by Mara Duryea
Rezh stiffened. There was no baby around. “What did you do?”
Sizhirin shuddered. “Rezh, Rezh!” He doubled over and clawed at his own chest until the blood flowed.
“Dad, stop!”
Sizhirin paced like a lunatic. “We…we…” He swallowed. “We killed it.”
Rezh’s eyes widened as fire and ice emanated from Sizhirin’s quivering frame.
The man’s voice calmed, but the air tingled like electrical waves. “We didn’t kill it as cruelly as plunging a knife into it. No. It was winter. All we had to do was leave it in the snow, an ice burial.” Sizhirin walked to the other wall. “We held onto one another as it froze beneath a great star tree. Sometimes I can still hear her crying.
“When she died, something went out of me. I died, too, I think, only I could not follow the child. You cannot imagine that feeling. I stared into hell’s abyss. Its tongues licked gouges of fire into my flesh. I tore at my hair and ripped my clothes like a wild animal in my grief. The girl had been a Perilith like her mother.
“The tree died, but I could not. We carved our initials into the murdered tree’s base, where she had frozen, over the dark door of our sin.” Sizhirin sank into a chair. “But after it was over, there were more children. They came from everywhere. Abandoned, suffering, miserable…”
He raised his eyes to Rezh. “Like you. You are abandoned by your parents. Your mother has retreated into her own mind. Zhayven cares nothing for you. Did he not get rid of you? All of these children found safe haven here. In fact, they have slept exactly where you lay.”
Rezh blanched, remembering the pictures behind the curtain. His picture.
Sizhirin approached him. “You are not claimed. We shall be a family.”
Rezh cringed away from him. “No, no.”
“You will be the leader of my bloodhearts, Rezh. You will have anything you wish, and they will be at your command. We will be together forever. Now, stay here, and we will prepare for your transformation. A few of your brothers will be in soon to take you to the dining room.”
Sizhirin kissed his temple and departed.
Rezh screamed, thrashing in the ropes and twisting his wrists. “Help me! Somebody help me!”
The door opened and four bloodhearts walked in. They were about Rezh’s age, and all Kabrilors. Rezh shut his eyes to their corpse-like faces. Their feet padded around him. His ropes loosened and cold hands pulled him off the bed. Two of them caught hold of his arms and wrists. The third took the lead, and the fourth walked behind Rezh. In this way, they marched him out of the room.
Rezh kept his head down and eyes closed. It was possible to go mad from the fear. If only Rezh’s heart would fail so he could escape these soulless creatures.
5
Sormin Vozhrith
Rezh’s wish seemed to have been granted, for he jerked awake in a little sandstone room. Pain seared his body, which seemed to have lost the bulk of its muscle. His claws dug into a pale bed as his toes curled in on themselves. Several pillows propped him up. He stared at the beige ceiling as involuntary tears squeezed from his eyes. Something sharp pricked his lungs every time he breathed in.
Dark beams stretched across the ceiling. A small ladder led to a frosted window ringed by mirilite orbs. A person turned out the mirilites by opening the window and climbing onto the rafters. There were walkways up there. All large vozhriths had this. A person could reach the ceiling window by the fireplace, which seemed to have been scooped out of the wall with a giant spoon. Large plants lined the red star wood mantle. A blizzard stormed outside the window to his left.
As the pain from his abrupt wakening receded, a baby cooing reached his ears. Something jingled, and he eased his head to the side. A baby Berivor lay on its back on a white blanket. Chubby legs kicked at a jingling toy suspended above it. It had large black eyes and a shock of ebony hair. It was the squishiest thing Rezh had ever laid eyes on. What in Cubons was it doing here? Was this some trick of Sizhirin’s? Would the child crawl over and begin devouring him?
Dozens of voices murmured outside the heavy wooden door. Two jovial ones distinguished themselves from the rest.
“Is Finicor really a drunk?” said a woman’s flighty voice.
“I think so,” said the other, a woman sounding like she laughed too much at nothing. “He almost let the body go unburned.”
“If the HR department doesn’t fire him, we’ll have a case of evergrins like the other vozhrith.”
“Why don’t they?”
