Bloodbound

by F. Wesley Schneider

  “I was confused, but that changed to something far darker. Everything Rivascis had said, it had all been a lie. I doubted the food had ever been tainted—it was likely just a ruse to convince me to literally eat out of his hand. From the beginning, I’d been his experiment. It was so clear. I was such a fool.”

  Her voice slowed to little more than a whisper. “I wanted to hurt him—thought even to hurt myself, but …”

  Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. Even through closed lids something glistened at the corners of her eyes.

  “You don’t have to …”

  She stopped me before I could finish.

  “It happened to all of us.” In the time it took to lower her hand and dab her eyes, her voice had lost much of its tremble. “Not everyone survived. For some it was worse than we’d imagined. Oloura had twins.”

  “Even I had my time. I didn’t scream, and neither did it. I hardly remember it, just another blur of darkness and pain. What slipped from me was cold and quiet. I couldn’t be sure that it drew breath, but I was certain it moved. A nursemaid I never saw carried it away. I think I struggled with her. I don’t know what I was thinking, but then I didn’t think anything for a long time.”

  She was still. Whatever she thought or saw, she kept behind closed eyes.

  I set the wand on the desk and stood. That was enough.

  Kindler obviously didn’t think so. “Nothing was the same after that.” A firm timbre, strengthened by anger, crept into her voice. “They still needed us … for a time. We were fed better, and twice daily they brought in the things they called children. They let us feed them. But they took more than normal children. After just a few weeks they had sharp little teeth. We grew used to the bites. None of us were ever sure we were nursing our own. Eventually, they stopped coming—the guards, the children, even the food. By that time there were only six of us left, and none of us were well.” Her jaws worked slowly, grinding together as her head gave a grudging twist.

  “The shouting began as soon as the light slipped beneath the prison door. Most of us thought it was some hallucination. Some probably mistook it for death—those who did hadn’t made much of a mistake. Our guard looked like she’d never seen the sun. Veins like fractures covered her bald scalp and she moved like a lizard. For some reason she carried a single lit taper as she moved from cage to cage, unlocking them. I laid eyes on my cellmates for the first time. They were matted, skinny wretches. I’m sure I wasn’t any better. None of us looked one another in the eyes. Not that we had much opportunity to. Our hissing jailer herded us out of the room, into shadows filled with more claws.” She lifted her hands, miming the grope of thin white clutches. “I realized the light was to light our way. We were leaving.”

  “We stumbled as we went, unused to standing, less used to walking. Cold, sharp grips pulled us along. They didn’t even bother to curse us when we fell. But we could hardly resist. It was clear we were being led up, maybe toward the surface. None of us dared ask, or even hope. Poor Oloura, she broke into a fit when she realized it. She’d suffered more than most of us and refused to be parted from her children. When she tried to flee back to her cell, they dragged her … screaming.”

  Kindler released a long breath. “We stopped nowhere in particular, just a tunnel with a trickle of sludge. Words hissed ahead, irritated noises. Rivascis emerged from the dark. It was the first time I’d seen him in maybe months. I remember something in my chest leapt, but whatever it was, it burned away in a sick surge. I wanted to scream, to charge and beat him down. My handler must have sensed it, and nails dug into my arms. My eyes tore him apart, but he didn’t notice. He informed our herders they’d be taking a different path. Several complained, but none defied him. He led us on.

  “We climbed as we limped along, winding gradually up. Our guards seemed more irritated than before. Rivascis moved among them, occasionally snapping in a language I didn’t understand. Every time he passed I looked into his face, searching for some answer there. His eyes never met mine.

  “After what seemed like miles, we came into a true sewer tunnel fixed with rungs climbing to grating above. I could feel cool air, smell more than just running rot. That’s when one of the vampires challenged Rivascis. The guard didn’t believe the elder vampire was leading them wherever he’d claimed. For his part, Rivascis didn’t argue. He vanished. When I saw him again he was yanking the rebellious guard’s head from her neck.”

