The Bloodheart

by Steve Rzasa

  Niall walks the ship’s rail to starboard. He gives me a wave and a grin, his musket balanced over his shoulders, and returns to his watch. Far off to the north and two hundred feet above, Tereth flies through the scattered clouds, huge wings broad as our sails.

  “All’s well, Ariya?” Gridley and I join her at the wheels.

  “Nothing on the horizon yet, Captain. Niall promises he’ll alert me with due speed and appropriate wit.” Though her words are sour, there’s a hint of a smile to her mouth.

  There are pale red streaks on her arms where the beast flayed her skin. “Healing well?”

  “As well as the next Aevorn woman, which is to say, much faster than a human man.” She hesitates. “Niall offered to bandage them, of course, but I told him it would be foolish to do so.”

  “He’s a kind enough soul, down beneath the bluster and fur.” I smile. “Especially toward individuals of whom he’s feeling fiercely protective.”

  “I am certain I don’t know what you mean, Captain.”

  “Of all of us aboard ship, Ariya, you are the only who arrived here for purely commercial purposes. We were not friends before—nor did you present me any great mystery, like our youthful passenger.”

  “My hire was simply the most prudent choice.” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “One I’ve never regretted. But I’d have you know, Ariya, that your presence means more now to Niall and me than that of crew. We are companions. If you feel that this mission has brought peril to you, well, I know the importance of returning to your roost and I’d not keep you from that.”

  She remains silent a moment. “Captain—Bowen, I have served you these thirteen months because I chose Sleet. There has never been any doubt that you are an able leader. You and Niall are my friends, and my crewmates. This is where I belong. I’ll not part our company simply because the air is rough. I am an Aevorn; we live for the turbulence.”

  I touch her shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Gridley nuzzles against her. Ariya scratches the top of his head. “Of course. Speaking of our young passenger, he’s at the bowsprit, with the Bloodheart.”

  “Not surprising. He’s not let it from his sight.”

  I lead Gridley up to the bow of Sleet. Luc is indeed sitting there, legs curled beneath him, bag resting on his lap. A breeze ruffles his hair. He hears our approach and smiles at me.

  “How are you faring, lad?” I sit beside him. Gridley pushes between us and rubs his snout against Luc’s face.

  Luc pets him vigorously, until Gridley rolls onto his backside to have his belly attended to. “Tired. I have to keep watch over the Bloodheart. It’s always whispering.”

  Whispering? “We’ll have it safe at Jasna Góra soon. Father Evan will know what to do next.”

  “Will he?” Luc seems troubled. His smile fades, and his expression sad. “I don’t know if anyone does. My father thought he knew.”

  “What happened, Luc? Was your father a soulmage?”

  Luc nods. He rubs Gridley’s belly, but with a vacant gaze directed off to the stars.

  “Why did he not use his power to defend from the corsairs?”

  “He…couldn’t. He told me he wasn’t allowed, and it was his penance to obey.” Tears brim at the corners of his eyes. “Father said there are consequences to everything we do, and his was to have his powers fade. Just like the other magi in our village. When the corsairs attacked he couldn’t do anything but try to stop them. With a wall.”

  “A wall?”

  “Of magic.” Luc rubs at his eyes. “But it fell. Everyone who could tried to help. It wasn’t enough. Father fought the corsairs with his staff. He hurt some. They didn’t get up again. But there were too many, and he made me hide.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “It was good that he did thus.”

  “I could have helped. Especially if we’d had the Bloodheart.”

  A curve of the silvery sphere is visible in the opening of the bag. “It’s not for you to muse upon that, lad. What’s done is done. We have to sail on in the present.”

  Luc sniffs. “Father said the same. He said all life’s plans are written for us, and we can’t comprehend. Even death comes when it is supposed to.”

  Death. My beloved wife. The light fading from her eyes as she gasps out her last breath, skin hot from the fever. My cries rattling the timbers of our farmhouse. I would trade everything to have her returned. Even Sleet. But magic does not allow it. The ice could not stopper death.

  The Bloodheart pulses with red.

