The Queen of Blood

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Come,” the student whispered, beckoning with her fingers.

  The dancing flame slipped between the panes of glass. It tumbled down the stairs in cartwheels and then rolled over the dirt. The student held out her hand, and the teacher quickly pulled a leather glove over the student’s fingers as the flame leaped to land on her palm. It was a tiny spirit, its height rising and falling as it danced, spinning in circles. Its laugh sounded like the hiss and pop of a fire.

  “You”—the master pointed at Merecot—“make it light the blue cloth but not the red. Take control of it.” She tossed two strips of cloth onto the dirt, one blue and one red.

  Pressing her lips together, Merecot focused on the fire spirit. “You,” she said to the spirit, “will obey me.” It tensed and then twitched once and stiffened. Moving her finger, she guided the flame toward the blue. “Burn the blue, only the blue.”

  The flame spirit pounced on the blue fabric. It smoldered, and then flames licked over the cloth, darkening and curling it. The spirit danced as the cloth blackened, and it crumbled beneath the spirit’s feet.

  Smugly, Merecot smiled at the teacher. Her smile faltered when Master Klii merely moved on to the next student. She must be used to more praise, Daleina guessed.

  “Now the red,” the teacher said to the third student.

  The third student began to speak in a singsong voice that at least was similar to what Daleina had witnessed hedgewitches doing. “Burn the red until it’s dead, burn it deep before you sleep, burn the red . . .” And the spirit engulfed the red cloth, spinning in the dirt with it until it disintegrated into ashes.

  Master Klii sniffed. “We’re training heirs here, not hedgewitches. Spoken word is unnecessary for our students. You”—the teacher turned to Daleina—“banish it, without the peasant chant.”

  Daleina felt nearly dizzy with relief. This I can do. Sitting cross-legged, she focused on the fire spirit. “Leave,” she told it.

  It danced, stomping on both the red and blue cloth.

  She was aware of eyes on her, the other students and the teacher. Sweat prickled her armpits and the back of her neck. “Leave,” she repeated.

  It ignored her.

  She pretended the others weren’t there, that she was home, that the only thing that mattered was convincing the fire spirit to leave now. Clenching her fists, she tried again, pouring all of her energy into the word. “Leave!”

  Startled, it met her eyes. Its pupils were tiny orange flames, and its lids were charred. For an instant, it was frozen mid-dance, and then it darted across the practice ring and back up to the lantern. It writhed on the wick, and Daleina imagined it was glaring at her.

  “Good, all of you,” the teacher said. “Switch to the next spirit.”

  Shakily, Daleina stood. She swayed as the practice ring tilted. She felt a pressure on her elbow, a hand, and looked to see Merecot beside her. “Deep breaths,” Merecot murmured. “You pass out, and that’s all anyone will talk about. Seriously, was that hard for you? You had the easiest one.”

  Concentrating on breathing evenly, Daleina went with the other students to the teacher with the blue ribbon, on one side of the practice ring. The teacher laid her hand on the smooth white trunk of the tree. “Your task here is to summon a waterfall from within the tree. Right now, three water spirits are blocking the water that would naturally spill out of the cracks. Convince them to release the water and re-create the fall that should be here.”

  Three spirits at once? And where were the spirits? Behind the wood? She felt as if everyone else had been given lessons that she’d missed. Maybe this was Mistress Baria’s fault. Daleina hadn’t had proper training. Or maybe I’m not like the others. Maybe her power wasn’t as useful as she’d thought. Maybe the headmistress was right, and she was destined to be a hedgewitch or a guard.

  “Each of you target one of the spirits.”

  Daleina licked her lips, cleared her throat, and asked, “How?”

  The teacher looked at her as if she’d violated a sacred law, then she sighed and tapped Daleina’s forehead. “With this. Your mind. Picture it like a hand and reach out.”

  She took a deep breath and tried. Carefully, she imagined her thoughts in the shape of a hand, reaching out toward the wall. She reached through it—and she felt a shiver shudder along her “arm.” A spirit! She’d heard that queens and heirs could sense spirits, but Mistress Baria had never been able to explain how it was done. Yet it was so simple!