The laugher tittered. “He’s probably blackmailing them. You know how they’re so corrupt. He seems to know all the Cubon.”
“Why doesn’t Hezlin say anything?”
“Finicor probably blackmailed him, too. That’s why he’s still here. I bet he knows something about Olana and Hezlin. I’ve seen her going down there at night.”
“Gross, to the morgue?”
“The very place. I can smell the rotten lanadin on her when she comes back. Don’t tell Tandorin.”
The flighty one giggled. “He’s with her, too? Does Meesa know?”
“Should she care? I thought she was married.”
The two women chortled.
The laugher cut her mirth short. “Sheh! Here comes Tandorin. Golden Sun, Vozhar Tandorin!”
A deep male’s voice returned, “Golden Sun, ladies. Did Coolaya feed the baby?”
“She hasn’t come yet,” said the flighty one, obviously laboring not to cackle.
The door opened and an Adenzhen dressed in a knee-length, sky-blue robe and white pants walked in. The Adenzhens were a handsome race, with their harmonious features and graceful height.
Tandorin was a perfect example of his people. His long, tapered tail nearly swept the floor. The scales sheathing his tail, feet, legs, and ears were jet black. They shimmered with silvery green. His eyes were green and his hair black. The two women Rezh had overheard gossiping outside the door ogled the Adenzhen.
They were a pair of Rykories, and nearly identical in appearance: brown hair pulled into a messy bun, gray eyes, and nails painted green and yellow. One was slightly stockier than the other. They probably wished they could join the Adenzhen’s harem. He closed the door in their faces.
The great Adenzhen smiled. “Ah, you made it after all. We thought you’d go for a few days there. Hezlin and Finicor were getting ready to burn you. I’m Vozhar Tandorin. I’ve been caring for you for the last week. I’ll be here to the end of the month, so you can call me whenever you need me. Olana will attach a call tassel for you. What is your name?”
“Rezh. Where am I?”
“Sormin Vozhrith. A Miricor found you half-dead in the forest about fifteen miles from here, carrying your son in your arms. Where is your wife?”
Rezh gazed at the baby in rising confusion. “I don’t have a wife.”
Tandorin leaned over. “Do you know what happened to you?” He was almost jovial, as if Rezh had gotten drunk and committed unmentionable things unfit for virgin ears.
“No,” said Rezh in rising irritation.
Tandorin straightened up. “Have you forgotten things?”
Rezh looked at the baby, who stuck its fuzzy foot in its mouth. The protective pads at the bottom of its feet hadn’t grown in yet. “I don’t…I don’t think so.” His heart sped up. It was snowing outside. Last he knew, it had been early summer. “I don’t remember!” He tried to sit up as panic set in, but his ribs sparked. He glimpsed white bandages criss-crossing his chest and arms. He fell back down with a cry of pain.
“Calm down, Rezh,” said Tandorin nonchalantly. “You might puncture a lung. You have one broken rib. We’ll get you all sorted out. Something traumatic must have happened to you. Anyway, be glad that your son is safe. Olana will be in to change your bandages after lunch, which should be in about fifteen minutes. Have you any other family?”
Sizhirin and Rezh’s mad mother crossed his mind, and he inwardly shuddered. “No.”
Before Tandorin could
inquire any more, the door opened and a small Hatrin woman slipped inside. Her fur was white and her hair reddish-brown, marking her as a Syliss, or at least having Syliss blood. The hair color was native to Merisyliss. One eye was blue and the other amber. She was made even shorter by her hunched posture.
“Golden Sun, Tandorin,” she half whispered, as if fearing someone unwanted might hear. She observed Rezh, and a crooked smile twisted her lips. “Oh, the Berivor is awake.” She approached the bed. “I’ve been taking care of your baby. It’s the best care. Mamma says babies should always be clean. What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.” Rezh wanted to cry, but somehow held it together.
“Coolaya, please,” said Tandorin, “he’s just woken up. Stop your prattling before I tell your mother.” The scent of food penetrated the door, and Tandorin jumped. “Cook’s coming.” He fled without ceremony. Coolaya suffered a spasm and, snatching up the baby, scuttled out of the room.
