4: Witches' Blood

by Ginn Hale

  “The wind is part of it,” John assured him. The living current, as Ravishan called it, suffused the wind and rolled with it.

  “Here?” Ravishan moved just a little more.

  “Close,” John said. “You’re really close.”

  Ravishan shifted the angle of his right arm, turning it by slow degrees. John felt him move into and then out of the delicate current that surrounded them. Ravishan suddenly punched his hand forward, rending the Gray Space open. Flames arced through the air. The sound of tearing metal cut through the morning silence.

  “Damn it!” Ravishan jerked his arm back to his chest. The Gray Space snapped closed. Ravishan squeezed his left hand over the bleeding cut in his right forearm.

  “How can I be getting worse the more I practice?” Ravishan glared at his arm.

  “You’re trying too hard,” John said. “I don’t think it’s something you can force. More finesse, less force. Less Dayyid, more Hann’yu.”

  “So I should be drunk?” Ravishan asked with a smile.

  “Maybe not that much like Hann’yu.” John went to the drawers and dug out a roll of bandage. “Let me see your arm.”

  Ravishan held it out. The cut was deep and narrow. John bandaged it. Not for the first time, he wished that he possessed a little of Hann’yu’s skill at healing. He tied Ravishan’s bandage. There were other, much smaller scratches across Ravishan’s arm and even one thin red welt across his cheek.

  “Maybe you should try this with something that’s easier to feel,” John said.

  “What do you mean?” Ravishan asked. He was still scowling at his arm as if it had betrayed him.

  “It’s hard to feel the atmosphere. It’s too prevalent and we’re too accustomed to it. But maybe something else. Maybe water.”

  “You want me to go swimming in the dead of winter?”

  “No, just…” John looked around the room and at last caught sight of one of Hann’yu’s porcelain bowls. “Here, let’s try it with this.” John got up and filled the bowl with clean water.

  “If you put your hand in, you can feel the pressure of the water.” John slipped his own hand into the bowl. The water was icy. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the texture of the water surrounding his fingers. A moment later he felt Ravishan’s hand slide into the water next to his own.

  “What do you feel?” John asked.

  “Wet,” Ravishan replied.

  “Other than that.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There are strong and weak forces,” John said. “Elements like oxygen and hydrogen bond together firmly. They’re the hard grain of the water. The force pulling clusters of molecules together is different...Can you feel it?” John asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean by oxygen,” Ravishan said.

  “It’s a molecule. Something that you’ll feel in both the air and the water.”

  “I don’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” John assured him. “It’s just a name. What’s important is to feel the difference between the strong and the weak forces. You want to open the Gray Space by cutting through the weak forces, not the strong ones.”

  John knew that what he was describing was not the whole experience of the currents he felt. But he had no words to describe the living force that seemed to saturate not just the chill water but the bowl containing it. The air, the stones, everything around them overflowed with that deep energy. When he concentrated on it, John felt as if it was surging up to meet him, churning and pressing against his skin. He could feel it twisting on the cold drafts that slipped through the window. He imagined that he could turn it through his hands or snap it apart. It was a strange sensation.

  Ravishan’s eyes were pressed closed in concentration. His dark brows compressed, nearly forming a single line. Ravishan turned his hand through the water, slowly. Then suddenly he stopped. His fingers straightened.

  John quickly withdrew his own hand from the water. He didn’t want to get hit by the Gray Space that Ravishan would open.

  Ravishan flicked his fingers apart. A burst of water splashed out of the thin air a foot behind John. Ravishan looked up and grinned. “I think I got it that time.”

  John nodded. He’d hardly felt the chill of the space opening.

  “There’s a texture,” Ravishan said. “A grain. Like you said, it’s weak in one direction, strong in another.” He stared at John for several moments. “How did you know?”

  “That’s just how it felt to me,” John said. Hann’yu wasn’t going to be pleased about the spill of water. John glanced to the shelf to see if there were any towels.

  “John,” Ravishan said his Nayeshi name in a low whisper, “you would tell me if you were...if there was something more, wouldn’t you?”

