Betrayer's Bane

by Michael G. Manning

  “Get out,” said Emma firmly. “Now.”

  ***

  Ryan sat at his desk, staring down at his arm that wasn’t an arm.

  Oh, it looked like an arm, but it was just dead metal. He was reminded of that by the fact that he could still feel his missing arm, his real arm. It wasn’t there, of course, but he still felt it. His one good eye could confirm that and his magesight definitely didn’t show him anything where it had once been, but he could feel it.

  And it hurt, almost constantly. At the moment it ached fiercely, as though the muscles had been kept tensed far too long. It was the mother of all charley horses.

  Occasionally it got better, but it never vanished.

  And that was just his arm.

  His face didn’t cause him pain, physically at least, but he couldn’t bear to look at himself in a mirror. He had become used to blocking his magesight when it came to his own features. He didn’t want to see what wasn’t there anymore, or what was left either, for that matter.

  Eating was a challenge, and drinking was worse. Without most of his jaw the mechanical aspects of keeping himself alive were more than embarrassing, they were humiliating, even when he was alone.

  He survived solely because he was too stubborn to submit to his circumstances. He had always been focused, determined. He had derived pleasure from his work before, but now it was everything.

  He had been grateful to Violet for the mask, but the arm was purely his own creation, and he was constantly improving it. He spent endless hours perfecting the joints, making them move smoothly, but that hadn’t been enough. The metal was heavy and smooth joints sometimes allowed it to move too freely and in ways that were unnatural.

  The enchantments corrected most of those problems as well as endowing the artificial limb with its own strength. In the beginning he had been forced to maintain its position entirely with his own power and unwavering attention, but that was no longer necessary.

  The combination of static enchantments and constant practice had allowed him to reach a point at which the prosthesis was almost as easy to control as his natural arm had once been. But it wasn’t enough. If he was forced to wear pounds and pounds of heavy metal it needed to be better than almost as good as his original limb.

  He no longer strove to make it a better arm, now he sought to make it functional in ways his arm could never have been. Being large and composed of iron it was an ideal medium to store power and he could add far more enchantments to it than he ever could have done by tattooing the skin of a living arm.

  It was a tool, and a weapon.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Who could that be? he wondered. He never had visitors, not this late, or for that matter, ever. He mingled with his family only during the course of his duties. Ryan had strongly discouraged his brothers and sisters from trying to be friendly and they had taken the hint.

  Only Emma had tried to get past his personal barriers and she had finally given up months ago, much to his relief.

  With a thought he lifted the mask to his face and settled it into place. The enchantment on it kept it in place and shielded the flesh beneath from scrutiny. The arm went on just as easily.

  Crossing the room, he wished once more that he could speak. Speaking would have allowed him to question his visitor without opening the door. His privacy ward blocked mental communication and he preferred to open the door than remove the barrier.

  He swung the heavy wood aside to find Emma standing in the hall.

  “May I come in?”

  No.

  “Too bad,” she replied, slipping around him before he could block her path. Glancing back she added, “Close the door.”

  This is my room. I don’t want visitors, he told her firmly.

  “Who is in command here?” she asked suddenly.

  You are.

  “What is my title?”

  First.

  “And yours?” she continued.

  Second, he answered.

  “Then do as I say and shut the goddamn door,” she concluded. “I need to speak with you, privately.”

  He did and then remained standing silently by it.

  She watched him, overwhelmed by the feelings that rose in her heart whenever she saw his arm. The mask made it even worse, she couldn’t simply avoid looking at the arm, for there was nothing but cold silver to fix her gaze on instead. He looked back, giving every impression of being the statue that he looked so much like.

  “I have been told that I have become too angry, too distant. That I need to relax,” she said at last.

  This is true, he replied.

  “What about you?”

  I survive. My work is interesting, it sustains me.

  Emma’s jaw clenched, “And that is enough for you?”

  He never moved, remaining as still as pillar of stone. It must be. I have accepted what is, something you would do well to consider.

  Her eyes lit with defiance, “No.”

  My arm will never grow back, you are being irrational.

  “I don’t give a fuck, and I don’t give a damn about your stupid arm, or your face. You still have a body, a heart. The man I love is still there, in front of me. If you can accept being maimed then accepting my love should be easy.” Her words were impassioned, but her eyes still dry. She had cried enough over the past months. She had no room left for sorrow.

  That again? he responded, surprised. We settled that long before this happened to me. You’re still my sister.

  “How long do you think we’ll live, Ryan? Do you think the world cares? We’ll likely never live long enough for that to matter.”

  I care. I may be half a man, but I have principles.

  “Do you love me?” she asked, her voice soft, vulnerable.

  His right hand clenched, Yes.

  “Then hold me.”

  Ryan’s feet started to move on their own, but he restrained himself. No.

  “That wasn’t a request, Second,” said Emma. “It was an order.” When he failed to respond she added, “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  He crossed the room in two long strides and crushed her against his chest.

  “Oof,” she said as the air went out of her. “Take that arm off, please.”

