Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  “Were you normal before?” Code asked. “Before the Madness, I mean.”

  Normal? A crack of fear opened in his chest. He hated talking about his problems.

  “I’ve always been nervous, if that’s what you mean,” Alain said. “But it got worse after the Madness. The whole thing with the fire didn’t help.”

  “No, I can’t imagine it did,” Code said. “I’m sorry, mate.”

  Alain didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make an ass of himself in front of this man.

  “You aren’t one for words, I see that. I do have a few questions for you, though, if you don’t mind.”

  Alain wanted to leave this man without another word. He actually liked Code, but between his hasty departure from the community, the Trigger attack in the city, and navigating his treacherous relationship with his father, Alain wanted more than anything to be alone and to find some semblance of peace. But he did not dare refuse the request of a Nazaniin. Not unless there was a profoundly good reason to do so.

  “Go ahead,” Alain said. “Talk.” He turned to lean his back against the wall, pressing the back of his head into the stone.

  “I might know how to stop the Madness from spreading,” Code said.

  Alain opened his eyes. “There’s a cure?”

  “Not a cure. But if what is happening here is anything like what happened on Arro, then the Madness has a source. In Alizia, there was a source. Once we removed that, the nightmare stopped. I’m hoping the same will be true here as well. More or less.”

  Not a cure, but an end of sorts. Perhaps the nightmare could be stopped here, as well. If he could help bring an end to the Madness that plagued Maven Kol, perhaps Taira would look at him with a genuine smile on her face. Perhaps his father would respect him.

  And, in his heart of hearts, Alain hoped he might finally be rid of the anxiety that had crippled him his entire life.

  “What kind of source?” Alain whispered.

  “In Alizia, it was a man. The avatar of the Daemon Hade. It must be the same here. Nadir has found herself an avatar. The Madness must be spreading from there.”

  “There are thousands of people in Mavenil; millions in Maven Kol. How are we to find the avatar?”

  “That’s where I could use your help,” Code said.

  Why does everyone suddenly need my help? Alain wondered. It was all too much; most convalescents worked up to their re-entry into society gradually, taking things one step at a time. Alain, in contrast, felt he was being thrown headfirst down a long flight of stairs.

  But if he could stop the nightmare, wouldn’t it be worth it?

  “You haven’t had any… any sort of strange communication lately, have you?” Code asked.

  Alain blinked. All his communication was strange. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean something like voices in your head. Voices that talk to you, try to get you to do things.”

  “Are you really asking a madman whether or not he hears voices in his head?”

  That, at least, got a chuckle out of Code. “Guess I am. I didn’t think you were the type to hear voices, though. Was I wrong about that?”

  “You weren’t wrong.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  Code’s smile faded. “Because some voices are real,” he said.

  “You mean this Daemon, Nadir, might try to talk to me?”

  “It’s a possibility. Based on what I’ve seen, that’s how it works.”

  “You said you’d seen the dead rise. Where was this? When?”

  Code took a deep breath and leaned his back against the wall, alongside Alain. “A few months ago. On Arro Isle.”

  “Arro Isle,” Alain murmured. A small resort island, part of Alizia. “You were victorious?”

  Code’s eyes darted away, just for a moment. “Don’t know whether or not you can call it a ‘victory.’ But we stopped the nightmare, like I said.”

  Alain didn’t say anything to that.

  “I’d like you to help me,” Code said after a moment.

  “Help you how?”

  “You’re affected by all this. By Nadir’s influence. More so than anyone I’ve yet had contact with.”

  “So you want me to tell you what it’s like?”

  Code looked surprised. “No,” he said. “I want you to help me find the bitch. Kill her, too, if we can.”

  “I’m already helping my father,” he said. I’m already helping Taira.

  “You can do both. Wouldn’t surprise me if they intertwined a bit, and if they don’t… Oblivion, your father can have priority, that’s fine. I’d just like a bit of help now and again. You spoke about making amends before. No better way to go about it than this.”

  Amends. It all seemed to come back to amends, recently. Whether the term would actually ever have any meaning to him, Alain didn’t know.

  But if he could stop the nightmare, maybe he could do more than make amends. Maybe he could finally be made whole, and live a normal life.

  “I’ll help you,” he said.

  Code smiled. “Wonderful.”

  * * *

  Leave it to Alain’s father to hold a ball the day after an attempt on his own life. There was a reason for it, of course—Alain needed to make contact with the Denizens—but the ostentatious gesture was typical of his father.

  Nevertheless, Alain could not help but look up in awe at the Great Hall of the royal palace. Long stained-glass windows depicting feats of strength and heroics of House Destrinar lined the east wall, almost reaching from floor to ceiling. Tall granite arches rose up over each window, supporting the massive rafters above. Tapestries covered the west wall, huge woven depictions of the history of Maven Kol, and particularly the Destrinar role—both glorious and profound, according to the tapestry.

  Knowing his father, Alain could not help but suspect that the tapestries exaggerated more than a few things.

  In the middle of the hall a fountain rose from the marble. Crystal-clear water cascaded down three tiers of circular wells, each reflecting light from the windows. The three wells represented the three tiers of Maven Kol: the top well was the royal family. Alain’s family. The middle well represented the nobility, serving as vassals to the royal house and intermediaries to the last tier, the commoners.