  John focused on the towels. There was so much he didn’t say. He didn’t even know why, exactly, except that he knew their lives here were fragile. He didn’t want to discover something that would change the way they were, right now, together.

  “I would. I—” John started to turn back towards Ravishan but something caught his attention—a distortion in the air. A faint blur hovered just a foot from him. Someone was in the room with them, spying from the Gray Space.

  A shot of anger rushed through John. Without thinking, he bolted forward and grabbed the scrawny ushiri by the arm. A wave of nausea rolled through him as his hands drove into the Gray Space. John jerked the ushiri out as if he were hauling a fish out of the water. The air screamed and a frigid blast whipped across John’s face. Fikiri howled in shock as John hurled him onto one of the infirmary beds.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” John demanded.

  Fikiri scrambled upright. His face and arms were crisscrossed with scratches. His lips looked blue.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Fikiri said quickly.

  “You were spying on us?” Ravishan stepped forward.

  “It was Dayyid’s order,” Fikiri snapped. He glared at Ravishan. “He doesn’t trust you.”

  “He didn’t trust you either. Now I can see why he’s changed his mind. You’ve turned yourself into his little boot-licker. You’re pathetic,” Ravishan replied.

  “And you’re a pervert—” Fikiri hardly got the last word out. Ravishan lunged onto him, gripping his throat.

  “I’ll kill you in the Gray Space and no one will ever find your body. Not Dayyid. Not even your precious mommy,” Ravishan hissed.

  “Ravishan.” John pulled him back from Fikiri. “No one is going to kill anyone. Just calm down.”

  “He—” Ravishan just clenched his mouth shut and looked away from Fikiri. “Fine. Let him go crying back to Dayyid.”

  John addressed Fikiri, “How long has Dayyid had you watching Ravishan?”

  “Long enough,” Fikiri responded.

  John took one step closer. “How long?”

  “Since that night he disappeared.” Fikiri narrowed his eyes at John. “There are things I could tell him that I haven’t...not yet.”

  “Such as?” John asked. A cold revulsion that had nothing to do with the Gray Space churned through John’s stomach.

  “I heard you two talk about going to Nayeshi together,” Fikiri said.

  “And?” John asked. Dread gripped him as he remembered that Fikiri had called Ravishan a pervert. They had been careful but there had still been moments when Ravishan had pressed a hand against his. There had been small gestures, brief overtures. How much had Fikiri seen and how much had he understood?

  “And I want to go too,” Fikiri demanded.

  “What? No!” Ravishan snapped.

  “If you don’t take me and my mother with you, I’ll tell Dayyid everything.” Fikiri looked at John. “I’ll tell him about the night you two spent in the hostel. I’ll tell him what you did in the morning.”

  “You’ll die before you can say a word!” Ravishan started forward again but John caught him by the shoulders.

  “Calm down,” John said softly.

  “I
’m not going to let this piece of snot blackmail me,” Ravishan growled.

  “You’re not going to kill him,” John said flatly.

  “I can beat him till his tongue falls out,” Ravishan countered.

  “Just calm down,” John told him. “Beating up Fikiri certainly won’t make Dayyid less suspicious.”

  Ravishan stepped back again and turned away from Fikiri.

  “All right,” Ravishan said. John could see the muscles in his jaw working.

  John turned back to Fikiri. “So you and Lady Bousim want to go to Nayeshi?”

  “We’re going to live there with Loshai,” Fikiri said firmly.

  “With my sister?” John asked. “Why do you think she’d be going?”

  “Because I’ve watched her.” Fikiri’s pale face flushed slightly. “I’ve listened to her and Behr when they thought they were alone.”

  “Now who’s the pervert?” Ravishan demanded.

  “At least I didn’t have my head shaved for whoring with a goat herder,” Fikiri spat back.

  Ravishan glared at Fikiri. “If Jahn wasn’t here, you would have my blade through your throat, Fikiri.”

  “Well, he is here,” Fikiri answered. “So just shut up.”

