Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 (14 page)
Read Bloodletting Part 1: The Affinities Cycle Book 1 Online
Authors: Mark Ryan
Chapter 31
Tetra Bicks
Tetra hated his bed. It was just a soft prison, holding him back. He hated how he knew every stone in the walls of his room. How he knew exactly the way he moon and starlight threw silvery patterns on the floor, and how they inched along ever so slowly until they marked the hour he felt it safe enough to emerge without the healer finding out.
Maybe he should’ve held to their agreement. Let himself heal a little longer until Alma was convinced he could withstand the stresses of training. But it took too long. Everything took too long, and now winter was in full blast, freezing the castle and coating everything with snow and ice.
As the nights chilled and the windows frosted, he easily imagined Halli and other Jaegen survivors lost in the forest, or in oroc cages, left exposed to the weather until they froze to death. It terrified him to think of spending all this effort to march into the Rocmire, only to at last discover their stiff, snow-covered corpses in some forgotten grove.
As he fought this fear, his door opened. A dark-haired soldier, with piercing blue eyes, tromped into the room. He went straight to Tetra’s sword and plucked it up.
“Leave that alone,” Tetra cried as he sat up. His stomach and back protested at the sudden motion, but he’d gotten better at shoving the pain aside. “That’s mine!”
The soldier flourished the blade. “Is it? I see a soldier’s weapon, not a boy’s. What’s your rank? Who’s your commander?” At Tetra’s confused silence, he grinned. “You want it? It’ll be in the training yard every night from now on. Come and get it if you think you’re man enough.”
As he moved to leave, Tetra reached out with his affinity and increased the sword’s weight. Reaching across the room with his magic didn’t even require an effort anymore. The guardsman staggered and fought to keep hold of the hilt as the blade clanked against the floor. He grunted, dragging it a few grinding inches. Then he flashed a grin at Tetra.
“Tricky,” he said. “But you’ll discover you aren’t the only one who knows how to pull a trick or two.”
Letting the sword fall, the guardsman grabbed up the water pitcher and tossed the contents into the air. To Tetra’s surprise, the gush of water formed into a ball that floated over to him. With no warning it dropped onto his head. He spluttered, losing focus and control over his affinity. When he wiped his eyes clear, the guardsman had disappeared along with the sword.
A Tidus? He squeezed his tunic, wringing out more water. The man’s affinity didn’t matter, only the fact that he’d taken Tetra’s sword. His father’s sword.
Teeth clenched his jaw and pushed himself off the bed onto shaky legs. After tucking feet into his thin leather boots, he grabbed the cloak from the chair and tied it around himself to ward off the night’s chill as he stumbled into the hall leading to the courtyard. He staggered across the main courtyard, almost tripping several times in his haste.
When he reached the training threshold, he spotted the sword back on the rack where he’d first found it. His breath plumed white as he firmed his back and headed that way, determined to retrieve his rightful property. As he stepped across, a fist snapped out from the side and caught him across the jaw. He sprawled onto his back, head rapping the stones. The stars swirled above him as he heaved for air.
When his vision righted, the guardsman leaned over him. “You see a goal and you bull straight for it. Some might call that dedication, but I think it’s the sort of stupidity that makes you ignore all the potential threats around you. Things that could get you killed if you aren’t more aware.”
By the time Tetra struggled back to his feet, the soldier stood, waiting over in the training court, stance wide, arms crossed. Tetra shuffled through the archway, keeping his distance; but whenever he moved for the weapons rack, the guardsman moved to stand in his way.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
The man snapped a salute. “Corporal Kellian Mikkels, at your service. I’m the guard Healer Alma requested be posted to you at nights.”
Tetra’s legs locked and he froze. So Alma had betrayed his trust after all? His attitude had changed, yes, and he didn’t holler or threaten when he found Tetra succumbing to the temptation to train at odd hours. Alma had always just stopped him with excuses of trying out a new stretching or healing technique to strengthen his muscles.
“So you’re here to keep me from training.”
“Only if you let me.” The guardsman shrugged.
“What?”
Mikkels stepped aside and waved at the sword. “I’m hardly an oroc, but I can lay you flat without even trying. I saw you shatter an oroc-crafted club, boy. Those things are masterpieces, crafted by the race favored by Aspect Trocus itself. The composition of them is said to be harder than diamond, yet stronger than steel, and you shattered it with a swing of your sword. And I can lay you flat? No, I think you are letting me stop you from getting your sword.”
Tetra snorted. “I’m not letting you do anything. Get out of my way.”
