FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  She crossed to the single chair opposite the bed and sat. This room had a closet, a dresser for the few clothes she had, her bed, a tiny table with candle supplies, and the chair she currently sat in. Through a door to her right was the tiny kitchen: not much more than a sink, stove, and small table. There was no place in her living quarters to entertain a non-naked guest. And despite his near perfect form, she absolutely did not want this man naked anywhere near her person. Only bad things could happen.

  “Why did that happen?” Cayan asked with a grave look into her silent mental turmoil. The space issue apparently wasn’t playing hell on his nerves.

  All Shanti could do was shake her head. She didn’t know. And it scared her. It was so much power. Too much. She didn’t know how to control it, and it was still pinging in her body, dancing around like skeletons in an earthquake, waiting to be used. She didn’t even have to open her awareness to feel the minds around her anymore. She didn’t have to try to clutch them. Those minds were hers; they were just on loan to their owners.

  “Did you ask the prisoner?” Cayan asked, settling back down and throwing his arm over his tired eyes.

  “Yes. He just repeated what he said before. If I find a mate, my power will increase. Mate is not wife. Or manwife—I forget the term Junice used.“

  “Husband.”

  “Mate is…the power’s mate. The other half. I’m not sure if it has to be in a man’s body, but it sounded like it. It’s time for you to tell me what you know. But maybe…outside…”

  “It’s time for you to show me what you know. Teach me.”

  “I’ve shown you a portion. So far this is all one-sided.” Should she mention moving outside again? Was he not uncomfortable? Because she was uncomfortable.

  Cayan scratched his head then wiggled deeper into the mattress. “The power comes from the Ancient’s. The Old Blood. No matter your belief system, there were a People who walked this land at the beginning. Every religion talks of them. They were the dawning of human kind. To them, power was another sense. Touch, see, hear, taste, smell, perceive. No one knows where they originated, or even if they were a myth.

  “Then, as humankind grew, the trail of the Old Blood got weaker. With each generation it got weaker still. In some places it vanished entirely. That is because the bounty of the blood is passed from mother to child. The sex of the child is unimportant, but the Gifts, as you call them, are in linage with the mother.” He paused for a second, letting that sink in.

  “So spreading your seed to a city full of people won’t matter? You’ll sire large, strong men, but none with Gifts?”

  “That’s what the stories say. I have nothing written on this, of course. This is all from my grandmother’s diaries, left for me when I was born. She died shortly after. As did my mother.”

  Barely suppressed emotion colored his words, but he hid it within the deep rumble of his voice. He wasn’t hiding the flashes of pain from his mind, though. He hadn’t known his mother, not in any real way. Unlike Shanti, who at least had vague memories from her youth, Cayan only had a longing.

  “Then you are right, I would’ve regretted killing you,” Shanti said quietly.

  A crease formed between his eyebrows. “The bounty bestowed can come in many forms. You are probably an expert on that, from what you’ve said. Your people were isolated; the blood stayed strong. Mothers passed it to daughters who had daughters who stayed within the land to continue to pass it on. Various gifts were bestowed, all in partial potency, until you showed up and got a full blast.”

  “Why don’t more of your people have it? And how come you didn’t know you had it?”

  “My great-great-grandmother was of the Old Blood. She was a wanderer—not originally from this area. Met my great-great-grandfather on one of her travels and fell in love. She decided to settle in. It’s from her this information, and my Gift, is passed down. Since her, I come from a line of daughters, each having only one child, until me. I am the first boy. And while each mother tried constantly for more children, they only had one to term. It is another reason the blood has nearly disappeared from the land. Fertility. I was told that women with the Old Blood have a harder time bringing a baby to term. She did not know why…but it sounds like your people had the concentration to figure it out…”

  “Like-Gifts with like-Gifts often had two or three.” Shanti cut in. “One family, both parents with the Warring Gift, had four. It was the record. Non-like-Gifts but still having a Gift was less. Usually one, maybe two. A Gift with a non- Gift had one if they were lucky. It was why my father didn’t think he’d have a child. It was why my grandfather hated the match with my mother—until I came, of course. Then my mother rubbed it in his face constantly. Until—“ Shanti cut off and swallowed. No need to go down that road. They both knew what happened; Shanti didn’t need to voice it.

  Without sitting up, eyes still closed, Cayan spread out an arm and put his hand on her knee. The touch vibrated, and the power shifted deep within, but it continued to simmer rather than explode. He left his hand for a second, the spicy feeling igniting, then removed it back to his flat, bumpy stomach. Aside from potentially city-damaging behavior, the gesture, however small, was welcomed. It had helped for the moment, which was all she could ask for with a history like hers.

  “I…suspected,” Cayan said in a reflective tone. “I wondered if anything materialized. I mean, I could miraculously bend people to my will at times. Nothing immoral, just… And I occasionally had this extra awareness. But my Grandmother thought my mother would be around to identify any potential. To train it. Since she wasn’t…”

  “All you had was wondering.”

  Shanti couldn’t guess what that must’ve been like. Possibly having such a wonderful, necessary element and having no way to really know. To work with it, or use it. She couldn’t imagine not having it.

