Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  Alain stopped immediately. Another one of his nervous tics. He had not realized he’d been humming at all. Taira must think him a fool.

  Alain made every effort not to move, speak, or make any sound at all for the rest of the carriage ride.

  Dusk had fallen when they finally arrived in the city. Mavenil, the capital city of Maven Kol, was an anomaly in the desert. The sight of the sandstone buildings, the clay and thatched rooftops, shaded a dark blue in the evening light, made Alain happy. He had missed the city. He’d missed the dust of the streets, the light on the buildings. He’d missed the scarab statues of House Destrinar that now rose high above them. And even at dusk, Mavenil was full of sound. People shouted and argued, animals neighed, bayed, and howled. The noise was a welcome distraction from the silence that weighed heavy between Alain, Taira, and Gainil.

  From outside of the carriage, a deafening explosion shattered the silence. One of the scarab statues Alain had been staring at burst into flames, so loud and so hot Alain felt it and heard it all at once, and just like that his own internal fire engulfed his mind. One moment he was looking up at the massive scarab statues, then came a loud crash and a wave of heat, and his thoughts collapsed inward. His mind took him back to a memory of the palace, of screaming and the smell of burning flesh.

  Alain fought the panic, fought the feeling that threatened to claw its way out of him. He closed his eyes, using one of the tricks Brother Maddagon had taught him, and began to count. He concentrated on his breathing. Nothing happened at first, but when he got to twenty, the flames in his mind began to diminish. By the time he reached fifty, they were only sparks. At sixty-seven, they were gone.

  Alain opened his eyes to see the carriage turned over on its side, engulfed in flames. He lay outside of the carriage, Taira at his side, and flames surrounded them both. Real flames, Alain realized. These were not just in his mind.

  Had he caused this?

  His head spun. He couldn’t remember whether their carriage entered the city through the market gate or the dust gate. The buildings around them didn’t look familiar through the flames.

  People screamed, and Gainil’s guards—the Scarabs—ran back and forth, but Alain could not see his father anywhere. Already safe somewhere, no doubt. He could not stop the bitterness in his thoughts. Gainil was king, after all, and he needed protection first and foremost. But if he weren’t king, Alain knew that would not change.

  “Alain!” Taira shook him frantically. Alain had no idea how long she had been calling his name.

  “My Lord, my Lady, you both must come with me. Now.” A Scarab, one of his father’s guards, rushed up to them through the smoke. Alain recognized him as Captain Fedrick, only a few years Alain’s senior. They’d known one another since they were young.

  “We need to get you both to safety,” Fedrick said.

  Alain and Taira stood, but Alain stumbled, still disoriented. The fire around them was not as bad as the inferno in his mind had made it seem. In addition to knocking the carriage over and raining fire down on the street, the exploding scarab statue had also ignited the buildings behind it. Alain could not discern whether the structures were businesses or apartments or brothels or something else altogether, and even if he could, he was unsure whether he would be able to process it.

  Once the three of them made it to a blissfully flameless alley, Taira turned to face Alain. “A Trigger did this,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Alain said, shaking his head. “I—”

  “It wasn’t you,” Taira said emphatically.

  Alain stared at her. How could Taira possibly know what had caused the explosion? He popped his knuckles, fingers fidgeting. “If it wasn’t me,” he said slowly, “then who was it?”

  “I know it was not you, son.”

  He turned to see his father approaching, surrounded by a half-dozen Scarabs. The king walked with a slight limp, but otherwise appeared unharmed.

  He cannot be sure either. No one can. You caused this as much as anyone.

  Gainil walked up to Alain, until they stood facing one another. Alain had not been this close to his father since… since long before the Madness began. “I’ve feared an attack like this for some time, now. That is part of the reason I brought you back.” Gainil looked over his shoulder. “This is not the place for us to discuss this. We must get back to the palace.”

