Path of Blood

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  In the end he turned the gelding loose. And then he waited. In those short, bittersweet hours, he noosed himself tightly to Esper’s mind.

  On the fourth day, he began to burn. He was stricken with a dreadful pain. It made his body spasm and shake. He tied a tunic over his eyes, unable to stand the light. It pierced his head like knives of fire. He couldn’t eat. He’d caught and dried some fish and filled his pack with late berries, but nothing would stay down but a few sips of water. He drank it sparingly; even the act of swallowing sent unbearable pain ripping through his body.

  He lost Esper. He floated in blue flames that flayed his skin and shattered his bones. Fragments of thought ricocheted through his mind, but they were like nonsensical bits of a broken mirror, lacerating his brain as they swirled into strange, incomprehensible patterns. His flesh caught fire and charred from his bones. Steel jaws gnawed his entrails. He felt himself fracturing, crumbling into dust and nothingness.

  Sound. Beautiful, clear, trumpeting fanfares. A light dancing trill of notes. A spiral, a waterfall, a single, pure tone.

  He woke. He lay still. He felt . . . like wind. He frowned, wondering. That sound, like broken earth and torn sunlight. Rain falling upward and melting stone rivers. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Lightning freeze. Volcano spin. Earthquake breathe. Far away, too close, calling.

  He blinked his eyes open. Everything sparkled and shimmered with gossamer webs. So vibrant. In every color the world had ever thought of. It was glorious. But. Uneven. Stuttering. Discord.

  Bites and stings and scrapes and holes.

  Shiver.

  Tug.

  He looked down at himself.

  Amazement.

  There was a web inside him, intersecting through him. He was the center. The strands twisted away to elsewhere. Glossy, sparkling, matte, pearlescent, transclucent, opalescent. Jasper, citrine, raspberry, carrot, rhododendron, kohv. How many there were. A tree trunk, one. Unbreakable. A cable vine, two. Unbreakable. A diamond-bright thread. Unbreakable. He touched it.

  Silky heat and something, something. It was vital. He knew it. He needed it. Wanted it. Her . . .

  In the palace in Koduteel, Kedisan-Mutira felt a shock of something so intimate run through her that it seemed to stroke fingers through the fibers of her soul. She froze, caught in the moment, in the touch. “Juhrnus?” she whispered.

  A feeling bloomed inside her like starshine. She gasped, tears rolling down her cheeks. She sat up in her bed, charms chiming gently together. She was whole now, her broken bones healed, her torn body knitted back together. Gone were the shackles she’d been made to wear before attaining penakidah. Now she no longer had to accept the commands of her brother sorcerers. She did, of course. It wasn’t time yet to reveal her true abilities. But they’d failed to truly test her limits, and they would pay for that dearly. And soon. Once she decided how best to get what she wanted.

  But this was something she hadn’t expected.

  “Something’s wrong,” she whispered to the presence she felt. It must be him. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand. The moment she’d seen him, something had rooted in her. Not magic. Something else. She had no explanation. But she’d longed for him. She’d feared for him. And much as she hated feeling bound to anyone, she could not sever the tie that had been forged between them in that first look. And now . . .

  “What’s happened to you? How are you here?”

  She had a sense of song, uncertain and stumbling, but the notes were like struck crystal. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Will I see you?”

  There was no answer. But she knew she would. At Mysane Kosk. Her fingernails bit deeply into her palms. Enemies.

  There was a sudden swirl of green and volcanic orange, and then he was gone.

  For the first time since she could remember, Kedisan-Mutira cried.

  He returned to himself slowly. He turned his head with little jerks, curious now. Where was this? Billows of light and shadow and color. Song. Tapestry. He approved.

  Juhrnus.

  That was . . . not him.

  A noise. Not song. Inside. His eyes widened with a pleasing trill of surprise. He explored. He paused when he came again to the strand of his web that resembled a tree trunk. He touched it.

  It grabbed him back.

  Home.

  Images spun on a hurricane. Fragments without threads. They overwhelmed him, filling him up. He struggled against them. They caught in his webbing and crawled inward. Fear made a discordant sound. It resonated and echoed in the air, swelling and spreading away in rippling waves.

