by Leigh, J.
Jathen followed him inside. “I hate to think—”
A blow landed on the base of his skull. Jathen went down, collapsing into a dark maw of blackness.
Chapter 35
Jathen was groggy.
A sweet voice calling his name summoned him from the darkness. His cheeks, lips, and both eyelids were kissed and breathed on, reminding him of the dimensions of his face. “Jathen, wake up.”
It took effort to open his eyes, and his vision cleared slowly. But through the haze, he was rewarded with the sight of Ishane’s pretty lavender-scaled face. She sat in his lap, her arms draped casually around his neck, and the curl of her familiar smirk on her lips.
Relief flooded Jathen, and he tried to hug her, only to feel the bite of bindings at his wrists. Looking down, he discovered he was bound to a chair, his arms pulled taut behind him. The ropes bit hard into his chest, making it difficult to breathe deeply.
“Ishane?” Jathen rasped. “What’s going on?”
She kissed his forehead and slipped off of his lap. She looked different, clad in a long shift that had ruddy tones to it in the light. Tucked into her belt, a sheathed dagger seemed to smirk at him as well.
Jathen saw they were in a basement or root cellar. There were no windows, only a single lantern charm glowing overhead, its white light cold and blinding. Across from him, Ass’shiri sat awake in another chair, lavender eyes dark with intensity. Breathing raggedly, Ass’shiri leaned hard against his restraints, but seemed unable to free himself, despite being Clan.
“She played you, Jath.” Ass’shiri let out a bitter laugh. “She played us all.”
“Now now,” Ishane said in a sweet voice. “Jathen and I just need to have a little conversation.”
Ass’shiri snarled. “You want to have a conversation, you glorified byōki darake gara? Have it with me. Leave him alone!”
“Oh, did you think I was going to leave you out of it, little kasior?” Unsheathing her dagger, she spoke evenly, as if lecturing to a classroom. “This blade is coated with ral venom, one of the deadlier poisons known to the world. It won’t kill Clan, but he’ll be mostly paralyzed for a good hour or so.” She placed the tip close to Ass’shiri’s neck. “That’s not to say removing his head won’t do the trick.”
Jathen stared at her. “Ishane, what are you doing?”
“I will kill him, Jathen… if I have to,” she said. “I need to know where he hid it.”
“What? Where who hid what? I don’t... what are you talking about?”
Her face twisted into something vicious as she punctured Ass’shiri’s neck, severing his windpipe. His mouth gaped, but no sound emerged. Ribbons of blood streamed from the wound. The flow stopped when she removed the blade, but Jathen still gaped in horror.
In a level tone that was like a slap to the face, she said, “If you don’t tell me what I need to know, I will kill him… slowly… while you watch.”
Straining at his ties, Jathen asked, “What do you want?”
“Where did Master Chann hide it?”
“Hide what?”
“I am not playing games.” She brought the blade to Ass’shiri’s neck again. “We already searched the boarding house then the new charm shop and the rooms above it. It has to be somewhere else. Now tell me. Where did he hide it?”
“I’m not playing, either! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Ishane studied him a moment then stabbed the dagger into Ass’shiri’s neck, holding it in there while keeping her eyes on Jathen. “Where?”
Jathen’s mind raced for answers, but all the flurry only raised more questions. “Ishane, I really don’t know.”
“I think you do, Jathen.” Her eyes were cold as she dug deeper with the blade, making Ass’shiri hiss silently in pain. “I think you do. And you are killing him every moment you delay telling me.”
Ass’shiri locked eyes with Jathen and managed to mouth, “Artifact.”
“Artifact?” Jathen whispered. “This is about an Artifact?”
Ishane pulled the dagger from Ass’shiri’s neck, and the blood stopped once again. “Where is it?”
Jathen shook his head. “I don’t know! Really. I just—”
“Not good enough.” She turned back to Ass’shiri and slashed his cheek.
