Renzhies

by Mara Duryea

  “My bloodhearts would not greet you, Zhin,” said Sizhirin. “You must forgive them their fear. You frightened them terribly in Bellecaro. Once you have moved into your box, I shall arrange for you to meet them. You and they shall become friends over the years.”

  “I’ll eat Cubon first,” Zhin growled.

  “You shall not speak to your father so!”

  Opening a heavy steel door, Sizhirin swung Zhin inside and whacked him across one cheek and then the other. The Berivor collapsed on a filthy floor littered with grimy rags, leaves, and straw.

  “You shall learn respect, child!” Sizhirin shouted. “I shall have to declaw you. And when they grow back, I shall rip them out again. This pains me, but you are too rebellious.” He stormed from the room and slammed the door shut. It locked. Sizhirin’s bones clicked down the hallway.

  Zhin breathed slowly in and out. Every breath stabbed his lungs and raked at his chest where the spider had sat. His throbbing bones forced tears from his eyes. Blood dripped from his lips, and he could almost hear the subtle sound of liquid on stone.

  Click…click…click…

  The Renzhie was returning. Gritting his teeth, Zhin struggled to a half-sitting position. The door kicked open and Sizhirin flew in. He clutched a metal device bearing a pincer on its end.

  The Renzhie slammed into Zhin and pinned him with his body. Sizhirin grappled for his wrists and gripped one in his fist. Zhin cut and batted at the madman with his free hand, but to no avail. He squeezed until the Berivor’s hand opened. Taking the pincer, he caught one of Zhin’s claws and ripped it out. Flesh tore deep beneath his nail. It was as if his finger had been torn from its roots.

  The Berivor screamed as tears stung his eyes. He shoved and kicked in helpless agony as Sizhirin shredded another claw from its bearings. The Renzhie was like a boulder on Zhin’s stomach and chest. The Berivor couldn’t throw him off anymore than if a pillar in the Sirix ruins had crushed him. One by one, Zhin’s claws clicked to the floor.

  Sizhirin seized his other hand and ripped the claws out. He smirked as Zhin’s cries rang in his ears. Now the child would learn respect and be as submissive as a son should be. When Sizhirin dropped the last claw, he leaned his mouth close to his gasping victim’s ear.

  “When I return, it shall be for your eyes.” Pushing up, he gathered the bloody claws and strolled out the door. It was as if he traveled a gentle woodland path on a spring day.

  Zhin tucked his gory hands to his chest, rolled onto his side, and curled into a ball. Small half-screams interrupted his labored breathing. Roasting his fingers in a bed of coals would have tortured him no differently.

  Sizhirin would descend and blind him. What could he do without his eyes in this unknown haunt? In time, Sizhirin would break him. Zhin would become a slug, grateful to be fed and carried out of his box. He would need Sizhirin, as the monster had always wanted.

  The bloodhearts would laugh and torment him with the cries of wailing children for numberless years. As for his little ones? Lost. Sizhirin would transform them into bloodhearts. They’d keep him company for the rest of his days. And Rilkin? Broken. In despair. His little Miranel would be a wandering dead before his eyes.

  Sizhirin would have gathered his miserable family at last. Gilanra would forever mourn, and Rezh’s tug would ache to his dying day. It was anxious now, but so far away, it was hazy. It felt the way it had when Zhin was in Visseria. With these last horrific thoughts, words struck his mind with such force it was as if someone else spoke them.

  Get out. Sizhirin mentioned the gate. You’re near it. Get out and find it. Remember, it’s at the base of a tree with Sizhirin’s initials over it. Close it. Kill him.

  Zhin didn’t need his claws to draw Iskerkin blood. He couldn’t use very much, so he needed a precise hit. He gazed at the door.

  Hide behind it. Ambush the spit sucker.

  Coaxing the remaining strength from his body, Zhin crawled across the floor. He ignored the searing pain in his fingers as he pushed onto his hands and knees.

  Click…click…click...

  It was in the hall.

  Zhin leaned against the rough wall and used it to inch himself to his feet. His head whirled, but the wall remained steady beneath his hands. He concentrated on this.

  Click…click…click…

  It was at the door.

  Zhin turned and pressed his back against the wall. Sweat poured down his face. The throbbing in his fingers kept him awake.

