Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (9 page)

“Stay still,” he ordered as I moved to
stand. His hands came to my forehead, where I felt the refreshing tingle
overwhelm me again. “You have a very large gash on your head.” He frowned as he
continued. “In fact, you could have died from it.”

“That would explain the black-out I
had.” I grinned up at Traken. “What a hero. I never knew there was such a warm
and fuzzy side to you.”

“I turn into a dog, don't I?”

“Oh, touché.”

I let him push me forward and put his
hand on my back. The tingling soothed the dull pain there that I had been
harboring, but in the absence of such discomforts I began to feel restless. I
pulled away as soon as he was done.

“Where's Phernado, Traken?”

He stood smoothly. “Well, I had two
choices: hide it, or carry it with me into a den of thieves. Naturally, it's in
here somewhere.” He waved his hand around. “I think under that pile of rubble,
though it's hard to tell. The room looks so different now.”

“You
touched
him? And then just
left him on the ground around a bunch of bandits?”

“I didn’t touch it. I can displace
inanimate objects with me when I move from spot to spot. And what did you want
me to do, bury it in the dirt?”

“That happened anyway,” I said,
standing and grabbing Valentina. I used her like a divining rod, holding her
far out in front as I neared the pile Traken had indicated. Her blade hummed at
a particular point, and I started hauling up large pieces of rock and wood and
throwing them in different directions. By the time I finally found Phernado and
my two sheaths, Traken was not standing in the building anymore. I didn't blame
him. The atmosphere was cold and unearthly. I wondered at what restless and
angry spirits would come to haunt this place, and if Yeloff would be among
them. On that dreary notion I exited out the open wall myself after slinging my
two blades, finally reunited, in their sheaths over my shoulders.

The gloom in my mind dissipated
slightly at the joy that filled their humming as they clacked together. Despite
all the death, I wondered if that, at the very least, held some redemption in
it.

I found Traken standing where we had
first parted, right near my traveling pack and hat. I picked up the latter
immediately and latched it under my chin. Traken was quiet, perhaps thoughtful.
He was staring into the trees.

“Ready?” he asked as I picked up my
pack. His tone was amusing, though not purposely so.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” I tipped the
hat to shadow my face. “Are you worried about another attack?”

“Yes,” he said, but distantly, like he
wasn't really listening. I was still in a warm bubble from the strong feelings
of the rejoined swords and didn't take much notice.

“You know,” I said. “I think these two
have a really interesting bond. It almost seems like they don't mind being
trapped on the blades, as long as they're together.”

“It is probably lingering emotions
that are held in those blades, nothing else,” Traken said. I nodded amiably.

“I thought that at first too. It
didn’t occur to me that it could be their true souls, because how could a human
soul be contained in such a way? But I think otherwise now. How could emotions
be extracted from the soul?”

Traken scoffed. “You speak as if they
are necessary to our make-up.”

“Aren't they?”

“I hope not.” His smile returned, but
there was something wrong about it. It reminded me of the one he had shown
Yeloff. “What good have emotions ever done?”

“What's wrong with you?” I finally
asked, facing him completely. “You are acting strangely.”

“There is a pressing mystery nagging
at me, and I must know the answer to it,” Traken said. His cheerful, friendly
demeanor had evaporated, but that calmed me. I wanted the truth, not the mask.
“Why did you help me?”

“Eh?”

“I am your captor, whether you are
coming with me freely or not. I know you haven't forgotten this, yet you had me
at a disadvantage and chose to set me free.” His eyes narrowed. “Trust me that
this is a warning when I say it is not safe in your situation to take
opportunities like that for granted.”

It wasn't polite, but I was laughing
again. I didn’t want to be unkind, but an insensible giddiness had taken hold
with his words. “Oh no, it is far worse than that,” I assured him. “You are
going to despise this, but in all honestly it didn’t occur to me to let you die
at all. Yet here you are, Traken, chastising me even though the outcome worked
in your favor. You are supposed to bring me to your lord alive, not give me
tips on getting away.”