  I can’t hug you very well with only one arm.

  “I don’t need it. I only need you,” she said, burying her face against his neck.

  A moment later a loud clank sounded as the arm fell to the floor. Emma looked up, but the mask was all she could see. “The mask too,” she added.

  Em, my face…

  “I don’t care!”

  Ryan’s hand trembled as he raised it to remove the metal that shielded his hideous visage from the world. What lay behind it was awful, but Emma could still see Ryan there, tears welling from his one good eye.

  He saw the shiver of shock run through her when she looked on him and he started to pull away. Now you understand. This is all that’s left.

  She held tightly to him, refusing to let go. “I want everything that’s left, all of you. Now.”

  That’s going too far, Em.

  “Ask me if I care,” she replied. Releasing him for a moment she pulled her dress over her head. It was all of one piece and when it was off there was nothing underneath. “Take off your pants.”

  It isn’t that easy, he answered, hesitating.

  “Do I have to order you?” she said, arching one brow.

  No, I mean my arm. Give me a moment.

  “Oh! Right. Let me help.”

  The next few minutes were awkward, clumsy, and frantic, but eventually the last obstacle was gone. Emma got what she wanted, and no orders were required.

  Chapter 26

  There weren’t enough pillows. There were never enough pillows.

  It was still dark but Kate was awake. She couldn’t get comfortable. Her belly was swollen with expectation and no matter how she arranged herself in the bed she couldn’t lay still. Of course, the kicking didn�
��t help.

  Her baby had no respect for the proper hours for sleeping.

  Lyralliantha lay beside her, snoring so loudly it seemed to shake the foundations of the house. How such a delicate, graceful, and seemingly perfect face could issue such sounds was beyond Kate’s comprehension.

  She opened her eyes. Though it was dark there was just enough light for her to see where her leg pillow had gone. Lyra had somehow wrestled it away while she was sleeping.

  Kate watched her, jealous of her slumber. She’s so damn perfect, except for the snoring. Lyra still looked as young as the day she had first seen her, while Kate was all too aware of her own aging. Her face was developing lines and the pregnancy had made her cheeks splotchy.

  Lyra seemed to suffer none of that. Oh, she had had some morning sickness early on, but otherwise she weathered her pregnancy as though it were nothing unusual.

  And she sleeps like a baby, though Kate enviously. I bet she won’t even have stretch marks.

  At moments like that she wanted to hate the other woman, but she couldn’t. Lyra was unfailingly kind to her. Since Tyrion’s disappearance the two of them had become almost inseparable.

  A searing pain in her chest took Kate’s breath away.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. That didn’t feel normal. She had been having a lot of heartburn, but this was something new. A second wave followed and she cried out despite herself.

  The pain continued for several minutes while she tried to stifle her cries. Tears ran from her eyes and she kept hoping it would stop, but it didn’t seem to be getting better.

  Lyra’s snoring stopped, “Kate?”

  “Mmhmm,” responded Kate in what was half an answer and half a moan.

  “What’s wrong? Is your leg cramping again?”

  “No, it’s my chest,” said Kate with some difficulty. The pain, combined with the weight of the baby made it hard to breathe.

  Lyra was sitting up now. Placing one hand over Kate’s chest she closed her eyes and concentrated, looking for anything amiss within her friend. “Your stomach is spilling acid into the tube that leads from your throat,” she said after a moment.

  Rising from the bed she returned a minute later carrying a pitcher of water and a wooden cup. “Drink,” she ordered firmly.

  Struggling to sit up, Kate did so. The water helped a bit, but not nearly enough. Then the pain began to fade. “Did you do something?” she asked.

  “After the water passed I blocked the opening to your stomach. I don’t think it’s good to leave it that way, though. It should help temporarily,” answered Lyralliantha. Raising her hand, she created a globe of soft light in the air above them. Her features were marked with concern.

  “Is that all that’s wrong?”

  Lyra wasn’t sure how to answer. Kate’s liver was swollen and there were several tiny clots within the veins that fed from it. And if I am seeing those, what else am I not seeing? she wondered. Silently she worked to dissolve the clots she had found, but she feared that much more might be wrong. “I think so,” she lied to avoid alarming her friend. She had learned much from her time among humans over the past few years. “You need sleep.”

  “I can’t,” complained Kate.

  “Let me help,” said Lyra softly.

  “Wait, let me change positions. I don’t want to wake up sore from laying in the bed funny.”

  “Of course.”

  A second later she added softly, “Can I have the extra pillow back?”

  “Sure.”

  Kate arranged herself carefully on her side, using the pillow to support one leg. “Alright.”

  Lyra leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek as she began to manipulate Kate’s aythar, sending her gently into a deep slumber. She sat watching her for several minutes after that, wondering at the fate that had conspired to bring her to the place she was at now in her life.

  She couldn’t imagine anything different. Her life had been empty before, cold and dark. Her heart swelled as she stared at her friend. I couldn’t bear to lose her. That thought brought a wave of fear, making her heart clench.

