Bone Witch (22 page)

Theron had drawn the first of the symbols
in for her with wet soot. Both Gael and Cai held their left arms aloft, careful
not to smudge them and letting Alaysha inspect the finest of the lines. She
wondered how she'd be able to produce anything nearly as shapely with the bone
tip he passed her. She ran her thumb along the point and found it sharp indeed.
Still, the idea that she could tap such detail onto skin seemed improbable.

"I don't think it will look as good as
he's drawn it," she said, letting her finger run absently along the symbol
in the middle of her own chin, the one her nohma had put there for her, the one
she knew meant water in an ancient language.

Gael dipped his finger into the sooty ash,
testing its texture. "I know some sword smiths add bone to their steel,
but this seems a little bit disturbing. I mean, your sister's ash." His
words had begun to slur, the effects Alaysha knew, of the brew Theron had fed
both him and Cai. Alaysha still didn't understand why they needed to be drugged
so. Theron insisted it was not a drug but a sacred drink.

"You'll tell me if it hurts?"

Cai made a sound that could have been
disdain, but the way the words came out after, all thick and muddy, Alaysha
wasn't sure it was something she intended. "Try being branded, little
maga, if you want to understand pain."

Gael murmured his agreement but lifted his
arm above his head, all the better for Alaysha to work on a broader landscape.
Both he and Cai lay on a thatch mat, stretched onto their sides. Two large
copper goblets sat between them and if Alaysha remembered correctly, they were
each to save a drink for her, but all the brew should be gone in the end. By
the way they grimaced after gulping some of it down, she was sure there'd be
plenty left for her. She just worried she'd not be able to stomach it; her
belly already gurgled from nerves.

She inhaled. "At least if I make a
mess of it, you can cover yours up," she teased and wasn't certain she
said it just for their benefit. She tried a trembling laugh, but neither
warrior returned it. In fact, both looked unable to muster so much as a smile.

"So then," she said, trying again
to find courage. "So."

"So, get on with it, little
maga." Cai sounded irritated. She didn't expect any response from Gael;
except for his agreement to do this, he hadn't so much as spoken but a few
sentences to her since she'd cornered him in the forest.

Cai was the closest. Alaysha puffed out the
air that had collected in her throat. She could do this. She
would
do
this. Theron had warned her that the brew, the marking, and the ritual might
take more out of all of them than normal because of the exertion they'd all
expelled at the broad sea and because of the amount of recovery they were all
undergoing to heal. Still, it had to be done.

She leaned over the bowl, working her mouth
to build saliva and spit into the pot. Then she held her finger over the same
and with an inhale, pierced the tip with a needle. Squeezed. One, two, three
drops for each of them. She intoned the words she'd practiced, did her best to
recall the face of her nohma as she did so, the only ancestor she knew who
could bring her spirit to the magic.

She used the same finger to mash the soot,
ashes, and fluid together. Then she began.

It was precise, finicky work and Alaysha
was sweating by the time Cai's mark was done. As instructed, she bid Cai swill
nearly all her own brew, leaving enough for Alaysha who by now was licking her
lips with thirst. She had to believe Theron when he told her she would be
begging for the drink by the time she was done. The fragrance of myrrh charring
on the open flame was coating her throat in ways that made swallowing difficult
and her nose dry. Still, no matter how much she needed a drink, she couldn't
until the last of the work was done.

She wished Gael would at least look at her
while she did this to him. Cai had stared stonily at Alaysha the whole time and
when Alaysha paused every now and then to take a break, Cai had grinned at her.

She expected no such encouragement from
Gael. She began on his symbol with reluctance. What good could come from
binding herself to a man who couldn't bear to look at her, who tortured himself
with things that simply didn't matter. The Enyalian might be pragmatic about
her agreement, and her motives had certainly become all too clear, but there
was at least some comfort in knowing the large woman would be there always
ready to give her self in service. That she'd agreed without hesitation, even
after understanding what it meant told Alaysha the woman could indeed be
trusted and could be counted on.

