Halfblood Journey

by Rheaume, Laura

  “What?”

  “Just step right there, will you?”

  “Sure. Listen, I know you’re doing the badass thing, but you might as well save it. You are not going to hit me with that.” He spoke very confidently. It would have convinced a Human, for sure. However, among other things, sweat was something that didn’t lie.

  “Nope.” The leg came off. Scythe started on another one.

  “That’s good, because you don’t want to be making enemies with me right now.”

  “I will not hit you with any table legs today. I was sent here to test your ability.” The second leg came off and Scythe sat down and went to work on it. He asked casually, “What did you do to the other testers?”

  The man tried to relax. “Oh, yeah. Well, that was a joke. Thought I’d show them what I’m made of, you know.” He was good at the big, empty talk.

  Scythe hated the big, empty talk, but it did tell him a lot.

  Here was a man who was afraid. Put him in a room with Humans and Kin and he was in his element. None of them could touch him. That’s why he spent his life surrounded by them; he must have felt like a god, a childlike god that liked to play with his toys.

  But.

  Put him in a room with someone more powerful than him...and what did he have?

  Now Scythe understood why Irving had been used, why he was so ruthlessly attacked in court, and why Mercy…

  He shook his head. He wasn’t about to think about that. It made things really hot, and he was still trying to keep it on simmer.

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah, well, you know, but these guys had no clue. Anyway, gave ‘em a little show: mixin’ stuff around a bit, making them forget their name and shit. I got a little carried away with one…”

  His voice trailed off when Scythe got up, went to the door, kneeled down, and with three heavy hits, wedged the newly angled end of the table leg securely under it. He turned his head at the movement behind him.

  Cord had straightened up, and his whole body was tensed to move.

  Scythe watched him. He wanted him to. He wanted him to move, even one inch.

  He stood on the edge and wanted so badly to jump. A hot, heavy wind blew at his back, pushing at him. Seventeen feet. He knew exactly how long it would take him to cover seventeen feet. He knew just where his hands would be when he got there, could almost feel the sweaty skin in his grip and a pulse flickering under the skin of his fingers. He knew precisely how long it would take to kill the man who was poised to move just seventeen feet away.

  Cord’s eyes widened and he swallowed. Then his body eased down into the seat.

  Scythe turned and walked into the wind, fighting for each step.

  He sighed, stood, and deliberately put the second table leg, slightly bashed near the end, next to the door. Then he stepped over to the corner, reached up and pulled the camera right out of the wall. He let it fall to the floor.

  “One question, before we get to the test,” Scythe said, coming back to sit across from Cord. The man didn’t respond, but the hand on his knee had started to shake. “What, exactly, am I smelling right there?” He nodded to a point directly in the center of the man’s chest.

  “You’re not allowed...to do anything. I am an agent now...like you. We...we might work together…”

  Scythe waited.

  “They said it didn’t matter what I did before as long as I have a strong talent.”

  “I will kill you right now if you don’t hand it over.” It was not a lie. Firon had been smart, to get the promise from Scythe to keep the man safe before he knew who was in the room. Under normal circumstances, Scythe would have worked very hard to keep his word. However, the scent clinging to that particular bulge made it difficult for him to bear that in mind.

  Cord pulled the pendant out of his shirt and unfastened it.

  “What am I smelling here?”

  “Her...blood.”

  “And why…” It was very hard, now that it was in his hand. It was one thing to imagine that the vision had occurred, and another to have the proof of it...and the man who did it...in front of him. Images from a vision he couldn’t erase from his memory flashed in front of him. “...is her blood on it?”

  “She spit it at me.”

  Scythe blinked, and the unexpected answer helped him pull himself together. He clarified, “She spit her blood at you?”

  “Yes, the little…” Cord stopped himself from saying the word that he thought best described her and just watched while Scythe put the necklace on himself and dropped it into his shirt.

  “Okay. Time for the test, Cord.” If he didn’t do it immediately, he knew he’d break his word. Besides, there were other things he needed to accomplish. Scythe leaned forward and started gathering everything he had.

  “Wait, I...I’m having second…”

  “If there’s no test, you’re not in the Scere. Do you want to be in this room and not be in the Scere?” Scythe was hoping for a “Yes.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Then show me what you’re made of, Cord.”

  Cord built up his power and held it around himself. Scythe was still pulling power in. Both of them could already tell from the pressure who was stronger.

  Scythe said calmly, “That’s not bad. Now I need to test your intent.”

  “My intent? What the hell does that mean?”

  “The Scere doesn’t trust you, Cord.” Scythe took his power and sharpened it and stabbed him in the eyes. He felt the man struggle, but it was only a brief moment before his inferior ability was blown back. Scythe stood before everything that Cord knew, and he started to ask for things. And the halfblood gave them to him.