  * * *

  “Tell us what’s going on,” Taira demanded as they entered the Decision Room of the royal palace. Alain was grateful for her in that moment, even if she did not say it for his sake. Taira’s life had been threatened just as much as anyone else’s, and she had a right to know.

  Fedrick stood at the entrance, while Gainil swept around the large square table. “I will, in time,” he said. “But first, there are a few introductions to be made.”

  Alain and Taira turned to see a woman walk into the room. He had never met this woman before, and that made him nervous.

  He clenched his fists. He’d felt some form of anxiety and fear every moment of his life, for as long as he could remember. But sometimes it spiked inside of him, bubbling up in his chest. It was a feeling very much like excitement, but imbued with a dark dread. A tight, fluttering feeling in his chest, constricting his heart and his gut. Since the Madness, his anxiety had also been accompanied by rising flames in his mind—flames that threatened to reach out and become reality.

  “Alain, this is Lailana,” Gainil said. “My wife.”

  Alain had to physically restrain himself from humming as he stared at the woman. Of course. He had received a letter informing him of his father’s marriage.

  “Alain.”

  Alain coughed. “I am sorry.” He bowed to Lailana, bending at the waist. “I am grateful to meet you.” Now she thought him a fool, too, and Taira surely even more so.

  “Now,” Gainil said, “I must tell you why—”

  “Did somebody start a party without inviting me?”

  A second person Alain had never seen before strode into the Decision Room. A man, handsome and clean-shaven, with pale skin, golden-blonde hair, and a smirk on his face. Anxiety spiked within him again, the dark feeling tightening around his insides, threatening to obstruct his breath. It was immediately relieved, just in the slightest, when he saw the annoyed look on his father’s face. The king was not used to being interrupted.

  Anyone who got under his father’s skin couldn’t be that bad.

  “My apologies, your grace,” Fedrick said. “I told our guest to wait outside, but he insisted on being part of this meeting.”

  “Not a problem,” Gainil said, though the way his mouth turned down said otherwise. “He probably should be here, after all. This concerns him.”

  This man approached Alain and Taira. He bowed, though he bent only at the neck. “Prince Alain Destrinar-Kol, I presume. The pleasure is all mine.”

  Alain cracked his knuckles, and shook the man’s hand. His grip was strong.

  “Code Fehrway. I assume your father has told you why I’m here?”

  “I was just getting to that,” Gainil said.

  Code grinned. “I arrived just in time, then.” He turned to Taira and bowed. “My Lady. I’m happy to see you again.”

  “And I you,” Taira said with a genuine smile. A smile Alain wished she might give him.

  “Very well then,” Code said, straightening. He strode to the square table at the front of the room, sat himself down at one of the chairs, and kicked his feet up on the table.

  Alain’s breathing quickened just watching the man. His appreciation for Code would clearly be short-lived; his father would never stand for such behavior. Not from anyone other than himself.

  But Gainil only cleared his throat. “Alain, Code is a representative of the Citadel.”

  Code’s smile widened. “His Majesty is being coy. I’m a Nazaniin agent, Alain. I’ve come to investigate these reports of Madness, as you all like to call it.” He met Alain’s eyes apologetically. “I am sorry
to hear of your own suffering, Your Highness. You have my sympathy.”

  Something inside Alain told him he didn’t. While people rarely referred to the Nazaniin publicly, all nobles knew of their existence. And “agents” was not the name generally used for people of that particular order. The Nazaniin were assassins. What business their organization could possibly have in Maven Kol, Alain could not guess.

  “I assume you are aware of events in Roden?” Code asked, looking at the king.

  “The empire is clearly a waning power,” Gainil said. “Two dead emperors in the space of a year, and religious and civil unrest among its people.”

  Code snorted. “Unrest. Accurate enough, but there are some details that have not been revealed to the… the general public, shall we say?”

  Gainil’s brow furrowed. “Such as?”

  Again, Alain felt a thrill of satisfaction at his father’s discomfort.

  Code’s smile returned, and he spread his arms wide. “The Rising of the Nine Daemons, of course.”