  Wrong! No!

  Panic spun the mass and everything escalated.

  Here. Safe. Us.

  He went still. He was held. Soft and warm. Pink and blue. He huddled into the other. Other?

  ~Esper.

  Gray confusion.

  ~Esper. Ahalad-kaaslane.

  ~What?

  ~We.

  The discordant sounds were smoothing, becoming harmony. He eased, but did not struggle to be free. He didn’t . . . want . . . freedom.

  ~What? Who?

  ~You remain, but you are different. We remain; we are not different. We are ahalad-kaaslane.

  The words were melodious. Soothing. Right.

  ~Yes.

  ~Come look.

  And now there was a wriggle. Color unfurled. Sunlight and meadow grass. Dazzling. Entrancing. He followed. Esper. Sunlight and meadow grass. Trust. Bones of the earth.

  They walked. Not far. Forever. It didn’t matter. They stopped at the edge of a pool, an eddy in a slow-running brook. It tripped and tinkled in a gentle, right rhythm.

  ~Look. See.

  Esper helped him. The wash of color and light thinned and receded, pulling away like a blanket. Reflection. The face that looked back at him was pale as mountain snow. The hair was white. The eyes were silver and opaque. A second face appeared. Memory. From Esper. Himself. Before. Curling brown hair, cheeks flat, not ridged, brown eyes circled in white, sun-browned skin.

  ~Juhrnus.

  He looked at the brown-haired other. Juhrnus. Yes. He looked at himself. He cocked his head. Juhrnus?

  ~You remain, but you are different. We remain; we are not different. We are ahalad-kaaslane?

  This time the last was a question.

  Ahalad-kaaslane. He tested the word, listening to its music. It circled inside his web, touching strands, striking notes that swirled together in melody. He understood.

  ~Yes.

  He felt the other’s relief and joy. The strands of his web suffused with gold. Yes. But as he paused to enjoy it, to listen, he heard the wrongness again. Discord. He shared it with Esper.

  ~We must go there. We must sing it to harmony. Beauty.

  He must sing.

  ~It is dangerous, Esper cautioned, showing him images of decay and death, of others, like himself, being attacked. He watched, fascinated, as they unrolled across his mind’s eye. It all had a rhythm, a pattern and a song. Beautiful in its starkness and rawness. But underneath it all was the unwinding dissonance, fraying the weaving of the concerto.

  ~We must go.

  ~Yes.

  Juhrnus turned and began to walk.

  ~Wait.

  He stopped.

  ~What?

  ~We must bring the horse.

  ~Horse?

  Esper showed him the animal. From his mind flowed memories.

  Juhrnus found the animal. It tossed up its head nervously, snorting. He sang to it and it settled, coming to nudge him. Delight filled him at the sound. Every thing, every action, every thought—these were snatches of melody in the grand symphony.

  Esper showed him how to saddle and bridle the horse. His body remembered how to ride. But that was part of the music too. Esper lay across his shoulders, nearly weightless. And they rode down the mountain. To a place called Priede, where the song was broken.

  Chapter 32

  Reisil jerked awake, her heart thumping. Something was
wrong; someone was in trouble!

  Saljane remained fisted in her mind. She was safe. The relief was short-lived. Who then? Yohuac? She reached out with all her might, flinging herself farther than she thought she could. At last she brushed lightly up against Baku. He was surly, though his mental touch was surprisingly gentle.

  ~No harm here. He wins.

  And he was gone.

  Reisil let out a shaky breath and sat up, arms wrapped around her stomach. The foreboding didn’t leave her. Something terrible had happened. She ground her knuckles against her eyes, swallowing her grief. Whom had she lost? And then she remembered Elutark and Ceriba. Silent sobs shook her shoulders.

  Elutark had been one of the finest healers in Kodu Riik. And she was one of the strongest and wisest people Reisil knew. More than that, she’d been the closest thing Reisil had ever had to family.

  “Lady keep you,” Reisil whispered. “Lady keep Ceriba, too.”

  What a dreadful irony. That Ceriba should have escaped the fate Upsakes and Kaval had planned for her, only to fall prey to the Regent. She wondered if Kebonsat knew, and she pitied him. He would blame himself.

