Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  “Root-and-branch pose,” she announced.

  Alain raised one eyebrow. “I suppose I can see that. Your legs are the roots, and your arms the branches. Sure.”

  Morayne had already moved on to another stretch. “Graceful swan,” she announced, standing on one leg, the other parallel to the ground behind her, one arm straight in front, also parallel to the ground, and the other straight up opposite her standing leg.

  Alain nodded appreciatively. Morayne, for all her jesting, was actually good at these. Her limbs were limber enough to remain straight and poised, and strong enough to maintain the position without shaking or visible strain. “Can’t see how this one is supposed to be a swan, though,” he said.

  She showed him two or three other poses, stretching arms behind her back, craning her neck, and lifting one leg high in front of her.

  Suddenly an image came into Alain’s mind, and he couldn’t shake it. He began to laugh.

  Morayne dropped her hands, which had been raised above her head again, and looked at Alain.

  “What?”

  Alain laughed harder, unable to speak. He leaned against the table for support.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  Alain could tell he’d struck a nerve. Her beautiful brown eyes glared at him.

  “Brother Maddagon,” Alain managed between gasps, “taught you these poses?”

  “Yes,” Morayne said. “What’s so funny about that?”

  “Brother Maddagon is the most uncoordinated person I’ve ever met,” Alain said, calming down. “The thought of him doing any of these…”

  And then Alain was laughing again, tears in his eyes.

  This time, Morayne laughed, too. It was the first time Alain had seen her smile since they met. “I guess it was pretty funny,” she said, her eyes bright once more. “He attempted them, but could never quite make it. No wonder he didn’t teach them to you.”

  Alain breathed deeply, letting the laughter flow out of him. It felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this. In the Red Community, maybe, once or twice, but he couldn’t remember anything specific.

  Morayne placed her hand on his arm. Alain looked down, unsure what to do.

  “I’m betrothed,” he said, blurting it out.

  This only made Morayne laugh harder. “So am I,” she managed.

  Then she took her arm away, leaving Alain’s skin with the slightest tingle.

  “Thank you,” he said, before he knew he was saying it.

  She met his eyes, the spark still in hers. “For what?”

  “For making me laugh. It has been too long.”

  “Life is better when you laugh,” she said. “That’s something I’ve come to understand all too well.”

  Alain nodded. The Madness affected everyone differently—usually amplifying symptoms that were already there. For Alain, it was his anxiety. Based on what he’d seen of Morayne, and from what he knew of some of his fellow convalescents at the community, he suspected she was one of those who suffered constant melancholy, interrupted by brief frenzied episodes. He would not wish his own condition on anyone, but from what he had seen from those at the community, hers might be worse.

  He had not experienced what she felt. But based on how his own fear magnified when he caught the Madness, when he lost control, he dreaded to think of it.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, just as flames of anxiety rose again in Alain’s mind. Their return made him realize their absence throughout his conversation with Morayne. She actually put him at ease. The flames in his mind and the constricting darkness in his chest had hardly been noticeable.

  But now they were back, just as Sev walked through the door and rejoined them.

  Sev did not waste any time. “They’re cautious about you,” he said. “They want a demonstration of your loyalty. And your powers.”

  “But he’s in?” Morayne asked.

  “Tentatively,” Sev said with a nod.

  “Delightful,” Morayne said, although all sense of humor had evaporated from her face, and Alain couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.

  “We’ll contact you with further instruction about what to do from here,” Sev said. “We’ll start slowly. In the beginning it will have something to do with feeding us intelligence on Gainil’s plans and strategy. Is that something you can do?”

  “I can,” Alain said. He could certainly broker exactly what information to convey with his father and the others. And, perhaps, he’d feed the Denizens a bit more than that, too.

  “Watch for word from us.”

  “Very well.” Alain gripped Sev’s hand, exchanged a glance with Morayne, and then walked down the stairs, out of the tavern, and into the night.

  * * *

  Alain walked through the alleyway alone, cloak wrapped around him. The night was chilly. Mavenil was usually warm this time of year, but tonight was an exception.

  “Evening, mate.”

  Alain turned sharply, gripping the sword at his hip. Being the son of a king earned him a fair amount of training when it came to swordplay, but he was no master. It was all he could do to keep his hand on his hilt instead of cracking his knuckles.

  Code, the Nazaniin assassin, inclined his head. “Good to see you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Code smiled, opening his palms to Alain. “Just checking in with you. How goes your assignment?”

  “Well enough.” Alain started walking. If Code wanted to accompany him, he could keep up.

  “Good to hear. You made some progress tonight, I take it?”

  “I might have,” Alain said. As much as he’d taken a liking to Code, he couldn’t exactly trust this man yet. They hardly knew one another. “Best wait until I report to my father for the details.”

  Code shrugged. “Suit yourself, mate.”

  They walked together for a moment, moving from alleyway to alleyway toward the palace. Alain was about to demand what in the Sfaera the man wanted from him when Code spoke again.

  “Any insight on Nadir?” Code asked.

  Alain considered before responding. The hectic evening had caused him to completely forget Code’s request for help.