  Yet. This relic shows immense power. It gave Luc magic when he had no skill of his own. He’s not a summoner. But he brought forth two elements. No summoner should be able to do that. I find it hard to believe it was not a trick of the senses.

  If it can do that, break that rule, surely it can break another?

  “Captain!” Ariya’s shout startles me from my reverie. She’s pointing off to the horizon, a few degrees south of west to port. The sky bleeds. Reds and oranges.

  I leap to my feet. “Niall…”

  “I see it, Bowen.” He’s at my side, a low growl in his throat. “There’s smoke.”

  Tereth soars in close to Sleet. “I shall fly on and scout. You would do best to increase speed, man-worms.” With a powerful gust of wind from under his wings, he darts ahead into the sky.

  Niall stands beside me. “It stinks of Strathern.”

  “I know.”

  “If it’s a trap, then…”

  “Do not ask, Niall. This is Evan. We go.”

  He grumbles, without argument. “I’ll be off to the armory below.”

  I stare at the red horizon and the smoke, prayer in my heart.

  ~

  Jasna Góra is a smoldering, blackened ruin.

  Every dome is shattered like an eggshell. Spires are snapped off, crumbled. Fires still blaze in the west half of the fortress. Thick black smoke billows up, and Ariya maneuvers Sleet out of the westerly wind that blows the choking morass directly at us.

  “We should not have come here,” Tereth says. “I will scour the skies for whoever inflicted this death.” His wings rip the smoke clouds asunder.

  The rampart and the end of the wall on which we moored at on our last visit are demolished. There are bodies strewn everywhere. Brown robes—acolytes. And scattered white robes with red vestments.

  Evan. Where is he?

  Ariya brings us in low to the wall and, ignoring Vesna’s shouts, I leap over. My boots slam onto the rocks. Niall thumps to a landing right beside me, his musket leveled. Gridley leaps down, too, though his landing is wobbly.

  “Tie up on the other side!” I shout to Ariya. “We’ll search for survivors.”

  She scowls but veers Sleet away just as I ordered.

  Thick, acrid smoke forms clouds that sting my eyes and make it impossible to see anything more than a few feet in front of my face. There is rubble underfoot, the shattered remnants of portions of Jasna Góra’s wall, and mounds where whole hills of brick have tumbled down from the buildings.

  Bodies. A young acolyte, so badly burned his skin is charcoal. A priest lies crumpled on his side, blood congealing in a dark puddle around his middle.

  Niall kneels by a third acolyte, and presses a hand to his throat. The boy’s eyes are wide open to the skies above, and his body slack. “Dead.”

  Beyond the bodies is a heap of rubble as tall as either of us. Gridley’s ears go straight up. He barks once, then makes an arrow-straight shot for the rubble. He’s climbing over it, sniffing. He lets out another bark.

  Niall and I cautiously shove rock aside. A moan reaches our ears. I pull a shard of stone as long as my arm off and there, suddenly, is Evan’s face, his eyes pinched shut in pain.

  “Evan!” I fling rubble aside. He’s pinned beneath a rock as big as a horse. It won’t budge, no matter how I push and strain.

  Niall growls. He shifts into his were-fox form, muscles rippling under red fur, and he lifts the rock a foot of
Evan’s body. His arms, now thrice as big around as mine, tremble with the exertion.

  I drag Evan as carefully and as quickly as I can from under the stone’s shadow. Niall grunts, letting the giant rock slam down with such force my bones shake.

  “Bowen…” Evan’s voice quavers. His face is covered with soot, and streaked with blood from a deep gash on the left side of his head. His right arm is crushed and mangled. Both legs are bleeding, exposed under the shredded remains of his once pristine robe.

  “Hold fast, Evan. I have someone with me who can help heal you.” I hope. I pray. Vesna’s herbs may not be enough to cure such damage as this.

  Evan shakes his head. He opens his eyes, and they are glassy, unfocused with pain. “My end … is nigh. Keep it from them… the Bloodheart.”

  I cannot keep the anguish and anger from my face. My hands shake with fury.

  Evan grabs my shoulder, the strength of the grip a shock. His eyes glow brilliant white, and fear as I’ve never known it stabs at my heart. He’s a soulmage. All these years, he never let his true ability show.