  “The Regent will pay,” she promised herself darkly. “Ceriba will have justice.”

  ~Yes, came Saljane’s firm reply.

  ~Have I been asleep so long?

  ~It is the afternoon.

  ~But?

  ~The moon rises full again tonight.

  A chill ran down Reisil’s spine. That wasn’t possible.

  She flung off her bedclothes and lunged to her feet. There were no windows in her room. It contained a comfortable bed, a chest of drawers and a small table. The things she’d left behind in Oceotl—her pack, gauntlet, and clothes—were neatly stacked there. The floor was covered in satiny wood that was warm to the touch. It smelled woodsy and fresh, and there was a current to the air.

  Reisil started for the door and then stopped, drawing a deep breath. If Saljane said the full moon was rising again, then it was true. But how could that be? How long had she struggled in the great cavern? How long had she slept in the chamber of the Teotl?

  She paced around the room, her body stiff. She scrubbed her hands through her hair and started for the door. Before she’d gone two steps, she glanced down at herself. She was still wearing the robe. Quickly she dressed and braided her hair. When she was through, she slid on the gauntlet.

  ~Have you been all right?

  Reisil caught the image of the circle of great black and red trees marching on Atli Cihua.

  ~The hunting is good. I have been dry.

  Saljane sounded smug and Reisil couldn’t help but smile.

  ~I’ll come get you as soon as I can figure my way out of this place, she promised.

  There were still no shoes, and Reisil sighed. She shrugged and went to the door. In the large meeting room—or blue room, as she thought of it—she found a handful of the elder nahuallis, including Ilhanah, Ampok, and Piketas. Reisil’s entrance silenced them. Ilhanah rose, coming to grasp her in a chilly embrace.

  “Welcome, sister. We greet you in the name of Ilhuicatl . Come and sit with us.”

  She led Reisil back to the circle. Piketas scooted aside to make room for her. Ilhanah retreated to a nearby door for a moment and then returned to sink gracefully to her cushion.

  “Food will be brought. But this may soothe your hunger until then. Xochil is an acquired taste,” she warned.

  She poured a rich, dark drink. Specks of red floated in the foam on the top. Reisil held it to her lips, sniffing. It smelled wonderful.

  But the fragrance was deceiving. It could have used sugar. A lot of it. The taste was bitter with an intense flavor that overwhelmed her mouth. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. But long after she swallowed, her tongue and throat continued to burn with a heat that had nothing to do with temperature. Vaguely she remembered Yohuac describing xochil, that it was far better than kohv. She smiled inwardly. He could keep it.

  When she’d eaten, Ilhanah stood. “Sister, the council will convene in two hours. Until then perhaps you would like to wander the grounds outside?”

  Reisil bit back her frustration. More waiting. Still, she would like to see Saljane. She excused herself and did as suggested.

  The goshawk leaped onto her fist with a glad cry. Reisil smiled, stroking Saljane’s feathers.

  “A fine animal. I wondered if you had lost her on your journey.”

  Reisil jumped, turning to find that Ilhanah had followed her.

  “You have trained her well. I would have thought she’d have flown off without your care.”

  “She’s in a strange land,” Reisil said, realizing that Ilhanah had no idea of their real bond. Reisil planned to keep it that way. “And she’s been with me some time. I would have been more surprised if she had not waited.”

  Ilhanah nodded, apparently satisfied. But her next question thrust deep. “And your other pet? The winged copicatl? What became of it?”

  Reisil thought quickly. “I sent him back to Kodu Riik,” she lied. “I wanted them to know I’d found you.”

  Ilhanah nodded, but didn’t look entirely convinced.

  “I borrowed him from a friend,” Reisil went on, spinning out the lie. “He’s a magical creature, you know. Juhrnus does not manage well without the coal-drake’s power to fuel his spells. He’ll need his full strength to keep things stable until my return.”

  The idea of Juhrnus trying to use magic was enough to make Reisil smile. But it faded at Ilhanah’s frown.

  “He?”

  And Reisil was suddenly reminded that the only accepted magic wielders in Cemanahuatl were women.

