled, and then firmed. He took one tottering step, and the knee gave out again, sending him rolling to the floor.

  But he’d stood, if for a few seconds.

  Reynolds grinned to himself, but wiped it away before looking to Mikkels. “Do you remember where we stashed the boy’s sword?”

  “Sword, sir? I think it’s in the armory.”

  “Before you deliver the orders, retrieve the sword and place it on one of the weapon racks in the training yard.”

  Mikkels tilted his head. “Permission to ask why, sir?”

  Reynolds glanced back down at Tetra, remembering the boy leaping thirty five feet to shatter an oroc club with that sword. “It’ll give him something to hold on to.”

  ***

  Chapter 24

  Tetra Bicks

  Tetra lay on his
back, staring at the ceiling. He was smiling, doing his best to hide an ear splitting grin. He had always had a problem listening to the adults, wanting to make his own decisions about the world. It had gotten him into trouble plenty of times in the past. This time though …

  Lightening his upper body and weighing down the small table, he grasped it and pulled himself up. His left leg trembled … and then jerked beneath him, foot planted. He increased its density, helping it firm up. Then he repeated the process with his right leg. He still wasn’t sure that his magic was helping in any way, but the results couldn’t be argued with. He imagined his body being made of stone and steel, an extension of his will. Unbreakable. Unshakable.

  With a sudden motion, he straightened his back and locked his knees. The burning along his spine flood down through his waist, down through his thighs and calves until his toes felt aflame. He released the table and thrust his arms out to the sides, trying to balance. He wobbled, grasping at the air and pin-wheeling his arms until he was precariously balanced, but upright. He welcomed the riot of pain as it sizzled and raged through his whole body.

  His whole body. He almost whooped and hollered at this thought, but caught himself before his cry of triumph might’ve alerted the healer or his assistant. He lived in even more fear of Petrius Alma discovering him now. The idea of being tied down to help his healing was terrifying. He had fought to hard, and was afraid that being restrained would cost him the progress he had made.

  Then his legs buckled and he dropped him flat on the floor again. Rolling to absorb the hit, he stopped up against a leg of the bed, gasping for breath. The metal of the leg was cool against his cheek. He lay there until the firestorm swirling through him faded to mere tongues of flame licking at his flesh.

  Even then, he exulted in the needling heat across his legs, accepting the returned sensation as a gift from the Aspects, a second chance to make things right. He wouldn’t waste this opportunity.