  The latch wiggled as a key inserted in the lock.

  Zhin slid his bloody nail over his wrist. He formed a thin needle of blood, long enough to travel the length of Sizhirin’s neck.

  The door opened and Sizhirin entered, a skewer in hand. He gasped at sight of the empty floor, and Zhin plunged the blood needle through his neck. Sizhirin’s body stiffened. He clutched at his throat as he choked for air. Zhin broke the blood from his wrist, solidifying the needle within Sizhirin’s stitched flesh. He kicked the monster’s knee in, and the Renzhie collapsed.

  Zhin staggered out. His fingers left blood on the walls as he stumbled down the hallway towards the elevator. He only had a limited time. The madman would be able to pluck the blood needle from his neck and pursue him.

  Halfway to the elevator, Sizhirin wailed his name from the small cell. The Berivor glanced back. The corridor tilted side to side, and he shook his head to clear it. Sizhirin crawled from the room. Purplish goo oozed from his neck and globbed on the floor.

  “You will come here! You will not escape this time!” Sizhirin wobbled to his feet, and fear pricked Zhin’s heart. If the Renzhie caught him, that was the end. He broke into a teetering run.

  As he rounded the corner leading to the elevator, Sizhirin’s steps thumped down the hall. His bones click, click, clicked. Zhin lunged at the elevator and forced the iron doors open just enough to let him pass. Squeezing through, he snatched at the lever in the middle of the floor.

  Click-click-click!

  Sizhirin’s hand burst through the small opening in the doors and claught Zhin by the shirt. He jerked the Berivor towards him. Zhin hooked his foot around the lever. It was Sizhirin’s strength that pulled it to. The elevator shot down.

  The Renzhie screeched in rage, but refused to release his obsession. The Berivor smashed against the ceiling, and then the unyielding elevator ripped Sizhirin’s arm off. The Renzhie howled as Zhin hit the floor. Prying the twitching hand from his shoulder, he scrambled into a corner.

  The monster’s wails trailed him to the ground floor, where the elevator jolted to a stop, but not for long. The gears reversed as Sizhirin summoned the conveyence back to him. Zhin squeezed out of the doors and landed on the cold floor. The elevator sped back up, nearly taking his foot with it.

  Zhin found himself in a spacious entry hall. Candles burned blue light on black stone. Before him stood great double doors framed by coiling serpents. Stumbling into them, Zhin shoved one open. Snow slapped his face as he stepped into a ruined city. A roiling mist of bluish-black clouds revealed patches of a jagged cave ceiling.

  Zhin teetered into the city. He didn’t care where he went, as long as it was away from Sizhirin. The blizzard covered his tracks to a swaying tower. He hid inside. Sitting on the bottom step of a stairway, he tucked his bloody fingers under his arms.

  “Zhin!” Sizhirin wailed in the storm. “Zhin! Why do you do this to me? Do you not know the pain you cause? Why do you insist on ever wounding me?”

  His voice carried away until it was lost in the howling wind. Zhin’s eyes drooped as sleep threatened to overpower him. He might never wake up. He might wake up in Sizhirin’s house. The Berivor’s head snapped up. He had to find the gate. He’d be able to locate the star tree from the second floor.

  Pulling himself up, Zhin gripped the railing with both hands. He placed his feet on one step after another. He focused on the second floor, lest he lose his balance and tumble down the stairs. The second-floor windows edged nearer and nearer until
he stepped onto the landing. There were no hallways up here. It was a single chamber, like a ballroom.

  Leaning on the sill of the nearest window, Zhin peered into the darkened city. The snow cast a bluish, preternatural glow, which enabled him to view the forms of empty buildings. There was no tree, though. He moved to another window. A solitary point of light gleamed in the distance, but no tree either. At the third window, a twisted black form loomed over the ruins like a tentacled monster. A grim smile touched Zhin’s lips. There was the tree.

  7

  Rematch

  “I saw them run to the canal,” Ikalkor wailed. “Is where they always go!”

  Rilkin gritted his teeth. Ikalkor hadn’t escaped like a sensible person. He’d let himself get caught again, and he certainly had not seen them run to the canal. The spit sucker just knew they gathered there.