Horrified, Jathen half sobbed, “The Artifact was just a rumor! I don’t even know if he had one, ever!”
“He had it.” Ishane said. “He used it. Where is it now, Jathen?”
“I don’t know!”
“Not good enough.” She stabbed Ass’shiri in the neck again, widening the healing wound.
“Hatori never told me he had an Artifact!”
“Not good enough.” She thrust the blade deep into Ass’shiri’s shoulder. Jathen actually heard the metal scrap bone. Blood gushed from the new wound until she removed the dagger.
Jathen shrieked, “I wouldn’t even know it if I saw it!”
She scowled darkly. “I’m losing my patience, Jathen.”
He shook his head. Objects from over the years danced across his mind’s eye: a watch, a cane, thousands of bits and baubles, but nothing he could say with certainty was an Artifact. “I don’t know!”
“Then you are going to lose another friend.” She aimed the tip of the blade at the base of Ass’shiri’s ribcage, angled upward toward the space just under his heart and between the lungs. “This is your last chance. Where did Hatori hide the Artifact? You must know something… anything.”
“I don’t know! Ruddy hell, Ishane! Don’t you think if I knew I’d tell you to save him?”
“If you know what we’re really after, you might die rather than tell,” she replied, all ice and malice. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
She jammed the dagger upward into Ass’shiri’s body. Her face was a mask of cold resolve, while Ass’shiri’s expression held resounding hate. The blade penetrated his sangcordis, which caused a balloon of blood to burst and gush out, splattering all of them. Jathen screamed Ass’shiri’s name until he thought his vocal cords would burst, but she ignored him. Leaving the blade protruding from Ass’shiri’s chest, she turned and exited through a door at the other end of the room.
Jathen thrashed against his bindings. “Hold on, Ass’shiri, please!”
Jathen threw himself hard to one side, trying to close the two heads of distance he needed to get to his friend. “Just… just fight for me, please.” The chair wiggled, then rocked, and Jathen shifted his weight into it again, gaining nearly a scale of distance. “I can do this. I know I can.”
So pale, Ass’shiri shook his head ever so slightly.
“No,” Jathen choked, and tears began to well up in his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault… all of it. But, Spirit, I just didn’t know…”
The smallest ghost of a smile fluttered across Ass’shiri’s lips, but then the bright light went out of his pretty lavender eyes, and his head fell to his chest.
“No!” Jathen wailed, jerking forward. The chair finally teetered, and he crashed to the floor, landing face-first in Ass’shiri’s blood. He sputtered and spit the warm liquid from his mouth while still thrashing against his bindings.
“Ishane! You wretched fucking lying bitch whore! Why? Why!” He screamed nonsensical threats until he was hoarse, but she didn’t answer.
Exhausted, he lay in his friend’s blood and sobbed. I’m going to die here. The thought was oddly calming. After all, he was the only one who actually deserved to die.
A fitful sleep claimed him against his will, but a horrid scraping sound woke him. He opened his eyes to Ishane clutching the back of Ass’shiri’s chair and dragging his friend’s body out of the room. Jerking in his fallen chair like a caged animal, Jathen tried to stop her, but he couldn’t even summon a curse to fling
at her, so raw was his throat. She ignored him, not even doing him the courtesy of lifting him up from the crimson puddle that was the only thing left of his blood brother. Left desolate, all he could do was stare across the room at an old sink stained with grime and drying blood while he struggled to breathe against the bite of the restraints. His eyelids drooped, and he dozed again.
A loud bang and the sound of a slamming door, made him snap awake. He heard Ishane speaking from somewhere behind him. He couldn’t quite make out the words at first, but slowly her voice became louder.
“I dug through that kasior’s mind like an earth mage in search of a mineral vein. I did not overlook anything.”
“Then why are you still without the information?” another woman responded. She had a tone that evoked power. “And why are you still manually trying to wring it out of the little moot?”