  John caught Fikiri’s jaw in his hand and turned his face so that they were staring directly at each other. He leaned a little closer to Fikiri.

  “Don’t push your luck,” John said slowly. “And don’t insult Ravishan.”

  Fikiri blanched. John continued, “What are you going to do if we don’t agree to take you with us?”

  “Then I’ll tell Dayyid everything.” Fikiri lifted his chin slightly.

  “Tell him,” Ravishan said suddenly. “He can’t afford to kill me now. I’m his Kahlil and he knows it.”

  “Maybe, but we all know he’s dying to beat the life out of Ushvun Jahn,” Fikiri replied.

  A look of horror washed over Ravishan. Then his eyes narrowed and he shifted his weight into a battle stance. His right hand flexed and John could almost feel him summoning the force to create a Silence Knife. John thought he might really kill Fikiri.

  “So you’ll be coming with us,” John said quickly. “You and your mother.”

  There was no point in arguing. He had to tell Fikiri what he wanted to hear, even if it might not turn out to be true.

  “I want your word,” Fikiri said.

  “What?” John asked.

  “I want your word that you’ll take us,” Fikiri repeated.

  “All right.” John agreed. “I promise that we will take you and your mother to Nayeshi when we go.”

  “Ravishan has to promise as well,” Fikiri added.

  “You have my word.” Ravishan’s voice sounded flat but his expression was filled with contempt.

  “It’s your own fault,” Fikiri snapped at Ravishan. “If you weren’t a disgusting pervert, there wouldn’t be anything for me to tell Dayyid. But you—”

  “Fikiri,” John cut him off. “You’ve gotten what you want, so don’t keep goading Ravishan into murdering you.”

  Fikiri bowed his head and glowered down at his scraped hands.

  “You should go,” John told him. “Now.”

  Fikiri stood and started for the door. Ravishan watched him with narrowed eyes. John could see his hands shaking with suppressed fury.

  John almost swore when Fikiri stopped at the door. Why couldn’t he just stop baiting Ravishan and get out? But this time he focused his attention on John.

  “How did you pull me out of the Gray Space?” Fikiri demanded.

  “I don’t think knowing how is as important as remembering that I can,” John replied. “Don’t spy on us again.”

  A look of genuine fear crossed over Fikiri’s face. He left quickly then.

  John sat down on the corner of the bed. He rubbed his hand across his forehead, massaging the beginning of a headache away.

  “You should have let me kill him in the Gray Space,” Ravishan said.

  “Would you really have done it?”

  “What he said about Dayyid beating you to death is true. I think I’d kill anyone before I’d let that happen.”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen,” John assured him. “So let’s just put the murder plans aside for the moment.”

  Ravishan nodded. He glanced down at the floor, looking almost lost. “I should probably clean this water up before Hann’yu gets here.”

  “I was about to do that,” John said.

  Ravishan had already reached the shelves. He found one of the rags and tossed it down over the small spill. John watched the water soak into the cloth. He felt tired and a little sick.

  “How did you pull him out, Jahn?” Ravishan whispered.

  “I don’t know. I just did it.”

  “You have witches’ blood, don’t you?” Ravishan asked.

  “Maybe, I don’t know. No one does things like this in Nayeshi. No one walks into thin air or has witch blood or god’s bones. We’re just people.”

  “You’re not a Kahlil?” Ravishan asked.

  “No.” John almost laughed at the thought of it. “No. We don’t have Kahlil’im in Nayeshi. You know that.”

  “I just wanted to be sure.”

  “Well, be sure. I’m not a Kahlil or a witch or an ushiri. I’m just a person.”

  “You’re something.” Ravishan smiled and stepped closer. John caught the flirtatious curve of his smile. It hardly began before Ravishan stopped himself. He stepped back from John and turned to stare out the window. John understood. Who knew if Fikiri was the only spy that Dayyid would send out? They couldn’t afford even the slightest overture of affection now.

  “I should go,” Ravishan said.

  John simply nodded.

