Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) (56 page)

Merion had felt like this before. Sitting on the rooftop of his aunt’s house, watching the lazy hands of a clock take their sweet and merry time over, well … time. He had felt nervous then, and he felt nervous now. It felt too similar for his liking. Though instead of waiting to be carried into a hornet’s nest, he was already thoroughly embedded in one.

Lincoln’s men were back, performing their checks. Yara led them about proudly, tiring their legs with ceaseless tours. She would bore them into submission if she could not convince them.

Merion sat on a box, his chin cradled in his hands and his eyes half-closed. He watched them all come and ago: Devan Ford, flexing and practising in front of a propped-up mirror; behind him, Cabele whirled herself into ever-tighter backflips and somersaults; Spetzig sat nearby, flicking peach stones into the air until they seemed to fly in a constant circle. Everywhere Merion looked, he saw the tension, the nerves, the sideways looks and occasional grins. He had never seen Cirque Kadabra like this.

This was bigger than just him. He could see it now. It might have taken him a while, but now it was as obvious as a slap around the face. Their effort made it plain. All of this could not just be for trapping themselves an Empire boy. Merion could have been whacked over the head and bundled up in a sack at any time over the last two weeks. They needed him for something bigger. Merion smiled behind his fingers. Whatever it was, they would be very disappointed.

There was a cough beside him, small and polite. Rhin was in his usual pose: leaning against the box with his arms crossed, as if standing unsupported was too much of a hassle. He eyed the busyness around them. ‘Can you feel it yet?’ he asked.

Merion hunted again for any sort of tell-tale tingle. ‘Not yet. I think you actually have to wait for the Bloodmoon to rise before anything happens.’

‘Shame. You could hit them now and save yourself the trouble of a crowd. Tired of all this waiting.’

‘A crowd is exactly what I need.’

The faerie grumbled something and eyed the sky and the seagulls that traipsed lazily across the blue. ‘Any sign of your aunt?’

‘Not a peep,’ Merion sighed. ‘I need her. We need her.’ There was a pause. ‘What if they’ve taken both of them? Both Lurker and Lilain?’

Neither of them wanted to give utterance to the question hiding in the silence that followed. They both knew it was a possibility, but spitting out those words would have made it real. Death, they could do without.

Fortunately for them, a distraction came along at that very moment, in the form of a Mr Nelle Neams.

The man was red in the face. His hair hung over his face, dishevelled. There was a dirty great bruise on his neck, and he pawed and clutched at it, coughing weakly. He hopped up and down behind Yara’s circle of officials, waiting to be noticed. Yara begged her visitors’ forgiveness and stepped aside, where Neams proceeded to whisper feverishly into her ear. The officials looked on, bemused. As Merion and Rhin swapped a glance, Yara put a firm hand on the beast-keeper’s shoulder and calmed him with a word. He nodded and sidled away.

‘Well that can’t be good,’ Rhin mused.

‘A kink in the plan, perhaps?’

‘All the better for us.’ Rhin sighed. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be training?’

Fate must have been eavesdropping on the faerie, for at that moment, Shan came to tear him away from his idle staring. Sent by Yara to keep him diverted, no doubt.

‘Merion? Are you ready?’ she asked, clutching a large bag to her chest.

The young Hark got to his feet in a flash. Appearances are very important things to keep up when you’re barefaced lying. ‘Born ready, Ms Dolmer,’ he affirmed. He left Rhin to trail after Neams as she led the way to a large marquee.

At least this would pass the time, Merion told himself. He was worried about tiring himself out, but if Yara needed him fresh, she wouldn’t have had Shan come. She trusted in the Bloodmoon, evidently. Merion chose to believe her about that. A feat in itself.

‘Right. Today we master reptile.’

Merion had not expected that. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘Are you doubting me, Merion?’ Shan asked.

‘Not at all. I just don’t want to jeopardise any …’

‘You won’t,’ Shan cut him off. She busied herself with her bag, picking out different vials and shades.

Merion scuffed his feet on the grass, idly smiling at how he didn’t have to kick dust any longer.