  “Show me what your plans are now that you are in the Scere.” Three spheres jumped forward. Cord pulled at them, but he had no more power over them. Scythe ran through each one, hurrying the memories in a way he had never tried before. It took more effort and energy, but he was through them in a matter of a minute. Encouraged, he continued.

  “Show me the rebels.”

  “Show me who is behind the attacks.”

  “Your backers.”

  “Show me all of your contacts, in every town.”

  “Your suppliers.”

  When he was done with that line of questioning, he asked the things he was more motivated to know.

  “Show me how you change memories. Show me how you change them back.” For the latter, there was nothing. “Show me how you make people do things with your directives.”

  Then, as he was getting extremely tired, he asked, “Show me how you hide. Show me where. How do you travel? How do you pay out and receive money? Show me how you access databases. How do you alter them without being detected? How do you communicate securely?” And so on.

  Cord had struggled repeatedly, but didn’t have the concentration or the raw power to stop Scythe. He raged at him and threatened him; he quoted the promises the Eler had given him. Then he started to plead. When he still couldn’t stop him, he tried to hide inside his mind, but he couldn’t move there. Finally, having nothing to fight with but his words, he used those.

  “You wanna know why her blood is on it?” He choked on a laugh when Scythe froze, the memory in front of him disappearing. “I dipped it in her blood, you asshole, after I was finished with her. The first blood. Then, I killed her. You know how I like to do it, don’t you?”

  Somehow, Cord had kept back a reserve of energy and he used it while Scythe wavered to take control of one of his own memories. “Look, see for yourself.”

  Another sphere floated forward and opened for Scythe on its own when he didn’t...did not want...to see.

  Mercy’s throat was sliced open over the ripped shirt; deep red was flowing over a white cotton bra and bruises that had healed some since Scythe had last seen them. The pungent smell that he most feared rose from her body in steamy waves.

  Scythe knew it couldn’t be true. He had seen her vision. She had chased him, and he had run.

&
nbsp; But, his treacherous mind tortured him: Hadn’t he been able to alter the ending of the dragon vision? Hadn’t he proven himself that they weren’t unchangeable? He stared at a vision of what had actually happened and he began to crumble.

  Dead.

  He hovered there in the memory looking down at her, and the sound of Cord’s laughter did not even touch him. He knew the man was readying himself to break Scythe’s waning control, but he didn’t care. All his work, the research, the planning, the care, had been wasted, and nothing, nothing mattered to him anymore. Except…

  Scythe didn’t know when his hands had wrapped themselves around the man’s throat, but it was a good place for them. The fingers on his right hand moved until they found the right spot and began to dig in.

  A thought drifted on a small slip of paper toward him...about a promise not to harm...but it burnt to ashes before it reached him. Because they were connected, he felt Cord’s growing horror as he watched the fire rise up. He shied away from it, raised mental hands to shield himself from the heat and the hate, and cursed from the bottom of his soul.

  Scythe’s eyes, dragging themselves across her skin, saw it...just there on the edge.

  A little blurry shadow that shook and then disappeared.

  A shadow?

  Wait...A shadow meant...what?

  “You...changed your own memory?”

  Scythe was still frowning at the image in front of him when he felt Cord’s last ditch attempt at freedom: a burst of power that flowed through the damaged memory and struck out at him. Scythe was blinded by a shock of white and then he was knocked back by a quick, strong strike to the side of the head. He staggered to the right, his left hand coming up automatically to block the next hit.

  Another sharp pain stabbed him in the back of the head from the way Cord had yanked himself free from his mind, but it didn’t interfere with his body’s instinctive reaction. Years of training meant that he didn’t have to think about what to do, or even see his opponent. As long as there was a connection somewhere, his body knew what to do. He had already coiled a hand around the arm that had struck him. After a swift pivot, a leg sweep and a shift of his weight, he followed Cord to the ground, one hand still tightly gripping the neck, the other holding the arm at just the right angle to bring a large percentage of the body weight of two men down on Cord’s elbow. His head struck the ground next. Crack. Crack. Cord’s concentration flew out of him along with a loud scream of pain.

  Scythe leaned in close and peeled away the flimsy barrier to Cord’s mind.

  “Show me how you did it.”

  Obediently, Cord’s mind showed him what he had done. He hadn’t changed his memories, he had created another memory, just for the purpose of disrupting his enemy, and he had done it in those few seconds that Scythe was distracted.

  From the moment he started, Scythe had deliberately saved what he knew would be the worst for the very end, because he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he saw it. Now, though, he had some ideas. “Show me, Cord, what you did to my Mercy.”

  At the end, Cord lay curled in a ball on the ground, hugging his arm and hardly moving beyond a slight tremor that seemed to roam throughout his body.

  Scythe sat back against the wall, extremely proud of his restraint, and let them pound their way in. He should have just opened it for them, but the door seemed very far away and he couldn’t seem to find the energy to get up and do it. He didn’t remember the last time he had felt so completely wiped out.

  Firon stared open mouthed at the broken table, the discarded camera and the unresponsive Cord.