Mikkels advanced slowly. “And how do you see the fight going? Think you’ll be standing on a wide, empty field with an oroc on one end and you on the other? That he’ll charge you slow and steady, club raised over his head so you can just hold your sword straight out and let him impale himself and slide off? Oh, and then of course, you’ll repeat this brilliant maneuver for the other dozen fighters with him.”
Tetra started to shift back as the soldier loomed over him, but his legs wobbled and he forced himself to stand strong. “I’ve beaten an oroc.”
“By luck alone, and you didn’t get the kill.” Mikkels said. “You almost killed yourself in the process, and it was a Tempest intervening that saved you. Battles aren’t won by luck. They’re won by skill. Skill you don’t have.”
Tetra swung a fist, which the corporal caught like a tossed pebble. The man’s fingers clamped over his hand, locking down and holding him in place. He tried to pull free, but the man kept him there. Struggling against the iron grip was useless. “How are you doing that?”
Mikkels grinned. “I already showed you I was a Tidus. The human body is mostly water. You think I can’t control the water in my own body? Voids, boy, it’s what we’re best at. You need to learn to fight, or you don’t stand a chance at ever getting that sword back.”
Tetra stared at the other man, thinking carefully. “Then teach me.”
Mikkels chuckled. He planted fingertips on Tetra’s chest and shoved just as he released his hand. “What do you think I’m doing?” As Tetra lay recovering a second time, fire and ice writhing through him, the corporal walked over to the hallway.
“You don’t deserve your father’s sword. You’ll bleed yourself out on it before taking three steps toward a real enemy.”
The words stung and Tetra looked away. A wooden sword and shield clattered to the ground beside him. “You’ll use those during the day. At night, we will practice hand to hand in your room, that way Healer Alma won’t have my unmentionables on a platter, got it?”
Tetra nodded, still sitting on the ground, nursing his wounded pride.
“Get up, boy. You want to be a soldier? Your real training starts now.”
***
Chapter 32
Sven Malschev
Mashing the gruel for the other children, Sven watched the orocs. Since the escape, they had treated the children differently. Those that remained were paying a price for Pavil and Malec’s escape. It was a price Sven did his best draw onto himself, away from the other children.
This was the third day in a row the orocs had made him mash the gruel inside the cage. The previous two days, they had taken the bowl from him and kicked dirt into it, then forced him to feed it to the others. If he worked hard enough and fast enough, maybe they wouldn’t do it again.
The younger saplings were the cruelest. The adults did very little to stop them from their predations. Gathering in a cluster, the older ones and their guard spoke with each other in their incomprehensible language. They gestured regularly toward the cage where the boys were kept.
Sven pounded the mash harder, trying to finish the task before the orocs could ruin their food again. His biggest fear was that their captors would take the furs away and leave them all to die of exposure. The other boys watched him as he worked, none of them speaking. He knew they shared the same hopes and fears about Pavil and Malec. Had they escaped? Would they succeed in telling others about what had happened to them? Would they bring rescue?
Refusing to think about the worst case scenario, Sven finished mashing the gruel and handed it to the youngest boy. “Eat quickly.”
Heavy footsteps made him look up and he saw one of the larger orocs near the cage. Sven readied himself for some new horror. Not for the first time did he wish he was something other than a Tecton. His minimal training, the training that would have sufficed at first had he been able to go to the Academy, would do nothing against these creatures born of stone and spirit.
Yanking him from the cage, the oroc dragged Sven to its companions. They spoke at him, demanding answers he was sure. It was obvious from their tone and their anger that they wanted something from him, but he had no words to tell them, nothing he could convey in their language. He couldn’t even lie to them.
When he simply shook his head, keeping his eyes to the ground in what he hoped was a sufficiently respectful manner, their voices grew louder.
The first blow came, smashing into his chest. Sven fell back as the air was forced from his lungs. Sven stared at the sky, barely visible between the giant leaves that composed the forest’s canopy. He knew his role. Rolling to his stomach, he pushed himself back to standing. He was careful to keep his eyes downcast the entire time.
The second blow smashed into his back, flinging him face first into the dirt. A stone gouged at his cheek and the warmth of blood covered the side of his face. The orocs were speaking again, asking him questions he couldn’t understand. He pushed himself up. Without even being given the time to regain his feet, a third blow hit him in the knee, knocking him sideways.
He fell, covering his head with his hands. Their feet caught him in the side and he cried out at the pain. He felt his ribs give under the impact. It was a familiar pain, something he could deal with. How many times had his father come home to beat him after one too many drinks at the alehouse? It was better to take the beating than to have his father beat his mother. Sven knew that he would spend his rage on him and then collapse in a drunken stupor.
