Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (30 page)

I landed with one knee pressed against
his chest, the other foot pinning his sword arm down, and both swords crisscrossed
at his neck, pressed so close to his skin that they were already drawing blood.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly the
victor. His one free hand was up at my neck as well, and I could sharply feel
the dark power surging around it. I didn’t know what it was for, but it was
clear that whatever spell was on the tip of his fingers was not enjoyable. I
took in deep breaths, eyes locked on his. The war, the breaking point, was in
our heads. Either one of us could end it with a moment of weakness or hesitation.

“I’ve always wanted to be right here,”
he said, that excitement still trembling through his arms. I pressed my blades closer,
wanting to deny that I was just as eager. Thinking of Gronmid and that sword
dance with Ro, I wondered now if part of his anger had been because of a
twisted desire to fight me as well. How long had he wanted to?

“I will take your head off before that
spell even takes effect,” I said, my voice a raw whisper.

“The moment I touch you, you’re dead,”
he shot back, and we both quieted again, locked in a battle with just our bodies
and our eyes.

“Her life is more important than yours
right now,” his lord’s voice broke through to us, and I was reminded again that
he was still there, working his own spell. “Don’t mistake me, Traken, I will
kill you if you kill her before I’m ready.”

The wildness died down in Traken’s
eyes a bit, but that deadly spell still hung on to his fingers at my neck.
Knowing he couldn’t move, I took the chance to look up. 

There was more water snaking through
the air around the young lord. He smiled at me when I saw, and his smooth skin
crinkled in the corners. The water suddenly condensed without warning,
squeezing into the form of a ball floating just above his palm, and his
threatening smile grew wider.

“Keep her still, boy.”

The water uncurled itself from the
lord's hand and shot straight towards me. I could have killed Traken right
then, in that split second, but instead I rolled off quickly, releasing him
from the trap and barely avoiding the flying serpent of water.

It twisted midair and came hurtling
towards me again. This time I aimed at it with Phernado's golden blade. The
moment the sword made contact, the water wrapped around the blade and stuck. It
began squirming down the metal towards my hand, so that I had to drop the sword
and back off.

Valentina roared through my skin.

“He'll be okay,” I whispered, not sure
myself. Fortunately, the water beast immediately disentangled itself from
Phernado and hopped into the air again. Not-so-fortunately, Traken was on his
feet again, and I could feel his magic start to ripple against my skin. I grabbed
his shoulder and pushed him in the direction of the water snake. As he
stumbled, I jumped up onto the edge of the lowered bird cage, grabbing the bars
and swinging on it to avoid the magic water as it nimbly twisted around Traken
and tried for me again. The cage knocked the young lord in the hip, sending him
tumbling, and the water spell, possibly running out of steam, sunk back into
the solid mass of metallic water it had come from as soon as it was near
enough.

 “I said to hold her,” the lord yelled,
rolling onto his back and holding his stomach. Traken was out of my view, but I
knew I needed to take him down again before he could get another spell off.
This time I would have to be strong enough to kill him.

I made to jump back down onto the
floor when suddenly a cold, clammy hand grabbed my ankle.

I grunted a gasp. The gentle, ghostly
face of the trapped Angelblood was staring up at me, and though he seemed frail,
his grip was strong like steel. Words tumbled weakly from his lips.

“You… you have been chasing death.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I
said, not sure whether he was reading my fate or just half-mad from what he had
been through.

“You’ve changed things… broken them.
You are on the verge of what couldn’t be. Can you stay true?”

“True? But what—”

“What you lack is faith in your
decision.”

With that his cold hands released me,
and I fell to the rocky floor on my rear end instead of my feet. The flailing
lord, his skin stretching unpleasantly with the angry, guttural shout leaving
his throat, swiped a hand through the air quickly. The cage fell, the
glittering bars and the Angelblood's pale, earnest face sinking completely
beneath the surface of the pool. The lord stood and looked down his nose at the
spot, eyes full of heartless contempt.

“I told you not to speak,” he said.
Only the thick silver chain quivered above the water. Seconds passed, a slow
crawl of time in my head, and I realized he wasn’t planning on bringing the
cage back up again. I scrambled backwards on my hands and grabbed Phernado, the
helpless rage choking me fed by the silence that felt like screams. Traken
appeared at his master’s side again, between the two of us, and this time when
our eyes met I narrowed mine.

