We Are Blood and Thunder

by Kesia Lupo

  For a few moments, Xander was silent. ‘And why did you return?’ he asked softly. He raised his fingers to her right hand, still resting on her cheek, held it in his own. It felt … good. Warm and strong.

  ‘The storm cloud is a spell – the Justice is right about that, at least. For all these years, I’ve been learning about it. And now I’ve come back – to conquer it. To claim my birthright.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘Xander, this is my home too. I can’t let them take it from me.’

  ‘How are you going to do it?’ He was whispering now – and standing very close. His green eyes searched her own as he drew her hand from her cheek, pulled her into his body.

  ‘Every spell has a heart.’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘If I can just find it …’

  He nodded, as though he understood, and she rested her cheek against his shoulder. ‘But, Constance … who cast the spell?’ His hand was cradling the back of her head, as if it were something precious. She tilted her lips upwards.

  ‘My father believed it was Dr Thorn, under the Justice’s instruction.’

  ‘It is a twisted game he is playing,’ Xander murmured. But he wasn’t concentrating on the story any more, his eyes glowing and unfocused. He tilted her head back and rested his forehead against hers, and she felt his breath on her mouth, sweet and warm. But it was she who opened her lips and kissed him.

  As if he’d been waiting for the signal, he pulled her closer, her body melding into his warmth. She relaxed. And the kiss warmed her deep inside, her skin burning as she sank into it, her heart beating faster as his arms encircled her waist, tighter and tighter. The kiss was insistent now.

  Out of nowhere, Emris’s scarred face flashed into her mind, and Constance tensed up. Xander’s hands had started to roam across her back, reaching for the fastenings of her dress, but he hesitated as he sensed her discomfort.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured into her ear.

  You need him, a sharp voice insisted inside her mind.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she whispered. Constance relaxed into his arms, and he started to kiss her again, slower, deeper. Ever so gently, she lifted his hands away from the fastenings of her dress. Instead, she started to undo his buttons, and his belt, and to lift her skirts, and – at last – to pull him to her bed.

  Afterwards, daylight had faded and the room was half-lit by the burning embers of the fire and the lightning flickering outside. Constance was curled among the tangled bedclothes and cushions, Xander cupped around her body, fast asleep. She was half-undressed, her clothes loosened and dishevelled, but she had kept her secret. The long glove remained tightly fastened over her left arm.

  The place where metal met flesh was almost painfully itchy. She felt a flush of shame. She would have hated for him to see her that way. To see the truth of who she had become.

  She turned slowly over to face him, touched his lips with her bare right hand. He was especially handsome when he was asleep, his skin honey-dark against her fingertips, his long hair loosed from its bindings. Constance felt a tug in her heart – an old feeling, never entirely buried. She shook her head at her own foolishness.

  What would it take for someone to love me truly, the way I am now? Is it possible?

  He loves the old Constance, said the hard voice in her mind. If you want to keep his loyalty, he can never know the truth.

  ELEVEN

  Training

  Lena felt hands on her shoulders, and she floated upwards. The grey forest brightened into a jewel-like green – she flinched from the light, comfortable in her small, dim, forgetful world. But the hands shifted to under her armpits and jerked her violently, forcing her into brightness.

  As air hit her face, she realised she was wet, terribly cold and choking. Suddenly she was lying flat on the ledge beside the fountain, Emris’s face hovering above hers, alive with panic.

  ‘Lena, are you all right?’

  He was sopping wet, his dark, tightly curled hair dripping. He looked incredibly young, like a frightened little boy.

  She tried to breathe, felt burbling in her lungs and retched on to the pristine stone floor, coughing up buckets of slimy water. People gathered around to watch, the low murmur of voices filling her ears. Ancestors, her hands ached …

  She held them before her face. Two faint red marks scored the middle of her palms, a relic of a dream already slipping from her mind. ‘I’m all right,’ she managed quietly, between wheezes. Am I?

  ‘She’s fine,’ Emris announced. ‘Please go back to your worship. Go.’ He repeated himself, his voice firmer, and one by one the curious onlookers shrank reluctantly back to the main temple floor, murmuring among themselves.