The cruel smile had fallen from his
lips into nothingness. His expression was now an empty slate. “I'm not
instructing you, Blood Fox, just paying a fair warning. For someone who has
killed so many, why would you not consider killing me?”

“Life isn't as simple as that,” I said,
a smile teasing the corners of my lips. “Is it really for you? A person is
alive, and then dead, and then nothing? I suppose it would explain why you
disdain emotions.”

“Everything has an end, there is no
point mourning it,” Traken replied, serene eyes spreading a calculating gaze
across my face. “All you can do is hold on to your body as long as possible.”

I snorted. “I don't know about that.
I, for one, cherish my mental state. It's all I have, and it's such a ginger
thing.” My smile spread. “There is so little in life we have complete control
over, Traken, and when we do have control we don't always know what choice to
make. What presents itself is never as concrete as right or wrong, is it? So we
choose based on what's easiest, or what's safest.”

“What a frightening prospect,” he
commented. “A world full of nothing but choices. I doubt you chose to release
me because it was easier or safer.”

I felt my eyes warm to a striking
emerald. “Not at all. I opt for the path of least regret. I understand why Yeloff
wanted revenge on you. I have to say, I agree with him. It's rather unfair to
kill someone in cold blood, even if you were just doing your job. I could have
been him. Maybe I am him now. But then again, I could have been you. What I
want is answers, and if I can take revenge, if the source of it still exists
out there somewhere like I think it does, I will. But how we feel isn't always
as straightforward as knowing what someone has done and what they still could
do. I would have regretted your death very much, Traken.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn't make
any sense.” 

“It doesn't. I like you, though. You are
irritating, and extremely untrustworthy, but also the only constant company
I've had over the past fifty years. I'd get lonely if you were gone.” I winked
and threw him a light-hearted punch on the arm. “I'll make you a deal. I
promise if I do try to run, I'll make it a fair fight. You might even get out with
only near-fatal injuries.”       

“Like you could take me,” Traken said.
He was staring away again, but a mocking smile had returned to his face. If I
had been fooling myself I would have said it looked softer than normal, and it
occurred to me that I had never wondered how Traken felt about all those
conversations we had had over the years. Maybe he had a soft spot after all? It
could explain why his face was slightly red.

“Are you blushing?” I asked. His head
snapped towards me.

“Don't give yourself the credit,
princess.”

But I had, and I was quite pleased
with myself. I followed him, light-footed, as he started off through the trees.
I was trying to skirt ahead to see his face again, but his pace was too quick.

“Come on, please say it was blushing.
You know how many innuendos we've thrown at each other over the years, and I
never once got so much as shy eyes? This is fabulous.”

“You are completely out of your mind,”
Traken growled back. I could hear the laughter in his voice, though. I followed
him through a small clump of trees, and was surprised to see the horses waiting
on the other side. Those large, emotionless beasts stared at us with hollow
eyes.

“This isn't where we left them,” I
commented.

“Yes,” Traken said, “but it is where
they are.”

“Can’t we just walk the rest of the
way?”

He smirked as he pulled himself up
onto the back of his own horse. “Suddenly you're a grouch. Not much of a
horse-person?”

“Oh no, I like horses,” I said,
glaring at the beautiful silver and black stallion in front of me. “Real ones, that
I don't have to ride. That weren't made by you.”

“Ouch,” Traken said, stroking his
horse's mane. “Poor things. Don't listen to the cranky lady.”

“I wasn’t insulting the horses,” I said,
finally mounting. His wicked eyes gleamed as he turned, letting the horses lead
us—somehow—back to the path. In minutes we were heading peacefully through the
forest again, listening to wind rustle the dark green trees and dry leaves
crunch under the horse’s hooves. It was almost as if nothing had happened at
all; no pain, no death. It wasn’t right to think so, but the best I had ever
been able to do was move on, and try to bear each weight without letting it
pull me under. I wondered, in the silence that had taken us, whether Traken
carried such weight too. Was he thinking of it now? Was he regretting?