The murmurs in the hallway hushed, and then the cook flew in like a small storm ready to burst. He was a haggard Rykori who had dyed his fur dark blue and wore a black mask across his wild black eyes to hide the bags under them. His brown hair and beard stood on end as if he’d been electrocuted. His stained cooking robe hung off his gaunt body like rotten meat. No wonder everybody had fled.
The cook approached, shouldered a folding table from his back, and dropped a bowl of gray mush onto it. He then stared at Rezh like a short statue.
“What,” he said in strained tones, “was Tandorin doing in here with Coolaya?”
Rezh didn’t know what to do. Things had gotten weirder and weirder. Had he gone mad? “T-Tandorin’s my vozhar and Coolaya takes care of the baby.”
Cook smiled grimly. “So there was a reason. What were they talking about?”
“Me.” It sounded like a question.
“Why did they leave?”
“Um…lunch?”
Cook’s whiskers twitched. “Keep your ears open and tell me everything they say. Eat your food!” Cook shot out as quickly as he had whirled in.
Rezh had no time to contemplate his current situation. Coolaya slunk in, as if she had been watching the cook’s erratic movements, and yet she asked, “Is he gone?” She sniffed the air. “He doesn’t smell gone.”
“He left,” said Rezh.
“Oh, good.” She approached the bed with the baby. “I must check on Mamma. She doesn’t like it when I’m gone too long.”
“But you’re working.” Maybe Rezh was actually trapped in his mother’s knitted room and talking to Little Plupkin.
Coolaya squeezed the baby’s cheek like a nervous tic. “Oh, but she’s next door to spend the last of her days.”
Rezh felt strangled. “I’m in the dying wing?”
“Of course. You were practically dead. Mamma says…”
“Coolaya!” a craggy voice howled from somewhere beyond the room. “Coolaya! Where are you? That paranoid cook left me slop! Again! There’s burn chips in here! Take it back to him! Coolaya! Coolaya!” The craggy voice yowled like some hobbled ghost.
Coolaya dropped the baby on Rezh’s stomach without regard to his wounds, and dashed from the room.
“Aie,” Rezh groaned as he pushed the baby to the side. He pressed his rib and then jerked his hand away. The baby babbled and crawled to his head. It was dressed in dark blue pants and a lighter blue shirt. Plopping into a sitting position, the baby told Rezh everything that had happened, but he didn’t understand any of it.
6
Spewings
Three days later…
Rezh looked into the cracked blue bowl Cook had left. Black scraps dotted the gray slop. He was starving, but didn’t want to eat. Gingerly dipping the wooden spoon provided into the glob, he brought it to his lips and forced the mess into his mouth. It was as bitter as it smelled. It rolled into a chewy ball, devoid of all taste but the burn. His stomach heaved and he spat it back into the bowl.
“Cubons,” Rezh groaned as his rib chafed.
Rezh carefully sat on the floor next to Baby and ate baby food. The pink mush had been made from sweet pimkin fruit. Coolaya had made it, so it didn’t reflect the cook’s mental deterioration.
The blue and amber-eyed Hatrin herself slunk inside in the middle of Rezh and Baby’s picnic. “He doesn’t smell too good. I better change him…” She gazed at Rezh. “Or maybe you should do it. You’re better now.”
“I don’t know how.”
Coolaya lit up. “Oh! I can show you! Here.” She tipped Baby on his squarish back and began changing the little diaper. It was made of thick blue material lined in plastic. Baby refused to lie still and be good. He twisted this way and that, attempting to view something he’d never cared about before. Rezh stared at Baby as if he were an alien.
Baby looked nothing like him. Rezh had brown hair and amber eyes. Baby had black hair and eyes. Baby’s skin was also slightly darker than his own.
“Mamma could show you better than I can,” said Coolaya. “She’s an expert with babies. When she dropped me on my head, she knew exactly how much lanadin to give me.”
Rezh stared at her. “Are you sure?”
“Lanadin is really important. Hezlin swears by it. He forgets to burn the bodies sometimes, but wrap a corpse in rotten lanadin and evergrins won’t come for a few days.”