  ‘Did it work?’ Lena asked, shivering. Water had puddled in her boots, and her ears rang.

  He answered her question with another. ‘What happened?’

  Lena opened her mouth to tell the story. ‘I …’ She hesitated. The memory was falling from her mind like sand through outstretched fingers. ‘I was back in the forest. Something … bad was happening. I think I was struggling … and I was praying …’ She held out her hands, the pain fading now. She glanced up at the hunter statue. Confusion and outrage rushed through her mind. ‘I think he shot me!’

  That’s not a good sign, she thought, her panic rising. The god must’ve known I wasn’t a true believer. Maybe I haven’t let go of the Ancestors entirely. She looked at her hands again, feeling torn between her two worlds.

  Emris was peering at her curiously. ‘How … irregular. I can find out for sure if you don’t mind me searching?’

  ‘Searching?’ Lena felt close to tears with confusion. ‘Whatever it takes. I just want to know.’

  ‘OK. Hold still,’ he said. He held her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. She blinked. His eyes were dark brown, flecked with fiery copper. He searched her face and then abruptly closed his eyes. She felt a tingling sensation in his palms as they rested against her jaw, his thumbs grazing her cheekbones. Warmth flooded her as she tried to look anywhere but at him, her eyes skimming the delicate stonework vines trailing around the temple pillars. She felt his senses – magical senses, she realised – coursing through her into that place beneath her lungs. She could feel it the same way you can feel someone’s breath on your skin. ‘It’s worked,’ he said after a few moments, frowning. He lifted his hands from her face and the warmth left Lena’s body. ‘I can sense his presence – but Faul’s hold over your magic is unusually weak. How do you feel?’

  ‘Cold and wet,’ Lena said. Emris waited for her to answer the question properly, and she shut her eyes, trying to feel the magic place inside herself. But it was different now, she noted with relief – instead of a sickness or a shimmering sensation, it felt like a little cold fire was burning steadily in her stomach. ‘Better, I guess.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He helped her to her feet, the pair of them dripping as they made their way towards the little door at the back of the temple. ‘Come on. I could use a hot meal and some dry clothes.’

  Despite Emris’s words of encouragement, his face was set grim as he opened the door and shut it behind them. The grand hallway was empty, but instead of leading Lena up the stairs towards the First Huntsman’s study, Emris showed her across to a different door. ‘I wish it had been more straightforward, for your sake. The First Huntsman will probably interpret this as further evidence that your magic is Chaos-infected.’

  ‘Oh,’ she muttered, feeling her stomach twist in fear. To her surprise, she found they’d entered the same dingy hall she’d first encountered in the building: the blue carpet, the mop and bucket gathering dust in the corner. ‘But if the Binding worked, I’m OK, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you should be, but we’ll have to work on strengthening it.’ He smiled at her rather unconvincingly. ‘You’ll have to pray at the temple every day, reinforce your connection with Faul.’

  Lena nodded doubtfully. She’d prayed to a god – and she’d have to do so again and again. Vigo ha
d told her the gods were evil and untrustworthy, playing with the souls of humans, and that only the once-human Ancestors could understand people and guide them towards their true destiny. Each time she prayed to Faul would be a betrayal of everything he’d taught her to be. What if this isn’t the right path? She thought of Lord Chatham, the alternative he had offered.

  ‘And there are a few other things we ought to attempt too,’ Emris continued as they started up the stairs. ‘A long time ago, before the gods, there were no laws governing magic, no temples. It is thought that young mages generally gained apprenticeships to experienced mages, learning to control their powers the old way, without the Binding: breathing techniques, meditation, self-reflection … and lots and lots of practice. Those techniques are still absolutely essential to training a mage within the temples, and you’re going to have to work especially hard at them.’

  Lena grimaced.

  ‘You’re certainly not making things easy for yourself,’ he said, grinning at her over his shoulder as they reached the top. She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and make her feel better, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile back.