  “Do not forsake … your call.” Evan grimaces, his teeth grinding. Then the lines smooth over, the pain evaporates from his face.

  Gone.

  Sobs wrack my body. Arms shake as I cradle Evan. Gone. Tears splatter on his robe, making white again the surface soiled with soot and ash. Gridley presses against me, nuzzling up for comfort. Niall steps near, and a furred, clawed hand rests on my neck.

  Why would You let Evan leave? Why must he die? First my beloved, and now a true friend. I need him!

  A scream echoes in the wind. I turned and see Sleet sliding through the air, sideways, with her sails limp. A woman walks the wall, dressed in black, hands raised over her head. The air writhes between her and Sleet, smoke curling about as if it were a living being.

  Two men join her, appearing as wraiths from the haze. One, a hulking brute, balances what appear to be lit torches in each hand. Yet as he nears I see they are not torches at all, but gouts of fire issuing forth from the palms of his hand, springs of snapping flames. The other, a young fellow with blond hair, grins and flicks lightning out from his hands.

  But this is not Strathern.

  “It is a tragedy.” The voice comes from above, and behind.

  Strathern walks a steady tread over the rubble piled about us. His cloak whips about him in the breeze, glowing a brilliant scarlet in the aura Jasna Góra’s flames. With him is a woman, a red-haired beauty, whose very presence makes the earth tremble.

  “He was a valiant man. Fought us bravely, and showed true honor in leading his priests. I’ve only met a handful of men as good as he.” Strathern’s smile is thin, tight. “Cost me one of mine own summoners, and more than a dozen soldiers.”

  “Then you were let off too easily!” Niall fires off the shot before I can even think to forbid him. The bang and the puff of smoke obscure all else for a moment.

  When it clears away, I hear laughing. A woman’s laugh.

  By heaven.

  The red-haired devil holds her left hand out, fingers curled in a wicked grasp. A lump of dirt and grass the size of my fist floats there with a dark hole at center, a hole large enough to fit a musket ball.

  Strathern shakes his head. “If you resist me now, you’ll all die. There will be not enough left of your corpses to warrant a funeral. Give me the Bloodheart, and those aboard your ship need not perish.”

  I look up. Vesna and Luc are hanging on to each other, and press against the starboard rail as Sleet leans that way. Ariya fights with the wheels. But the woman below merely waggles her fingers, and the air lashes as the hull, shaking loose coiled rigging and sending a barrel plummeting.

  Cannon blasts boom far off. Niall swears and points. A trio of dark ships, looming like thunderclouds, are firing upon Tereth. He dodges the shots, savaging them with fire, and succeeds in lighting one vessel’s masts ablaze. But there comes a sharp whistle of air, and flashes of –metal? Light? – and he’s suddenly roaring. One ship veers away, dragging Tereth through the air by chains that look like tiny threads from this far distance.

  “You see? Even your dragon has no hope. No prayer for escape.” Strathern smiles. “No worry. We’ll make his end quick.”

  Creaking wood echoes. The woman controlling the wind lowers Sleet until the hull thuds against the top of Jasna Góra’s wall. No sooner does it lean perilously toward the burning walls than there is a rush of wings whirling out from between the masts. Ariya soars toward us, with Vesna hanging by her arms and Luc wrapped about her waist. They continue in ungainly fashion, tumbling across the rock in a rough landing that scatters the trio.

  Luc’s bag skids from his grasp. The Bloodheart rolls free, banging into a heap of brick with a metallic ring that ends all other sound.

  The younger lightning-summoner cries out. There’s a hungry look about him, and his movements are lithe as a wolf’s. “That is it! The Bloodheart. Just as the myths said. Strike me down, it is beautiful.”

  “Calder! Leave the prize for me.” Strathern’s warning is a sharp lashing of words.

  The young man, Calder, sneers in response. He reaches for the Bloodheart—

  And catches a bolt of lightning with his chest.

  The boom from the bolt’s thunder rattles the air. The hair on my arms stands on end. Strathern stands firm, metal arm extended, with sparks curling from his fingertips and mask of cold hatred fixed over what had been an amiable expression.

