Strayborn

by E E Rawls

  “Aken-Shou will never be the murderer his parents were.”

  Eletor fiddled with one of the leather bands around his wrist. “It’s in a Scourgeblood’s nature. He can’t escape it. Poor lad...he never should have been spared to live. And it’s your fault that he was.”

  The image of an innocent smiling baby in diapers surfaced in Nephryte’s memory. The day he first met Aken—a time Aken would never remember.

  “I had my reasons.”

  Chapter 36

  Aken shifted his seat on the gritty, damp stone floor. He could feel the bits of mold with his fingers, but couldn’t see through the heavy darkness. He tried to stay positive, but fear crept in regardless—fear that this was all life would be for him now. Alone. In darkness. Just because he was born with a power he never wanted.

  The dark pressed in on him, choking oxygen out of the moldy air.

  So still, so quiet, everywhere.

  Was Cyrus okay? Would they ever see each other again? He prayed that his friend had fled, had gotten as far away from Draethvyle as possible.

  Aken had made a real mess of things. He could be out there helping Cy right now, if he hadn’t lost control of his power.

  Regret after regret swam to the forefront of his mind. Mom, Dad, Sabe, Cyrus...he’d failed them all. Instead of becoming the greatest Draev Guardian, he would live imprisoned far away.

  Perhaps that was the only destiny a Scourgeblood could ever hope to have.

  “He’s a monster. Lock him up before he kills us!” The student’s words swirled in the suffocating black of the dungeon.

  The madman scratched at the locked cage door inside his mind, whispering Punish them, punish them.

  Aken fought to block it out.

  A distant door creaked, and a faint shaft of light from the stairwell made the cell bars and stone surfaces suddenly visible.

  Footsteps drew near.

  A sconce glowed to life beside the cell door. Aken blinked, and a familiar face took shape. “Quite a gloomy place down here. Are you all right?”

  “Nephryte...?”

  The door unlocked and swung open. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to keep this from happening,” said Mentor Nephryte, and Aken leaped to his feet.

  Aken paused at the edge of the cell frame. “What happened to Cyrus? Is he okay?” He couldn’t mask the desperation in his tone.

  The Mentor nodded. “He’ll be fine. In fact, it seems he won the Duel.”

  Aken’s face went wide, and he sunk to his knees in relief for a moment. “Really? He won? He’s okay?”

  Nephryte’s hand gently grasped his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Aken realized he was on the verge of tears. He rose, embarrassed, but Nephryte wrapped an arm around him in something like a hug.

  “I wouldn’t have let them lock you up down here, if I’d known.”

  Aken wiped his nose. “I’m dangerous. Nobody wanted me here, and now I know why. I’ve been an idiot to think I could live normally, to think I could become a Draev.”

  Nephryte’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “I brought you here, and Harlow is better because of it. Don’t give up just because you made one mistake,” he told him. “With practice, you’ll learn to keep your blood Ability under control.

  “But you know, Aken-Shou, becoming a Draev Guardian is something that comes from the heart. From the deep well of love inside you. The love that makes you willing to lay down your life for others. As long as you have that,” he ruffled Aken’s hair, “even a Scourgeblood can become a heroic Draev.”

  Aken considered that, then pushed free from his arm. “I don’t blame you anymore—well, not as much. You may be a hero, but you can’t be there to save everybody. I know you would’ve saved my parents if you could have. I just...needed someone, something, to blame.”

  A sad smile crossed Nephryte’s face. “I appreciate that, Aken-Shou. Come on, let’s get out of this miserable pit.”

  Reaching the top of the stairwell, sunshine poured over Aken, warming his skin. He breathed in the free air through his nose.

  High above, a flock of swallows soared past on a swift gust, reminding him of that long ago day as a child perched on a rooftop, full of dreams as he watched the birds soar.