Just knowing it lent a flush to Alaysha's
skin that had nothing to do with the fire.

Strangely enough, not long ago, she would
have said the same of Gael. He'd voiced it with his own lips, assured her of it
even. All she had needed or desired of him at the time, the reality of him now
taking the steps to demonstrate it was still almost hollow. How could she ask
it of him when he felt so tortured over her; it was why she'd asked Cai in the
first place.

But here they were, joining together in a
ritual Alaysha doubted would even work. Never done before, is what Theron had
said. Could her power, so strong as it was still move through two her Arms
instead of one? No one had ever done tried.

Poor Gael. It might be too much for him,
really. She studied the complete symbol critically. It was good, actually. The
curves rounded nicely. The lines were solid. bold. Beautiful, even.

Not bad for a woman covered in nervous
perspiration. She exhaled, satisfied.

"The drink," she said. Surely if
she didn't wet her lips soon, the stink of myrrh would gum them closed.

Both Gael and Cai held their goblets out
and Gael met her eye boldly. She took his first and swallowed everything
within, then reached for Cai's and drank deeply.

The flush of heat without was nothing to
the flush within when she finished. She felt as though her veins were filling
with molten Quicksilver, that it was coursing and flowing, throbbing beneath
her skin. Her ears tingled. The skin beneath her hair prickled.

And then she knew, just knew, what would
restore Gael, what would bring him back to himself.

She reached to cup her hand beneath his jaw.
"Gael," she whispered. "Let me replace those memories for you.
Help me feed you new ones to eat away the ones that torture you."

At first, he tried to wrest his face from
her touch, but she grew insistent, more determined. She stood, pulling his head
toward her so that she wrapped him with her arms, her fingers roaming his hair,
fleeting gently over the healing wound. He was on his knees, cheek against her
legs and it was easy to slip her hand beneath his arms and tug, just firmly
enough he looked up at her. When he caught her eye, she refused to let it
wander. Instead, she leaned forward and captured his mouth, never once closing
her eyes for fear of releasing him. Even as her tongue probed his lips open,
she watched his pupils dilate and the wrinkles of doubt smooth over. There was
an instant when she thought he'd pull away, but then his eyes squeezed shut
determinedly and his tongue followed hers, dancing with it in surrender.

At last he stood, letting his hands roam
her body as he found his feet. He pulled her against him, letting her hand rest
on him so she felt each muscle tense and let go in his chest. His legs moved
outside hers, trapping her; she realized how desperately he clung. She thought
she felt a tug on her leggings and tunic. Her arms lifted of their own volition
and the leather slipped over her skin. The shiver of air danced over her flesh
and was gone so quickly she thought she was cocooned within two fires. The
flames of one licked her throat, beneath her hair on her nape; the flames of the
other captured her breath, fanning the heat as they danced.

Indeed, she was cocooned, she realized. She
had to be, and between the two large warriors, both making her flesh feel as if
it was on fire. Gael's mouth moved across her chest and throat, Cai's trailed
down her spine and rested at he cleft just above her buttocks where it sent a
shiver straight up to her neck. The woman's hands, her fingers cupping and
probing between her thighs until she felt herself grind against them
shamelessly. She pulled her feet from the leggings and lifted her arms to feel
all the more deliciously available.

Together, they stretched onto the mat and
she let her own lips travel Gael's throat even as Cai pressed against her, the
hard pebbles of her nipples reminding Alaysha that she had two bodies about
her, not the one, and that they were both hard, fierce fighters with  almost
freakish strength. She felt more safe than she'd ever felt, more alive. More
than that, she felt as though she couldn't possibly be close enough; she wanted
more, to feel their hands roaming her skin, entwining together between her
legs, making her slick with need.

She became a molded piece of clay, moving
with them, letting them press into her, against her, and then finally being
lifted and entered. She rode the wave that battered her and let the hands
behind travel her skin, gripping her nipples. It was a wild dance, as fierce as
the wielding of swords fighting for possession of her, and she couldn't get
enough of either body. She wanted them both to win her, she wanted their
growling need to each take her.