“Stop playing and keep her still this
time, boy,” the lord spat, his uncomfortable magic pulsating through my skin. His
fingers were at work in the air once more, tracing symbols and drawing power.

My heart felt constricted and my muscles
weak, but that was nothing to the burning in my eyes. Before Traken could start
forming a spell, I lunged around the side of the pool.

I was arguing with the Angelblood’s
last words even as I brought Valentina and Phernado forward and aimed a deadly
swipe at Traken’s face.

Faith? What is there to have faith in
now? Everything’s wrong.

Traken ducked and rushed forward as
well, stabbing at my ribs. I knocked his blade up and away, frantically swiping
both my swords at him as he tried to muster another spell. The magic fizzled
out of the air and his sword hissed against my own.

Our eyes met across the blades once
more, and that Angelblood's persistent voice whispered at me again.

What you lack is faith in your
decision.

Traken’s dark gaze suddenly didn’t
seem so masked. Despite his grin, despite the narrowed, violent brow… despite
the sheer force of his weapon up against my own, pressing me to believe that he
meant every attack he aimed; despite it all, his eyes were despondent. There
were no more tears, but there didn’t need to be.

How many times had his eyes told
things that no one listened to?

Faith
.

Traken’s brow furrowed as my own glare
cooled from a fiery rage to a resolute color that matched his own.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “You’re no more
pathetic than I am.”

Then I reared back to attack again.
Flustered for a moment, he pointed his sword at my abdomen, an attack I could
easily block.

I didn’t. Instead, I aimed my sword
past him, towards where his lord was hurriedly working the water up into his fingers
again. Sweat drenched my brow, and a cold dread filled me, but I willed Valentina
and Phernado to obey.

Here's hoping you'd regret too, Dogboy.

Traken cursed as he realized at the
last second that his sword wasn’t going to meet any resistance, and he tried to
jerk away. There was no time as I collided into him—hard. His sword ripped into
the left side of my stomach, all the way through. Agony filled my throat and
came out as a terrible sound. The true target was in front of me, though, and as
we fell, Traken underneath, at least one of my swords was still aimed. His lord
didn’t even see Phernado’s blade until it was cutting through his thin forearm
like butter.   

I was down, choking on nauseating pain
as the sword sunk deeper into me upon impact with the floor. Traken was
talking, more like shouting, as he pushed me off him quickly and tugged the
sharp blade out of my middle. Lights exploded behind my eyelids. I couldn’t
hear him over the insatiable wails coming from his master.

“It’s gone, it’s gone! That demon-bred
vectimiir
cut off my hand.” His blood was pooling on the floor beside me,
splashing my arm. I had dropped Valentina and Phernado in my fall, but groped
now for one of my belted daggers as Traken’s shadow fell over me. He smacked my
hands away, and I was surprised as a cool, refreshing light washed over my
skin. The young lord’s tantrum grew louder.

“What are you doing, you fool? I’m
your master, heal me first. No, wait, hold her still.”

I craned my head back. The lord was shuddering
violently, a pallid youth wearing an expression impressed with resentful
horror, but his handiwork had not been spoiled. The metallic water was now a
ball hovering above his shoulder, waiting. I had failed to stop the spell. He
pressed his fresh stub tightly into the folds of the bunched robe at his waist
and glared.

I tried to push Traken away and get to
my feet, but I couldn’t even sit up on my own. Heavy, warm air overwhelmed me
as I clawed halfway up Traken, who knelt on the ground beside me. My fingers
curled into his robe sluggishly, and I cursed him inwardly. My legs wouldn't
move, and had no strength to shake off the heavy hands that fell on my
shoulders and stilled me. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out
what was going on until I felt the Dream swell up behind my lids.

He was putting me to sleep.
Why?
It
was exactly what his master had told him not to do.

My chin bobbed wearily, and the long
strands of hair that had shaken loose from my braid slipped over my shoulders.
It felt like the hands holding me up were shaking, and I tightened my hold on
his arms, trying to concentrate on what was real, wishing my nails would break
skin.

“Coward,” I said softly, hating how
slow the word came out.

“Moron,” the young lord yelled above
us, and he seemed made of blood to my blurry vision. “How could you let her get
this close to me?”