  “Visualize water pouring,” the teacher said. “Use the word ‘release.’”

  Those were at least concrete instructions, but Daleina had never successfully commanded a water spirit before. Trying to push her self-doubt away, she focused on the word and on the spirit at the other end of her mental hand, through the wall. She felt as if she were fracturing—she couldn’t hold both the word and the hand. “Release,” she said out loud. She heard the other girls as well: “Release, release, release.” She imagined the water spilling through the cracks in the wood. But she didn’t feel the words burn inside her.

  Water spilled from the cracks. It tumbled down the surface of the wood.

  “Well done,” the teacher said.

  Daleina felt Merecot looking at her. She met the other girl’s eyes. She knows I didn’t do it. She waited for the other girl to call her out, to tell the teacher that she’d failed—that one of the others had commanded her spirit, that Daleina might not have enough power after all—but Merecot didn’t say anything.

  They moved together to the next teacher, earth, to summon small mole-like spirits from within the dirt. Merecot succeeded in summoning a dozen. The other students summoned one each. Daleina failed to summon any, but the earth-spirit teacher was kind. “Don’t worry,” she told Daleina. “Some affinities manifest later than others.”

  For air, Merecot forced a tiny air spirit to blow a dried leaf in figure-eight patterns in front of the teacher. Others were able to cyclone a few leaves. Daleina was only able to convince the spirit to blow the dried leaf into the air a few inches, which was, thankfully, enough to satisfy the teacher.

  To Daleina’s relief, everyone in their small group failed with the ice spirit. “In the mountains of Semo or on the glaciers of Elhim, this is an easier task,” the teacher comforted them. “Ice spirits are rare in Aratay. Rare or not, though, the principle is the same: the key to summoning any spirit of any kind is will. Your need for them to obey must be greater than their need to resist, and they are born with the need to resist. They are born hating us. You must replace that hatred with obedience. The images you choose, the words you use, are merely conduits to focus your will—that is why you will hear so many hedgewitches using chants or traditional words. But in truth, the words themselves aren’t necessary—the focus is. We will teach you to choose the best conduits for your power.”

  Last for Daleina’s group was wood. She should be able to handle this. Wood spirits were the most prevalent spirit in Aratay, as evidenced by the mighty forests. The spirits and the land were linked. If she’d started the class with wood, she might have done well. But by the time her group migrated over to the teacher with the green ribbon, Daleina felt as if her insides had been scraped out with a spoon, mashed together, and then poured back in.

  They knelt in a circle around a circle of seeds with one simple task: ask a wood spirit to grow the seeds into plants. Daleina had done this, helping the hedgewitch aid the forest farmers, casting charms to encourage the spirits to tend to the plants, and hurrying the growth of certain necessary herbs. Usually, they’d entreat the spirits and then leave the area, letting the spirits do their work in peace, but that wasn’t an option here. This isn’t so different, Daleina told herself. You’ve done this. You can do it.

  Again, one by one, the others succeeded. One grew a three-inch flower. Another sprouted a row of beans. Merecot, of course, exceeded them, causing a carrot to thicken until it was edible and then plucking it out of the earth while the spirit howled.

/>   On Daleina’s turn, she focused on one spirit and one seed. Please, she thought at it. Make it grow. Out loud, she said the words she’d been taught by the hedgewitch, “I am the sun, I am the rain, I am the soft earth. You are the life, the need, the heart. Grow in light, grow in rain, grow in soft, soft earth.” But the spirit continued to rail in its tiny, unintelligible voice, shaking its twiglike fist at all of them. Winking at it, Merecot bit into her carrot.

  “Without the words,” the teacher said.

  Daleina felt sweat pop onto her forehead. Without the words, it was difficult to concentrate. Around the practice ring, the other groups were working through their tests. To their left, she heard applause as water gushed out of the tree by the water-spirit teacher, and to their right, she saw the dance of flames in front of the students working with fire. Near another group, tiny earth spirits were tumbling across the dirt in every direction.

