by Lee Ramsay
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can. If you sought a greater reason, I am afraid you will find none,” Ankara said with silky menace. Her sapphire gaze flitted between Tristan, Eosan, and Kayla. “Perhaps you find neither appealing? Consider this, if that is the case; you are choosing a life to save.”
“You’re asking me to choose someone to die.”
“My dear boy, I am not asking. Choose. The wait grows boring.”
Sweat sprang to his hairline as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Teeth clenched, he shook his head. “I won’t.”
Ankara pressed her lips together as she inspected his features. She sighed and flicked her hand at Urzgeth. “I thought as much.”
Stretching ropes creaked as the Dushken alpha kicked the stools out from underneath Eosan and Kayla. Gagging emerging from behind the cloth gags as the nooses tightened.
Tristan lunged with a horrified cry, but the unbranded huntsmen gripped his arms before he took more than a step. Eosan’s reddening face darkened toward purple; beside him, Kayla’s thrashing weakened into spasmodic movements as the noose dimpled the flesh of her throat. “Kayla! I choose Kayla.”
“I am afraid your opportunity to choose has passed.” Ankara drifted back to the table to collect her apple and cut away the part of the flesh that had browned in the few moments it had been exposed to the air with a paring knife. The juicy fruit snapped between her teeth as she took a bit and turned to watch the prisoners die. “Perhaps you will choose with more haste next time. You could have saved one, and now both are dead. Two could have eaten well.”
“They did nothing to you!”
“Can you be so certain? I may have been lying when I said I did this because I could.” The grand duchess set the apple core on the table’s edge and resumed her seat with a wave to the Dushken. She plucked a turkey leg from where it rested in its cooling juices, laughing her throaty laugh as he was dragged away. “Thank you for the conversation; it was quite stimulating. We shall have to dine again soon.”
Chapter 37
Darkness enfolded Sathra like a living thing, wrapping so closely that she struggled for breath as she progressed down a narrow, sloping hall. Her candle did little to illuminate her path; the smothering blackness threatened to snuff the feeble light and leave her without its guidance in avoiding a collision with the walls. Overhead, the mountain's weight pressed down and added to the claustrophobic sensation of being crushed within the bowels of the earth.
Everything about the passage to Ankara’s laboratory was loathsome to the young noblewoman. Condensed moisture glittered with reflected light, creating the impression that the walls were alive and breathing. In a way, the notion was accurate. Behind the dressed stones of the corridor’s walls, floor, and ceiling, set deep within the living rock of the mountain, lived wards summoned into being by the grand duchess. Ancient and complex, the magical constructs possessed a malevolent, low intelligence similar to a starving hunting hound – and she was convinced they did not like her.
Whenever her duties brought her to the buried network of chambers in which the grand duchess kept her greatest secrets and worked her most potent enchantments, Sathra was certain the living wards reveled in severing her from the weave of magic. She was not alone in this; her kinswoman had admitted that the defensive enchantments had strengthened over time and that she, too, was deprived of her ability to access the weave. Where the older sorceress delighted in such a development, the younger loathed the sensation of vulnerability she had not experienced since she was a girl of twelve.
It was not that the energies flowing from the world around her were absent. The wards prevented a nec’divinos – an ancient word for those born with the gift of magic – from manipulating the filaments of power. Ankara had designed the passage as a means of defense against anyone who tried to access her laboratory. Even she was unable to use magic while in the field generated by the construct.
Sathra hurried toward the door at the hallway’s end, a gray hornbeam barricade with no handle. She rested her palm on the wood and waited for the runic structure set into the panels to recognize her. A sigh of relief flowed past her lips as she slipped through the door’s widening gap, and her body reconnected to the weave of magic. To her mind, the sensation was as sweet as the first lungful of air after submerging in a cold lake.
The young noblewoman spared the room little more than a glance. The laboratory’s foyer had been furnished as a study; elegant furniture filled the chamber, and soft rugs covered the smoothed stone floor. Along the walls behind the desk dominating the center of the room were bookcases filled with arcane tomes and curios Ankara had gathered through her long life. A cold chill enough to freeze the marrow in her bones emanated from the night blue grimoires filling one bookcase; this was contrasted by smothering heat radiating from black-bound spellbooks lining the shelves of another. Ankara had told her nothing of where these magical tomes originated beyond the cryptic phrasing of “they once belonged to a man born twice.”
In truth, she cared little for who penned those books. She sensed the power within them and hungered for it, though much study was necessary before she dared touch them.
The grand duchess’s grimoires filled the third bookcase, a smoky sense of warmth reminiscent of the sorceress’s cardamom oil flowing from the bindings of human flesh and the vellum pages. She had mastered only enough skill to read five of the books – all penned when Ankara was a young woman. Sathra could not read the rest; the glyphs and characters scrawled in bloody ink writhed across the pages and whispered maddeningly the few times she attempted to open them.
Other currents flowed through the room, undercutting the thrumming power hidden within those books. The laboratory was a vast series of chambers connected by convoluted halls. Some were storerooms housing books and scrolls on esoteric subjects, while others held alchemical compounds and materials necessary for truly complex enchantments. Threaded through the halls were other spaces, workrooms secured by wards intended to protect the occupant from elements of the spells worked within.