‘Here.’ Shan held out a triangular vial, a brownish blood lingering in it.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s another amphibian, to ease you in. Your blood’s hot, and the reptile shade is a cool one. We need to get you prepared. Newt. Also called Nevercut.’

‘Why’s that?’

Shan tutted, seeming on edge for some reason. ‘You’ll see.’

Merion shrugged, tensed himself as he had practised, and put the red in his belly. The blood was cold, making him flinch a little. Even after all this time, that part of rushing still made him want to vomit. It hit hard, taking root in his stomach and coursing up like a vine. Merion held on tight as it climbed, burning as it went.

In a leap, it was in his brain, and he focused its swirling down into a single point in his chest. He felt it immediately. His work-ache faded away. That sore elbow he’d been nursing half the morning was gone. Even that crick in his neck. Vanished. ‘Is it a stamina shade?’ he whispered.

‘A healing shade. Its rushers are rare, though if you’re lucky, and practise enough, you can grow back an arm, a leg, even stitch up a hole in your chest.’

Merion pulled a face. ‘How exactly do you practise for that?’ He dreaded to think.

‘I did say rare, didn’t I?’ Shan reached into her bag and pulled out a knife. Merion stepped back, wary. ‘Relax, boy. Here,’ she said, flipping the knife over so the handle was waving at him. ‘Try it out. The shade has to be used for your body to learn it.’

Merion looked abhorred. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked, as he gingerly took the knife.

‘Deadly,’ she replied. She crossed her arms and waited.

Merion took a breath and held up his hands, one holding a very sharp-looking blade, the other empty, and already cringing. He grit his teeth as he waggled its point into his palm. He hissed as the blood poured.

‘Now focus on that wound,’ Shan instructed, now circling him.

Merion bent his will on it, letting the magick throb in his fingers. His eyes grew wise as the wound knitted itself back together. He wiped the blood away, and found neither a single scab nor scar. ‘I could get used to that,’ he said, smiling.

‘You’re a quick learner, Master Harlequin,’ admitted Shan. Merion might have been wrong, but he swore he heard a tinge of wistfulness in her tone.

Next she brought him a square vial, a blood so brown it was almost green. ‘Next is gecko. A true reptile shade. It’s time to try.’

Merion felt a tremor in his heart. Was it excitement or nervousness? He hadn’t a clue, but he still reached for the vial and thumbed its cork. It had an acidic tang, wafting up to his nose as he held it to his lips.

Down it went, thick and cold, as if he were swallowing an eel. He winced as heartburn rose. He clutched at his stomach, tensing hard, attempting to bend this new vein to his will. He had no idea how, but he tried all the same, pressing and pushing, with both mind and muscles.

Like a stubborn mule, the magick refused to budge. But as with every mule, a little coaxing and a hearty push here and there goes a long way. Bit by bit the shade crept into his veins.

‘I can feel it. Biting at my fingertips,’ Merion gritted.

‘Careful now, not too fast. You have your limits.’

‘And how will I ever learn …’ the boy squeaked, as he held on tight to the rush, ‘…if I don’t push them?’

‘Gently then, Merion. Gently!’

It felt like his hands were on fire. The young Hark lifted them up, trembling with the strain. His fingertips were covered with bristles and pale eggshell scales. Feeling curious, and just a tiny bit scared, Merion put his fingertips together. They stuck fast, and he laughed through the effort. When finally the ferocity of the shade calmed, he wandered back and forth, looking for something grasp. Shan looked like a good prospect.

‘Hey!’ she cried, as his fingers latch onto her wrist. He grinned as she tried to pull away, but he was like glue. Only when he concentrated, and dragged the eager magick back, did she escape.

‘I have to use it, you said,’ Merion smirked.

Shan shook her head. ‘Just take it easy. You won’t be able to rush this for long, and if you burn it up even quicker, you might feel some side effects.’

Merion raised an eyebrow, busy getting stuck to a roll of fabric. ‘Which are?’

‘Permanence. Seems to be a trait of the vein.’