  The three Metirins were huddled on a bridge between two towers, watching for the bulbous Renzhie. Thankfully, they hadn’t encountered bloodhearts. Why was that?

  Through a chink in the wall, Rilkin spotted Azhanya and Ikalkor approaching from the courtyard’s direction. She gripped the useless Berivor by the neck. He waved his arms as if trying to catch her attention.

  “Rilkin,” said Vijeren, “can a blood pendant hurt Azhanya?”

  “No reason it shouldn’t.”

  “You can scratch her eye out with it.”

  “If I take it, the protection will leave you.”

  “Then we’ll come with you close enough for you to take it, cut her eye, and come back.” Vijeren held it out to him.

  Rilkin gazed at it. He didn’t know when the others would return. In the meantime, he had to ensure his, Vijeren’s, and Miranel’s safety—and Ikalkor’s.

  “Keep it for now,” he said. “But follow me. I have one plan.”

  Creeping down the stairs, they trailed Azhanya and Ikalkor. The latter wailed and whined. Not even the outdoors or the breeze could dispel his reeking hide. It seemed to have mutated into a diabolically new odor.

  “Rilkin has always been the favorite one,” Ikalkor whined. “He’s everybody’s favorite baby! What about me? Why can’t I be anybody’s favorite?”

  “Shut up.” Azhanya half strangled him in her grip. His stench marred her senses. A child’s scent was a delicate thing. It informed her if it was happy or sad, smart or stupid, suspicious or gullible. She’d caught the whiff of a boy and a girl. As far as she could tell, the girl was fragile like a newborn. There was no knowing what her strengths and weaknesses were. In this stage, it didn’t matter. Azhanya victimized those for fun. The boy, however, was smart, suspicious, and watchful for his age. It reminded her of Zhin’s scent when he was a child. She grimaced at the comparison.

  The only drawback was Rilkin. As an adult, the Antiminar held no scent for her. She couldn’t be sure where he was. She glanced at her wailing captive, who was pointing at something near the river. A N’hai boy was staring at them.

  “That’s him, that’s him!” Ikalkor cried. “Zhin’s son!”

  Azhanya stared. “Zhin?” This was not his child. It was his twin.

  The N’hai edged towards her, lifted his hands, and light blasted her vision. She staggered back, dropped Ikalkor, and rubbed her eye with both hands. It looked like she was washing her face. As she blinked the purple globs from her vision, something small dropped on her head. Fire skewered her face, sank deep into her skull, and boiled.

  Shrieking in agony, Azhanya swiped at her head. She staggered sideways and one of her claws slipped. Her girth unbalanced and she plunged into the canal. The lukewarm water did nothing to soothe the burning fire in her eye. Had Zhin returned? Had he escaped the good-for-nothing Sizhirin?

  “No, no, no! It can’t be yet! It can’t be yet!” She thrashed in the current, unaware of Rilkin standing on the bank. Vijeren stood behind him, holding Miranel and covering her eyes with one hand. With the pendant lost inside Azhanya’s eye, Rilkin had become their shield.

  “Let’s go,” said Rilkin. They would stay within N’Nar’s range around the library, but he wasn’t going to lead them back in there. “Ikalkor, get up.”

  The Berivor limped after them. “Don’t you care what happened to me?”

  Rilkin clenched his teeth. “Is because of you we not farther away from here.”

  “What did I do?”

  Rilkin punched him.

  8

  The Iskerkin vs The Renzhie

  Zhin trudged through the biting cold, his aching hands tucked into his armpits. His hair hung white with snow. The empty buildings stared through sockets of broken windows and empty doorways.

  The closer he got to the tree, the icier the winds blew. The snow rose and fell like the swells of the sea. His chest ached with every shivering breath. Sometimes his body seemed to float, until darts of pain in his fingers forced him not to faint.

  Thankfully, he’d terrified the bloodhearts in Bellecaro, or they’d be swarming him. The little wretches would have told Sizhirin where Zhin was.

  Passing through an alley, he reached the dead star tree. Blue frost shrouded its rough bark. He walked along its base, flopping over some roots and crawling beneath others. It grew colder and colder until it stabbed his legs and shaking arms like knives. Zhin pulled his shirt over his mouth when it hurt to breathe.