  “Did like-Gifts see a flux in power?” Cayan asked with his eyes closed.

  Shanti thought back. The Warring family had all been very strong. Both Jacinti and Franie could cripple from many spans away, but they were older. She hadn’t known them before they’d connected. Although—

  “It shouldn’t matter if they were together,” she said out loud, voicing her thoughts. “We aren’t mated, but the power reaches for the other half. We always had like-Gifts training with like—I had always assumed it was because they needed to learn within their element. But maybe the power fed off each other, too. Women have always fought and trained with men, so both halves were always present.”

  “Maybe that’s why women have always fought in your culture...”

  “Or maybe it is a bonus for having the foresight to understand that women can be effective if trained correctly.”

  “Maybe.” Cayan’s mouth turned up in a toothy grin just visible under the large bicep thrown over his eyes.

  He was taunting her. If anything, it made the proximity more awkward. Business, okay fine, she was getting by. Playful…no, absolutely not. As Sanders would say, they weren’t friends and they weren’t screwing, so they didn’t need to have a potluck. And because they weren’t friends or screwing there was no way he should be still lying—not even sitting after an invitation, but lying—on her bed! Her bed! On which also lay some deep purple undergarments that she’d ordered from the dressmaker. They were silk and shiny and luxurious, not to mention small so he probably hadn’t unnoticed, but…some intimate areas had rubbed against the fabric currently against his thigh. How embarrassing was that?

  Shifting in her seat, she thought about making a grab for that fabric. But more important was trying to get this conversation over with as fast as possible. “So, there might be more of me? Us?”

  “In theory.”

  “But it’s unlikely they’d have the full range of ability.”

  “Maybe it crops up when it is needed. Like in a time of war. Now, for example. But regardless,” he took his arm away from his face and met her eyes, “you only thought there was you. Now there is u
s. There could be more.”

  Shanti sighed. “Well, there is us for now.”

  He nodded. “There is us for now.”

  “And that’s all you have?”

  “Um, yes. I thought it would make a bigger impact.”

  “Uh huh.” Shanti felt drained even though the power lay in wait, simmering just below the surface. “Interesting that I would end up here.”

  “Not really. You tend to gravitate toward the thick trees. Your people made a dwelling in a forest even though sometimes you had barely enough. Maybe the trees call.”

  “They do.”

  “Then is it so strange you headed for the trees where someone else with the same ability might reside?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled again. “Right, okay. A cynic.”

  “If what you say is true, the Graygual can only breed you if they have me. So you will be useless.”

  “Unless they find others.”

  “Yes, there is that.”

  “Or don’t believe the legends.”

  “That, too.”

  “Now it’s your turn.” His eyes were hungry and wary at the same time.

  It was slightly reassuring, knowing that he couldn’t create little war monsters on his own. It settled her turmoil somewhat. However, they could never get caught together, which meant they should separate. At the same time, they were stronger within the vicinity of each other’s power. It was a complicated problem with no easy solution. Currently, she was too tired to try and unravel it.

  Bringing her mind back to the problem of his inexperience, she said, “We’ll start tonight. Wear black so we blend into the night.”

  “Does that help?”

  “You being undisturbed? Yes.”

  He nodded but didn’t make a move to leave.

  “Should, uhh, I give you a minute?” To get out?

  She didn’t want to rush him, him being the Captain and everything, but she was tired, strung out, and wanted to battle with him in a large office somewhere instead of her tight quarters.

  “I need a nap. Join me.” He patted the bed next to him, his eyes still closed.

  He wasn’t smiling but his tone was light. He was telling a joke, she was sure of it. It wasn’t amusing.

  “I’ll just… give you some time. On your own.” And she flew out the door in search of a cluster of trees where she could wait him out. She didn’t miss the dark chuckle as she shut the door behind her.

  Chapter XXXI

  IT FELT LIKE HIS HAIR was on fire, starting from the follicles. Sanders blinked his eyes and shook his head, trying to rid his head of the constant stream of sweat.

  In the dark hovel where they kept him, they had hit him with pain before even bothering with the first question. Still panting, they’d stripped bare and sprayed him with freezing water. Still no questions came. Next they strapped him to a chair and hit him with more pain.

  And here he sat, clenching his teeth so as not to scream, waiting patiently for eventual death. Part of him hoped Shanti would come. She would strut through the door in a violet-eyed rage, throw her brain around however she did it, and have them groveling to tell her all they knew. He’d seen it. He was positive that what he was feeling was nothing compared to what she could do.

  He sighed in relief as the pain washed away.

  “Now, Sir Commander, we have a couple questions for you.”

  Sanders nodded at the familiar voice, his breath rising and falling, his heart hammering so hard his chest vibrated. “Fire away.”

  “Auh-hem.” It was a throat clear. A small man stepped into view behind the bars. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and gray pants. His hair was muddy brown and his skin was as fair as Shanti’s. Next to him stood a man with a similar stature, though hunched slightly, wearing all black.