He had allowed it to happen, had done nothing to stop it so that his mother could be spared. This was worse, but not by much. It was pointless to try to stop it, even if he could. What were a few bruises when compared to the safety of his friends, of the other children? He closed his eyes and tried not to cry out too much as the beating continued.
His ribs felt like they were broken and his head ached from clenching his teeth, but they finally stopped. Picking him up, they strode with him away from the cage. He knew they would do it. They would kill him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He went limp, knowing resisting was useless. If he made himself nonthreatening enough, maybe it would stay their hands.
The orocs dropped him somewhere hard and he caught his breath as a new wave of pain shot through him. It would all be over soon enough.
Moments passed as he pondered what it meant to prepare oneself for death. Was he ready to die? Nothing seemed worth it anymore. Malec and Pavil probably wouldn’t survive, and he doubted anyone would believe them, even if they did get to civilization again. It was unlikely that anyone would rescue him, so why not fade into the darkness? Because there were other kids here counting on him. The thought rose, a sharp rock through the spun wool of his mind.
Time stretched and he heard other sounds, children crying and the rustling of human footsteps. With his eyes closed, his other senses stepped in to feed him information. His fingers touched the ground, softly pushing at the forest floor. Only it was rock, not dirt. The smells were different. More earthy than woody. Opening his eyes carefully, he saw the other boys standing around him. One of the younger ones reached out a hand to shake him.
He sat up carefully and looked around himself. Even moving slowly hurt his ribs. The other boys had joined him in a cave and there were bars of stone at the entrance to the cave. It came as a surprise to find that he wasn’t dead. Someone dropped a fur over his shoulders, while someone else pushed some gruel against his lips.
Sven blinked. He had thought he was caring for the other boys, but now, through the pain, he realized they were caring for him. He ate. Chewing the mashed gruel was exhausting, and Sven curled up. He knew it was only a matter of time before more beatings would come.
***
Chapter 33
Halli Bicks
Heavy snow crunched under Halli’s feet as she rose from the riverbank. Chunks of ice floated in the water she’d drawn, and the semicircle she’d managed to chip clear over the current had already started freezing back over. The hide wrap flopped around her as she lugged the bucket back up the short hill to the main settlement. A set of crude leather foot wraps kept her toes from going numb.
The orocs didn’t even bother setting a guard on her anymore. She knew their Geists could track her spirit a good distance away. Plus, with the forest in the grip of winter, any attempt to escape would certainly mean freezing to death before she got far. They knew her desperation to keep Leesa alive would keep her close, always. When Halli set to her chores, Laney and Maya remained behind, keeping the girl breathing. Then, when Laney went out, Halli remained, convincing her lungs to expel the unwanted liquid.
They’d even taken to taking shifts each night, which left both of them groggy during the daily chores. None of the other girls had manifested affinities yet, and couldn’t contribute to the effort. Fortunately, no others had fallen ill as well … yet.
Halli passed a pair of them, in fact, helping two orocs mash a paste they used for their flatbread. The orocs had decided the humans needed to work to repay the tender, loving care they’d been shown thus far. Nothing critical, of course, but they’d been set to odd jobs around the oroc camp, such as hauling water, preparing meals, mending hides, or dragging supplies here and there.
Occasionally, Halli spotted one of the Jaegen boys also helping their captors—though the younger, more aggressive orocs took a cruel delight in setting them to more pointless tasks for their amusement. She’d seen one boy forced to make a pile of dirt, digging up one handful at a time from under the snow. Then, when the boy wasn’t looking, the oroc watching him used earth magic to eradicate any evidence of the work done so far. The worst part was that they then thrashed the boy for laziness.
Fortunately, whenever an older oroc caught the younger ones at this, it often resulted in them receiving a thrashing of their own. With the onset of winter, such wasted labor did nothing but hurt the overall tribe. Halli caught snatches of their lectures, understanding more of their words with every passing week and month. Usually they were speaking about balance and preserving life. The hypocrisy of it disgusted her. How could they claim to care about life when they exhibited such brutality and destroyed whole villages?
Their language had opened up to her more, and the orocs spoke freely around her, not realizing she now understood every other sentence and added words to her vocabulary every day. Using context and repetition, she stitched together her basic comprehension of the alien tongue.
She also learned many of their insults as she passed through their midst—often variations on “rotten sapling” or “stupid fleshling.”
She dumped a portion of the water into one of the Tecton-shaped cisterns in the middle of the camp, and then carried the rest to the cave to distribute among the other humans. All throughout the caves, the system of vents fed into the cisterns, keeping the waters warm.