It was a confusing jumble of arcane threads, unearthly voices, and power with tangible qualities of flavor, scent, and color. Had Sathra not spent years studying beside her kinswoman, she would have been unable to locate the sole presence within all the chambers. Like a stone in the flow of a river, people created a void in the rush of energies; Ankara’s skill was such that her presence was nearly undetectable.
Sathra retracted her connection to the weave around her, though it continued to glide across her skin like the sleekest satin as she made her way down the rightmost of four passages leading from the foyer. Each door she passed was closed and sealed, framed by lit black tapers in sconces mounted to the walls.
The last door in the passage stood open, soft blue light seeping beneath its arched frame. She set her candlestick on the shelf outside the room and crossed the threshold.
Ankara stood in the center of the small room, surrounded by a waist-high semicircle of stone. More than a hundred clear crystal tubes rose from the angled surface, their open mouths awaiting a crystal’s insertion. It was from these that the blue glow emanated, powered by an enchantment set into the device. A handful of the cylinders held crystals of varied composition – artificially created emeralds, rubies, and other precious and semiprecious gems.
A twisted, ladderlike construct formed from the magic hovered above a quartz plinth in the center of the arc. The structure appeared organic – twin helical backbones connected by horizontal structures. Different parts of the complex pattern shed illumination in hues drawn from the gemstones in the crystal device, casting Ankara’s sharp profile in shifting light patterns.
“I summoned you some time ago,” the sorceress said after a moment, continuing her examination of the illusory structure.
“I was napping when the call came. It took time to dress. May I ask what you are doing?”
“Attempting to determine what Gwistain’s young compa
nion is made of.”
Sathra’s brow wrinkled as she stepped into the room. “If I may be candid, I don’t understand your fascination with the boy. Aside from his stubbornness, there is nothing remarkable about him.”
Condescension flavored Ankara’s words as she slanted a look at her kinswoman. “You think so? I admit he is rather linear in his behavior despite being well-read, but our guest is more of a mystery than I first thought.”
“In what manner?”
“Obstinacy can only endure so long, yet he endures and persists with his defiance. Some of his behavior may be attributed to strength of will and spirit. Have you not wondered at his physical resilience?”
“I must confess, I had not.”
“Nor did I expect you to. Your experience in these matters is theoretical at best, resulting from years spent reading books in a sheltered existence. The fault is not yours, nor is it mine – but it is something I mean to remedy.” The elder sorceress shook her head as she faced her pupil. “You must look beyond what you see and question everything lest you fall victim to inattentive complacency.”
The younger noblewoman gritted her teeth and nodded. There was truth to her kinswoman’s words, though she resented the lecturing tone.
Ankara beckoned her closer as she faced the floating illusion. “I am studying the components from which the boy is comprised. Throughout this strand are combinations of structures that dictate our physicality. This segment, and this here,” she said, gesturing to different parts of the structure, “are what controls the presentation of our hair – in this case, Tristan’s particular shade of red. Other parts dictate the thickness and texture of each fiber, or whether he shall eventually go bald.”
All Sathra saw was a confusing jumble of globules in an otherwise elegant structure. Her expression revealed her bafflement.
“Red hair of any shade is a peculiarity,” the older sorceress continued. “While it can be an inherited trait, it can also arise as a divergence from an individual’s parentage. Two Anahari can breed a blonde child in rare circumstances, which would indicate an impurity in their bloodlines. However, no two fair-haired Caledorn parents will have a dark-haired child unless the mother is bedding a dark-haired man while her husband is inattentive. Though uncommon, it is possible for our people – or any of the people of Western Celerus – to spontaneously have a child with a variation of Tristan’s shade.”
“Other than its peculiarity, what does it matter?”
“A sound question. Over the centuries, I have discovered that those with such a shade have a higher pain tolerance. It is not generally noticeable to the untrained eye.”
Sathra’s brow wrinkled with skepticism. “So, Tristan’s resistance to my interrogation and his ability to endure his time in the labyrinth is a fluke of hair color?”
Ankara shook her head and pointed to another section of the image. “Not entirely. See this? It is but one portion of what bestows the gift that enables us to sense and manipulate the world’s energies.”
“He is nec’divinos?”
“No, but he might father such a child. What is interesting is that the sequences have been...altered.” She pointed to several different places on the twisted ladder-like structure. “These progressions are not elements our young friend was born with; they have been added, and interact with the structural components dictating his hair color and those indicative of the gifts. I have yet to determine either the method or the purpose behind these alterations.”
Sathra stared at the revolving structure, uncomprehending of what her eyes told her. She focused instead on the implications of the sorceress’s words. “You suspect these alterations work with other elements of his being, providing him with greater pain tolerance.”
“Whether that is the intent or merely an effect remains a mystery. Further, it could explain why what we take from him is so satisfying.”
“Might it present a danger? If you are uncertain as to the purpose for these changes—”
“Consuming the blood will do us no harm,” Ankara assured her, stroking her lips with a fingertip. “Such alterations must be done when a person is very young so that they may propagate through the body. Within seven years of the manipulation, the new sequences would replace the original – provided the child survived.”