  Alain walked past the fountain, past lords and ladies in formal suits and extravagant gowns, past the king near his throne, silver crown high on his head, and straight to a group near the large entrance to the Great Hall. A group he would never have associated with normally, but one he needed to contact nonetheless.

  His reminiscing had allowed him a brief escape, but now that he approached the entire reason his father had held this ball in the first place, he popped his knuckles. Sweat dripped down his spine, cold and indifferent. Inescapable fear trailed his every step; a dozen scenarios raced through his mind, each one demonstrating how this mission his father had given him could go wrong.

  “Alain.”

  He turned to see Taira approaching him, a smile on her face. She wore a sleek, flowing yellow dress, draped perfectly over her body. The neck was open, showing more of her scars than Alain had yet seen. A flash of shame flooded through him, and once again he wanted to run.

  I can’t do this, he thought to himself. I cannot be around her.

  “Hello,” he said instead, popping knuckles. Goddess rising, he wished he did not have to do that. Such stupid tics must be obvious to everyone around him.

  “I am glad you came,” she said. She stopped in front of him, close but without contact. She raised a hand, perhaps to take his, but froze before they touched.

  “Is it… is it all right if I take your hand?” she asked.

  Alain stared at her, surprised. No one had ever considered him enough to ask something like that before. The flames in his mind receded just a touch.

  “I… I suppose it is,” he stammered.

  As her fingers entwined with his own, his heart
hammered within his chest. Part of that was good, it had to be. But so much of it was his own inadequacy, his own fear and worry that something could go wrong, that this was all some elaborate joke or scheme, that Taira actually did not like him at all. The thoughts threatened to overwhelm him.

  “Let me introduce you to some people,” she said, and led him to a group that stood near the fountain. Away from the lesser nobles that Alain was here to infiltrate. At least here, Taira could help him, but Alain’s mind still screamed in protest. He had a task to accomplish; he had to do as his father ordered, for her sake. He wished he could express his thoughts to Taira properly, but forming them in his mind and throat was as impossible as pouring the desert sands into a glass.

  “Alain, this is Kairin Traxus, Erain Gilbern, and Hannail Koln. They’ve become good friends of mine over the past year or so—”

  “I’ve met them before,” Alain said, glancing at Taira. “I’ve met each of you before. Before the Madness, I mean.”

  Taira gave a quick laugh. “Of course you did. Silly of me to forget.”

  “Your Highness,” Kairin said—a petite woman, with a wide, inviting smile. “I am happy to see you again. I trust the past few months have treated you well?”

  “Well enough, thank you.”

  “You look well, Your Highness,” Hannail said.

  Alain bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I trust your time away was… helpful?” Erain asked.

  Alain smiled, but said nothing to that. What did one say, after all? Alain expected his time at the Red Community—and the reasons behind it—to be more or less common knowledge among the nobility. Congratulations on knowing my business, Alain wanted to say. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he cracked his knuckles until Taira placed her hand over his, giving him an awkward smile. Alain’s cheeks grew hot.

  A few moments of uncomfortable silence trudged past, and Alain felt his control begin to slip.

  He could not have an anxiety attack here. Not now.

  “There was a time where you could host balls and no one went crazy and no one burst into flames,” Alain said with a forced chuckle.

  The others stared at one another.

  Immediately he berated himself. How could he say something like that in front of Taira? Humor had never been his strong point, but this was hopeless. How did his father expect him to accomplish anything worthwhile tonight?

  Taira, however, did not seem to mind. A small frown creased her face, but she squeezed his hand anyway, calming the raging fears inside him.

  “Did someone… have an incident tonight?” Hannail asked, finally breaking the awkward silence.

  Alain’s eyes widened. “No! No, er… it was just a…” Alain trailed off, completely lost.

  Taira grabbed him by the arm. “Good seeing you all,” she said. “There’s someone Alain should meet.”

  She led Alain away before their goodbyes dissipated.

  Alain cleared his throat. “Taira, I’m so sorry,” he said. He was supposed to be making amends, not jokes. He should have known better than to speak up.

  “How is your assignment going?” Taira asked. Clearly, she did not want to talk about what had just happened. Alain did not blame her. The tight, fluttering feeling was back, clamping around his insides.

  “I was just about to introduce myself when you found me.”

  Taira stopped, releasing his hand. “You haven’t spoken with them yet?”

  “I…” Alain could not form the words to respond. The darkness constricted further around his chest and stomach.

  “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have wasted your time.” Taira looked around, then leaned in close to whisper, “Do your duty before the Denizens leave. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until the next event on the social calendar to make another attempt.”

  Alain’s breathing picked up, his heart racing. He had to get away. He would not lose control again, not in public.

  “I’ll get it done,” he choked out, then walked away without a backward glance at Taira. He would not put her in danger, not again.

  Alain struggled to maintain even breaths as he stumbled to the edge of the Great Hall. Between a few of the stained-glass windows, doors opened onto balconies that overlooked the city. He managed to make his way to one of these, leaving the cacophony of the ball behind him, and leaned heavily on the stone railing. The flames were high in his mind, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The air began to spark around him.