  A hand crossed to her shoulder, holding her body. “The other vampires set on him. He moved with a devil’s speed. It was like the shadows themselves had turned on those coarse, lesser creatures. He channeled them back down the tunnel. Soon he was standing between us and them. I stared, as we all did. Finally, his eyes found mine. When he shouted to climb, everyone but me obeyed. The others dragged themselves up the nearby ladder. I could feel the cold air above. The night seemed fantastically bright.”

  Her hand gripped her own shoulder roughly, threatening to tear her lacy collar. “He was at my side, then, his cold hand on me again. I almost screamed and tore away. His face was covered in gore, but his eyes still faked having a soul. His voice sounded noble’s—like a prince’s. ‘I never wanted to lie to you,’ he said. ‘And I never will again.’ That’s what put me past the brink. That’s when I knew for certain that he’d always been a monster, just one who’d deluded himself into believing a mask of humanity was his real face. He was a monster that had no idea what a monster he was. I screamed, and not caring if it was hopeless, I put my fists and broken nails to his face.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter, then released. “I know I connected—know I caught him off guard. Something in his look changed, then he was gone, vanishing in a breath of black fog. As fast as I could, I scrambled up the ladder and onto the plaza above, not stopping until I was far from the grate.”

  Her eyes opened mere cracks, as if adjusting to the library’s dull light. “When I came to myself, I was in a plaza of black and white tiles. Above us, Pharasma’s spiral glowed from beneath a forest of steeples. Two priests in violet were already hurrying down the cathedral steps. A warm hand touched my shoulder, and it all gave out.”

  Kindler stared at the desktop. “The Pharasmins cared for me and the other survivors for weeks. I was reunited with my family and eventually returned home. But I didn’t stay long.”

  Picking up the wand from where I’d left it, she stared into the now-foggy crystal. “I couldn’t stand the thought of staying near Caliphas, knowing the city was just a scab over that other, nightmarish world. I left soon after, staying with family and attending school in Andoran. I had terrible nightmares there. More than once I even thought Rivascis had come after me. I couldn’t forget what had happened, and when I realized that, I obsessed. I sought out all I could about vampires and terrible things like them. I did many things I regret to learn what everyone warned me I shouldn’t. Even when I was expelled from Almas University I hardly noticed.

  “It wasn’t until I met members of a local explorer’s league that I realized my scholarly addiction could actually be put to use. I joined them and, eventually, the Pathfinder Society. I traveled and learned more than I could at any university—not just how to fight but how to think in a fight.” A smile might have flickered at the corner of her mouth. If it did, it was gone in an instant.

  “Eventually I returned to Ustalav. I said it was to root out the things hiding in its shadows. I claimed that I wanted to use my stories to spread warnings and methods of challenging the things that haunted my homeland. But none of that was entirely true. I wanted Rivascis. What he’d done, what he’d told me—the truth and lies didn’t matter. I wanted to drive a stake through his chest. I wanted to avenge the girl who wandered into the dark searching for her sister.”

  “That hunt became my entire life.” Her eyes strayed to me. “And I failed.”

  38

  TRIAL OF FAITH

  JADAIN

  It’s that you’re all, always, leaking.” The voice o
wned by those scorching eyes spoke as though I’d answered their question. Beneath them, points of gold glinted, false stars twinkling in the endless night.

  “All of it. Blood, words, bile, obvious little lusts—it’s repulsive.” Her colorless wrapping overbore the lantern’s frail glow, the light giving ground before her. “And it all leaks down into our world. Your frailties, your sins, are our rain.”

  “You’re welcome to return to … wherever.” I tried to sound bold. I couldn’t feel the edge of the lantern light, but I knew my back was against the shadows.

  “Oh, I will, once I have what the master’s promised. A vampire’s kiss holds no terror in a world without light. What your simpering people call a curse, I’ll accept like a crown.”

  “So it’s like that? ‘Be my slave and I’ll make you a queen’?” Already properly screwed, I didn’t have any reason not to speak my mind. “I’m sure that’ll work out just fine for you.”

  A dull bit of jewelry caught the light. It didn’t glitter as it hung from a bloodied but still transparent digit.