  Taira gasped. Lailana, who had moved to stand next to Gainil, looked strangely calm, but Gainil laughed.

  Alain’s elation died immediately with Code’s words, and flames rose in his mind. A clamp of terror squeezed his entire abdomen. The Nine Daemons. Impossibly powerful monsters of legend, returning to the Sfaera. Such silly Cantic lore could not be true. And yet, Alain could manipulate fire with his own Madness. Who was to say what was true anymore?

  Alain hummed tunelessly, and began to count.

  “You expect us to believe such nonsense?” Lailana said.

  Code shrugged. “Believe me or not, I don’t care. You asked why I’m here, and I’m telling you.”

  “No one believes tales of the Nine anymore. They are stories told to children to scare them into going to bed.”

  “‘Anymore’ might be the key word you just uttered,” Code said. “Just because no one believes the stories doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”

  Alain only had to count to twenty-seven this time before the flames receded.

  “What do the Daemons have to do with us?” Gainil asked.

  Alain’s eyes latched onto his father. The man’s eyebrows were knitted together. He is afraid to order this man around, Alain realized. He had never seen such a thing.

  “Have you heard of Nadir?” Code asked. “The Daemon of Insanity?”

  “Who?” Gainil asked.

  “You didn’t pay attention much at the Citadel when you were a student there, did you? Each of the Nine Daemons has an accompanying vice. Azael, the chief Daemon, feeds upon fear. Mefiston on wrath, Iblin on greed, Bazlamit on deception, and so on. Nadir feeds on insanity.”

  Gainil scoffed. “You can’t possibly believe that is what’s happening here.”

  Code’s feet swung down from the table, and he leaned forward, glaring at Gainil. For the first time since Alain had met the man, he seemed deadly earnest.

  “I just came from an island where the dead rose to consume the living, and it was all because of one of the Nine. So, quite honestly, I don’t care what you believe. But I’m here to investigate Nadir, and her involvement in this Madness. You can help me or not. I don’t much care.”

  Silence reigned in the Decision Room.

  Alain shifted his weight. He wanted to say something. He cracked his knuckles. “You still haven’t told me what caused that explosion, Father.”

  Gainil glared at Code a moment longer, then met Alain’s eyes.

  “Of course. It will be good for the Nazaniin to hear this, too. It concerns the strange phenomena occurring lately within our borders.”

  Gainil walked up to the map, which portrayed the city of Mavenil. “You remember the Denizens?” he asked, looking at Alain.

  “A group of commoners who conspired to bring about political change in Maven Kol.” They’d started stirring up trouble a few months before the Madness began.

  “Political change?” Code asked.

  “They want to emulate Khale’s republic,” Alain said.

  “Ah.” Code nodded. “They want to get rid of you monarchs.”

  “More or less,” Gainil said. “Their influence has increased. They’ve even won some of the lesser houses over to their cause.”

  Taira gripped Alain’s hand. “They’ve done some terrible things, Alain. They don’t care who they hurt in their attacks.”

  Alain’s breathing picked up the moment Taira touched him. She seemed to recognize it, and let go of his hand slowly.

  “What does this have to do with me?” Alain asked, tearing his attention away from Taira. “Why did I need to come back now?”

  “They’ve recruited some Triggers to their cause,” Gainil said. “And, as you saw earlier this evening, they are willing to use them as weapons.”

  “They’ve broken the treaty,” Alain said quietly.

  “Hold on a minute,” Code said. He sat back in the chair, and once again placed his feet upon the table. Gainil’s face darkened.

  “You’re going to need to go through some of this with me,” Code continued. “Triggers? Treaty? What are you talking about?”

  “Triggers are what we call those who have been touched by the Madness,” Taira said. “Alain is a Trigger.”

  “And what makes him a Trigger, exactly? He’s a bit crazy, I get that. Anything else?”

  Alain flexed his fingers, then cracked each knuckle.