“I'm hungry,” I told him suddenly. He
didn't answer, a little ways up ahead, and I felt a grin coming on. “I'm also
thirsty.” He didn't react that time either, but I was confident in the next
one. “Are we there yet?”

 Traken's shoulders started to shake,
and I smiled under the brim of my hat as his soft laughter floated back to me.

We did not
stop until the sun was already finding its way to the horizon again. Traken
kept us at a gallop from the moment we exited the small, twisting paths of the
Falcons' woods and started on the expansive main road that led north-east. We
did not stop to eat
or
drink, and barely stopped to relieve ourselves. I
did have a canteen and some dry crackers, but it was nearly impossible to make
use of either safely on top of Traken's ridiculous steeds. Twice I ended with
water in my face instead of my mouth, and I had to give up on the crackers when
I dropped half of them. To keep my mind off my stomach I attempted to read my
little book with the worn red cover, but the horses were not smooth enough to
focus. Traken stayed mostly in front of me, a hard place to converse from, and
so I was left with nothing to do but to study the horrified faces of the people
we passed on the road and wonder where our destination would lead us. 

I knew the
route we were taking, though I had not been down it in a very long time and I
had never used the forest near Rusuro as a shortcut. This road was one that,
for all I had ever known, ended abruptly in a town called Gronmid. That
couldn't be our final destination, but there were no main roads after that.
There were old hunting paths leading north, but not to any major cities.
Perhaps Traken's lord had power over a much smaller province than I had been
led to believe.

Regardless,
the horses were going unnecessarily fast, in my opinion. They did not tire,
whereas I did, and I was astonished I was still on the saddle by the time we
finally slowed before the high arches of the entrance to Gronmid. The solid
pillars of shining blue and gray were a welcome sight, and also an attractive
fascination. I could see from this vantage that what had once been rough
hunting paths leading north was now a full road that traveled past Gronmid and
up and around the nearby hills of rocky forest. The clean-cut roadway was not
the only thing that had changed.

The town,
displayed through those long, shining arches, was not the one I had known.
Trapper tents and dirt streets had been replaced by glamorous buildings and
cobbled pathways. Along these pathways, many varieties of people strolled
between rolling carts and clumsy horses. Unlike Rusuro, there did not seem to
be a heavy line dividing the rich from the poor; rather, Gronmid seemed to be a
place of middle ground. There were a few extremes, and there were certainly those
that looked better off than others, but they mingled together and not a single
face looked like it was going hungry. In fact, the townspeople were vivacious,
glowing and grinning at each other. I suspected this had to do with the banners
and flags erected all over town; faces peering up at the blue sky told me they
were preparing for their own version of the Week of Colors festival.

As we entered
through the gates, I was taken with the music that swelled around us, soulful
and lively. I had heard that Gronmid was currently a popular center for song
and dance, but I could not have guessed how much so. Symphonies developed from
all corners of the large town, but instead of competing and drowning each other
out, they worked together to create an ongoing melody. Though the festival had
yet to start, crowds of people were gathering in the streets and others in
elaborate and colorful costumes swayed and danced on the sidelines. It was like
entering a different world compared to the Kurdak I was used to.

“I have never
seen a place so alive with sound,” I told Traken as our horses joined a jumble
of carriages and carts trying to get through the streets as well. “The air
feels normal, though... is there no magic involved in it?”

“Not much,”
he said, eyes roaming as well. “Gronmid is a beehive of raw talent these
days... they have schools just for the arts. People come from miles to see the
performances that go on here.” He indicated the packed inn stables lining the
street. “If we can find an inn with a vacancy, this would be the ideal place to
spend the night.”

Our large
horses were attracting lavish attention from the townspeople, who were either
waving at us from afar or pressing in to pat the soft noses of our steeds. The
absolute lack of a reaction from the horses thrilled them to pieces, and they
laughed and grinned up at us. The reaction was really quite surprising; Traken
still wore my mercenary robe, our clothes were torn all over, and we were
wearing swords in plain view—at least Traken had used his magic to get rid of
the blood—and yet no one seemed too concerned. That would have made sense in
the days when Gronmid was a town that made its living off hunting, but now it
felt bizarre.