  Chapter 37

  Doctor Zushil jolted in surprise when Mamoru suddenly showed up in Uptown’s infirmary, bearing Cyrus unconscious in his arms. They brought the half-human into a care room, and Zushil went to work on the injuries—Healing an ugly bruise the size of a fist on her lower back, raw cuts and scrapes on her shoulder, elbows and knees, and another bruise that had nearly fractured her ribs.

  Zushil placed his hands lightly over each spot, using his essence to sense for damage and to transfer Healing super-cells into her, carefully repairing muscle and tissue, and to strengthen injured rib bones.

  His attention shifted to her wrists lastly, and the white scarring that encircled them. He concentrated on the scars, sensing them, before transferring the vemparic super-cells through his essence to Heal.

  There was no change in the scars.

  He tried several times, but the scars refused to stay Healed and kept coming back.

  “Strange...” He frowned to himself, then pulled out a series of plates and equipement for an X-ray, to make sure everything was in proper order according to human anatomy.

  After a series of clicks and whirs as the equipment did its work, he removed the images and held one up to the light. His glasses nearly slipped off his nose in shock...

  Master Nephryte arrived to check in on the half-human mintues later, and he cast a glance at the folder Zushil had just stored the images inside. “Anything to report?” he asked.

  “This.” Zushil handed him the folder, and watched as Nephryte examined the images that, instead of showing a detailed skeleton and organs, showed a bright light where the chest should be—so bright that only the farthest parts of the body could be made out.

  “What does this mean?”

  Zushil shrugged his shoulders, arms akimbo. “I’ve never seen anything of the like. A well of essence energy that’s more powerful than any of ours combined. It shouldn’t be possible, especially for a half-human.”

  Concern knitted Nephryte’s brow. “And yet she tires, has limits, and cannot fully use her Ability.”

  “Like I said, it shouldn’t be possible...and won’t be for long,” Zushil stated, and Nephryte’s head snapped up. He elaborated: “Her body cannot sustain containing whatever this power is. It’s eating her away, slowly. I suspect the condition of her wrists is merely the beginning sign of this, and is why they can’t be Healed.”

  Nephryte studied the folder’s contents for several long moments, then handed it back. “Keep this secret. I don’t want any more attention drawn to Cyrus than she already has.”

  “You and your secrets! I will not allow myself to fall into trouble with Principal Han again. I need this job, and I refuse to do anything that could jepordize it.”

  “Fine, fine.” Nephryte waved his hand. “But let me be the one to tell Han.”

  Zushil shoved his glasses farther on his nose. “Cyrus herself has a right to know, as well.”

  Nephryte paced the room, his bent index finger tapping his chin, as he often did when in deep thought. “Yes...but I’m concerned what this could mean—what this energy could possibly be.”

  “...HNN-nnn...”

  Cyrus’s eyelids cracked open. She squinted against a bright window light. She didn’t recognize the pillow and blankets around her, all white. Had she passed out after the Duel? She vaguely recalled feeling an icy tingle like that of ice cubes traveling underneath her skin, fanning out through her body, little icy rivers running along her limbs, ribs, chest... Like something Healing her? She blinked the rest of the way awake.

  “Hey, buddy. How you feeling?”

  She sat up and turned her neck; the room was in an infirmary. Aken was lounging in a chair as if he’d been there a long time. He rose.

&n
bsp; “You were sleeping deep—deep as a frog on a log in a wine bog.”

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Surprisingly her body didn’t hurt, though her wrists did sting with pain. “Oh shut up,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him in a friendly hug. He hugged her back, and she could feel his body shudder slightly from held-back tears.

  “You almost got yourself killed.” His cheek rested against the top of her head. “Why would you do that? I told you to leave.”

  “Some friend I’d be if I had. I knew it was the right thing to do, something I needed to do.” His chest rose and fell against her cheek.

  “But you could’ve used your request to the king for yourself, to get citizenship and keep training here,” he protested. “That was the whole reason you tried out for the Duel, in the first place.”

  “But the reason you were in trouble was because of me; I couldn’t not do anything. And besides, it was worth seeing the shock on people’s faces when I won.”

