Halfblood Legacy

by Rheaume, Laura

  A man stepped out from under the large leaves of a palm tree. Heron hadn’t had the smallest hint that he was there, neither sound nor scent, which was something that had not happened to him in a long while. When he looked closer, he saw both the why and the who. The why was both the thin layer of some creme that was spread over the man’s skin and the tight fitting plastic suit that peeked out from under the man’s black clothing. There was almost no scent to be caught.

  The who was an old friend whose return he had feared for years.

  The man stopped across the table from Heron, right behind the seat he had offered his wife. He crossed his arms comfortably and studied Heron. “She reminds me of someone else.”

  “Yes. Me too.” Heron didn’t try to hide his nervousness; the man wouldn’t miss any of the signs anyway. He swallowed, “I’ve...I expected you earlier.”

  Scythe raised an eyebrow at that, “Really?”

  “Yes. I didn’t think you’d be able to...well I thought you’d be looking to get revenge right away. I didn’t expect you would have so much...restraint.”

  He was blabbering, he knew, because hadn’t felt this panicked in years. It felt like he was going to have a heart attack right there in the atrium. But even though he was terrified of what might happen to him, a part of him was feeling relieved, because he would at least be free now of the constant worrying. He had been afraid of this visit, this confrontation, for years, spending several nights each week wondering if he would come that month...that week...or, please, no...that night. Even though the fear had lessoned over time, it never left him. He had never truly believed that Scythe could somehow forget what he’d done, and forgiving was equally unthinkable. He was convinced that some day the halfblood would come out of the shadows...and he had been right.

  “I see. Because?”

  Is he going to toy with me first? The thought chilled him. “Well, because it was Mercy,” Heron said.

  Scythe commented, “She is special to me.”

  “To me, too. More than I realized at the time, if you can believe that. But,” he shrugged, “family ties are strong.”

  “It is true, and it would take a strong man to defy Tiburon.”

  Heron nodded. He would never be that strong, he knew. No one in his family was. Still, that didn’t ease his conscience. He had known the instant his uncle had told him what he wanted that it was wrong, that it was dishonorable.

  You will do this thing, Tiburon, the head of his family, had said, and there was no opposing him. So, he had taken the powder and stirred it into Mercy’s soup, waited for her to fall under its influence, and walked away. And when she had disappeared, he was able to truthfully declare right in front of her own father that he didn’t know where she was.

  Later, he found out that she had been taken and assaulted as part of a plan to incapacitate Scythe. Heron had felt sick, physically ill, when he found out what had happened to her, but there was nothing to be done about it afterwards. Nothing to do except wait for this night.

  Then Scythe said something that sent Heron back four years to a time when every day he spent with them revealed the unexpected. He had been unbalanced the entire time he traveled with them and he was thrown off again by the next few sentences.

  “Actually, I didn’t know that you had been involved. You completely fooled everyone, including Temper, which is a noteworthy accomplishment. We never suspected you because you were our friend.” He spoke companionably, without a trace of anger, and then waited for Heron’s response.

  Heron sat without moving as he processed Scythe’s statement. He had never...never blamed me. He had never even known...for all of these years. It seemed impossible. Then he realized how incredible...no, how ridiculous it was that Heron had told him all on his own.

  Heron closed his eyes. It was better this way, wasn’t it? Because he had been living with the guilt for a long time. He wanted to be free of it. “I want to offer my apologies, even if you chose not to accept them, even if you decide...to...take your revenge on me.”

  “On you? What would be the point of that? Why not on your pretty wife? That would be justice.”

  Heron’s heart started up again at the thought of his wife, who he was still getting to know, being hurt. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. “No…”

  “Heron’s pretty brown-eyed wife. Doesn’t her face remind you of Mercy? I remember that Mercy had bruises all over her face after she was...no after you let her be taken from here, you who I trusted to care for her. I remember how her shirt was ripped right down the front, and her wrists had red welts from the plastic straps they had tied her up with.”

  Now he was angry. Scythe hadn’t moved, hadn’t altered his face, but his voice... Heron shrank back in the chair.

  “I remember the way she clung to me, so happy to be safe. Does your wife feel safe?”

  He reminded himself that he deserved this, after what he had done. But still, he didn’t want anything like what the man was describing to happen to his sweet wife, who had never hurt anyone. “She’s innocent...of what happened to…”

  “And Mercy wasn’t? Is your wife fourteen? Has your wife been raped? You’ve been waiting for over four years, full of fear and remorse, so let’s do it right, Heron. Let me rape your wife and then you can comfort her like I comforted Mercy. Then, later, you can listen to her cry in the night after she has nightmares about it. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

  Something tore loose inside of him. “No!” Heron yelled, jumping up and throwing himself at Scythe. He knew full well he didn’t have a chance against him, but he didn’t care. He was not going to let that happen. He was not a novice at hand to hand. He would at least put up a good fight...

  Scythe was there, right in front of him, and then he wasn’t. Heron’s hands reached forward and closed over empty air. Then he felt one hand on the back of his neck and another gripping his shirt, propelling him around and into a tree. He crashed into it head first and then fell back into a sitting position on the cold cement floor. He tried to get up, but couldn’t get his bearings. He was going to have to wait until everything around him stopped wobbling.