  “I don’t think so,” Alain said. “I still have no idea who Nadir’s avatar could be.”

  “No voices, yet?”

  Alain shook his head. Just flames.

  Code grunted. “While I’m somewhat disappointed, I suppose that’s a good thing on your end.”

  “What about you?” Alain asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Any leads?”

  Code took a deep breath. “Potentially. Nothing solid yet. But give me another day or so, and I might have something.”

  Alain was about to ask the nature of these leads, when Code stopped him with a hand on his chest.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Fedrick, the Scarab captain, turned the corner. When he saw them, he bowed slightly.

  Alain’s internal flames ignited, but not so much with fear this time. He was angry. “I made it explicitly clear that I was not to be followed.”

  Fedrick looked over his shoulder, then at Alain. “My apologies, Your Highness. His Majesty has new orders for you, and he bid me relay them to you immediately.”

  Alain sighed, popping his knuckles. For Taira’s sake, he had to play along.

  “A Scarab contingent awaits us nearby. We are to meet them, and participate in an assault on the Denizen headquarters.”

  “The Denizen… How do you know where the Denizen headquarters are?” Alain demanded. His father had told him they had no idea where the faction was based; that was why they’d sent Alain to…

  Code let out a long breath. “Looks like they had you followed after all, mate.”

  “No,” Alain said. “Not me. They followed Sev.”

  “What matters,” Fedrick said, “is that we can strike at them now. Come with me.”

  Flames rose in Alain’s mind alon
g with a tumult of emotions. Anger at his father for deceiving him. Anger at himself for allowing it. Fear for what might happen to Sev and Morayne. Fear of what Taira might think of him.

  “No,” Alain said, vaguely aware he’d begun humming.

  Fedrick’s face remained emotionless. “Your Highness, you must. The king orders it.”

  “This was not part of my agreement with the king.”

  “All due respect, Your Highness, you must obey your father’s orders.”

  Alain wanted to end this puppetry, but his fear of the consequences he might face thundered through him. “If I don’t?”

  Fedrick locked eyes with Alain and drew a long, slow breath. “If you do not accompany us, His Majesty has ordered me to take retaliatory measures.”

  Code scoffed. “Retaliatory measures? Goddess rising, man, give us some specifics.”

  “The Lady Taira.”

  Heat radiated from Alain. The air shifted and crackled. Panic rose inside him, but it was spiked with rage. He wasn’t sure he wanted to control himself this time.

  “If you refuse, it’ll be you who’s hurting her,” Fedrick said, stepping back. Spontaneous sparks burst in the air around them.

  It’s about living a decent life, and helping those around me.

  How could he live a decent life when there were no decent options?

  Alain took a deep breath, in and out. He counted, concentrating on his breathing for a moment, and the sparks in the air around him subsided. He did not want to hurt anyone.

  But above all, he owed Taira a debt. No more harm could come to her because of what Alain did, or did not do.

  Alain clenched his jaw. “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  The Scarab force was not far. Once they’d regrouped, they trotted through the dark streets together, Fedrick leading them. The Scarabs had shed any Destrinar insignia that might identify them; any witnesses would not recognize them as acting for any specific house. Black leathers, black hoods, and black masks covered everything except their eyes. They’d passed similar garb to Code and Alain, who had changed quickly in an alleyway moments before.

  Fedrick led them to an unassuming building in the market district. Sandstone and wood, dark purple in the moonlight. Three stories rose above them, lights still burning on the third floor.

  A Scarab soldier approached Fedrick. “They’re still there, sir. No one has left yet.”

  Has anyone else arrived? Alain wanted to ask. A strange girl and a young man with her? Morayne and Sev could have returned here after their meeting at the tavern. Just the thought of it made Alain’s gut heavy with worry.

  “Good,” Fedrick said, though there was no joy in his voice. He turned to Alain. “You can make this easier on all of us,” he said. “Use your powers. Ignite a fire on the third floor; that’s where they’re meeting. You do that, and we’ll do the rest.”

  Alain swallowed hard. His internal flames already towered high. Sweat dripped down his face, despite the night chill, and he unclenched and clenched his fists over and over again, fingernails digging into palms. “And if I don’t?” He knew the response, but he had to ask. He had to be sure.

  “We’ll kill them anyway,” Fedrick said. “Some of us will likely die. And Taira will suffer for it.”

  Alain’s breaths moved quickly, raggedly, in and out of his body.

  “If I have a panic attack while I’m using my powers,” Alain said, “I’ll lose control. You’ll all be at risk.”

  Fedrick slipped something from beneath his armor. A blowpipe. “We are prepared for that, Your Highness,” he said. “Get the job done, and I’ll make sure you’re unconscious before things get out of control.”

  Alain swore. How could he do this? How could he kill these people, people he did not even know, for rebelling against his father? An act he considered himself? He looked up at the lights, burning in the third-story windows, and gritted his teeth.

  “I can’t.”

  Fedrick scowled. “You must, Your Highness. If you care about Taira at all, you must.”

  Why? Alain asked, to the night sky and the stars and the sparks in the air around him and to no one in particular. Why is this my choice?

  “Sir, there’s movement on the third floor. They might be preparing to leave.”