  “‘Be my slave and I’ll protect you’? ‘I’ll make you strong’? ‘I’ll keep you safe in death’?” The goddess’s symbol swung on its cord. “What was your bargain? How did it end for you?”

  My guts began to squirm. I looked away, eyes retreating from the spiral’s dizzying curves.

  The scrap of wood struck me in the face, the shock of its touch hitting me harder than the physical blow. It clattered to the dirt. That alone, letting her symbol touch unsanctified ground, was an insult to the goddess. Before I could even reach for it, nausea caused the ground to roll like a ship’s deck. Again, I had to look away.

  The light shone up through the urdefhan’s skin, under-lighting a skull barely masked by wormy veins. Rows of thin teeth clenched in a predator’s smile.

  “Your friend did you no favors cutting you down.” She took a silent step closer. The baubles on her gown seemed suddenly sharp, glittering like fangs. “I can’t allow you to run free.”

  There was no escape. There was only this island of light. Who knew what might be in the dark beyond? A door? Certainly, but not an open one. I hunched anyway, ready to run, even knowing I’d be caught.

  “Leaving?” She gave a crackling, back-of-the-throat chuckle.

  I grabbed Pharasma’s symbol out of the dirt. Ignoring my stomach’s complaint, I brandished it like a miniature shield.

  Her throat noise became more violent, rising higher and faster. “Your gorge won’t save you again.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed. My body spun, the spiral etched into my face spinning as well. The sickness, the hesitance, the pain all twisted in that scar. But even tainted, it was only flesh. I pushed it away, and prayed. Lady of Graves, I know I’ve not been worthy. I know I’ve questioned. I know my faith has been stained with doubt. But please—

  The rough wood in my grip vanished, turning colder than ice. In my hands burst Pharasma’s own blazing blue-white comet, its light brilliant even through my cinched eyes. The ghostly wave crashed over me, churning my insides more violently than ever. It felt like I was falling, but I didn’t loosen my grip. I clung to the goddess’s frozen symbol.

  I opened my eyes just as the wave struck the woman in black, flinging her back with a shocked, inward-sucking shriek. Divine light seared her and momentarily burnt away the surrounding shadows. She looked frail and ragged, and this prison was just a cellar. The dark’s lies drifted away.

  Just as fast as the Lady’s light erupted, it was gone.

  Illness gripped me. The goddess’s symbol was still cool in my hand. Cold as the grave.

  Why now?

  The thing in the darkness spoke cruel syllables.

  I threw myself sidelong, plunging into the darkness. Flame roared out of nothingness, scouring the lantern-lit island. A whiff of a terrible scent invaded my memory: Tashan burning—twice.

  I rolled hard, scrambling desperately. The fire followed, a second tongue of hellfire devouring my path. Across the room the flames emerged from an outraged constellation of flickering gold, the metallic stars crowned by a muscle-draped skull.

  Something shifted under me as I scrambled across the dirt floor. My hand closed on wood. A splintered board—the stake that split Considine’s chest. It was garbage, but it was sharp. I grabbed it.

  Flinging myself through the shadows, I closed on the afterimage of gold and bone still burnt into sight. Vicious noises, like a serpent trying to speak, slid through my near-blindness. I rushed toward them, holding the stake low and in both hands, pressing my amulet against it.

  The thrust I made mimicked the first of two stomach cuts doomed Brevic nobles called spirit-tying, a murder-suicide for lovers. The splintered wood blindly tore thin fabric. Weak flesh relented like a worm taking a hook. The wood sank in, but in the dark I couldn’t gauge the slash’s effectiveness.

  I smelled a gasp of wet, onion-reeking breath. The vicious noises slowed, but relentlessly ground on. Heat rose between me and the vaguest golden outlines, as if the borders between reality and Hell’s infernos were ready to shatter.

  Goddess. Please.

  Fire and light exploded forth once more. I was falling, spinning. My body no longer felt no longer whole. My soul was ripping loose from my body. I didn’t feel any pain. I hoped the goddess would judge me mercifully—even knowing death’s justice knew no mercy.