I don’t think Traken responded; I
couldn’t tell. Suddenly the crouching figure of his lord swam into my vision.
That ominous ball followed over his shoulder, and those horrifying eyes that
haunted my memories were only a couple of inches away.

“This time I’m making sure you don’t
get away,” he said, and reached out with his only hand, sharp nails digging
into the roots of my hair. He dragged me out of Traken’s grasp and halfway
across the floor, leaving a path of smeared blood behind us. My wound wasn’t
even nearly healed after Traken’s hurried efforts, and the pain added to my
dizziness. It hurt, but it kept me awake against Traken’s awful sleep spell,
and a little bit longer was all I needed. The Dream was almost upon me.

The lord bared his teeth, towering
above. He threw my head down on the stone floor and pinned me against the
ground with one foot on my wound. The nails on his dirty feet were just as
sharp and claw-like as his fingers. I gasped for air and grabbed hold of the
offending limb.

“It really is quaint,” he hissed, spit
flying from his mouth. “A powerless thing like you, fighting so hard against
odds that are not even slightly in your favor. A pathetic, laughable display.
You’ll die knowing that your worthless existence ended in futility.”

“I’d rather die hearing your screams,”
I said, and clutched his leg tighter. I used my last little bit of strength,
and his leg, to reach up and shove the dagger I had curled a fist around
straight into his stomach. He stumbled away, and I was rewarded with more
magnificent sounds of his agony.

I fell back against the stone, and did
not miss the motion the young lord made in the air as he dropped out of my line
of sight. A large snake of water unfurled from the ball still at his shoulder,
larger than the first, and dived straight for me.

The magic spell hit me with the fury
of starved hounds on a piece of meat. It covered me, wounded on the floor, and
crushed the very air out of my lungs. When it was no longer possible to breathe,
I couldn't keep up the fight against the Dream. Blackness took over, along with
the surprisingly calm realization that I had failed.

Angelbloods don’t see futures after
all, they only see possibilities.

For once it was a relief to be asleep. The chaos I had
left behind meant nothing in here. There was no anger, no pain. I was alone,
and it was peaceful. Any moment now the Dream would end, and I would die on the
other side... but at least this way I had a few moments to myself.

Upon leaving the quiet dock, I took the time to listen
to the hushed sounds of the black water lapping against the sides of the boat.
I rowed, and let no other thoughts enter that constant rhythm. I even took special
notice of the air, how it felt against my skin. I knew I should be angry, and
that I would be if I were awake. The dream world was dangerous in that it
mellowed even the most essential emotions.

When he appeared in my boat, I wasn’t even surprised. I
had felt him coming, his energy scraping across my senses. I recognized it by
now.

Traken sat in the boat across from me, arms folded
across his chest. His eyes were piercing and uninviting. I didn’t stop rowing.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“You have five minutes,” he said, voice flat. “Tell me
why you did that.”

“Ever curious,” I scoffed, not looking him in the eye.
“You always need to know things, even up to the last second.”

“And you always do things that don’t make sense,” he
said, and I laughed a little, because he sounded irritated and I was the one
about to die.

“Maybe this one thing will just have to go with me,” I
said. “I have to hold some sort of victory over you.”

“It’s been over an hour since you passed out,” Traken
said. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

My interest piqued, and this time I did have enough
will to stop rowing. “Why am I still alive?”

“You tell me what I want to know first.”

The boat creaked, and there was silence between us for
a moment.

“I don’t know what to tell you that makes any sense,” I
said finally. “The reasons are all over the place, and you won’t like them.”

“Tell me anyway.”

I sighed, scratching my nose, and leaned back in the
boat.

“I was told to make a choice, and even though I wasn’t
sure if you were the right one, I chose you. Of course, he told me to trust the
man with the dog, which I think meant Ro in the end… perhaps you weren’t even
supposed to be an option at all.”

 There was another small silence, and when I peeked at
Traken’s expression, he was staring at me blankly, brow furrowed.

“…does this have to do with what the Angelblood from
Rusuro told you?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” I said, relieved he was getting it. “Then your
lord’s Angelblood also said something to me, before he… is he dead?”

A tight nod, and I looked down, stomach clenching.
Traken was reading my expressions.