  “Yes.”

  “Do many men practice magic in Kodu Riik?”

  “Not many, no.” Nor many women. But Reisil didn’t elaborate.

  “Ah. Some men are exceptional, then.”

  Reisil could go along with that. Many of the men she knew were quite exceptional, in one way or another. “Yes.”

  “And the nahuallis accept this? They don’t find it causes . . . difficulties?”

  How to answer that? “Some, but they add to our strength. We need all we can get, at the moment.” Which Reisil guessed was something Ilhanah understood well.

  “That is true.” The other woman walked silently with Reisil for a few minutes longer before retreating inside. Reisil could tell Ilhanah wanted to ask more questions, but then she might have to answer a few of Reisil’s.

  Reisil sat beneath one of the great trees with Saljane, breathing deeply of its rich, mellow scent. Reisil closed her eyes.

  A scrap of memory fluttered through her mind. She came awake suddenly, scrabbling to capture the fragment. It hovered just out of reach. Tantalizingly close. Something she’d overheard . . . something Ampok had said. If the magic dies entirely . . .

  Reisil sat up straight. Why hadn’t she put it together before? The magic in Cemanahuatl was dying! Fading to nothing. And in Kodu Riik it was growing. Excitement gushed through her.

  The magic was draining away from here and spilling into Kodu Riik. That’s why the nahualli rinda was turning up in the spell-chains of the nokulas.

  It was a key piece of the puzzle. Reisil could feel it. The wizards had told her that the spell they cast at Mysane Kosk was to seek greater power. And though it had gone terribly wrong, it had also succeeded. The power the wizards sought was flowing. But Kodu Riik wasn’t meant to hold the magic of two worlds. If she didn’t stop it, Kodu Riik and Cemanahuatl would be remade. Would the nokulas even survive? Reisil wondered. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t want to take that chance.

  Reisil started when Ampok came for her. The nahualli’s hair was violet. There were rinda painted on her forehead, arms, and legs in pale blue and yellow.

  “Come. We begin.”

  As they went inside to join the nahualli council, tiny beads of rain began to fall, making a sizzling sound on the paving tiles. Ampok and Reisil ran to escape its stinging wrath.

  The council be
gan with all the women filing in. There were more than a hundred of them. They wore their gold and silver ornaments, with their hair hanging loose and black. They sat in concentric circles, with the senior closer to the center. Age did not determine seniority, Reisil noticed. Undoubtedly the “elders” were the most powerful. Reisil was given a position of honor in the centermost circle.

  A dinner followed. Platters were carried in and passed around. There were thirteen courses in all. By the time pitchers of the bitter, spicy xochil were passed around, Reisil was stuffed to the gills and itching to get started.

  At last Ilhanah set aside her cup and began a low chant. The nahuallis in each circle picked up her words and repeated them, but in a staggered fashion, so that soon the room was full of looping voices all saying something different. Not just something. They were invoking the Teotl. They were saying each of the fifty-two gods’ names. Slowly the sound traveled to the outer ring and the voices at the interior fell silent. When the entire room was still, Ilhanah spoke again.

  “Sisters! We gather here at our most sacred place to hold council. The Foreseeing made by Ampok has brought us a new sister. I ask her now to speak her tale so that we may learn and consider what must be done next.”

  Reisil took a breath and began, speaking loud enough so that everyone could hear. She began with the drought, and the plague and the nokulas, and of learning that they had come from Mysane Kosk. She talked about the attack of the wizards there, and the spell that had gone awry. She explained that they did not know what had gone wrong. She talked about discovering what the nokulas were, and about the Foreseeing by Nurema, once a nahualli from Cemanahuatl. At the mention of her, there was a jittering of voices.

  “Nurema?”

  “She said she went by Nixcira before she came to Kodu Riik.”

  There was an audible gasp from many of the women. Even Ilhanah looked startled.

  “We thought she was lost. Ampok’s Foreseeing spoke only of you and your mother, Kinatl.”

  Kinatl. These women had been her friends, even her family. Was one of them Reisil’s aunt or cousin? She swallowed, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach. She bent her head down, hiding her reaction. Ilhanah didn’t notice.