  Focus, she ordered herself. She had the will. She simply had to harness it. Grow, please. Abandoning the chant, she tried to push the words out of her, from the inside, from her heart, and she felt as if her blood were burning. She gasped as the practice ring spun again.

  Around her, everything blackened and blurred. She blinked, feeling her eyes fill with water. Her hands were shaking. She was shaking. She felt hands on her shoulders, and a voice saying, “Steady.” The voice sounded as if it were underwater. She tried to breathe deep, to steady herself, but the world tilted sideways.

  “Stop!” a voice commanded. And cold water splashed in her face. Spitting and gasping, she fell backward and landed on her rear.

  Then Merecot was helping her stand. “Hey, look, she did it!”

  Daleina looked at the dirt, and one of the seeds had sprouted. Lying on its side rather than in the dirt, it had produced a tendril of green and a misshapen pink blossom.

  The teacher grunted, “Good.”

  As the students began to move to congregate in the middle of the practice ring, Daleina stayed behind, staring at the sprout. “I don’t think I did that,” she said softly.

  “You didn’t,” Merecot admitted, also quietly.

  “Why?” Daleina asked. “Why help me?”

  She shrugged and didn’t meet Daleina’s eyes. “The entire class, you were the only one who dared ask a question, the only one who cared more about learning than being their performing monkey and passing their stupid tests. Frankly, I need someone to talk to, and you’re the only one who seems to have half a brain.”

  Daleina studied her face. She’s lonely, she thought. “Thank you.”

  “Granted, given your lack of skill, your life will certainly be short, but I’ll enjoy your company until you’re torn to bits.”

  Less gratefully, Daleina repeated, “Thank you,” as they joined the other students to hear who had passed and who had failed.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ven hooked his knees over a branch and began sit-ups. He was at the top of the forest, and every time he swung his torso up, he had a view across the canopy. Sunrise streaked the sky in lemon and pale blue, and the autumn-gold leaves glowed where the light touched them. The canopy singers were heralding daybreak with a complex harmony. He couldn’t see any of the singers, but he listened to them blend their music to the birdsong.

  So close to the sky, it was peaceful. Not many lived this high. Dedicated singers. A few artists, hermits, and other loners. The weaker limbs were more dangerous, and it was a long way from the more abundant resources of the forest floor. Also, it was a very, very long way to fall. But Ven liked it. If he had to choose a place to live, he thought he’d pick the canopy. Fewer people was a definite bonus.

  “Champion Ven?” a voice called—Healer Popol. “Much as I don’t want to question your choice of camps, my apprentice and I would be much more comfortable if we could return to our customary paths.”

  Ven crunched his torso faster, completing twelve more sit-ups before answering. “You hired me to keep you safe. You should trust my judgment.”

  “We do! Of course we do! But . . .” The healer paused as if choosing his words carefully, and Ven smirked. The healer hadn’t been this deferential earlier. He supposed the change was due to the way Ven had caught dinner last night. He’d hit the squirrel mid-leap with his knife, a clean kill through the neck, and had it skinned and on the fire for dinner before Popol and his apprentice had finished laying out the bedrolls. Had to keep his skills fresh somehow. Plus the look on the pompous healer’s face was priceless. “. . . your skill is unparalleled, so it seems to me that you could keep us just as safe on less . . . precarious terrain?”

  Stopping the sit-ups, Ven caught the branch with his hands, flipped his legs over, and then landed on another branch a few feet below. Healer Popol and his apprentice, a young boy with green-gold eyes and black skin called Hamon, were huddled in the thin crook of the tree trunk. Ropes held their camp in place—they’d used their bedrolls like hammocks. Ven doubted either of them had slept much, though the boy hadn’t complained. He rarely spoke at all, which Ven liked. Popol spoke enough for all three of them.

  “We’re expected in Ogdare by midmorning,” Popol said. “Given how long it took us to reach this height, we will need to send word that we’ll be late. I dislike being late. People expect their healers to be punctual.” He switched his words to lecture his apprentice. “You must appear to be in control of the uncontrollable when you’re a healer, or else people will worry and make your job that much harder. Appearance matters, my boy. You must be clean, neat, well dressed, calm, and in control of your temper at all times, even when your patients are being idiots. It can be challenging. People in pain are often idiots.”