  They’d reached the map room, which was empty, though someone had cleaned out the ashes and laid a fresh fire. Lena shrugged off her sopping wet cloak and hung it on the back of a chair beside the small blaze.

  ‘I’ll get someone to bring you some lunch,’ Emris said. ‘For now, you’d better change. Feel free to use the map room this afternoon – there are lots of interesting scrolls and even some novels in the bookcase beside the window. And you should study the temple diagram too – you’ll find it helpful. But please don’t venture further afield.’

  As she wrung out her hair, she caught sight of a large map spread out on a coffee table in front of the fire, trapped beneath a flat pane of glass. She drew closer.

  ‘I have some business to attend to this afternoon,’ Emris was saying, ‘but I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll begin your training in earnest.’

  On the map, a large greenish shape was surrounded by blue and filled in with extraordinary detail. ‘The Valorian Continent’ the title declared.

  ‘Ah,’ Emris said, drawing closer as he noticed what she was looking at. ‘I suppose you haven’t seen one of these before.’

  Lena peered closer. Slightly to the west of the continent’s central point, she recognised something: a congregation of hills, and a city detailed in the basin between. A seven-towered building, a dome, a pillared facade. ‘The City of Kings,’ she breathed, noticing the words curled around it to the north.

  ‘That’s right.’ He pointed to the far west of the continent, where a mountain range spilt a forest from its skirts. ‘And here is Duke’s Forest.’

  Lena’s eyes ran over the other details of the map. The distance between Duke’s Forest and the City was nothing compared to the distance between the City and the islands to the south of the continent, labelled ‘The Wishes’, or to the wastelands in the north-east. The world is so big. And Duke’s Forest … Her eyes flicked back to the circle of dark forest surrounding her home. It’s so small.

  A knock woke Lena. She was fully clothed, lying on top of the bed. She had one hand under her pillow, curled tightly around the stiff silver card from the magician, and the other hand around her butterfly. She loosened her fingers, the sharp edges of both items imprinted on her palms in vivid red. Pins and needles ran up and down her arm as she sat up. The card had lost its sheen and was curved, frayed at the corners.

  She’d been dreaming of Duke’s Forest, she realised. She remembered lying on a stone tomb in the crypts, the Ancestors whispering with voices of dust and shadow as they drew closer, closer. She’d been crying, afraid. But when she raised her hands to catch her tears, a pair of glittering gems had fallen into her palms, smooth and heavy.

  A cold sweat still clung to her neck, streaks of tears on her cheeks.

  Another knock. The light filtering through the window was suspiciously weak and pale. Lena wiped her face.

  ‘Hello?’ she called.

  Emris opened the door a little awkwardly with an elbow. In one hand, he held a paper bag full of something greasy and sweet-smelling – a pastry? – and a dark, bitter-smelling mug of coffee. In his other hand, he carried a different set of grey clothes, neatly folded.

  ‘Sleep well?’ He set the mug and paper bag down on the chest.

  She flexed her fingers, wincing. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Tough. Your training starts today. Eat, drink and get dressed. I’ll be waiting in the map room.’ Unlike Lena, he looked entirely the opposite of dishevelled – his regular uniform neatly pressed. Shevelled, Lena thought blearily.

  She set aside the coffee, which tasted like poison, but ate the sweet roll in two big bites, finding herself ravenously hungry. Afterwards, she stripped off her grey robes and pulled on the new clothes, which consisted of baggy trews and a long-sleeved tunic. The tunic was of rough-spun cotton, a huge sickle moon emblazoned in white on the front. She tied back her shoulder-length black hair with one of her bootlaces.

  When she stepped out, Emris set down his newspaper and led Lena through the maze of corridors – passing hardly anyone at this early hour – to a large, plain room in a different part of the temple. ‘A practice room,’ he said. The floor was sprung wood, the windows very high up and the walls cracked and punched, as if someone had been at them with a hammer.

  ‘Today we’re going to try some basic attacks,’ he said. ‘Practising this kind of thing should give you a better hold over your powers.’

  ‘Attacks?’ Lena raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re already teaching me to fight?’

