No Deadly Thing

by Tiger Gray

  Ashrinn almost didn't move fast enough to avoid the water bolts the construct started flinging outwards in all directions, and he felt his first spasm of real fear. He had no idea what would happen to his soul if he died out here. No one left the astral paths like this unless there was dire need, and he could see why, now. This damn thing must be one hell of a thorn in the side for the Collegium to send one of their best hunters out here.

  Mental note. Conduct future interviews firmly in mundane reality.

  "Ashrinn!" Daniel said in the few seconds he'd bought them with his attack. "It has a sack of items in its chest. We need to pull it free to stop it!"

  He swore and finally found his feet as the elemental rushed Daniel, but Daniel was ready for it. Ashrinn could see the sigils around the mage's feet, and they pulsed and writhed as Daniel fought to turn water into ice. The wave hung in the air as mage and construct struggled.

  He channeled through his spirit blade, though he didn't call the serpent. A creature of fire could very well be harmed by this thing of water, or so he assumed. Maybe it would help him more, too, if it were protected in the blade. He charged the elemental. The fire in his blade had to be stronger than it. It had to, or Daniel might lose.

  He put the point of his weapon through the thing, aiming for the bag of odds and ends that passed for its heart. For a second he felt savage satisfaction, blade buried in its form, but he realized almost as quickly that he'd missed.

  "Ha! Take that!" Daniel crowed. The construct gibbered and fought the skewering weapon, nearly twisting it out of Ashrinn's hands. Daniel spread his arms wide, then brought chalice and knife together in front of him, purple equations snapping and crackling around him.

  "Disperse!" he said, and even Ashrinn with the divine in him felt unsteady on his feet; the stuff of reality was a powerful thing indeed. The construct lifted its misshapen head, trying to bite at Daniel through his spiritual armor, but it started to break apart even as it tried to take the mage with him. Daniel stabbed it in one confident move, then reached into the wound and pulled the bag free. What was left of the creature, partly iced over, began to shake.

  "Daniel --- !" Ashrinn saw flashes of what happened to a man when he walked over an IED. He ran at Daniel, caught him in a tackle, and they went down just as the elemental went off.

  The explosion rang in his ears for what seemed like an eternity, though luckily his tackle had taken them both out of range for anything nastier than another good soaking. He pushed himself up on his hands, easing his bulk off the mage.

  "Uh," Ashrinn said when he could hear again, "still want to join?"

  "Well, that depends."

  "On what?"

  "Whether you're going to get off me or not."

  "Oh. Sorry." He got up and tried not to look as embarrassed as he felt. Daniel had lost his knife in the efforts to kill the construct, but he still had his hands clamped on the chalice and the bag that had animated the thing.

  Daniel stood and gave him a serious look as he upended the bag. A handful of seashells tumbled out. They were exactly like the ones Coren used to collect as a small child, when he and Kir got the chance to go on vacation. Ordinary.

  "That's all it takes." Daniel told him, grey gaze more grim than his boyish face would have otherwise allowed for. "A few random objects and a whole lot of will." He gave the shells a rueful look before crushing them to dust under his boot.

  "I don't understand why you want to join up with me. You're damn good at your job already. The Collegium must treat you well, if you can handle things like this." He had no illusions. He'd made Daniel's job easier by being here, but he suspected Daniel would have come out the victor, anyway, though perhaps having paid a higher cost for that triumph.

  "You see this?" Daniel held the chalice up once more. "I'm not saying this mystic stuff doesn't work. It does, because plenty of old fart mages make their constructs with a whole set of esoteric and frankly crazy criteria for how to get rid of them. But you know what I did for my final exams?"

  Ashrinn shook his head in the negative.

  "Made clocks. Prague's Collegium is still one of the best places in the world to learn traditional magery, but they're ignoring all the technology we have at our disposal. Or could have, if the whole place wasn't stuck in the past. I mean, it's such an obvious leap of logic! We operate on math. We are people who know physics so well we can break the rules, at least sometimes. But they never think to apply it to anything more complicated than clockwork. What I want to know is, if I join up with you, am I going to have a place to experiment?" Daniel stared at him and Ashrinn stared back. "You're not afraid of the Internet, are you?" he demanded.