  Ven would have broadened that to say people in general were often idiots. He’d seen so many forget the most commonsense basic security measures, such as refreshing their charms or reinforcing the walls and doors of their homes.

  Or ignoring the advice of a trained champion.

  Ex-champion, he thought with just a touch of bitterness.

  Or more than a touch.

  As Popol talked, the boy Hamon was packing up the camp, efficiently rolling the bedrolls into their packs. He left the spiderweb of ropes in place, to hold his master’s weight, but he wasn’t relying on them himself, Ven noticed. Very sensible.

  Popol switched back to addressing Ven. “When we reach Ogdare, I expect you to take full responsibility for our tardiness. Explain it was your excessive concern for our welfare. It may turn out for the best, if they think our skills are so valued that we are in danger of being targets.”

  “Your skills are valued, Master,” the apprentice said.

  Accepting one of the packs, the lightest one, Popol waved his hand to dismiss the boy’s words. “Of course they are. Perception, my lad. It’s a tool just like the surgical knife. Belief in the healer can help a patient heal as much as the right herb.”

  “But isn’t it better to actually heal them?” the boy Hamon asked.

  “Both is best. Then the healthy heed your advice and don’t need future healing.”

  Taking a rope from Hamon, Ven looped it around a branch. “We won’t be late to Ogdare.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” Popol said. “It was a three-hour climb up.”

  Ven smiled and knew it was not a nice smile. “Down is much faster.” Taking the remaining pack, he hooked a harness around Popol. The boy Hamon, quicker on the uptake than his master, secured himself to a rope as well. And then Ven released the knot that was holding their camp in place. They plummeted.

  Ignoring Popol’s screams, Ven watched the branches flash by, the autumn leaves blurring into golden streaks. At midforest, he caught the rope. It yanked and would have burned his skin if he hadn’t worn thick leather gloves, which he always did—he’d learned that lesson the hard way, after an accident with a pricker bush when he was eight. His mother had left the prickers in him so he’d learn from his mistake. He still had a few scars from that. He tightened his muscles, and their plunge jerk
ed to a stop, knocking off a spray of crinkled red leaves.

  Popol gasped in air. “You are trying to cause a heart attack.”

  “Good thing we have a healer here to stop it.” Ven lowered them slowly onto a bridge and then flicked the rope so that it came tumbling down after them. It collapsed into a pile at his feet, and he wound it back into a coil.

  “I am never hiring you again,” Popol said.

  Inwardly, Ven sighed. He should really try not to antagonize his clients. It was just so very difficult to resist. It was the only amusement he got these days.

  “He has kept us safe,” Hamon pointed out. “And we’ve covered more territory—”

  “I know, I know.” Popol waved his hands like bird wings again. “But every—”

  Ven heard a breath of wind in the trees. “Shh.” Holding up one hand, he listened. The wind was above them, southeast, a tiny disturbance in the leaves, too localized to be true wind.

  Both healer and apprentice fell silent and scanned the trees with him.

  Hamon spotted the spirit first. He pointed wordlessly toward a translucent shape that watched them from a few branches up, perched on a patch of mottled bark. It was a child-size spirit with translucent butterfly wings. It held a bulge under one of its arms.

  Ven put his hand on the hilt of his knife.

  Up in the canopy, the tree spirits had largely ignored them, but now that they were back on the path, more would be watching them. The spirits didn’t like it when humans traveled through the woods. Sometimes they showed their dislike in malicious ways. While they didn’t dare defy the queen enough to directly harm a human, they could make travel difficult: weakening a bridge, cutting a rope, causing an animal to attack . . . little acts that couldn’t be proven to be their fault.

  For all that, though, it was unusual for one to show itself like this. “Stay in the center of the bridge,” Ven said in a low voice. He’d take the rear, since the spirit was behind them. Drawing his knife, he herded the healer and apprentice forward.

  The spirit flitted between the trees, pacing them.