by JANRAE FRANK
"Amazing!" Teague spun about and faced him with awe. "I don't see how someone with your power can have existed all these years and I never knew of you."
"I never wanted to fight until now." Isranon leaned heavily on his staff and walked from the field.
Yggsil trotted back to Nans as Isranon left. "Nice mage very strong. Very nice to Yggsil."
Teague gazed up at Yggsil. "This is the first time I have ever been this close to a troll that was not trying to eat me. How did you get him, Nans?"
"Anksha befriended Yggsil." Nans patted the troll's shoulder. "The elixir that is keeping Isranon alive requires troll blood."
Yggsil smiled, revealing his huge teeth. "Give blood to nice mage. Yggsil got plenty. Don't miss it."
* * * *
Stygean had been creating ways to learn more things, such as wheedling suggestions from Father Telamon. The one he embarked on that morning was looking less and less like a good idea. His stomach groaned and his fangs were down and aching. Isranon had stressed that he learn to control his appetites rather than allow them to control him, because otherwise they would betray him. He was close to having gone a full twenty-four hours without blood; just two more hours, just until sunset and then he could find a nibari and feed.
He found a spot behind a bush along the walls and settled down to meditate. He had not been there long when the bushes were parted and a piquant, delicate face peered through at him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Stygean jumped. It was the girl from the procession of mages. "Meditating."
"About what? What were you trying to gain from it?"
Stygean tried not to move his lips very much so that his descended fangs would not show. "Trying not to be hungry."
She frowned. "That's an odd thing. Mages don't usually require their apprentices to fast, priests do. Are you a novice?" As if remembering her manners, she added, "I'm Chinisi Cordwainer."
Her name startled Stygean and his words came out a little less muffled. "That was my mother's name… Chinisi."
Saying her name hurt, reminding him of better days, and a sudden rush of loneliness flooded him.
She peered at him more closely. "Why are you talking like that? Have you got something stuck in your mouth?"
He put his hand over his mouth and shook his head, speaking more clearly around his fingers. "No."
Her eyes narrowed, and she jerked his hand down before he could stop her. "Oh," she said nonchalantly. "So you're one of those?"
Stygean flushed to the roots of his hair the moment his fangs were revealed. "You aren't afraid of me?"
"Why should I be?" Chinisi followed her statement with a snap of her fingers. Fire burned in the palm of her hand.
Stygean yelped.
Chinisi dismissed the fire and sat down beside him. "Are your fangs always down?"
He sighed, wishing she would go away, frightened that his hunger would get out of control and he would hurt her. "No. Otherwise we'd not be able to pass for human. We can call them or dismiss them, except when the hunger gets too bad. I'm trying to learn self-discipline by going until dusk without feeding. My mentor wants me to learn this."
"And who is your mentor?"
"Lord Dawnreturning."
Chinisi gave a delighted laugh. "Then you must be Stygean. I've heard all about you."
Stygean wanted to ask whether that was good or bad, but restrained himself. Patience was a virtue he needed to learn also. "Stygean Loosestrife."
"What is it like being sa'necari?"
He wondered where this line of questioning was headed; some folks would say she had an unhealthy curiosity. "You'll have to be more specific, that's a large area."
"Well, we could start with the magic. What does it feel like to use your magic? Does it make you feel powerful? Or do you simply use it? Do you like feeling people die? I've heard that sa'necari can taste their victim's death and drink it in like wine."
Stygean winced. "Not my kind. I'm majios sa'necari. I don't practice the rites."
"Oh."
Stygean caught a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Why? Did you want me to tell you all the terrible things I've done?"
Chinisi giggled. "Actually I wanted to see if you could frighten me, if you could send a shiver up my spine. I've been hearing about your kind all my life and never expected to actually meet one except in combat. Much less sit in the bushes talking to one."
Stygean found his hunger worsening. She looked delicious. He could smell the blood coursing through her veins, and became frightened that if she did not leave soon, he would not be able to stop himself from sinking his fangs into her. "Actually, this isn't a good idea. I'm very, very hungry. If my control went I could hurt you, fire mage or not. And, it's defeating my purpose for being here."