  He comprehended the chance he had straight away. He thought of Randolph and his manila folders. "We need you," he said simply. They walked together back towards the more familiar astral, with its comforting pathways. "Besides. I'd say that was a very successful application. Wouldn't you?"

  Daniel gave him a chagrined look. "Er, sorry. Sir. I didn't plan on that."

  He put a hand on Daniel's shoulder and grinned. "So. How do you feel about werewolves?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "I don't want to take this guy, Randolph," Ashrinn said. "He's got a bad attitude."

  "He has the experience," Randolph voice was the too-patient timbre of a parent speaking to a truculent child.

  "He can have all the training in the world, but if it comes with a chip on his shoulder the size of England it's meaningless. A guy like that can break a team." Ashrinn shielded his eyes from the sun and looked at the man in question, waiting in the practice ring on a downward slope from the farmhouse where he and Randolph stood. His jeans and black field jacket made Ashrinn feel some faint kinship; he'd worn that outfit most of his life, himself.

  As plain and solid as his clothing, Gerolt had a burly frame and brown hair cropped close to his skull. He defined nondescript. Or he would have, if his eyes didn't smolder with white energy, the outward manifestation of his magical sight. He had a beard Ashrinn could only describe as impressive, the kind that made a smile stand out all the more.

  Not that Gerolt had a smile on his face at the moment. His craggy features were set in a grim mask, instead. Ashrinn didn't like that look, but he had to admit that he could see the man's training just in the way he held himself. Gerolt had that still quality that told Ashrinn he'd stand there all day if he had to. It was the same quality that let Ashrinn himself lay motionless for hours in the bed of a truck heading into enemy territory, sweltering under a pile of sackcloth so he could get in unseen. He had the uncomfortable thought that Randolph had a point.

  "Come now, Ashrinn. Aren't you used to dealing with behavioral problems?"

  "I'm not a drill sergeant! By the time men made it into the Unit, they'd damn well had their behavioral problems beaten out of them already. This guy failed to get along with the magical community where he's from. What makes you think he's going to be different here? I'm not even sure why he volunteered."

  "Give him a chance. The more military men we can attract, the better."

  He admitted defeat. The Order needed that. He needed it, if he wanted his team to have a chance at success. "Yes sir. I'll see what I can do."

  "Don't sir me, Pinecroft. I'm well aware of your displeasure."

  "As long as we're clear," He said. He knew the whole exchange had a certain painful irony, but even being aware of it couldn't rub the edges off his mood.

  He turned and walked down the hill, steeling himself. He went over Gerolt's file in his head. Gerolt had the ability to see past the mundane to the magic beneath, and he'd spent a long time in Australia's Special Operations Command. The latter was, as far as Ashrinn was concerned, his true talent.

  He stepped into the ring to face the man, happy that his body had decided to play along and spare him any torments. No sense in showing weakness in front of his newest potential recruit if he could avoid it, especially since Gerolt's shrewd gaze was on him and looking for any chin
k in his armor. He reviewed the various tactics he could employ in a fast moving mental rolodex. He decided to go right through the middle.

  "You've got something to prove, don't you, Dawning?"

  A flicker of surprise in Gerolt's eyes. "Sir? I don't know what you're talking about."

  The proper form of address, ruined by a surly delivery. He let some of his displeasure show on his face, jaw tightening. He paused to puzzle out Gerolt's accent, and by the other man's furrowed brows Gerolt was doing the same for his. At least Gerolt didn't seem prone to slang. They could easily be here all damn afternoon if he were, trying to figure out what the hell the other one was saying.

  "I said, you have something to prove, don't you?"

  "What makes you think that?" An aggressive, short response. Gerolt liked to press the bounds of etiquette as hard as he could, it seemed.

  "You were Australian special operations command, weren't you?"

  "Yes." Gerolt sounded more confident this time, back on familiar footing.