  “I am so sorry to do this to you, of course,” said the white shirted man.

  “Oh, of course, yes.” Sanders chuckled darkly. What was the point of being polite when you were torturing somebody?

  “If you answer my questions the pain will stop. If you do not, then it will continue.”

  “Seems straight forward. How will you know if I lie?”

  White Shirt gestured toward Black Shirt. “He will know.”

  “I guess I’ll just take your word for it.”

  A man wearing a brown sack scurried up with a stool and placed it directly behind White Shirt. He then scurried away like a rodent. Although, even a rodent would be noticed. That man had been invisible. This must be the hierarchy Shanti had been talking about.

  “Tell me about this Captain of yours.” White Shirt sat down and crossed his legs, the model of patience. He had all day. Or night. It was impossible to tell time in the belly of a dungeon. That was part of the purpose of the environment—that alone could drive people to madness.

  Sanders pretended to think, angling his head to the dungeon ceiling. “Well, he is a tall man, prone to fits of anger, but really just a soft little teddy bear on the inside—”

  Pain. Like sand blasting his open eye, scrubbing away at the retina, digging into his soft membranes. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help, the pain so acute he could barely think.

  Sanders’ whole body flexed, trying to rip his hands away from the chair legs where they were tied and so he could shield himself. After a year or a minute, the pain stopped suddenly, the memory of the pain lingering.

  “Shall we try that again?” Rhetorical question. Sanders didn’t bother answering. “What type of person is this Captain?”

  “He likes reading, long walks in the forest, has a warm heart and a soft spot for perky—“ A blast so hot it turned his vision white. Razors scraped across his bare eye.

  When he could breathe again, Sanders said, “—women, but I bet you thought I was going to say breasts!”

  White Shirt stared at him for a long moment. “Full power.”

  Black Shirt answered in a brutal, concise language Sanders had only heard for the first time recently. He wished again that Shanti were here. She would know what they were saying. She had spent a few sessions with their guest speaking his language. That had really rattled him. Sanders should have tried to learn.

  The next stretch of pain wrapped around Time and warped it. Small needles sticking into his retina, then moving out to the whites. Nowhere else, just his eyes. Sanders wondered if they could blind him. He wondered if it would hurt just as much after. He bet it probably would. They weren’t actually touching him, so this was something going on in his head. It would remain even if his eyes were plucked out, he was sure of it.

  “Now, again, tell me about this Captain. What are his weaknesses?” White Shirt was a persistent little fucker.

  “Beautiful women. But then, we all have that problem, don’t we?”

  “Not all. Does he have a particular beautiful woman?”

  “He has a whole list of them, actually.” Sanders panted for a moment, light headed. Then went on. “If you are trying to get in his pants, you have a lot of competition. He is a bit of a ladies man, if you know what I mean.”

  Another blast, but this time much less potent. A mild finger prod instead of a sharp needle prick.

  Black Shirt swayed wildly, falling into the wall. The pain cut off as he muttered something to White Shirt.

  White Shirt waved him away, staring at Sanders with a patient air.

  “Staring contest, huh? Just as bad. I’ll sit this one out.” Sanders hung his head, wishing for another nap.

  A shuffle had him glancing up, noticing another guy in a black shirt, this one the size of a woman but lacking the breasts. He took the place of the first.

  “Oh good, we have enough for a party,” Sanders said flippantly, wondering how many torturers they had. “I hope you guys dance.”

  “How is the government set up?” White Shirt asked.

  “You need a name,” Sanders decided. “I like to get names of those I am intimate with. I will call you Betty. And your friend there will
be Martha.” Betty raised his eyebrows, his smile dwindling. “Our government is set up with members who care. Bleeding hearts, some of them. Dull lot of—“

  This time the pain was all around his skull in a throb. It was kind of a dull ache. It was the worst headache he’d ever had, basically. Less awful than the eye scrub. Small miracles.

  “Seems Martha has different talents,” Sanders wheezed. “Not fair taking turns, though. There is only one of me and two of you. But I guess we know who has the most stamina.”

  “Do you have reason to believe your Captain will come for you?”

  “Oh no, why would he? He and I rarely see each other. He’ll probably send some other troop, if he sends anyone at all.”

  Martha said a couple words in their choking language.

  White Shirt smiled in a placating sort of way. “You are lying.”

  “Yup. But about which part? Him coming, or him and I seeing each other?”

  Martha shook his head. There was another exchange and suddenly it felt like his head was being split down the middle. He wanted to reach up and see if his brain was oozing out the sides.

  He missed Junice. He didn’t want to die down in this hovel and never see his baby. The selfish part of him did hope the Captain came. If anyone could get him out, it was the Captain. Or Shanti.

  When the pain receded, Martha was swaying.

  “You boys don’t last long do ya?” Sanders rasped.

  “They will regain strength. Will you?”

  Sanders tried to shrug. He tried not to let his head hang. He managed neither. Thankfully they were out of torturers for the moment. They apparently didn’t believe in physical labor, which was fine by him. He closed his eyes and let sleep take the pain away.

  Chapter XXXII