"Well, I suppose I could let you bite me. I've wondered about that also."
"Go away, Chinisi! Now!"
The bushes parted again and Jingen stood there. "So this is where you are…." Then he saw Chinisi and rage suffused his face. "You just couldn't wait. You had to get her in the bushes and do her first. You didn't even consider sharing. I would have shared."
Chinisi flushed jabbing a finger at Jingen. "You're a horrid little boy."
Humiliation roared through Stygean. The girl would probably never speak to him again, and it would be all Jingen's fault. Desperate to stay in Chinisi's good graces, he jumped to his feet and hit Jingen. Jingen staggered back, lowered his head and shoulders like a bull, and slammed into Stygean, carrying them both to the ground. They rolled across the frost-browned grass, kicking, punching, and biting. Jingen grabbed hold of Stygean's hair, giving it a hard yank. Stygean bit him on the arm to make him let go, his fully extended fangs tearing through the heavy material. In his desperately hungry state, the taste of Jingen's blood in his mouth made Stygean half mad. He scarcely heard Chinisi screaming, "Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
Stygean got his fangs fastened tightly into Jingen's shoulder and sucked. The blood was heady, more so than nibari blood. Jingen continued to pummel him, but Stygean's thirst had become excessive and uncontrollable with his day-long fast, and he barely felt it. He sucked harder, trying to get every bit that he could as fast as he could. The blood's effect hit him like an accelerated adrenaline rush.
Chinisi ran to them and pulled at Stygean, trying to get him off Jingen.
Then adult voices were heard, and white hot power tore through him. He released Jingen with a sob and rolled to the side, clutching his stomach. Someone had just hit him with a surge of powerful magic.
"What is going on here?" Isranon demanded. He and the three master mages stood gazing down at the boys.
Edvarde stood to the side of them with a rapt expression. "So that's what it looks like! He certainly had his fangs in nicely. Would you have him do it again so I can get a better look at it?"
Nans Gryphonheart appeared behind Edvarde and shoved him. He gave her a reproachful look and went silent.
Stygean felt distinctly uncomfortable with all of them staring at him. He realized that he had a smear of blood around his mouth and hurriedly wiped it off on his sleeve. Isranon's expression held a cold fury that made Stygean wince to see. His eyes teared up, but he said nothing, for nothing could excuse the fact that he had been feeding upon Jingen.
Perceiving an opening, Jingen charged in. "Stygean had the girl in the bushes. I objected. That's what happened."
"That is not what happened." Chinisi stamped her foot indignantly. "Well, it is and it isn't."
"Were you in the bushes with Stygean?" Chinisi's uncle, Master Geoffry Cordwainer, asked.
"Yes. But it isn't what it looks like," Chinisi protested. "All he was going to do was bite me."
Stygean groaned.
Isranon's face tightened into a mask of disapproval. "Stygean, go to your room and stay there."
Stygean trudged off, vowing silently never to speak to Chinisi again. Things were going rapidly from bad to worse
. That girl was trouble waiting to happen.
* * * *
The mages had gone silent as they followed Isranon toward the front doors of the manor. The sight of seeing one sa'necari feeding upon the other had cast a pall over the excitement of Isranon's display.
Isranon could taste the disturbance in the air, too strong to ignore. His sense of victory vanished, replaced by distress and worry. "I apologize for the actions of my apprentices. Particularly Stygean, I assure you he'll be punished."
"No need to apologize," Teague smirked. "So long as they feed on each other, there's less for us to worry about."
Isranon's stomach clenched. "Stygean's behavior is not acceptable. I won't tolerate it."
Cordwainer nodded. "Except for the apprentices, all of us can count our kills of your kind."
"I can count my own kills..." Isranon's mouth tightened.
"How old were they when you acquired them?" Merick shared a skeptical glance with Koejelus.
"Twelve."
"That's rather old. They would have been indoctrinated into the rites as soon as they could consummate."