  “Well...don’t go risking your life for me again. Next time, it’s my turn.”

  Cyrus pulled away, and he flashed a smile. “I’d rather neither of us have to risk our lives,” she said, then yawned. “My head aches...I think I could sleep for a month.”

  Aken leaned against the bed. “Not as much as Doughboy’s head is, I bet! I hear that was one amazing fight. Wish I could’ve seen it!” He grinned. “You gave Denim’s pride a real slap in the face for treating you that way—acting like you’re less of a person just because you’re different. Arrogant toad,” he scoffed.

  “You hated humans, too,” she reminded.

  Aken’s scoffing took a stumble. “Well, I...erm...I learned better.”

  She wanted to laugh, but there was something she had to know first. “What happened after? Do you know if Denim kept his word or not?”

  Aken’s shoulders shook with a chuckle. “He was sure sore about it, but he finally admitted to provoking me.” He fist-bumped her arm lightly. “I’m proud of you, Cy. You did great.”

  Her cheeks dimpled and she looked away. “Thanks, but I only won because Lord God showed me how. Who knew something I learned in Elvenstone would prove useful?”

  Aken chuckled. “Now you’re being a humble bumblebee.”

  “A what?” She suppressed a grin. Winning the Duel had been like finding the vempar half of herself, the gray half that had been hidden away all these years. If only Mother were here, she’d...

  “Oops—a bruise was missed.”

  She flinched as Aken’s hand rose to her face, one finger brushing down her cheek, Healing a bruise there. She flushed red.

  Should she tell him her final secret? A part of her wanted to. But a cautious feeling kept telling her to wait, whispering that it was important she keep silent about being a girl. Averting her gaze from Aken, she reluctantly heeded the warning and closed her mouth.

  Aken drew back his hand. “You look sad,” he said with a question.

  She gave a nervous start. “I’m just tired.” She grabbed a hand mirror on the bedside table and combed her fingers through the messy nest her hair had become, then looked down at the drab infirmary garments she wore. Who’d changed her clothes? How was she clean and not bloody? It was disturbing to think someone could do all of that without her knowing, even if it was just the infirmary staff.

  A heavy curtain that acted as the door to the room whooshed aside suddenly, and Dr. Zushil crossed the space to her bed.

  He stuck a thermometer in her mouth before she could make a sound. “It’s good you’re awake. We have much to discuss.”

  Something odd in his tone made her anxious. He checked the thermometer, “Body temperature normal.”

  “What do you mean, discuss?”

  Zushil took a seat in the chair near the bed and leaned so that his elbows rested on his knees, his fingers steepled. “Aken-Shou, would you step out for a moment?”

  Aken looked uncertain but made his way to the curtain door, slipping outside.

  Dr. Zushil cleared his throat. “While restoring your health, something abnormal was discovered.”

  A chill ran up Cyrus’s arms and she braced herself.

  “Every humanoid has a core at the center of their being made up of essence. It varies from race to race, and most cannot access the energy directly, if at all, except for Draevs. Here’s an example of what it typically looks like.” The doctor handed her a slick paper bearing the X-ray image of a body. She noted the white dot like a little sun in the chest. “And this,” he handed her another image, “is of yours.”

  A bright light almost blotted out the shape of her body, a sun that was more than ten times greater.

  Her jaw fell slack.

  “A core of essence like this should not be possible for any lifeform,” said the doctor. “I regret to be the bearer of bad news, student Cyrus, but whatever this energy is, it’s slowly killing you. Currently it only affects your wrists, but with time it will spread and affect more of you. I don’t know how long this will take—could be until you reach adulthood, if you’re lucky; but your organs will eventually shut down, and you’ll...”

  “...I’ll die.”

  “To put it bluntly, yes.”

  Cyrus bunched the bed sheet in her hands, then drew the sheet close, leaving the glossy images at her feet. “There’s nothing you can do?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But I can help to manage the symptoms.” Dr. Zushil placed a bag of little stoppered bottles on the table by the bed. “Medication to help manage the pain and any swelling. As more symptoms appear, we’ll deal with those. I can also prescribe better fingerless gloves for you that will act as sturdier guards for your wrists.”