  A pressing need broke her train of thought. Sitting up put the weight of her own child directly on her bladder. With a sigh, Lyra got up and went to relieve herself.

  ***

  The next day Kate felt somewhat better, but she couldn’t shake the lingering malaise that had been affecting her over the past week. Her head was pounding, but she had learned to live with the headaches. She didn’t remember her last two pregnancies being so difficult.

  The knife she was holding slipped and she nearly cut herself. Putting it down she shook her hands, trying to ease the numbness and tingling in them.

  Lyra noticed immediately, “Your hands again? Let me have the carrots. We can trade jobs.”

  Kate looked at the She’Har woman and struggled to contain her tears. Nodding she moved to the other table and began working the dough that would make the crusts for the meat pies later in the day.

  Ashley passed by the kitchen doorway, heading who knew where.

  “Can you give us a hand?” called Kate.

  The younger woman hardly paused, “Sorry, can’t. Emma doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Kate ground her teeth together. They hardly spoke to her anymore and no one listened, now that Daniel was gone. She was irrelevant. Daniel, where are you? Are you even alive? The thought was enough to ruin her self-control and tears of frustration, sorrow, and self-pity began to spill down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Kate,” said Lyralliantha, moving closer and embracing her. “It will be alright.”

  She didn’t answer. In her heart, she knew the truth. It will never be alright.

  ***

  “How can it be so big?” asked Alan Tennick, glancing at his granddaughter.

  “Magic,” said Brigid, running her fingers through Gwenny’s soft fur. Over the past months she had inexplicably formed a close bond with the Tennick’s herding dog.

  “It must be over fifty feet tall now,” observed Alan. “I still don’t understand why Daniel planted it.”

  That was the story she had given them when they inevitably noticed the rapidly growing sapling in the northern pasture. “It is supposed to bear a fruit with special powers,” she said, repeating her standard answer.

  “It certainly doesn’t look like any fruit tree I’ve ever seen,” said the older man. “It looks more like an elm, but the leaves aren’t right.”

  Gwenny barked running forward to sniff at something on the ground. There was a small round object there and with her magesight Brigid could see something moving within it.

  “Gwenny, no!” she shouted as the dog started to pick it up with her mouth. Moving forward quickly she shooed the canine away from what must be the krytek fruit.

  A crack had already formed in the outer skin.

  “Take her home, Grandfather,” said Brigid.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The fruit has fallen. I don’t want Gwenny to damage it. I’ll see if there are anymore.”

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It sounded more like you were afraid for Gwenny. That thing is dangerous, isn’t it?”

  She ignored his question, “Take her home.”

  “There wasn’t anything on the branches yesterday. How can there be fruit on the ground already?” he went on.

  Brigid looked up slowly at him. She had worked hard to seem normal over the past months and while she hadn’t fully succeeded she had at least made Alan and Helen comfortable with her presence. The expression on her face now was different.

  Alan stared into the dark madness and felt his heart grow cold with fear. “Come on, Gwenny,” he called to the dog, and without another word he left.

  Brigid brought out the two boxes she carried with her whenever she visited the tree and carefully slipped the fruit into one of them. Then she began searching the area carefully. She found two more. Luckily they were small enough that she could fit both into the other stasis b
ox. She relaxed only when she was sure that the dangerous fruit was secure.

  Placing her hand against Tyrion’s rough bark she sent her thoughts outward, Father, I have them.

  She had tried talking to him on many occasions, without much success. She felt a sense of recognition, perhaps an acknowledgement, but nothing more.

  You can return now, she told him.

  There was no answer.

  Chapter 27

  Tyrion drifted, at peace.

  The world passed by, light and dark, sunshine and moonlight, while he dreamed of many things. His task was done, but he no longer felt good about it.

  Sheer determination had lent him the focus to stay with the task, but over the months that passed like days he had discovered a new contentment. Something he had never really had in his previous life.

  He daydreamed about his childhood, recounting the events of his life to himself, but there was no longer an urgency to the stories—or regret. Things happened, but the pain was something he had created himself. Blaming others was pointless.

  He still felt the emotions, but they were no longer the same. Love, that was there, and sadness too, but the burning rage had died. Trees had no need for such feelings.

  The sun and rain were enough, and he had an endless wealth of knowledge to study and contemplate.

  For the barest instant, he heard Brigid’s plea for him to return, but she was gone before it registered. How silly, he thought, why would I want to give this up?

  The wind stroked his limbs and he dreamed. Occasionally, he worried about what he had done, but whatever the result it hardly mattered. His gift to his past self would scour the world, but it would not touch him.

  He didn’t like that thought, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Returning was out of the question. Only pain awaited him if he became human again.

  The sun felt good and when it passed the rain was a balm for his soul.

  ***

  Night had already fallen as everyone gathered in Tyrion’s dining hall for the evening meal. Emma sat at the head of the table with Ryan to her right. Kate and Lyra sat opposite one another at the other end, while the rest of Tyrion’s children spread out along either side. There were more than enough seats now and half of them were unoccupied, since the table had been built with guests in mind.