"They have not committed the rites." Isranon's voice rose sharply in denial.
"We can all see that. Their eyes have not changed. I sensed no glamour on them to hide it."
"Stygean will be punished."
"That's not the point." Merick halted on the path and turned to face Isranon. "They have been taught how to do it. They might be hungry for that rite of adulthood that comes with mortgiefan. In your shoes, I would have killed them both and chosen younger boys."
Koejelus nodded. "It would have been safer."
"My apprentices are not a danger. They have embraced my teachings."
"I, for one, will be keeping my eyes on them," said Merick.
A chorus of agreement went up among the mages and their entourages.
Nevin's rough voice cut through the noise. "In a down in the dirt fight, all boys will bite – even humans.
"Not mine." Isranon ended the discussion by striding to the door and entering the manor.
* * * *
"I want my mother," Jingen whimpered, laying in his bed. He had never been so weakened in his life. His neck hurt and Jingen felt as if he were dying.
Randilyn looked him over, her expression wary. She neither liked nor trusted Jingen, and made no secret of it. They had given him a nibari, but restricted the feeding. Afterward she had dosed him with willow bark extract. Yet he still appeared to be suffering. "All right, I'll fetch her."
They had locked the blood-slaves into one of the barracks rooms and sealed the windows so that none of them could get out. They would be moved into the dungeons, once Edvarde got them ready – he wanted the cells to be as comfortable as possible for his unusual guests – and Isranon would then assign guards. Some of them had beds and cots, but most were sleeping on the floors with blankets.
Randilyn returned with Disharyl and left them in alone together.
Disharyl looked down at her son in concern. "What happened to you?"
Jingen squirmed into her arms, pressing his face into her breasts. "Stygean. I want to kill him. He bit me."
"Where?" Disharyl started opening Jingen's tunic to find the wound.
"My shoulder. He was trying for my neck. He fed on me." Filthy fucking traitor. That's what you are, Stygean. I hate you.
Disharyl snarled. "Those Loosestrifes always thought too much of themselves."
Jingen moaned again. "He's dead flesh, I tell you. Dead flesh. I hurt." He drew her wrist up to feed from it and ease his own suffering. Disharyl stopped him. Instead she opened her blouse and lifted her breasts out, wrapping them both in her bodice and sitting with her back to the door so her actions could not be seen. She manipulated her nipple as she had when she nursed him as an infant. Jingen's mouth closed over her nipple and suckled in an infantile manner, supported by her arm around his shoulders. She shuddered in pleasure, pressing his face more strongly into her body. "Bite into the vein and drink. My blood is strong."
Jingen's fangs came down, sliding into the soft, firm flesh so that he could continue to mouth all of it. He dragged long swallows from his mother's breast. The pain eased. He laid back, satisfied. "I want him dead."
She tucked him in before closing her blouse. Disharyl nodded. "So do I. I thought for certain we would gain both the renunciate's death and the end of Liuthan's lineage."
"They're both still alive."
"That can be corrected. We will keep our eyes open and an opportunity will present itself." Disharyl kissed his forehead. "For now, Jingen, you must act the lamb until you can be the lion."
* * * *
Stygean curled up with his pillow, weeping. How could something that had been so right have gone so wrong? He was minding his own business until Chinisi and then Jingen charged in. And Jingen had been rude. Stygean felt mortified by what Jingen had said in front of Chinisi. Now she would think he was just another predator trying to get inside her and he hadn't been. He hadn't. He had even warned her off. He just wanted to try and fast until he couldn't manage it. He was doing what Isranon wanted him to do. Isranon would never understand. No one would. They would just think he was back up to his old tricks again: abusing people.
And the hunger. They still had not sent him a nibari, and now his guts felt all jumbled with need. They probably didn't trust him not to abuse them if they sent him one. He hadn't given them any reason to trust him.
The door opened without a knock and Isranon came in.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I lost control."