  Scythe was still gripping his neck. He crouched down right next to him, with his face close enough that Heron could feel his breath. “It’s too bad you didn’t stand up like that to Tiburon.”

  “What?” Had he passed out? He wondered if he had a concussion, because it didn’t make any sense. There was no hint of anger in Scythe’s voice anymore.

  “I accept your apology, although I don’t think we can be friends, Heron. You are a man without honor, and I don’t have any respect for that. However,” he patted him on the back, “you did fight for your wife, so there is hope for you, yet. We’ll have to see.”

  Heron blinked at him. He had accepted his apology? Just like that?

  Scythe handed him a napkin from the tray on the table. “Here. I actually came here to ask you a few things, not to beat the crap out of you like you sorely need.” He looked up, and Heron followed suit.

  “My Heart, is everything okay?” His wife stood at the door, frowning at him. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

  When he turned back, Scythe was not next to him.

  “Uh, yes. I’m fine, Melode. I’ll come inside in a few minutes.”

  “Please don’t take too long. You have been out here for a long time, dear. I’ve already finished my bath.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll join you in a bit.”

  “Alright…Did you fall?”

  “Ah...I slipped, but I’m fine, just a little...shaken.”

  “Do you want me to call you a doctor?”

  “Very funny, Melode.”

  She laughed and went inside.

  Heron looked around. Scythe was crouched in the shadows to his right, watching and waiting.

  Heron asked, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why...How can you be so...forgiving.”

  He considered for a moment before answering. �
��Everyone is corruptible.”

  He hadn’t expected to hear that.

  Scythe continued. “By the time you met me, I’d been corrupted so many times that I’d have never have been considered by a decent person like yourself to be redeemable. But, I was. Someone thought I was, even when I didn’t believe it myself, which made me understand something. Everyone is redeemable.”

  Heron just stared at him.

  “Heron, your guilt won’t change a thing, and neither would any vengeance I could carve out of you. But, your redemption? That could accomplish something.”

  The old expression Heron was familiar with; everyone in his circle knew of it. Everyone is corruptible. Arrogantly they quoted it, always referring to others, never themselves; the saying didn’t apply to you, because it was assumed that you were among the few exceptions. However, Heron knew, had known for four years, that even someone expertly raised on the highest values and traditions of a great civilization like theirs was no exception. No one was.

  However, the second one, Everyone is redeemable, he had never heard before. It wasn’t an expression that he knew of. He swallowed. He tried to imagine living in a world where, instead of being corruptible, everyone was redeemable. Thinking of his uncle, he couldn’t; the man would have scoffed at the mention of it. Where would someone like Scythe, a halfblood mercenary from a backwoods outpost, get such an idea? Then, with a start, he knew.

  “Mercy. Mercy was the one.”

  Scythe nodded.

  Heron closed his eyes. He needed a minute to collect the thoughts that were flying all over the place. “Mercy.” He opened his eyes, “She’s not just your heart’s choice. It’s like she’s your...philosophy.”

  Scythe stared at him, taken aback by Heron’s statement. “You’re...I guess you’re right.” Then he grinned at the idea. He tilted his head. “What makes you think that we are wed?”

  “I just assumed. You...you aren’t, then?”

  “No.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it looked to me like it was long done…” Heron remembered clearly the way Scythe had looked at her, and the way he seemed to grow...something...stronger or more vibrant or more...just more when the man was with her. Heron had even felt a little jealous, as well as a little intimidated, when Scythe, filled with that something, sat across from Mercy and pledged, “I won’t let anything happen to us.” For some reason, he had been reminded of his uncle.

  Scythe smiled, pleased by Heron’s response, but didn’t comment further.

  Heron wasn’t comfortable enough to smile back, but he was feeling much better than he had in a long time. Strangely, he was both lighter and heavier. “You wanted to talk to me.”

  Scythe nodded, and his friendly mood faded to gray.

  Chapter 11

  Scythe took his hands off the keyboard, picked up the book next to the display and began to read.

  “Simon,” his tutor Mr. Winn said with an edge of irritability. “You must finish your exam before you can read. I am assuming that the book you are holding is not related to the subject matter of your exam.”

  “No, sir. It was a math test.”

  “Good. I’d hate to fail you for cheating.”

  Scythe nodded, although he didn’t understand how the man could fail him an entire course for something like that. He had told Scythe that the grade he received for the courses was a measurement of how well he understood the material. A failing grade should have meant that he didn’t understand any of the content, not that he was dishonest. Since the man had yet to present Scythe with anything he didn’t easily master, a failing grade would be...well, a failure on his part.

  He had tried to explain that when he first heard the penalty for cheating. It had been a very informative process. After that, he let the teacher do all of the explaining and made sure to take care of the learning himself. Since he had always been responsible for his studies, it was one of the few things in the Human world that wasn’t shockingly different from his life with the Kin. Practically everything else, though, was a disaster.