Laney sat by Leesa, the older girl’s eyes looking drawn. All of them were showing years now well beyond their youth. Halli avoided looking in their eyes so she didn’t have to see it—and because she was afraid of what they saw in hers. Despite months of care, Katerine still had yet to wake and needed her daily gruel. After sipping her water rations, Halli forced the pulpy sustenance down her throat.
As she moved from Kat to relieve Laney and drain Leesa’s lungs yet again, a small group of orocs moved into view just outside their little side cave and began talking in low tones. Gnarrl stood among them, the largest of their number. The rest still stood bigger than most orocs, and she took them to be warrior-hunters.
Halli gave Laney a quick hug and then shooed her off, as she had her own chores to attend. The other girl scooted past the orocs, hunched and frail-looking. They ignored her as they continued their conversation, and Halli listened in as best she could as she could while tending Leesa. The talking still sounded broken to her, but she knew it was because she had not fully mastered the oroc tongue.
Gnarrl stared at the girls in the cave briefly, then started talking to the other orocs, “One of Aspect Empirious made saplings to leave protection. He and one of Aspect Magethia left before dawn. We not know until sun high and sapling shake off one of Empirous’ touch. Human saplings leave clan earth before we catch.”
“How Gnarrl know?” another asked.
“I ask girl human sapling. She tell of their strength. I now know their ways. We ignore before. They smart. Almost as smart as oroc.”
Halli didn’t quite stifle her gasp. When she looked up, Gnarrl stared at her with an odd expression. That time he’d taken her aside, asked her many details about the humans and their training—it’d been a ploy. He didn’t care about their backgrounds or the village. He just wanted to know how two of the boys had managed to escape.
A Pathos and Magnus, if she understood correctly. Pavil and Malec. It had to be. No wonder she’d not seen them around, even as the boys joined in the settlement labor. She’d glimpsed Sven once, so he’d remained behind for some reason.
“They weak,” the second oroc scooped aside snow and rapped on the ground. Halli wasn’t sure what the gesture meant, but she tucked it away in her mind. The oroc language was very visual, the same words could take different meanings based on gestures. “See them shiver. Winter makes them fall as leaves.”
“Mrgle told to see human saplings with own eyes. Mrgle not see, Mrgle not know.”
The oroc named Mrgle scoffed, which sounded to Halli like a tree branch snapping. “I see. I know. I see soft. I see waste. Be finish and finish.”
“Gnarrl right. Mrgle like sapling.” Helli felt like she was losing the thread of the conversation. Perhaps it was just not understanding all of the contexts.
This last statement brought a growl from Mrgle. Gnarrl held a hand between the other two. “Mrgle say we need kill human saplings. Be finish with them. Leave them as words to betrayer humans who kill oroc saplings and ancients. Humans do great wrong to orocs, yes? But Aspect Trocus and Aspect Azaria not smile on killing human saplings. Killing more only make worse.” His sigh ruffled the leaves over his body. “Our attack of human camp might be bad. Think from dawn, yes.”
Halli’s own lungs felt like they filled with heavy liquid, making it harder to breathe. She shoved the sensation away, refusing to let fear ruin her concentration. She was already split, fighting to maintain Leesa’s condition while also listening to the oroc conversation. If she paid attention to herself, it would be too much. Beneath her hands, Leesa shuddered with another difficult intake.
Mrgle spat a wad of yellowish mucus into the cave, making one of the girls shy away. “Human saplings’ escape Mrgle’s bad think? No worry escape if kill. Easy.”
The third oroc said a phrase Halli couldn’t catch. Mrgle lunged for him and Gnarrl planted both hands between them, separating them by force. “Kunat!” he growled at the third oroc. Kunat backed away, glaring at Mrgle, who smiled.
“It matter not,” Mrgle said. “Free human saplings go deeper into Rocmire, not to human earth. Not so smart as Gnarrl say.”
A noise escaped Halli, somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
Run, Pavil. Run, Malec. Aspects help them find the right path.
The four orocs looked in her direction, and Gnarrl motioned for the others to depart.
He stepped into their cave, girls crawling away from his feet until he bent over to lock eyes with her. “You hear? You know, yes? Sapling Geist strong in how she is smart.”
Halli hesitated, staring at Gnarrl, and then nodded. How much worse could things get by admitting her understanding? She spoke quietly. “I can a little, yes.”
He patted the ground. “Humans smart, yes? Orocs strong, no? You see as this.”
She scowled up at him and tried out choppy words in his tongue. “All humans dead? Saplings dead? Orocs not care, more saplings dead soon.”
He pulled back, countenance set in a strange expression she’d never seen on him before. Gnarrl backed out of the cage, watching Halli intently.
***