“He was an Angelblood,” he pointed out. “He knew what
would happen the moment he spoke to you.”

“A cold, reasonable fact,” I said. “Somehow, it doesn't
make me happy. He got me thinking, though.”

“That it was a smart idea to impale yourself?” Traken
asked darkly. I closed my eyes.

“It was the only way to get past you and at that man. I
could have fought you for hours and it would have been useless. I couldn’t kill
you. Not when….”

Not when you looked
like that
. How would he react if I
said it? Had I even seen him truly, or had I only imagined what I wanted to see
there?

I frowned. “You did say soft spots are dangerous.”

“Immensely.”

Again, the silence took us. I folded my arms to match
his. “Your turn.”

He sat absolutely still, and spoke sharply through
tight teeth.

“You’re not dying right now.”

“Why?”

His expression grew that much grimmer. “I took you away
from him and hid.”

My throat constricted, just a little. “You betrayed
him?”

“You… what could I have done?” he barked, soft voice suddenly
splitting the air like a whip. “You don’t understand how you’ve already twisted
me. I had no intention of betraying the man I worked hundreds of years to build
up. To him I was necessary. At least I had that.”

The poor Angelblood whispered at me again.

You’ve changed things…
broken things.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Exactly,” he growled, voice raw and angry. “That’s
exactly what I’m saying. You don’t, and yet you meddle. You mold people’s thoughts
oh-so-innocently, and pretend that nothing could be different from how you
perceive it. Well, I am, and I can never get back what I threw away because of
you.”

“Your… father?” I ventured. His face twisted.

“No.” A sharp pause. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve come to
get you. You need to wake up.”      

Just then the boat bumped gently against the rocky
island where it always made dock. The great giant was waiting there, its eyes
smoldering.

“So you have come again,” it thundered, “and so I ask
you again. Are you ready to die?”

I glanced back at Traken, who had not moved.

“Is that man really your father?”

“Father is a relative term,” he said, impatience
sparking in his face. “We are of the same blood, but he treated me just like
everyone else. The only reason he brought it up was to make you angry.”

“But if you betrayed him….”

“We need to get out of here,” Traken interrupted,
finally standing. Beads of sweat leaked down his face, though it didn’t feel
any hotter here than normal.

“Decide,” the giant rumbled from atop its grouping of
rocks, uninterested in our conversation.  

“How then?” I continued, suspicious but willing. Being
alive and awake somewhere would be better than being helpless here.

“There will be no more talk,” the giant thundered.
“Make your decision.”

Neither of us looked over at the monster that for so
many years had torn me into bloody pieces night after night. Right then, I
wasn’t afraid. I stood too, and stepped with Traken onto the rock. As we did,
the air grew much, much warmer.

“What’s happening?” I tried saying, but my voice got
lost in the sudden noise of a thunderous wind ripping across the little black
rock. Somehow, the sorcerer next to me still heard, or maybe he guessed.

“The only way to escape a forced dream is to tear the
dream apart,” he shouted over the wind. “At least, that’s my assumption.
Usually my source, Sola, wouldn’t be available in the dreamlands, but… well,
you’re here. They really do follow you.”

The giant's eyes grew wide as the wind whipped around
us, and its sharp mouth opened in a silent howl. Right before my eyes, the
thing I had always found to be so unbeatable fell apart into nothingness. I
watched as the black sea seemed to vanish as well, and the rock place we stood
upon began to tear apart.

“Is this going to hurt?” I was remembering the last
time I had woken up with Traken in my dream. The rocks fell away beneath our
feet the moment I spoke, and I collapsed into the nothingness in one direction,
Traken in another. I couldn’t see him anymore within the blackness and the
thundering wind, but I heard his voice as if he were right next to my ear.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Before I knew it I was staring at the
back of my closed eyelids, the chill of cold stone on my back. Stale, dank air
filled my nostrils. I opened my eyes.

The first thing I noticed was that I
was no longer in the room with the pond and the birdcage. I couldn’t tell where
I was besides that, except that it still reeked of wet dog mixed with some older
and fouler smells. Everything was very, very dark. A magi-globe hovered above
the stone floor a couple feet away, and my belongings, including my swords,
were illuminated in that little circle of light. Valentina and Phernado,
stained with blood, were still and quiet.