  The scream that followed wasn’t my own. My eyes sprang open to a wintery vision of blues and white. The cold radiance fountained between us, emanating from the emblem pulsing in my hands. It spread to every corner, bursting in tides over the bony claws grasping for my face. The lidless eyes behind them were unable to shut out the goddess’s light, and the monster jerked away.

  To the light was a familiar calming cold. Yet the urdefhan writhed, her tainted soul wracked by the waves of holy energy. A screech escaped chattering teeth, cutting off her savage spell-shaping. Her body tugged at the stake still in my grip, undoing her impaling. Trying to cover her face, she fled, her jewelry rattling wildly, some tearing away to shatter upon the hard dirt.

  The hinges of a sagging door howled as she ripped them open. In my palm, the goddess’s light dimmed, but not before the last glimmers of the urdefhan’s gold darted away.

  I released a long breath. My throat unclenched and I heaved violently. Fortunately, I didn’t have anything left to vomit up. I breathed slowly. The sickening sensation was real, but for the first time I was sure of its source. The goddess still accepted me when I reached for her. The sickness and doubt, it was all in the brand twisting my face. The curse didn’t stem from the Lady’s symbol—it was the dead inquisitor’s mark, a malediction of zealotry and obsession disguised in the words of scripture. I hadn’t been worthy in his twisted estimation. I’d thought that meant Pharasma had judged me unfit as well. The icy bit of wood in my hand promised that wasn’t the case.

  I swallowed the nausea. It was fantastically uncomfortable, but I could bear it. I swept the amulet over my head. The spiral fell over my heart, holding fast in that familiar place. I laid my hand there. Even through my shirt it still felt cool.

  “Thank you, Lady.”

  I grabbed the lantern, adjusted my grip on the wet stake, and went to the open door. The Lady of Graves was just, but she was not merciful.

  39

  BLOODTHIRSTY

  LARSA

  I leaned on the warm, slightly sticky railing of Kindler’s porch and sighed. The air tasted cold and coppery in the worst way.

  The whole day had passed while I’d been inside, coaxing memories from Kindler’s self-inflicted amnesia. Even after uncovering her experience beneath Caliphas there were still endless intersections between her life of monster hunting and her obsessive search for Rivascis. We meticulously picked them free, but I hardly heard many of her later tales. I humored her, waiting for the account of her return to Caliphas to learn more about her missing child. Yet when the wand’s magic revealed no more, that story hadn’t
trickled forth. I left the old woman dozing in her library, exhausted by the weight of returned years.

  The sun had already fallen behind the hedgerows. In the yard, corpses in rags still lay amid shrubs and mismatched little gardens. Nothing had disturbed them. Even with the gate clearly open no one had bothered to investigate or, more reasonably, alert the constabulary. Spoiled blood seeped into the grass, the drive, the porch’s boards, all wasted like cheap wine left out overnight. My mouth was suddenly dry.

  Pharasma—maybe less a prig than I’d thought—saw fit to tap the veins of fate. A heavy breath escaped from a facedown body sprawled on the porch stairs.

  I yanked him up by oily curls and gnawed through ruddy skin, trying to ignore the feel of moles on my lips. The resulting gush was slow—he was obviously almost spent—but he still had pulse enough to keep his blood warm. He was already dying, so I allowed myself to be decadent.

  “Does vintage mean nothing to you?” The voice surprised me, but not enough to stop. Only once the gush slowed to a cool leak did I pull away with a gasp. For the moment I wasn’t thirsty, but I certainly didn’t feel satisfied.

  Considine leaned against the house at the far edge of the porch, condescending with a slow headshake. His anemic rafter-rat fluttered to the top of the farthest column, staring at me with buggy black eyes.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Where have you been?”

  “Visiting with our dear father.” He rubbed something between his fingers, exaggerating his nonchalance.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ve seen him as well.”

  “Finally had the reunion you always dreamt of?” He’d heard me fantasize about taking Rivascis’s head more than once.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Seems like more ‘no’ than ‘yes,’ to me.”

  “Nothing to report back to Grandfather about yet.” I hadn’t forgotten the reason he’d been sent to keep watch on me. “One conversation doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him for a life of slavery.”