“He knows, but he doesn’t know he does. Someone’s put a cap on him or something. It’s past my telepathic Ability to weed out.”
The woman snorted. “A memory cap? Surely you could handle that.”
“Either it’s a memory cap spell so ingrained into his subconscious that I’ve never seen its ilk before, or he’s a nontraditional Talent, and no one ever figured it out.”
“I doubt highly that. It seems to me far more likely you are grasping at straws to cover your incompetence.”
“This is not my fault.”
Jathen heard a slapping sound then a gasp from Ishane. A thud followed, and Jathen smirked at the idea that she’d hit the floor.
“Let me make this clear, child,” the woman said. “If you’ve gone and killed the wrong person and the information is gone, it’ll be nothing but your fault. Understood?”
“Other than Chann, Jathen was the only one who had anything resembling a block on his thoughts. He’s the only one who could be hiding it.”
“We will see, Ishane. I will return tomorrow with more… creative means to get what we need. Break him yourself tonight, or I deal with him tomorrow. Either way, make preparations to dump the body tomorrow night. I’ve wasted far too much time chasing this.”
Jathen heard the door shut and wondered if they’d both left. But soon he was met with a clear view of Ishane’s feet. She hesitated in front of him then, with a low grunt, righted his chair.
Her expression was grim, and she shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “Just look at you.” She turned and went to the sink, where she wetted a washcloth. When she returned and tried to place the cloth against his cheek.
Jathen jerked back as if struck. “Don’t touch me,” he rasped.
She pulled back, lips pursed. “Do you really want his blood drying all over your face?”
Jathen glared at her with raw fury, but he allowed her to clean his face. Afterward, she walked back to the sink and washed her hands.
Jathen closed his eyes, imagining Ass’shiri’s blood washing down the drain. He swallowed a few times, finding his voice somewhere in his devastated throat. “The thief who broke into the boarding house shed, the one I chased, that was you.”
“Yes.”
“And the other mei in the Ca’june district… you were behind that was well. You lured me in by making certain the rest of the girls weren’t to my taste.”
“You are a clever boy when you put your mind to it, Jathen.” Her voice held grudging respect.
“And the shadows at Nosalia’s? And the dark form who set the fire? How far back does it go, Ishane? Was Skaniss a part of this too?”
“No, Jathen, Skaniss has nothing to do with us.” She sighed. “In that, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It was all a lie, then.”
“Yes. Except for my sadness and horror over the earthquake. And the part about your name.” She tilted her head. “I really did go to a friend of mine for it, though it was just to get closer to you.”
“To Hatori, you mean, and this thing you think he had. Well, I suppose your friend must be proud.” To think, I used to believe my favorite type of people were the ones who surprise you.
“Older Sister? No.” She shuddered. “I took too much time to earn your trust, and because of that, our hand was tipped. She is less than proud.”
She turned and regarded him with her old philosophical demeanor. “Still, one must consider the irony of it all. If not for Skaniss, you’d have gone to the embassy and been beyond my reach. I actually do like you, Jathen. That’s why I sent you away. I thought Older Sister had acquired what we were after and had set the fire to be rid of any evidence. How terrified I was when I learned she hadn’t, and what relief I felt at seeing you on my doorstep. Ironic for you, lucky for me. Don’t you think?
“I mean it. I thought, why should this poor boy suffer now that we have what we want? I’ll just send him home.” Her fingers fluttered, as if releasing a caged bird to freedom. “It was a terribly large kindness for me, you know, far more than I was allowed to give.”
“Forgive me if I don’t see the magnitude of it.”
“Oh, Jathen.” She actually sounded sad. “Is it so hard to believe that I genuinely have some care for you? Have you never made a simple mistake?”
“A mistake?” His chest ember sparked, fighting through his sorrow over Ass’shiri’s death. “Your ‘big sister’ murders Hatori and Jephue, and then you murder Ass’shiri in cold blood, and you call it a simple mistake?”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “And no. To be honest, my error goes further back. All your weariness, all your rage, Jathen… I should have recruited you, not subverted you. That’s what I’m sorry for.”