  He rubbed his chest in consternation, for the tug was no longer there. Had it temporarily vanished because he’d been drained? No, that made no sense. The spider had taken his Iskerkin blood, not his tug. Maybe it was still there, but he couldn’t feel it because he was about to pass out. He couldn’t be sure when it had gone. This made sense, but didn’t dispel the eerie feeling of being lost.

  As Zhin made his way to an arcing root, he caught the whiff of kannin on the wind. He wouldn’t be caught unawares this time. He dove beneath the root, and Sizhirin’s furious croak scratched the air. Scrambling to his feet, Zhin glanced back. The Renzhie stood on the other side of the root. The arm that had ripped off in the elevator had been stitched back on with strips of flesh. A grimace cracked the remains of his blackened lips. He brandished the purplish rag.

  “This will lose its potency out here in the wind, my son,” he said. “I suppose it is best. I shall beat you as is proper for your rebellion.” And with that, he hurtled over the root. The wind blocked out the clicking of his bones.

  Being at the base of the tree, the roots and branches had tangled closer together. Zhin didn’t have the strength or endurance to fight the monster head-on. The tree would have to help him. He was smaller than the Renzhie, and so rushed into a clutch of roots. He popped into a narrow tunnel leading somewhere.

  The Renzhie tore the thatched roots open as he shoved his bulk into the passage. Zhin had to crouch as he ran down the craggy corridor. Some places were almost too tight, but the roots gave enough to let him pass. Not so for Sizhirin, who had to shred a wider path for himself. Despite these setbacks, he gained.

  “Come back here, Zhin!”

  His fingers raked the Berivor’s shoulder, but a narrow gathering of roots hindered him. Zhin hadn’t closed his wrist since he’d escaped the big house. He formed another needle.

  Sizhirin grasped his shoulder and dragged him backward. Zhin spun around as if to struggle with him, but stabbed Sizhirin between the eyes. A spasm cut through the Renzhie’s being and he lost his hold on Zhin, who half crouched and half crawled down the tunnel.

  The Berivor climbed through a natural opening. Stumbling through a labyrinth of red-black boughs, he tumbled down a sloping branch. Black frost shrouded this area of the tree. He was almost upon the gate.

  Sizhirin’s sharp hand tangled into Zhin’s hair and yanked him backward. “Got you!”

  As he opened his arms to receive Zhin, the Berivor punched him in the stomach. It wasn’t a powerful blow, and it shoved more than hit, but it penetrated Sizhirin’s gut to his spine. He staggered backward, dragging Zhin down with him.

  Summoning his strength, Zhin got on his knees
and raised his elbow. He dropped it on Sizhirin’s face, cracking open the already broken nose. The woodchip skin tore his arm, but he hardly felt it in the cold. The blow did nothing to Sizhirin. He was too destroyed to be hurt. The Renzhie swung wildly out and whacked Zhin across the face. The Berivor toppled into the snow.

  He shook his head clear as Sizhirin lunged at him from his position on the ground. Zhin rolled out of the way and staggered to his feet. His head felt like the wind could carry it away at any time. The stinging pain in his chest worsened. Sizhirin crouched before him, milky eyes glittering like a haladon’s.

  He lunged at Zhin. The Berivor sidestepped and shoved the Renzhie away. Sizhirin did a hairpin pivot, swinging his leg into the Berivor. Zhin blocked it with both arms, but the force staggered him and he teetered into a thick root. The Renzhie seemed like a slow-motion nightmare as he charged. Zhin could move neither right nor left, so he slipped under the root he’d fallen into and scrambled away.

  “Come here!” Sizhirin bellowed. “Home you shall go!”

  “No!” Zhin shouted, and began to run.

  Shrieking in fury, Sizhirin hurtled over the root and propelled over Zhin’s head. He landed before him and swiped at Zhin’s eyes. The Berivor staggered back, and the claws missed him by a hair.

  Sizhirin’s visage contorted. Cracking Zhin over his wounded shoulder, he struck him down. For a brief moment, the snow felt like a soft bed. If the Berivor closed his eyes, he’d fall asleep. Sizhirin grinned and approached, claws sliding out. He would have those black half-moon eyes.

  The tug materialized on the other side of the city, strong and more powerful than Zhin had felt it before. His dad had come after him.