Isranon said nothing at all, merely continued to the bed and sat down on it. His silence made Stygean uneasy. Where was the lecture? What was he going to do? Then Isranon opened his mouth and Stygean saw that his fangs were fully down. Stygean's eyes saucered and, panicking, he tried to slide off the bed on the other side. Isranon was faster. His large body pinned the slender youth; he twisted Stygean's head around by his hair and sank his fangs into Stygean's neck. Isranon did not even bother to take the worst of it from him by entering his mind. Stygean screamed in pain and terror, thrashing wildly, which caused Isranon to tear him unintentionally.
Stygean had a brief suspicion that Isranon intended to kill him, that it had finally been decided he wasn't worth keeping alive. His voice grew hoarse with screaming. His thrashings stilled as dizziness and lassitude crept over him and the world grayed.
Isranon lifted his blood-stained mouth from Stygean's neck and licked the wound to close it. "Forgive me."
Stygean clutched at Isranon desperately, frightened as much by the rejection it implied as by the violence of the act itself. "Am I dying?" His words emerged as a hoarse whisper.
Isranon turned his face away, firmly putting Stygean's hands off him. "No."
"I hurt…." His voice and Isranon's sounded as if they had been wrapped in a smothering blanket. A strange clarity gripped him.
"I know." Isranon left him without another word.
Stygean fought to remain conscious, slowly realizing that Isranon had taken him to 'the edge', and it would be days before he felt completely well again. He had never expected to be bitten, much less 'taken to the edge' by someone as kind as Isranon. It was what Stygean had tried to do to Jingen and had nearly done to Nainee. His neck hurt and the rest of him felt wrapped in cotton. Had he not defied them and rebelled in the beginning by hurting people, he would not have been judged by those deeds now. He ached with disappointment, his mentor's disappointment. He felt shabby and dirty.
The world grayed still more. He wanted to close his eyes and drift away, yet he fought it a little longer, his sorrow growing like a clenched fist in his chest. Please don't turn away from me, Isranon. Please.
Then Stygean's awareness slid into the darkness and did not return until the next morning.
* * * *
The intensity of Stygean's blood had sharpened Isranon's appetites, so he had ordered Nainee to fetch him four meals. He returned to his suite to
await them and found Nevin waiting for him.
The grizzled wolf sat staring into a tankard of mead, and did not raise his head to look at his spiritbrother. "You punished him?"
Isranon nodded, rubbing his hands across his face. "I made him feel what he made Jingen feel."
"Then that's his blood in the corner of your mouth?" Nevin brushed his finger across the edge of Isranon's lips, turned it to show the blood.
"Yes."
"It was not his fault."
"How can you say that?"
"Because it wasn't. You have not had any time for him, so he has been going to Father Telamon. The priest suggested he fast, so he did – no food or blood for twenty-four hours. You know very well what adolescent appetites are like. You ought to listen to Father Telamon as I have."
"I would never have done what he did."
"Never?"
Isranon flinched from his tone. "Sa'necari do not learn from kindness."
"Don't they? The boy is desperate for your approval. He wants to be loved. I see that when I am training him. He's alone in the world and you are the anchor for his ship – as I was for yours."
"He has never been taught to control his urges."
"Then teach him."
"I do not have time." Isranon's voice became more strident.
Nevin growled and rose from the table. "We'll continue to have these conversations until you are willing to do what needs to be done."
The lycan abandoned his drink and the room.
Isranon buried his face in his hands. "Not you too, Nevin. Everyone is pulling at me with their demands and you're adding to it. I can't take much more."
CHAPTER SEVEN
REVELATIONS OF DEITY
Veranoctem 10. 1077
Clovis sat in a comfortable chair by the largest of the three windows with a book in his hands. He had persuaded Maruska's aide, Fausto, to allow them books and games. He was promised that the excursions to the library would be twice weekly. Clovis had prayed that Fausto would keep his word. Two days ago, three of the believers in the old god had stopped eating. Depression was as deadly as their destiny; therefore, distractions were a must. Each day that those myn lived held the potential of conversion. Each day that the faithful lived was another day to pray and praise the Lady. Clovis had been escorted to the library by Godofredo and returned with his arms full.