  "I'm sure you learned discipline in their ranks. They're an excellent fighting force."

  Gerolt puffed up under the praise.

  "So what makes you think this will be any different?"

  Confusion again. Sullen silence.

  "I said, what makes you think this will be any different? When I ask questions, you answer them."

  "I'm not insubordinate, sir." A safe answer that didn't say much of anything. Ashrinn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't want Gerolt to think the attitude was getting to him.

  "It says in your file that your only ability is seeing that which is magical." He prodded, not willing to let Gerolt get away with that attempt at twisting away from his claws. "Is that so?"

  Gerolt features became a study in barely repressed anger. Score one. "Yes. But I can hold my own."

  "I didn't say you couldn't. Did I?"

  "No."

  "Look. I've got no doubt that you can handle any test I give you. Break apart and reassemble a weapon in the pitch black, run obstacle courses, whatever I can throw at you. We're not going to waste time on that."

  "Then what are we going to waste time on?"

  "You telling me what the hell you're doing here, if you've got such a damn bad attitude already."

  Gerolt squared his stance and looked him in the eye. Ashrinn had to respect him for not backing down, and he thought he saw some of the same in Gerolt's look. Respect for not taking his shit, maybe, though Gerolt gave the admiration with bad grace.

  "I tried to join up with some of the magicals in my area." Gerolt shifted his weight. A subtle sign of discomfort, Ashrinn thought, and he knew then that Gerolt's military career had most likely ended for the same reasons his had. He could all too readily imagine the problems magical sight, developed late in life, would cause. "That was a joke. They just wanted to talk shit about me being a normal."

  Gerolt's hand tensed. Ashrinn gave a pack of cigarettes and a gun equal chances for being the item Gerolt wished he had against his palm. Ashrinn empathized even though he didn't want to.

  "I'll level with you, Dawning. I need your experience. You're the only other man with military experience on this team thus far, and if this thing is going to succeed we need that kind of skill. I bet you're mad as hell about how you were treated. I can understand that. And you can have your chance here. But if you make me put you in your place, you'll regret it."

  "Is that a threat?" Gerolt growled.

  "I'm in charge here, Dawning. I don't have to threaten you. Be here tomorrow at 0600. You can help train the dryad and the werewolf."

  Ashrinn watched as Gerolt's defiance became hatred, but the other man said nothing. He nodded and Ashrinn watched him for a few moments longer. Ashrinn wished Gerolt hadn't forced him into being so harsh, but the Order didn't have the luxury of indulging his bullshit. If I have to accept women on this team and pretend to be mentally sound, you can get along with people who have flashier powers, kid.

  "Dismissed," Ashrinn said, and they both left the circle without further words.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "Go away!"

  Ashrinn had spent many years as a soldier, but he never thought he'd be using those reflexes to dodge a thrown stuffed animal. A blue bunny, to be precise, that thumped to the floor just in front of his feet. He looked up at Rosi, ensconced in her narrow bed, her pink blankets making her red hair even more vivid. She screwed her features into a glower, and her long elf ears twitched. He found himself glad that Coren hadn't been the type to throw things.

  He also felt an unreasonable stab of anger. He'd come to help her, after all, and at great risk to himself. Truth be told he didn't know if he had enough blood to give her, after the past few days. He prayed that he did, lest the nurse ask him why he was so weak. He moved as if to leave.

  "All right," he said.

  "No!" She went from irritated to needy and desperate in an instant. He turned towards her again, and now that he wasn't dodging roughly animal-shaped projectiles he could see how sick she looked. Bruises darkened her neck and hands in purple-black patches, and she seemed so frail for her age. No child should be that thin. It made her sky-blue eyes huge in her face, a face that had an inhuman quality he couldn't attribute to her Fae blood. It was as though the bones there hadn't quite developed in a normal fashion, giving her a pinched, cat-like look. She was eleven years old now and looked little more than half that. It was no wonder she was still looking to stuffed animals for comfort.

  "You just scared me," Rosi said in a contrite voice. "Do you still have your eyes?"