  Calder coughs, staggers to his feet. There’s a nasty burn on his chest, skin reddened and raw where the bolt tore his tunic asunder and melted through what appears to be shining chain mail armor.

  “Leave us alone.” It’s Luc. He’s kneeling by the Bloodheart. How he got to it so fast, I know not. But he has it cradled in his hands. And stares at Calder with white glowing eyes.

  By heavens.

  Calder roars, a wordless battle cry, and throws out both hands toward him. Lightning leaps out, living and hungry, yellow-white and brilliant as the sun. It strikes at Luc.

  Instead it hits a barricade of rock.

  The bolts deflect and angle up, searing the sky. Calder backs off, wrangling the lightning as it casts about for a new target. Bolts lap at Sleet.

  “No!” Ariya barrels for Calder, but a gust of wind slams her across the rock. This does not prevent her from letting fly a pair of daggers, glittering steel that darts out and slices through the wind woman’s arms. She shrieks in pain, blood spurting from both shoulders.

  Calder vents his fury with more lightning, his face contorted with rage. But the rock in front of him bursts apart, showering him with a wind-driven storm of debris. Each stone is the size of my fist. He raises his hands to shield his face.

  The tingling in my arms can no longer be ignored. I throw ice in a blast of blue and white light, encasing Calder’s hands.

  Niall howls and leaps over my head, with Gridley lunging and snarling alongside.

  A great roar rumbles over the land. Tereth. Even this far away, we can all see he’s ripped free of the harpoons. Thick green liquid streams from wounds, yet he pounds air for all he’s worth with those great wings. Up into the clouds, with the ships firing cannon in pursuit.

  Away from Jasna Góra.

  Lighting. Rock. Fire. Ice. Wind. The elements blast about us. The woman with Strathern slams a pile of brick against my chest, knocking me down and sending my senses adrift. Images flash before me:

  Sleet’s sails billowing as the wind brings her aloft.

  Gridley grappling with the earth-summoner.

  Niall sinking his teeth into Strathern’s metal arm.

  Luc flashing fire and ice at Calder.

  Vesna swiping with a sword at the bearded fire-summoner.

  Ariya eyes wild and silver as the blade she wields. slitting the throat of the wind woman, blood spraying as rain.

  And a final, huge thunderclap that turns everything bright white, then pitch as night.

  Dark. Q
uiet.

  Nothing.

  THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER

  ~

  Strathern

  We’ve lost far more than I bargained. Etheria. Fantine.

  I stand over the latter’s body. Her eyes stare up at the smoke cloud billowing, unseeing and empty. Her skin is twice the pale of usual, made all the lighter against the crimson pool of blood under her body. A thick red slash decorates her neck.

  My reflection stares at me from her blood.

  The rest of my summoners slowly shake off the effects of the stun. They are trained to recover from sudden loss of consciousness more quickly than most men. I glance at Bowen Cord. He’s still out cold.

  Calder staggers to me, eyes unfocused. He shakes his head thrice, as if to rattle himself back to reality. “Strathern, what in hell was that?”

  “You’ve not learned the stun sleep yet? I thought all beginners gained such skill.”

  Red rises in his cheeks. “My master said I lack focus, the old fool.”

  I gesture to Fantine. “She lacked focus, too, Calder. You see now who the fool was.”

  His expression contorts in fury as he realizes what has happened to Fantine. He draws his sword and with a snarl, lunges for the downed Aevorn lying limp nearby.

  “No.” Metal clangs as loudly as any of Jasna Góra’s bells. I block his blow with my arm. He glares at me, pushing down with the blade.

  So. He’ll challenge me yet again? I let sparks gather at the focusing crystal mounted in my shoulder, returning his glare as they travel up and down my arm.

  Countless heartbeats go by. There’s a moment that will come, when one of two things will happen—he’ll strike, or I will. Either way the dolt will be dead.

  Calder withdraws his sword. Jams it into it sheath.

  “Bind our prisoners,” I say. “I want them all alive and unmolested.”

  “What good will it do us to keep them breathing?” he snaps. “Especially as two of our own are gone from this world?”