  He started to count.

  Alain lived his entire life in varying states of terror, worry, and anxiety, but when a full-blown attack occurred, those feelings magnified a thousandfold. He feared everything— what had gone wrong in the past, what occurred in any given moment, and of course what could happen in the future—but most of all, he was afraid of the fear itself. He was constantly treading water, and the only thing between himself and sheer hysteria was his own willpower.

  Right now, his willpower was drowning quickly.

  “I’m here if you need me.”

  Alain spun around, backing up against the balcony, and a flash of orange flame ignited in front of him. The brightness, in contrast to the dark city, blinded him for a moment, and he blinked through the pain to see Taira standing there, at the balcony entrance.

  No, not Taira, Alain realized as his vision stabilized.

  “I can’t… I can’t breathe,” Alain gasped. He was at two hundred and sixty-four in his head now, but the numbers did not seem to matter when he could not even draw breath.

  “I know how you feel,” the woman said. She took a step forward.

  She did not flinch. The thought passed through Alain’s mind like a lark through the palace gardens in the early morning. She did not flinch, despite the flame I ignited directly in front of her.

  Somehow, that was a small comfort.

  “I’ll wait here with you until it’s over,” she said. “If you like. This will pass, like all things.”

  Alain slumped down against the railing. He could not speak.

  At seven hundred and eighty-nine, the flames had finally died down.

  Alain looked up. The woman was still there, a few paces away, looking down at him. Dark hair, and dark brown eyes to match. A violet dress, though it seemed slightly too big on her small frame.

  “I told you it would pass,” the woman said. She was young, perhaps of an age with Alain himself. In her nineteenth, maybe twentieth year.

  Alain flushed with embarrassment. “I am sorry you had to see that.”

  The woman snorted. “I’ve seen a lot worse.” She looked at him, expressionless, but there was a sadness in her eyes Alain could not escape. He wished, immediately, that there was something he could do to help this woman, but knew the thought was ridiculous the moment it entered his head.

  Alain wanted to ask how, why, where she had seen worse, but he’d only just gotten himself under control. He could not risk losing that again.

  “You’re pretty,” the woman said. “If I weren’t betrothed, I’d think about courting you myself.”

  Alain stared. He’d never been spoken to in that way, let alone in public.

  The woman stepped up to him, touching him on the cheek. Taira had touched him that way, at the community. And yet there was something different between that and this.

  Alain stood quickly, and sidestepped away. She was beautiful, that much was easy to admit, but he could do nothing of the sort with her. He was tied to Taira, and owed her his fidelity along with a great deal more.

  The woman’s eyes turned down the moment Alain stepped away.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll see you in Oblivion.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked back into the Great Hall.

  Alain stood there, blinking. One moment the woman had been perfectly kind, comforting him, and the next…

  What in Oblivion just happened?

  Alain blinked. Music from inside the Great Hall drifted out to him.

 
He rushed back inside, looking for the group of nobles he needed to contact. Panic threatened to rise in him again when he saw they no longer occupied the space by the entrance to the Great Hall, but after searching the room he saw them, lingering by the three-tiered fountain.

  Alain took a deep breath.

  This is for Taira, he told himself. I must make amends. He would do it for her, without question.

  “Good evening,” Alain said as he approached. Flames licked the edge of his vision, but he did his best to ignore them. He had to, if it meant doing what he could for Taira.

  A tall man with dark hair, almost as tall as Alain, responded first.

  “Evening, Your Highness,” he said, eyeing Alain warily. The others—three other young men—bowed, but said nothing.

  “My name is Alain Destrinar-Kol,” Alain said, too late realizing the man had already called him “Highness.” Of course they knew his name, who he was. Stupid of him to assume they didn’t. The humiliation of such a silly mistake at the very beginning of the conversation almost made him turn and walk away; the flames licking the edges of his mind certainly bid him do as much. It was all he could do to remain where he was.

  “I am Sev Sarrton,” the man said, bowing once more. House Sarrton was small, but growing more powerful, especially with their connections to the Denizens.

  The other three men introduced themselves. Alain had heard of them, but they mattered little. Sev was the man he needed to speak with tonight, if he could find the presence of mind to speak at all.

  “What brings you to our circle?” Sev asked.

  Alain cleared his throat, about to make his argument, when someone else joined the conversation. A young woman, about Alain’s age. Brown hair, brown eyes. Violet dress.

  The woman from the balcony.

  “Your Highness, this is Morayne Wastrider,” Sev said. “She and I are betrothed.”

  Morayne bowed. “The prince and I have met, Sev,” she said.

  Sev’s eyebrows rose. “Have you? I was unaware.”

  Alain’s cheeks flushed. Surely she wouldn’t—

  “I told him if I wasn’t betrothed, I’d think about courting him myself,” Morayne said, her face betraying nothing. Alain was suddenly very aware that he regarded Morayne with the same expression with which people usually looked at him. Alain popped his knuckles, and then had to clasp both hands together to keep himself from wringing them.