  “Sir,” Scythe said, before the man could speak. The Kin blinked at his use of the title. “I should like…” He managed to pull himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall, and bowed politely. “...to humbly thank you for this assignment. I shall remember your kindness until my last day.” He grinned. He was feeling a little giddy.

  The man stared at him for another moment. When he was able to make sense of, or, more likely, shake off his reaction to the changes that had come over Scythe, Firon demanded, “What did you do? Why did you block the door?”

  “Oh, that. I wanted to be thorough. Do you want my report?”

  “Is he going to live?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then, yes.”

  Chapter 33

  The clerk looked up when the door opened. That was something you didn’t smell every day. Or see.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to visit someone.”

  “Name?”

  After she had checked the records, “Ah. You were scheduled for a visit yesterday.”

  “I didn’t want to make that appointment.”

  That was a strange thing to say. It was probably a bad translation.

  “No matter.”

  As the paperwork was being completed with some help, the clerk inquired, “How did you get here? Is someone with you?” She wanted to ask, “Do you need a doctor?”

  “I walked.”

  “I see.” Definitely one for the books. Still, everything was in order, so, “This way.”

  -----------

  Scythe was lying on the bed with one arm thrown over his face when she walked in. After the door closed behind her and he still hadn’t moved, a chill wind blew in the cold cell and she forgot to breathe. She had never seen him fail to react to someone so close to him. Forcing herself forward because she feared...no, she didn't want to even think about what she feared...she approached the bed one slow step at a time. He didn’t even twitch, and her first thought was that there was something terribly wrong with him. Had someone knocked him out? Had they drugged him? When she was close enough, she noticed that his chest rose and fell slowly in deep, measured breaths. A tiny sound escaped from her and she sunk down to her knees in relief. He wasn’t injured; he was completely exhausted.

  What could he be doing in a prison cell that would wear him out to that extent? She knelt by him and watched him breathe. After a few moments her fear subsided, and it occurred to her to worry about how vulnerable he was like that; it irritated her that he didn’t have anyone to watch over him. No one ever watched over him.

  She wished she could, but she couldn’t even take care of herself.

  Except, she had.

  That strange heaviness that she had first felt after her escape...after the shakes had left her...the weight that had carried her through the maze of the city looked like it had settled permanently over her. She wasn’t weak or helpless. She could be strong. She promised herself, right there in front of him, that she would make herself even stronger. Strong enough to stand with him, not cower behind him in the future that she had fought twice now to reach.

  She stood up and took advantage of the sink to wash up. When she was done, she looked down at her disgusting clothes and then around the room; he didn’t have anything spare to wear. She used the towel to wipe at the worst mess on her garments, but there was little she could do.

  After that woman had helped her get her hands free and hurried off, she had turned the ripped shirt around so that the tear was in the back. Later, she had picked up the towel, well, stolen it, from a pile left out by a kiddie pool. At first, she was worried about being stared at or harassed, but she hadn’t had any problems. It was amazing how many people wouldn’t look at someone who had a towel for a jacket; it was better than camouflage.

  When she finally determined that she was as clean as she was going to get, she tossed the rag in the sink. She stepped back to the bed and debated. On the one hand, he obviously needed to rest. On the other hand, he looked very comfy and she was really tired. She sighed, knowing that she should just let him sleep...but she had missed him so much and she wanted to be near someone, to touch someone, so badly that her body ached.

  It didn’t take her long to decide. She lay down against his side, gently letting her arm fall across his chest and resting her head just below the shoulder. When she was little, she used to lay like t
his with him, just like she did with her parents and auntie, on the rug by the fireplace or in the backyard in the hammock. She snuggled in until her head was just right and then sighed deeply. She felt his warm body tighten and then shift beneath her arm.

  “Mercy?”

  “Oops, sorry,” she said, patting his chest. “Go back to sleep.” She only felt a little guilty for waking him because she had wanted to hear his voice, to know that he was really all right. Those deep tones wrapped themselves around her name and sang a sweet lullaby that made everything start to drift. Now she could let go. Scythe. She closed her eyes and let her whole body relax. She was so weary after walking so much and hardly getting any sleep...

  I...was worried, again.

  She knew that he had been more than worried. What he had really felt lay heavily over his thoughts; she turned away from it, because she didn’t have the strength at the moment to face that pain.

  I know. And I’m sorry, again. Please, can I just rest here with you? Did he have any idea how safe she felt with him? Just being near him was enough to chase the monsters away and, now that they were back in the shadows where they belonged, the part of her that couldn’t rest with them around was collapsing and taking all her energy with it. Her heavy body pulled her mind into the thick mud at the bottom of the lake.

  Somewhere above her, he wanted to ask a million questions. She wasn’t interested in that, so she played dirty. Scythe. She sent her love in waves to wash over him, which kept him very still and quiet.

  Somewhere along the line, she fell asleep.