  ‘It’ll be in your test. Plus, it’s a good place to start – simple, for the most part. Like pulling a punch.’ He was digging around in a cupboard in the corner. ‘Some people are better at it than others, but everyone is taught the basics. Other stuff is … well, a bit more fiddly.’ He chucked a few heavy punchbags from the cupboard on to the floor. ‘You’ve seen the godspeed charm – how complicated and delicate it is. That kind of control takes years to master fully. This … this is just aim and fire.’ He grinned at her. ‘Think you can manage that?’

  He ran her through some breathing exercises and hoisted the bags on a couple of pulleys supplied for the purpose. She sat cross-legged, breathing deeply and feeling like an idiot. How is breathing supposed to help anyway?

  ‘All right. Ready?’

  She stood up. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Watch this.’ Emris stood to one side and held out his hand, his palm facing a target. ‘Stand like I am, feet hip-width apart, your front foot at right angles to the heel of your back foot.’

  Lena tried out the position. ‘Which foot should be in front?’

  ‘Whichever feels most natural. Here, you’re not quite there.’ With deft hands, he gently shifted her foot, straightened her back and lowered her shoulders. She suddenly found herself achingly conscious of her body, her hair escaping from its bond, the dark mark on her face. She lowered her eyes as he resumed his own pose – graceful and strong. He stood with his left foot forward; she was facing the opposite direction. For a moment, they locked eyes. Emris smiled. Not for the first time, she glimpsed something – a flash of real warmth – behind his friendliness. ‘That’s good,’ he said, his voice soft and low. ‘Hold out your arm like so – but try not to brace. You’ll be surprised at the kickback.’

  ‘If it works at all,’ she mumbled.

  Emris laughed. ‘Don’t worry so much! No one gets it right on their first go. Now, you need to find that place inside you – the place you feel your magic strongest. You need to reach for it and imagine it travelling out along your arm and towards the target. Imagine it first, and then command it.’ Almost invisible, a little corkscrew of translucent energy shot from the palm of Emris’s left hand and thudded into the punchbag, which swung violently from the ceiling. Lena blinked in surprise. Can I really do that?

  ‘Last time I reached fo
r my power, in the temple, it didn’t go so well … Won’t that happen again?’

  ‘This is different. It’s more akin to the simple light orb spell … or the wisp of vapour spell, in your case.’ He dropped his arm to his side and stood naturally, rolling his shoulders. ‘Go on. Give it a try.’

  She gazed at the second target and tried to imagine something firing out of the palm of her hand. Go! she commanded, frowning intently. Go on, now!

  Nothing.

  ‘It’s not working.’ Besides, her arm was beginning to hurt. She lowered it and rubbed the muscles, flexing her fingers.

  ‘Are you really engaging with your power? Remember the breathing, feeling how the air fills up every part of your body. Remember that sense of awareness. Try again.’

  She breathed deep, shut her eyes, held out her hand. She did feel something, that burning coldness at the pit of her lungs. She imagined a white spark of light travelling from the place and along her veins, out through the centre of her palm. She opened her eyes and gazed at the target. Now.

  At first, an underwhelming effect: her hand tingled with cold. But suddenly a dart of grey burst out of her hand, Lena staggering backwards with the force. The little arrow of mist exploded on to the left side of the punchbag, which rocked nearly as violently as Emris’s.

  She stared at Emris. ‘I did it!’ she said, flushing with unexpected pleasure.

  He nodded, his eyes wide. ‘Good … very good. Now do it again, this time faster, and try to hit the centre.’

  The next time, nothing happened. After that, she hit the target twice, but very weakly, the sack barely moving on its rope. She tried again and again, Emris correcting her posture, lifting her arm up straight, reminding her to breathe – which was something Lena found surprisingly difficult to remember. The magical place inside her evolved again. At first, it had felt obvious, a fizzing sick feeling beneath her lungs … and then, after the Binding, it had felt like a cold fire crackling in the pit of her stomach. But now, after drawing on it time after time, it grew insubstantial, like vapour. The more tired she became, the harder it was to grasp on to, like trying to clutch at a loose strand of thread.