A stirring nearby caught my attention,
and I lifted my head a little to get a look at my other side. Traken was there,
curled up on the floor next to me. I sat up quickly and dragged myself a little
bit further away, still unsure as to what it was I was facing. If Traken had
truly done what he said in the Dream, then he had betrayed not only his master,
but his entire lifestyle.

“Any pain?” he asked. His face was
half in the light and half out of it, and I could not tell his expression.

“None,” I said, coughing through the
dryness in my throat and making a mental count of the daggers left on my
person. Three, and the buckle on my exposed upper-left arm had completely
broken off.  “Where is this?”

“We’re in an old part of my master’s
temple,” he said, his own voice cracking. “This underground area was used as a
dungeon at one time, before he stopped allowing others in. It has been a while
since anyone’s been down here.”

“I’m… in a dungeon?”

His laughter, if not joyful, was at
least there.

“You’re not locked up, princess. The
way out is through some hallways over there.” He pointed through the gloom to a
spot I couldn't see. As he did, the light caught him better, and I realized he
was in much worse shape than he had appeared in the Dream. His robe, torn in
places, hung wide open and exposed those strange, flower-shaped scars. Those
scars were bright red now, spreading blemishes across his skin. His face was
pale, and he was covered in sweat. The wound I had given his side and shoulder
still hadn’t been properly healed, and the gash on his forearm was open and
bleeding.

 His arms were shaking.

“Traken,” I said, inching forward and
holding out a hesitant hand. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” he asked bitterly, jerking away.
“Everything that happened in there, and you're asking about my wellbeing? What
a twisted creature you are. Just accept your victory willingly.”

Suddenly spasms ripped through his
upper body, and his face grew even paler. He clung to his robe, the one that I
had worn for so long, and I could see the pulsating glow of those scars in the darkness.
His body tensed every time they lit and power surged around us like the swell
of a wave, there and then gone just as quickly. Soon it was over, fading as
quickly as it had come.

“What was that?” I asked. His voice
was hollow.

“He’s trying to get me to give away
our location. His followers are branded with these scars, which are used for
punishment.” His eyes fell to the floor. “They are his specialty, and
irremovable. He just needs to be somewhere nearby.”

That answered my question on whether
the lord was still alive or not. I looked down at my stomach, where Traken’s
sword had ripped through my robe. He had put a lot of work into healing it;
there was barely any soreness, and the scar could hardly be seen. He had spent
so much energy healing me, and hadn’t even healed himself. He had spent more
energy and time pulling me from the Dream, even with his master searching for
us, and all the while being tortured by the marks of servitude to the person he
had betrayed. The implications were staggering.  

“Why did you choose me?” he suddenly
asked. “You said that one of those Angelbloods told you that you would probably
die coming here, and now you tell me you had a choice. Why make me the one
responsible for your life?”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said, and
thought how silly it sounded to be defending myself over something as unclear
as fortune-telling. “Well, no one knows how things will turn out. I only chose
to trust, selfish or not, because do anything else did not sit well.” Traken’s
expression tightened, and my curiosity at his desolation grew exasperated.

“Traken, if you hate what you did so
much, then why did you do it?” 

“You told me to,” he said. I started
to speak, but he wagged his finger at me. The gesture lacked its regular
bravado and playfulness, but still carried a little bit of that same self-assurance.
“Orders don’t just come in words, kitten. I tried to ignore it, but then you
called me a coward. You play unfairly in the most innocent of ways.”

His halting words faded as he suddenly
grabbed his head, the scars lighting up his skin again in a beautiful,
agonizing display. His back arched, and he let out a guttural growl that wanted
to be a scream. 

“Traken?”

Still doubled over, his words now came
out loud and angry. “That innocence is infuriating. Hundreds you killed in that
war, probably hundreds more within your lifetime, and still you act like life
is precious. You treat others like they are all reasonable creatures, which is
completely ridiculous. Worse, you look at me like I can make some sort of a
difference.” His breathing calmed as he looked up to glare at me. “Your eyes
were so black… who wears pain like that? Why do you have to look so pitiful?”

I wanted to argue, especially against
that last part. I wanted to, but the look on his face stilled me. It drowned
any fit of anger in me.

“You’re a little twisted, Dogboy,” I
said lightheartedly, “but you aren’t what I would imagine a son of that man to
be.”