“Who would do such a thing, and why?”
“Again, that is the mystery. I can think of no one living who has the knowledge or finesse to accomplish what has been done to the boy.” A sigh slipped through the energies powering the crystalline device as Ankara released the magic. The light from the crystal tubes faded, and with it the illusion. The sorceress licked the pad of her thumb and wiped away the single drop of blood in the quartz plinth’s center. “In time I may unravel the why, and through that the who.”
“Did you bring me down here merely to stoke worry?”
“I brought you down here to show you the reason why I am forbidding you from using the boy.” She held up her hand as Sathra started a protest. “There are others for you to draw upon. The boy is mine until I unravel the mystery of him. You are not to touch him until and unless I say otherwise. Do you understand?”
Sathra’s lips twitched, but she bowed her head in obeisance. “Of course.”
Ankara waited until the young woman met her eyes before speaking again. “Do not test me on this, Sathra. Much as I have enjoyed watching and even encouraging your attempts to circumvent my wishes over the years, I will not be crossed on this command. There is something peculiar here, and the mind behind it is cunning. Though the blood and essence consumed from Tristan thus far will not harm you, I am uncertain what other dangers he may pose.”
“I understand.”
ANKARA STROKED HER finger across the apparatus’s crystal tubes after Sathra departed. She allowed herself a few moments to appreciate the exquisite result of centuries of research and refinement while reflecting on the events leading to its creation.
The device, called a genetea, was a descendant of the first such apparatus she had created in her youth, and a product of collaboration with Seban Terador. Crude as that original device had been, it had given her insight into the body’s workings beyond what simple observation and vivisection provided. Successive generations had refined its capabilities, eventually permitting her to see the foundations of life hidden within the cells.
More than a decade of research at her former mentor’s side had provided sufficient understanding to begin an aggressive breeding program, creating the first Dushken from Terador’s enslaved Hillffolk. Once Hillffolk females experienced their first menses, they were impregnated and spent their adolescence gravid by multiple sires until their bodies gave out. Offsprings’ blood was examined through those early genetea to identify and categorize their hereditary traits.
Each generation of those early Dushken was approximately eleven years, given the aggressiveness of the experiment. Sufficient deviation manifested within five generations to merit their own taxonomy; they differed from their ancestors much as a dog differed from a wolf. Her selection of breeding stock improved as she further refined her comprehension of individuals’ component structures.
Terador’s focus had been on inculcating offspring with brutalism as a foundation of their nascent culture, commensurate with their improved natural behaviors. The results proved terrifyingly effective. Hulking and vicious, the Dushken became the monsters children feared in the night. Their savagery toward their kind was eclipsed only by the atrocities wrought when Terador unleashed them on Merid, Caledorn, and Troppenheim communities.
The King of Merid was delighted with the results. Ankara, however, had been appalled by the breed’s inelegance.
The sorceress stole a dozen Dushken infants when she parted ways with Terador and returned to Anahar, intending them to be the foundation for her continued research. Hunting parties had been dispatched into the mountain wilderness along the northern border with the fledgling kingdom of Reesenat to capture entire villages of wild
Hillffolk for breeding stock.
In those days, Feinthresh Castle had been little more than a ruin left from the destruction of the Kingdom of Bayeren. While workers labored to build the castle’s foundations, Ankara secreted herself in her early laboratory magic to create the crystalline structures necessary for the genetea’s next iteration.
The resulting device allowed her not only to see the fundamentals of life but to manipulate them. Initial alterations to genomic structures caused several of the first generation of Anahari-born Dushken to die grotesquely; those who survived passed on traits she deemed worth preserving. She refined the device and her ability to manipulate the cells’ helical core further. By the third generation, the Anahari Dushken little resembled their Meridan counterparts.
If not for those early experiments, she would not have been able to apply her knowledge to alter the fundamentals of the Anahari for favorable traits while modifying undesirable characteristics to dormancy. Her kinswoman would be quite a different person had the sorceress not cultivated the bloodlines through the centuries.
Ankara sighed. It was a pity Sathra neither understood nor cared for the device’s capabilities. The young woman was intelligent and cunning yet lacked genuine curiosity.
The sorceress lifted a slender vial from a wooden rack and removed the stopper, then upended it over the quartz plinth in the device’s center. Viscous seminal fluid, collected from between her thighs after her last visit with Tristan, dribbled onto the crystalline surface. The genetea was capable of sorting out contamination from her own contributions to the sample.
Ankara drew on her gifts and threaded jade fire through the emerald pendant around her neck. The genetea’s crystals glowed in response, emanating a soft blue light that permeated the room. She slid a beryl from a rack of columnar gemstones into a receptacle growing from the crystalline device. Light from the configured vessel shifted to green as the genetea interacted with the enchantments grown within the shard. A fabricated ruby slid into another cylinder with a rasp of crystalline surfaces, altering the device’s emanations further. With several other precious stones added to the appropriate apertures, Ankara waved her hand over the quartz plinth and evoked the enchantments set into the mineral.