Merion took the hint, and let the magick bubble away inside him until it finally boiled off, leaving a sour feeling in his stomach. He took a deep breath, waiting for the nausea to pass. His mind skipped back to a kitchen table, a glass of water, and his aunt tutting away to herself as he bent over a sheet of paper. That memory of her house in Fell Falls felt so old to him now.

Drawing himself up, staunchly ignoring the burn in his throat and shivering behind his eyes, Merion held his hand out. ‘Next,’ he said, with a wry smile.

‘What’s all this then? The boy’s mastered a new shade?’ said a voice. Merion did not have to turn to recognise it. It was Itch Magrey, leaning against a tent pole.

‘A new vein, actually.’

‘And which is that?’

‘Reptile.’

Itch snorted. ‘Not bad, but could be better.’

Merion frowned. He had never assumed shades would have a hierarchy. ‘Oh really? Do share, Itch,’ he challenged him, a defiant smirk on his face.

Itch bit, and bit hard. He strode forward, nudging the boy with his elbow as he passed. He jabbed a finger at Shan’s bag. ‘Got my red?’

‘As always,’ Shan smiled. She dug out a larger oval vial. Bright, fire-orange blood filled it to the brim.

‘Watch and learn, Empire,’ Itch grunted, before throwing his head back and downing the blood in one fell swoop. He lowered his head, shaking for a moment. He was good. The magick was rippling through his skin within seconds, literally rippling. The man’s tortured, twisted skin undulated like a sea. Itch lifted his head and grinned, showing off a few blackened gums.

‘Give me whatever you’ve got,’ he hissed.

A duel, then, a rusher’s duel. Merion’s second after Suffrous. The boy returned the grin, albeit a healthier one than Itch’s. He looked to Shan. ‘Have you got
my
shade, Ms Dolmer?’

‘Of course,’ she said, throwing him a skinny vial. Merion threw it back with relish. The familiar taste made him shiver with anticipation. He felt it seize his gut in a cold vice, and he smiled even wider as he took the magick by the reins and let it flow. The hairs began to stand up on the back of his neck. His skin pimpled.

‘Crackler, is it?’ Itch snorted. ‘No problem. Throw it at me, leech.’

Merion indulged him, pushing his hands together and letting the magick pool. Blue lightning flicked, jumping around his arms. The boy reached out with a claw-like hand, and the electricity burst from him, surging over Itch’s skin. The man grimaced, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords as the lightning crawled over him. His skin shivered under its harsh light, puckering there, blackening there, but always one step from wounding.

Merion let the spell die and set his lips tight.

‘Is that all?’ Itch taunted him, cracking his neck from side to side. He patted his bare arms and chuckled. ‘Impenetrable.’

‘We’ll see,’ Merion said. If Itch wanted more, he would give it, and pile all his disdain and anger into it to boot. The boy clapped his hands and rubbed them, letting sparks fly. He let the magick pour forth, a thick ribbon of lightning striking Itch square in the chest. Once again the man endured. His shirt was not so lucky, fading to ash under the crackling onslaught.

Merion glimpsed Itch’s defiant face amidst the blinding light and pushed harder. He began to walk towards the man, hands outstretched, shaking violently. The lightning made the air waver and split around them. Itch was marching forwards too, only faster. Merion grit his teeth and raised his fist to bring the lightning crashing down on him. Just as he swung, Itch dropped, swinging his knuckles up under the boy’s ribs.

Merion collapsed to the grass like a sack of dirt. The lightning faded as quickly as the fight, resigned to just skittering around his fingers and knees.

To add insult to injury, he felt Itch patting him roughly on the back of the head.

‘Nice try, Harlequin. Better luck next time, eh? Though I doubt there’ll be one,’ he snorted once more. ‘I’ll just leave you to catch your breath.’ And with a chuckle, he departed. Merion pushed himself to standing, still wincing at the pain. His embarrassment was the sour icing atop it. The boy snarled inwardly.

Shan pulled a sympathetic face. Merion hated it for the lie it was. ‘Dragon blood. Pretty hard to beat.’

Merion just held out a blackened hand. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any newt left, do you?’

Defeat is not in a Hark’s vocabulary.

*