Finally the rhythm behind became as the one
she rode, until the heat, the flush, the desire of it all left her leaning back
onto one warrior as she moved like a piece of oiled sinew against the other.

No one spoke. She could only echo the
sounds that met her ears, of desire and satisfaction and longing finally met
until the only sound she could make at all was a cry of complete surrender.

Alaysha woke to a groggy head. Both Cai
and Gael were gone and the only way she knew for certain that she'd marked them
at all was that the small copper bowl of soot still lay on the floor next to
her with the blackened tapper resting inside. She eased to a sit, holding on to
her head and trying to keep the throbbing she felt contained to the inside of
her skull. Even her fingers ached. The fur around her shoulders slipped to her
waist. She was nude and the air was chilly. Morning then. Thank the deities one
of them had thought to build a small fire before leaving.

She tried to get up and realized that every
movement she made was effort. She did remember having a few small sips of
Theron's brew. How must her new Arms feel, having each drunk an entire goblet
when she felt this way after so little, she didn't even want to think about.

She stared into the flames, letting the
crackle of wood replace the sound of her own heart beating in her ears. She
stared at the flames, watching the short peaks lengthen lazily. Letting the
heat fill her skin. She felt totally at ease in her own skin; strong anxieties
from before seemed to have melted away in the comforting knowledge that she
wouldn't need to be alone anymore. That she was now connected to not one, but
two others, in a way that would secure her safety and well-being. She had
somehow extended – diluted – her power into another spirit, and it felt right.

She could fix her stare if she liked, focus
the pain behind her eyes; the trouble was they didn't truly focus at all even
when she tried. They seemed to be following a figure within almost as though
the flames themselves were twisting into shapes that wanted her to see. She
thought of Aislin and of how she'd come to her through the flames back in the
mud village. Pyromancy, Yenic called it. The fire witch's affinity with flame,
and her ties to Alaysha through Yenic were supposed to give her the same sort
of ability.

Alaysha wondered if that connection could
work to her benefit. She certainly felt just off enough this morning to do it.

She stared, pinning her gaze on one particular
section of the fire, one that reminded her of the fire witch's eyes. She let
the flame lick around the edges of her vision and twist within and upon itself.

When it happened, she gasped aloud. Aislin
herself, wearing a long linen shift, paced within the flames, the veil of her
hair catching a breeze behind her. She stopped short. Looked over her shoulder
to the other side. Then Alaysha could see a slow smile spread across the
woman's face as she closed her eyes. A tingling shivered down Alaysha's chin
and trickled down her throat. She felt hot, as though the flame had entered
her. Dryness came after. So dry she could barely swallow.

She scrabbled backwards, even as she heard
shrieks of agony and shouts of confusion sound from outside. Despite the pounding
behind her eyes, she bolted to her feet, grabbing her tunic and pulling it over
her head. She whipped aside the leather flap of the mud hut and ran across
broken branches and through thickets that scratched her face and arms to get
back to the village. At the edge, in piles of smoking ash, lay copper bowls and
smoking water buckets. She leaned to pick up a copper cup and pulled her hand
back. There were blisters on her fingers.

It didn't take her but a few moments to
realize what was happening. It came to her even as her toe rammed into a copper
bowl. She looked down, confused, thinking she shouldn't be kicking at bowls
this far from the fires, see ashes in such peculiar grouping so far from the
communal fire. Then she saw them: two hard black seeds sitting in the middle of
gray ash, and she couldn't swallow back the gasp that left her lungs.

Alaysha cast about blindly, stumbling into
Highlanders as they sobbed and ran about, gathering their children. Several of
the Highlanders were already sprinting toward her: confused, afraid, shouting
at her, flinging rocks. Alaysha cast about, looking for some witness even as
she knew she needed none. These people couldn't understand what was happening
to them, they would blame her, and she
was
to blame. Aislin had used the
connection to force her to kill.