“Where is
there a place to stay?” I heard Traken ask someone. A shy girl with elaborate
blue designs embroidered on the cuffs of a green robe smiled at him.

“Over there,”
she said, pointing further on. “The Marlduk Inn. They're a lil' more expensive
than most, sir, but they have good rooms, and the only ones left in town.”

“Perfect,”
Traken said. The girl stopped him with a timid wave.

“'Scuse me,
sir, but they're a picky sort. They won't let you in like that.” She looked
down at her tiny shoes like she was afraid of getting yelled at. “They don't
want no one who doesn't look fancy. They've kicked me out before.”

“Ah, is that
so?” he asked, smiling. The girl blushed, fooled, and hurried away before I
could insert my manners and say thank you.

“Oh, to be
one of your despised mind-mages,” Traken said, tilting his head back towards me.
“Charms or illusions would work nicely here. I could always create a light show
and scare the innkeeper into letting us stay. No one ever likes saying no to a
magic-user.”

“You're
really getting tipsy on this moon drug, aren't you?” I asked. I saw something
move behind him, and my smile vanished. A suspicious man was weaving through
the crowd towards us with obvious intent. He stopped at the nose of Traken's
horse, and Traken followed my gaze to look at him.

The shapeless
figure wrapped in a velvet blue cloak bowed. “Master Traken, I have been
waiting for you. You are running a bit behind.”

“He is
upset?” Traken asked, folding his ringed fingers in front of him.

“No, just
following through.” The hooded figure glanced my way, then back down again. I
saw a glimmer of dark eyes. “He received news that the Le Fam were tracking
you.”

“They have
already attacked and failed. Tell him we'll be beyond the forest soon enough,
so he won't have to worry.”

“He says...”
the figure hesitated. “He says to remind you that you are not the only one
whose powers are amplified during this time. He says if your presence threatens
the well-being of his package any further, he will be forced to disqualify you
and send someone else to finish the delivery.”

“A package,
huh?” I asked, leaning my chin on my fist. Surprisingly, Traken reacted badly.
The air bristled with energy, and the hunched man began to tremble under his
gaze.

“This is
mine. Tell him that clearly.” Traken leaned forward. “I will carry out my
mission, and if he sends anyone else, I will kill them.”

Perhaps the
hooded man could no longer find the will to speak, because he merely bowed and
quickly pushed his way back through the crowd. I tried to follow his exit, but
a carriage passed through my line of sight, and when it was gone so was he.
Traken stared at his own hands for a while, even as the horses moved themselves
dutifully through the town. He was clutching the sleeves of the mercenary robe.

“Even
your
pride can be hurt, huh?” I mused aloud. Traken's eyes shot to mine.

“It isn't a
matter of pride. There is no question that I am the most qualified for this.”

“Oh? What is
it a matter of, then?”

Traken opened
his mouth, but words didn't come. I tried a different approach.

“Who was
that? Another sorcerer working for your lord?”

“Yes, he has
a few. It is how he stays so well informed.”

“Are they
assassins and information-gatherers like you?”

His smile
turned sharp. “Not all. He does not trust easily, my master. Of his elite group
of magic-users, it is rare that any of us know what each other is doing at any
given time. If one slips up, he will send another to kill them and take their
place.”

My tongue
felt a little dry. “That… doesn’t sit well. You implied he was charismatic, but
I can’t say I am very drawn.”

“He has immense
power, and there isn’t anything more addictive than that. Those with dreams of
being something great flock to his side. They know the price if they mess up,
and yet they choose to follow of their own free will. You spoke earlier of the
grandeur of choice… would you judge them?”

“It is up to
each what would make them happiest,” I agreed reluctantly. “I think that
morality must play some part, though. If what your lord wants is wrong, then
why should it be followed? His word is only as strong as the people who agree
to follow it.”