“Recruited?” A chill went down his spine. “You’re Red.”
The corners of her mouth curled in the tiniest of ironic smiles. “I’d have thought you’d have realized that by now. You are a very reasonable person, Jathen. Please, be reasonable now.”
“I don’t know where your damn Artifact is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, not knowing what you are.” He choked out a laugh. “You’re going to rot in hell, you know.”
“I know. On all accounts.” She gestured to the area behind him. “I know you must have heard us. So you know what’s at stake—for both of us. I’ve made mistakes, Jathen, terrible ones, and though the world calls our Way evil, we are still vulnerable, mortal, capable of love and regret.”
She picked up a stool from beside the sink, placed it in front of him, then sat, almost as if they were friends ready to have a chat. “This wicked Way of mine, do you know what we teach? Strength. Honor. Never betray each other. Indeed, we are forbidden to harm another Red follower once we know their allegiance.”
“But you’ll murder innocent men to meet your aims.”
“If necessary. It is not our way to ask for forgiveness, Jathen. We are taught to move forward, be strong, to take what we require, and not get caught up in moral quandaries while our survival, and the survival of those we care for, is in jeopardy. I do not want you to die. I never did. I honestly believed you were lying about what you knew, and that is why Ass’shiri is dead.” Pausing, she swallowed. “I see now you weren’t.”
“So I suppose we’ll both rot together then.”
She leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. “I know from our talks that you have no patience for the Ways, for paltry dogmas that state you are to blame for the cards you’re dealt. That is not the way we think. Life is an unfair fight, a struggle against the more powerful, and we are the ones who say, ‘Fight fire with fire.’ You know this. You feel it every time you hear the word moot.
“Can you imagine, Jathen, all the things we can give you? The Red has put men on thrones. If anything, we’d be righting a wrong, helping you obtain your birthright. Imagine scoundrels like Skaniss groveling at your feet. You could do anything, have anything, help anyone you wanted, and no one would dare utter t
he word moot as an insult.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes almost pleading. “All you need to do is say you’ll become one of us. I know Sister will relent for a Monortith prince… soon a king. We’ll sit and talk over everything you’ve seen to figure out what was missed, and then we’ll find the Artifact. You’ll see. All will be well.”
“Oh, sure.” He laughed, feeling almost hysterical. “A murderer, a moot, and a maniac—the perfect Red trio.”
“I know that’s the grief talking.” She squeezed his knee. “And I don’t blame you. But please, think on this, Jathen. I really don’t want you to die.” Barely audible, as if she were afraid someone else might hear, she added, “And I know it is not worth much, but I am sorry about Ass’shiri. Really.”
Jathen hated her, but the glimmer of hope, of living beyond the nightmare, found its way into his mind and ricocheted around his skull. Become a Red Follower, and I can go home. He leaned his head back, the ghosts of tears feeling chalky on his face. I’ve always said I’d make a good one, but could I really? Even to go home?
Forced to be honest, truly honest, he felt it—the blazing ember in his chest, begging to lash out and destroy those who’d belittled him. It was so easy to allow it to roll over him, blinding and pure in its focus. He hated Kyanith. The white-hot rage grew and extended until he saw so many more: Skaniss and Bertran and all the high-bloods, even Petalith to some extent, so snooty and removed, never really taking his side.
Kidwellith would be mine. Such an idea! It could be remade, added to, and refined. I could build the trains and even feed the orphans. That would make Thee happy…
He missed Thee. He missed her gut-wrenching logic, her overbearing sense of kindness, and her flighty love of people and gossip. He missed the way she’d laugh at him and with him. He missed the way she was always there, underfoot but always welcome. She’d be so sad if I died. She and Mother… oh Spirit! Mother doesn’t deserve another dead child! I can’t let that happen to her.