  “When the Madness touched him, it had a certain… a certain side effect,” Taira said. Her hand touched the scars on her neck. “This manifests differently in every Trigger, but Alain can… he could… he does—”

  “I can manipulate fire,” Alain said quickly. He could not bear to hear Taira stumble over it any longer. “The more out of control I feel, the more powerful the flames become.”

  “You can manipulate fire,” Code repeated, eyes narrowed at Alain. He folded his hands behind his head, leaning back even further into the chair. He glanced at Taira. “That seems a powerful ability.”

  “It is powerful,” Alain said, “but not effective or useful. The more powerful I become, the less in control of myself and my powers I really am.”

  Code grunted. “I might understand a thing or two about that,” he said, turning back to Taira. “You mentioned other effects? What are they?”

  “The magic involved is elemental,” Taira responded. “Some can manipulate the wind, others water or earth. And, of course, fire, but only those four. At least that’s what we’ve observed so far.”

  “And the treaty you mentioned?”

  “A treaty signed by every noble family, and many other people of import in the kingdom as well, to refrain from using Triggers as weapons. They are too unstable. Everyone agreed to sign.”

  “Everyone?” Code asked. “In the whole kingdom?”

  “I’ll rephrase that,” Gainil said. “Everyone of any import agreed to sign.”

  “But now someone is breaking that treaty.”

  “Yes,” Gainil said. “Our spies tell us it is the Denizens, and the small houses who’ve joined them. They grow more powerful, and threaten our very way of life. They want to destroy the high nobility and all we represent.”

  Would that be such a bad thing? Alain wondered. His father was a shrewd leader, but he would never put the needs of the people before his own.

  Lailana stepped forward, locking eyes with Alain. “That is why we have brought you back, Alain. We want you to help us in our fight against the Denizens.”

  “Help how? By breaking the treaty?”

  “The treaty is already broken, Alain. You are the only hope we have to defend ourselves.”

  Alain looked to his father. “Is this true? This is why you brought me back?” Not because you care for me. Not because you think I’m ready.

  Because you need a weapon?

  He could say none of that, however. His father would outspeak him anyway, embarrass him in front of all these people.

  “I need your help, son,” Gainil said.


  Tentatively, carefully, Taira reached out and grasped Alain’s hand once more. “We need your help.” Then, more quietly, she whispered, “If you will not do it for him, do it for me, Alain. Please.”

  Alain met Taira’s eyes.

  Making amends is about living a decent life, and helping those around me.

  “I’ll help,” Alain said. But he said it to Taira, not his father.

  * * *

  As Alain left the Decision Room, he worried about the choice he had just made. The first task his father had given him was to infiltrate the lower noble houses that had aligned themselves with the Denizens—to gain their trust. Alain had agreed to attend a noble ball the night after next to do just that. The strain in Gainil and Alain’s relationship was not unknown to the nobility, and his status as a Trigger would make him a valuable asset to the movement.

  A small part of Alain wanted to laugh. His father clearly did not know him well enough if he thought Alain would be remotely effective at “infiltrating” and “ingratiating” himself into anything. But fear overcame a much larger part of him. He’d barely turned the corner in the hallway when he had to stop and put both hands on the wall to steady himself.

  Flames rose higher and higher in his head.

  Alain swore. He hated the stupid counting tactic, but it was one of the few that worked for him, as long as he caught himself early enough.

  Alain had gotten as high as fifty-four, and the flames were just beginning to recede, when someone said his name.

  He opened his eyes to see Code standing next to him.

  “You all right, mate?”

  Alain blinked.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, somewhat caught off guard by Code’s informality. Caught off guard, but strangely calmed by it, as well. It felt good to not be called “Your Highness” for once.

  “Can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t be too happy if I were in your place. You got the short end of the stick in more ways than one.”

  “Maybe,” Alain said, “but I have amends to make.”

  Code raised one eyebrow. “Amends? What manner of amends?”

  “I caused great harm when I first fell to the Madness. I’ve got to do something about that.”