  Her look was so earnest, and her bottom lip trembled like she might cry. The question unsettled him --- what a thing for a child to say --- but he approached her again and knelt by the side of her bed so she could see for herself. The knee protested, but only a little. It was a warm enough day that it behaved well enough.

  "Of course I do. See?" He peered at her. "What would make you think I didn't?"

  "I had a dream about you, uncle. Where you only had some of your face."

  "That sounds like a terrible nightmare," He told her, not having to manufacture his sympathy a whit. "But it's just a nightmare."

  Rosi gulped, but she nodded. "I'm sorry I threw my bunny at you."

  He stood to go fetch it before kneeling beside her again. He offered it to her and she reached out with her skinny arms to take it and fold it against her chest. She reminded him of a scarlet ibis, all vivid colors and hollow bones.

  "Rosi." He started in on the real issue. "I think I might be able to help you feel better, but it's your decision if you want my help. I can't promise it will work, either, so I don't want you to get your hopes up if you do say yes." He hadn't wanted Lily to explain it. He felt as though he needed to be the one to put the question to Rosi, somehow. It was her body and her illness. He didn't want the gnome pressuring her.

  "Are you here to give me good blood?"

  He couldn't help but be charmed, even if she had a tendency to act young for her age. Maybe because of that; Iarethion and Vharelan were good children, but Malkai and Raietha's strange daughters had his heart. They were too much like him, in their way. He chuckled, hoping she wouldn't think he was laughing at her. "That's a good way of putting it, light of my eye."

  She chortled. "I like it when you talk funny, uncle." He wrinkled his nose at her in an expression of mock distaste, pretending to be put out by having a Persian phrase reduced to so-called funny talk. She reached out and patted his hand, just like an old lady trying to smooth his ruffled feathers. "You're magic now like Daddy is. Mommy is magic too but she can't help. Will your magic help?"

  "That's the idea. What do you think?"

  She swiveled one of her ears towards him, and he gathered it was a contemplative gesture. "Okay." Her ear returned to its usual position. "Get Miss Lily and we can do it now."

  He wondered at her attitude as he stood. She didn't seem frightened, just resigned. It bothered him that she had become
so used to being poked and prodded.

  The transfusion itself calmed him. He'd passed Lily's physical. Not without some hard-eyed looks, but his recent wounds had healed over enough that she didn't ask where he'd picked them up. It would be hard to explain that he'd got them during sex. That was still the right word for what he and his wife did, wasn't it?

  Rosi was a pleasant enough companion and he listened to her chatter about cartoons and her daydreams, though he made a note to bring toys or books with him to distract her next time. She might be complacent enough now, but he wouldn't be surprised if she evidenced more of that temper in the future. He'd always averted Coren's fits by distracting him with something more interesting than whatever had upset him.

  He left after grabbing his coat and giving Rosi a careful hug --- he didn't want to jostle her overmuch --- and ran right into Raietha.

  Almost literally, she was so close. He backed up against Rosi's bedroom door, the door he'd just managed to close. Thank the divine for that, he thought; Raietha had murder in her eyes and Ashrinn suspected her daughter didn't need to hear what she was about to say.

  "Do you think you can just walk into our lives and fix us?" she demanded, her alien gaze alive with energy that made him feel as though she were pushing a weak but very much felt electrical current through his body. "Give your blood to my daughter?"

  His vision narrowed and his heart tried to escape the quickest way it knew how, by pounding against his ribcage. No. Spirit, not now.

  "You agreed!"

  "I hate you!" She raised her voice and he wobbled on his feet, only holding himself up by virtue of the door at his back. Her words burned. There were tears on her face but he couldn't process what they might mean. "Why do you have blood that won't poison her? Why?"

  "Get away. Please, get away," he heard himself say. He sounded despondent in his own ears. Raietha had her hands balled into fists and he shuddered, tried not to hit her, something, anything to make her leave him alone. His throat closed and for a moment he wondered if this was what a stroke felt like. Why couldn't he breathe?