“What’s that got to do with head injuries?”
Before Coolaya could answer, the door slammed open and Cook strode into the room like a madman on a mission. Coolaya spun around, nearly smashing the baby’s round belly. Rezh snatched him away before Baby got damaged. He wasn’t supposed to lift Baby, but this was a matter of life and death.
“Cook,” said Coolaya, “what are you doing here? Shouldn’t one of your assistants be—”
“I can do what I want! What were you spewing about?”
“I-I’m teaching him how to fix the baby.”
Cook rolled his eyes. “He’s the daddy. Of course he knows how to do it. Rezh, eat your lunch. You didn’t know it, but everything you need is in the mush. Don’t look at me like that! Coolaya, does your mother know the physical therapist dyed himself yellow for you?”
Coolaya’s mouth worked as her eyes bulged. “Oh, look at the time, Mamma will want lunch.”
As she scurried out, Cook bellowed after her, “You better not send it back!” He glared at Rezh. “She sends it back. Says it choked her mamma. Ancient relic was supposed to be dead three weeks ago. She should be grateful to me. What was she saying? Did she say anything about Meesa and Tandorin?”
“Who’s Meesa?”
The door swung open, and Tandorin paraded inside as if he owned the world. “Cook, the patients are hungry. Shouldn’t you be cooking? Stop pestering my patient.”
Cook bristled. “Stop pestering my wife.”
Tandorin raised his chin in disdain. “I would never touch her. I don’t touch used women.”
Cook’s hair and beard shivered. “You’d touch baby girls!”
“That’s enough out of you. Kizhiridor Imrit, escort this lunatic out! Perhaps to the Kosalin next door.”
Cook charged Tandorin with a mad squeal, but a hulking Berivor in a red-brown cloak swooped through the door and caught the little Rykori by the scruff of the neck. He stalked into the hallway with him and closed the door.
“You depraved deldrit!” Cook screeched in helpless fury.
Tandorin smoothed the loose bangs from his forehead. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’ve come to discuss your son. We thought you might be too young, and he looks nothing like you. We’ve sent in both your blood for testing. If he isn’t your son, we’ll arrange to send him to an orphanage.” With that, Tandorin departed.
Rezh touched Baby’s fuzzy head. The warm creature had been his roommate for over a week. He didn’t know who it was or where it came from, and yet something deep inside ached when he thought of it leaving. Baby loved him; there was no doubt of that. What if Baby cried for him?
Rezh kissed the little head without realizing it and took the jingle toy from the floor. He dangled it over Baby’s head until Baby squealed in delight. How would they treat Baby in the orphanage? What if Baby didn’t like it?
Baby suddenly jumped up and pulled at the bandages on Rezh’s arm as it tried to reach the toy. He started at sight of four giant claw marks running from his shoulder and down across his forearm. White thread stitched them together. Where had he gotten such a wound?
7
Drama on the 50th
The morning dawned with a wailing blizzard. As Rezh changed out Baby, he noticed the hush in the hall. The laugher and the flighty one weren’t tittering about some new scandal. It was a wonder the vozhrith still functioned. Was Cook on the rampage again? He didn’t smell food burning, though.
As soon as he finished cleaning Baby, Rezh poked his head outside. The two Rykori women who provided his daily news were silent and actually making their rounds.
“Hey,” said Rezh to the laugher. He still didn’t know her name, and never asked it. In his mind, he referred to her as Laugher. She was the stockier one. The other was Flighty. “Why is it quiet?”
The Rykori stopped walking and turned to him, the glow of gossip lighting her countenance. She sidled next to him and said in a low voice, “Someone died last night. Hezlin and Finicor took the body away this morning and are asking the family if they want it.”
“Oh.”
“If they don’t, they’ll burn the body here.” Laugher peered down the hall and snickered. “Here comes Grenzen. I’ll tell you more later!” She flitted away as Rezh gazed at his physical therapist—his blindingly yellow feet, at least. The crazy Rykori had also dyed his ears and fluffy tail yellow. The dye had an adverse effect on the tail, though. It looked a little orange. A light blue bandana circled his head.