Traken’s
laugh was dry, and he slid his fingers through the fragile threads of his
amulets. “Wrong? Wrong would then imply an opposite, a ‘right’. We are too old
for such notions, Blood Fox.”

I cocked my
head towards him, brow furrowed. “I have never thought as such. Even in my
wildest, darkest hours, I have always believed in what is wrong… I can feel it
now, in my very core.” I shrugged, and pulled the brim of my hat down lower as
a crowd of children rushed by, chasing each other. “If there must be an
opposite to ‘wrong’,” I continued, “so be it. I am prepared to believe in
‘right’ just as readily.”

“Desires and
hidden agendas control the world,” he said simply. “That is the only truth I
have ever found. If you have no strong desires of your own, you pick someone
else's to follow.”

“Traken, how
do you even stay interested in life with those sorts of beliefs?”

“How do you?”
he asked, and snapped his fingers. The horses came to an abrupt stop, and a few
young girls who had been trying to catch my horse’s tail laughed and scattered.
“I merely accept facts at face-value, instead of trying to fool myself with the
idea of control. You would drive yourself crazy doing otherwise.”

“Sanity is
all perspective,” I said with a laugh, jumping down from my saddle without
waiting for confirmation. My feet, still sandal-less, hit the stone road in a disagreeable
way, but I was too happy to be on solid ground again to complain. As soon as
Traken dismounted as well the horses banked off into an alleyway all on their
own and disappeared.

“Magic
again,” I said, shaking my head. “While you're in the mood, do you have any
more spells like that blood-cleaning one? If we could at least patch what we
have we might stand a chance of getting into that inn.”

His chuckle
was not encouraging. “That 'blood-cleaning' spell, as you put it, isn't exactly
meant for hygiene. I've merely gotten creative over the years. I'm afraid my
repertoire does not include patching clothing, but I could always steal us
something fancy off the visiting nobility.” The expression on my face seemed
not to concern him. “What? They wouldn't notice. How could they possibly keep
track of every single article they own? They have so many.”

“First of
all,” I said, ”I am purposely not going to ask you further about that blood
spell because I know you want me to, and I don’t want to know. Secondly,
besides the obvious etiquette issue of taking someone’s things, what if they do
notice and then see us wearing them?”

“Oh, that
sounds like fun,” Traken said. I tried not to laugh.

“You are
ridiculous, and I need to find something to put on my feet... preferably not
someone else's stolen goods. Perhaps I can do you a favor and mend this robe I
borrowed as well. If they won't let me in after that, I could always resort to
the festival robe from yesterday.”

“Yes, please
do,” he said. “Ribbons and all.”

I made a face
at the idea and moved aside for two people carrying planks of wood. The sky was
filling with golden clouds; sunset was only an hour or two away, which meant I
had a very limited amount of time to find open shops before the festivities
started. I backed away, sending Traken a jaunty wave. “I will meet you here
before it gets dark. Don’t worry, Dogboy, I’m not going to run away.”

He did not
reply, but his deceptive smile followed me through the crowd, raising the hairs
on the back of my neck long after he should have lost sight of me. As the
scents and sounds of this magnificent and foreign town overwhelmed me, I wondered
again whether I was truly following the Angelblood’s path.

I soon found
myself in a bright, whimsical tailor shop in the middle of town, alive with
more people than Rusuro's shops saw on a good day. There had to be at least
five or six tailors employed here, running about cutting and measuring; each of
them had assistants holding their things and keeping notes. The styles here
were unusual, which delighted me immensely. Not a single article of clothing on
display was plain; everything, down to the simplest scarf, had frills and buttons
and fantastic colors.

It took the
people inside ten minutes to notice I was there. When someone did approach, it
was a stern lady in a curvy dark green dress. She had eye spectacles, sharp
gold ones with green feathers wafting off the sides, which she held up to her
face on their ivory stick to examine me. Her purple-painted lips puffed out.