  “Be careful,” John told him as he opened the red door.

  “You as well.” Ravishan gave him a smile and then left.

  By the time Hann’yu arrived, John had thrown out the water, put away the bowl, and begun the tedious work of grinding down the dried herbs that would be needed for poultices. The smell of earthy roots hung in the air, but it couldn’t mask the odor of burnt ozone.

  Hann’yu sniffed and pulled a sour face. “Fikiri?” he guessed.

  “Ravishan,” John said.

  “He normally doesn’t leave such a strong smell.” Hann’yu contemplated the snow falling outside the window, then opened the window anyway. Icy, fresh air rushed in.

  “We were practicing with the currents,” John said. “I think he got a little frustrated.”

  “Did he make any progress?”

  “He did, actually.”

  “Good,” Hann’yu said. Then he looked John over. “But you look dead on your feet.”

  “I didn’t sleep well.” He hadn’t been sleeping well for months. More and more the image of the issusha’im’s bones infiltrated his rest. The hollow, black chasms of their eyes stared, unblinking, into his sleep. Even in his most mundane dreams he thought he heard them whispering after him. Lately, it seemed to be growing worse.

  “I suppose Ravishan woke you before the first bell?”

  “He’s dedicated,” John replied.

  Hann’yu studied the dried roots as John ground them in the mortar.

  “If so much didn’t depend on him, I would say that he was too dedicated.” Hann’yu went to one of his shelves and opened a jar of desiccated leaves. He dropped two of the leaves into the mortar and then put the jar away.

  “Yellowpetal leaves,” Hann’yu explained. “They dull pain somewhat.”

  John ground them in with the knotted pine root. Hann’yu would use it as an antiseptic later.

  “Did you get anything to eat?” Hann’yu asked. He walked back to the window and closed it.

  “Cold taye and goat milk,” John said.

  “Sounds awful.”

  John didn’t think it was any worse than some servings of oatmeal he’d eaten. Hann’yu wouldn’t have understood that response. “It could have been worse.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, most things could be,” Hann’yu said. “But it’s a sad consolation to have to take, you know.”

  “I know.” John smiled.

  “Would you like a nap?” Hann’yu offered.

  “I’d love one, but—”

  “Go on.” Hann’yu waved him towards one of the beds. “You’re no use as you are now.”

  “No use?” John couldn’t help the tone of protest in his voice. He’d been working all morning.

  “Oh, you can work well enough,” Hann’yu replied, “but you’re a terrible conversation partner when you’re tired.”

  “I see.” John set the mortar aside. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Hann’yu told him. “Take a nap. I need someone who can appreciate my gossip like second wife.”

  “You don’t have a first wife,” John said.

  “We can all dream,” Hann’yu responded. “Especially you. Go to bed and dream me up a wife. A pretty wife.”

  “I make no guarantees.” John wasn’t sure how well he would sleep, but his body hungered for rest. He lay down and closed his eyes. Hann’yu spread a blanket over him.

  “Give her red hair and big breasts. Maybe a full, pouting mouth like the women from the Anyyid lands,” Hann’yu said.

  “I think you’re going to have to come up with her for yourself,” John mumbled. He heard Hann’yu drawing the canvas curtains closed around the bed but didn’t bother to open his eyes.

  “I have,” Hann’yu replied softly, “many times over. I’ve just gotten lazy. I’m hoping you’ll do the work for me.”

  “You don’t want me to. I’ll get her all wrong.” John yawned. “You’ll end up married to a sheep. Something with a giant udder.”

  “A giant udder. Really?” Hann’yu asked. “Perhaps you shouldn’t tell me anymore about your dreams.”

  “My dreams.” John’s words came out in a groggy murmur. “Hardly.” Moments later he was asleep.

  Dark insentience coiled around him and yet at the edges of his senses he felt as though he was still awake, watching as Hann’yu separated leaves and dried flowers for teas. He heard the hard snap of boot heels outside the door and knew immediately that Dayyid stood there.

  Dayyid knocked and Hann’yu called him in.