  Cyrus nodded numbly. She didn’t register when Master Nephryte had entered the room until his hand touched her shoulder, then she looked up.

  “Let’s get you back to your dorm room, where you can be more comfortable,” the Master said. She stood and allowed him to guide her out. “Don’t fall into grim thoughts of death just yet, Cyrus. None of us can forsee the future, and it may be that in time we’ll find a solution for you.”

  She gave that some thought as they exited the infirmary building. Lord God had brought her this far, and she knew there had to be a reason even if the answer seemed invisible now. She couldn’t afford to worry about the future—there were enough things to worry about in the present.

  It did make her wonder, though: What was this great energy in the core of her being, and had it always been there?

  Once back at the dorm, Aken was already at the door waiting. He didn’t ask about what the doctor said, but she could tell he was itching to know. Master Nephryte left promptly, and Aken perched on the edge of the bed beside her in silence.

  Neither of them spoke for a long moment. And then,

  Knock-knock-knock!

  They both turned their heads sharply. “Come in?” Cyrus said as the door swung open.

  A nose like a bird beak poked in, then talon hands shoved the door further. Mr. Pueginn, the principal’s assistant, bobbed his head and flashed unnaturally white teeth from his dark gray face.

  “Student Cyrus,” Pueginn said with a voice that spoke through his wide nostrils, “Your presence is required in Principal Han’s office.”

  Worry iced down her spine.

  Pueginn’s gaze fixed on her, as if she should be up and running that instant. “And I do mean now,” he said when she didn’t move.

  Cyrus barely stood before the man grabbed her elbow and pulled her hurriedly along. “I’m sure the office will still exist if we’re a few seconds late,” she protested.

  “Watch it, Penguin, Cy’s just recovered!” Aken called out.

  Down a stairwell and crossing tiled hallways, Cyrus soon found herself steered to a halt before a set of twin mahogany doors that reached as high as the ceiling—Draevensett’s coat-of-arms at the center, and twin horned lions bearing wings framed the woodwork.

  Assistant Pueginn yanked one double door open,
quick as a bird, and shoved Cyrus through.

  The door clanked shut behind her.

  Chapter 38

  Pueginn turned on heels too small for his body, humming nasaly as he went off to his next order of business. Aken caught up and halted before the tall doors. He huffed and resorted to pacing the stretch of hallway, worrying what would become of his friend. After overhearing what Dr. Zushil told Cyrus from behind the curtain, his chest couldn’t stop aching.

  Clep-clak clep-clak. A second set of footsteps echoed the silver and white marble tiles. His ear twitched, recognizing the gait.

  There wasn’t much else to do besides worry and wait, so he tiptoed forward to where the hallway curved, leading down a set of steps to meet with adjoining halls. There, he spied Nephryte, midnight blue cape swishing as he entered a set of grand doors with the engraved word “Library” overhead.

  Stopping one of the doors from closing all the way with his shoe, Aken crept inside and down a little staircase to the floor. It was a cavernous room, rising three levels and full of branching roomlets. Among the countless rows of bookcases, shelves, and air-tight glass resided the majority of Draeth’s literary collection. Newer books filled the accessible spaces, while those very old were kept tucked behind locked glass doors inside well-ventilated roomlets.

  Careful as a heron stalking a fish, Aken approached the man from behind. Clay birds readied in the palm of his hand.

  “Did you finish your homework?” Nephryte spoke without looking.

  Aken stumbled. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head?” He pocketed the clay.

  The Mentor smirked. “Maybe I do.”

  Aken looked to the ceiling. “Everybody’s got a weakness. I just have to find yours.”

  Nephryte thunked the top of his head with a book. “Baka. No loud talk in the library.”

  “I’m not a baka. Bak’s the only baka.” Aken rubbed his head.