  He went back to reading.

  “Simon.” The man slammed down his own book, 101 Dog Tricks to Impress Your Friends.

  “Yes, sir?” Scythe asked, laying his book back on the desk. That name still grated on his nerves, even after over a year of hearing it. Simon was the name they started calling him immediately after hearing his given name, because his father’s name wasn’t appropriate for a boy 'as sweet as he was.' Simon, on the other hand, was considered a good name. Scythe had looked it up. It was a name for someone who listened well and was obedient. Those were good qualities for a student, it was true, but he wasn’t sure it was going to be a good match for him. It did tell him, though, what they expected from him.

  “I just told you to finish the test first. Perhaps you should just hand me the book until you are done. It is too much of a distraction for you.” He held out his hand.

  “Mr. Winn, I finished the test.”

  “That’s a one hundred problem test. You only sat down ten minutes ago.”

  Actually, it was eight.

  “I know, sir, but it was pretty easy.” He’d known this was going to happen, so he had even taken it slow.

  “Let me check. If I find out that you marked random answers, I’ll be very disappointed.” He came around to the display and pulled up the score, which Scythe had already been given by the program when he finished. The man checked the information twice. “That’s...let me see the book.”

  Scythe handed it over, although he thought it was ridiculous. It would have taken him longer to find answers hidden in the book than it did to just do the problems. He said, “Sir, I told you. I learned this many years ago.”

  His tutor shook his head, “This advanced algebra course was written for students three grades above yours. You couldn’t have been learning algebra at age...what?...age nine?”

  Scythe had found that telling the truth when they asked for the truth was dangerous when they didn’t really want it, so he did what they did. He sidestepped. “If you would let me take the final exams for these math classes, I could show you that I already know the concepts. Then, I could take the higher course I need…”

  “This curriculum was developed by specialists who know what they’re doing. The courses must be taken in order and each section must be completed fully before you can move to the next. Research has proven that this is the best way to integrate the material.”

  “I understand.” What Scythe understood was that the problem wasn’t that they had to follow the program precisely. It was that the software itself wasn’t designed to handle a situation where a test or chapter was skipped. He had tried to access the higher levels and had encountered a system error every time. It didn’t bother him too much, except at times like this. For the most part, he just ordered the books he needed from the library or accessed the network and covered the material he needed that way.

  He glanced at his book and then back at Mr. Winn, who was frowning again at the screen. He decided to wait.

  Finally the man said, “Well, let’s not waste time. We’ll just use your allotted math time to catch up in history.” He brought up the correct unit and stood back. “These chapters cover the rise of the imperial guard in Ristern and the effect of that stability on the surrounding countries.”

  Scythe nodded, even though it was written right there at the top of the screen. He waited until the man returned to his seat before he scrolled down the pages. He had started reading the chapter yesterday after he had completed the previous chapter’s work early.

  He found it interesting, except for the fact that the chapter was about the bloody and violent overthrow of neighboring countries and it didn’t once mention the realities of warfare. It only said things like, On the following day, the second infantry took Kelei, Nent and Monrovia. The Prince of Nent was imprisoned, along with his family. On the third, an armistice was signed. On the twelfth, a treaty
was agreed upon which gave all lands to the west of the river… and so on. Nothing about the destruction of the crops, livestock and buildings, or the hundreds of lives lost in just Kelei, not to mention the rest. Nothing about the battle strategies, the weaponry, or the fighting style of the soldiers. Nothing about the poverty that infested the area afterward. Nothing about even one single affected citizen. Nothing to make him afraid of war.

  History books taught him so much about Humans.

  When he had studied war in his Kin textbooks, he was scared to death of it. Graphically detailed, with photos or artists’ drawings on every page and large passages of eyewitness accounts, the Kin retelling of history was very personal; a student of history was supposed to grow from what they learned, not just know what happened. So, he took care of that on his own, too.

  When he finished his reading and selected the correct answers to questions about the dates, names and locations of certain battles, he closed the program and picked up his book: The Diary of Nestor Stevenson, Imperial Commander.

  -----------

  Mercy stared at the message from her mother. Then she counted back the weeks. It had been a month since they had heard from him. Her mother had put it so casually, just a quick note at the end, as if to say, “Nothing to worry about here, dear.” But, no message for a month? That was not normal.

  She had a thousand questions, and they were all centered around the most important one, which was whether or not he was safe wherever the hell his job had taken him to. She suspected, however, that she already knew the answer to that question, because she knew that if he were fine, he would have contacted them. He would have known that they would be worried. Damn it, he should have known to not take some mysterious job that kept him away for a month without a word.

  She felt like her body was slowly filling up with jangly electricity that was jabbing at her and shaking her loose and chasing away the calm night with a staticky wind that pricked at her skin.

  She realized that she was standing up and she sat down abruptly and went to work. She cleared the message, and the mail history, and then, after accidentally entering the admin password and accidentally formatting the hard drive, she left the library. She was supposed to go to class, but she couldn’t care less about that; in fact, she was already wording her family emergency excuse and thinking about what preparations she had to make to get home as fast as possible.