  It was Fedrick’s turn to curse. “Do it now, Alain. Do it now, or we’ll have to do it ourselves.”

  Alain’s lungs tightened. He looked up at the third floor again, then back at Fedrick. His breaths wheezed in and out of him, barely transferring any air. He reached out a hand to a nearby wall, or perhaps a shoulder, to steady himself, a low groan forming in his gut.

  No matter what he did, people would get hurt. No matter what he did, things would burn.

  Better he make the choice himself than leave it to chance.

  So Alain concentrated on the third floor with his last remaining willpower, panic rising like a mountain in his chest, and he let it burn.

  * * *

  Alain opened his eyes to see Code standing against the doorframe to his chambers in the royal palace.

  “You’re finally awake. Better get moving. You’re wanted in the Decision Room.”

  Alain groaned. His eyes focused. He was lying in bed, wearing the same black clothing he’d been given before the attack on the Denizen Chain. His entire body felt raw. At the community, there had been periods of time blessedly absent of terror and panic. Since he’d left, he’d barely had a moment’s rest.

  “What happened?” he asked, fighting the fear humming through him. His body vibrated with it, every particle quaking. He bolted upright. “Where is Taira?”

  Code raised his hands, palms forward. “I don’t know. But they tell me she’s safe, for now.”

  Alain shut his eyes tightly, trying to dispel the aching pain behind his forehead while simultaneously wondering where his father could have hidden Taira. He needed to find her. He could not allow her to be held captive like this, used as leverage against him.

  “As far as what happened,” Code continued, “well… you did what they asked you to do. And then you lost control. That Fedrick bloke had to put you under. The other Scarabs carried you back to the palace.”

  “If I did what they asked me to do…”

  “The Denizen Chain is gone. You cut off their head, and your father and his wife don’t think they’ll threaten you any longer.”

  Alain rubbed his temples with both hands. “I lost control?”

  Code sucked in a breath. “You incinerated the entire building. Burned a number of Scarabs as well, before the toxin took effect.”

  Alain sat there, unmoving. “Are they… are they dead?” Was Morayne among them? Sev?

  “Like I said, the Denizen Chain is gone. One of the Scarabs will die soon from his wounds, if he hasn’t already. A few more wounded. You’ve… you’ve never killed anyone before?” Code sounded surprised.

  “I have,” Alain whispered. “Taira’s parents, the day the Madness took me.”

  “Shit. Sorry, mate. I was about to say it gets easier, but… I like you. And I like to be honest with people I like. And honestly, it might never get easier.”

  Alain felt no panic, no rising flames inside of him. Instead, he felt only emptiness. Unexpectedly, the emptiness frightened him more than anything ever had.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, looking up at Code. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Rest them on the bed? Fold them on his lap? Nothing felt right.

  “I’ve got an update for you,” Code said. “Figured I’d share it with you before anyone else. Despite your… issues… you seem to be one of the only sane people around here.”

  “If that’s what you think, you’re as crazy as I am.”

  Code laughed out loud at that. “That might be true, mate. That might be true.” Code sighed. “I had a hunch that Nadir’s avatar was a part of the Denizens. But their leadership is mostly dead, and… and I’ve received a tip, you could say. The avatar is in the palac
e.”

  “It isn’t me, Code. I’ve already told you.”

  “I believe you. But that means it’s somebody else, and we have no idea who. Think of this as a warning. I’d prefer it if you didn’t die, all things considered.” Code turned to leave the room. “Someone else is here to see you,” he said over his shoulder. “Better make it quick, though. Your father’s been asking for you.”

  When Code left, Brother Maddagon walked into the room.

  A tumult of emotion disturbed the terrifying stillness within Alain. Shame and anger over the people he’d killed and the people he’d hurt. Horror at what he’d done. But despite that, he needed to see someone who understood him, who knew him the way this man knew him.

  Brother Maddagon smiled. “Well, it’s good to see you haven’t fried yourself yet.”

  Alain wanted to say something clever in response, but he had nothing except the tears in his eyes. He pushed himself out of bed and embraced his mentor.

  Maddagon grunted.

  “Good to see you too, son.”

  Alain told Maddagon everything that had happened: about his father, about the Denizens, about Taira and Morayne— Maddagon smiled at the mention of her name—and about the people he’d killed the previous night. When he was finished, Maddagon put a hand on Alain’s shoulder.

  “I am so sorry you’ve had to go through all of this, son. You’ve made decisions no one should have to make.”

  “What about Taira?” Alain asked. “This whole time, I’ve been trying to help her. Make amends, as you said. It has only made things worse.”

  Maddagon took a deep breath. “Amends are a strange thing, Alain. Only rarely do they work out the way we expect. But we must never cause further harm. If the path of making amends leads to harm, rethink your actions. We make amends to help ourselves, and to help others if possible. Hurting others has no role in it at all.”

  Alain’s chest felt hollow, as if there were nothing left inside him. “Then the people I killed… I chose wrong.”

  “It may have been wrong, yes. But you were also under extreme duress. Truth is, I cannot defend or decry your actions, son. You made your choices last night—but you can make more today. You are still alive. There is still time.”