Crimson Fury

by Mirren Hogan

  It was strict, but in a village where an extra mouth became a burden on everyone, permission to marry could only be given to those who could afford to feed that mouth or had the skills to hunt successfully. So Nageso was small and insular, but no one starved if it could be helped.

  “Oh my,” Adina whispered, shrinking from the prostitutes. “I couldn’t even imagine having to do that to eat. Those poor women.”

  She has a good heart, Darai thought. Better than his or at least more charitable. “You’ll never have to,” he said. Perhaps he shouldn’t make such promises, they’d only known each other for a few days, but he wanted to do whatever it took to keep her safe.

  “It ain’t so bad, sista!” one of the women called out after them. “Sometimes it’s even fun.”

  Darai held Adina closer as they walked away from a gale of laughter. Thank the gods it was too dark for anyone to see him blush.

  The markets were quiet, floating on the lake’s night, the water reflecting splashes of light from stilt-houses. Cabase’s constant lapping against boards, foundations, and market-rafts soothed Darai’s nerves; the end of the first part of their escape tantalisingly close. The scent of water filled his nostrils, and incense from somewhere in the night. The breeze blew it to them and thrust it away before Darai could recognise the smell. Perhaps lavender? It didn’t matter, it was the aroma of freedom.

  His pulse raced. A tendril of magic slipped up from the ground beneath his feet, wound around him like a caress and found Adina’s hand, dancing between them like a gleeful child. Rather than something pretty—which in a way it was—it reminded Darai of blood. He quickened his steps.

  Later, he suspected the flash of red had acted like a beacon to betray their presence.

  “Hey!” A voice rang out across the breeze, halting Darai just as he was stepping onto the markets. “What are you doing?”

  Darai would have run, taking his chances that they could outrun or at worse, jump between the stalls and hide. He took another step, only to find his hand snagged on the frozen figure of Adina.

  “Come on,” he urged. He tugged, before he saw the magic already winding around her legs, holding her fast to the spot.

  When she responded, her voice, a mere whisper, fought the wind to be heard, “It’s over.”

  ***

  Even arriving in Dassane on the back of the wagons, bound in the heat and in front of the crowds didn’t match the march back to the guild for humiliation. The same prostitutes who before propositioned him, now laughed, and called out derisive comments. Instead of the masses, the lovers and drunks stared. Instead of curiosity, they wore suspicion openly on their faces. In Dassane, criminals were marched in the dead of night.

  Darai wanted to yell, to convince them all that his only crime was standing in the crimson rain. Of course, he didn’t. He walked with his head hung, legs shuffling, bound so tightly he could barely move His eyes brimmed with tears. He blinked away enough to allow him to see. In the darkness, in his shame, he didn’t care who saw him cry. Adina was right: it was over.

  Light streamed from the door of the guild hall, and many of the windows showed lamps or flames within. Obviously, their escape had roused half the hall. Certainly, much more than he’d ever expected. Did two harvested ones really mean that much to the sorcerers?

  No, he reminded himself bitterly, it was the magic leaping inside them, responding to the binding with what looked like delight. Did magic have a life of its own? He could believe it, he’d seen it pass over him and fall from the sky. Perhaps it had alerted the sorcerer who found them. Possibly, it also told the whole hall where he and Adina had gone. Had the magic roused the hall from their beds to search and welcome them back? In that moment, he hated the magic more than ever.

  He steeled himself for whatever they’d have to face, but as they passed through the main door off the street, the sorcerers hardly spared them a second glance.

  Adina looked perplexed. Evidently, she’d thought the same as he had. He shrugged; it didn’t make any sense to him either. But it did soon enough.

  “Who helped you to escape?” The man who paced before them, sorcerer Benassi, stopped to stare at Darai. His expression was as dark as his skin and cold as a winter night in the northern mountains of Isskasala.

  “No one.” Darai rubbed his eyes with tired fists. Dawn had come and gone, without breakfast. Now, in mid-morning, his stomach rumbled, and his eyes felt hot from exhaustion.

  Benassi seemed tireless. He threw question after question at Darai, often the same questions phrased in slightly different ways, occasionally new ones. At first, Darai refused to answer, responding only with demands for assurances for Adina’s safety. That was finally given conditionally, upon his cooperation. For her sake, he’d answered the questions, but Benassi was unrelenting. He squeezed out every ounce, every moment of the escape, down to the exact words the prostitutes had used.

  Now, hours later, Darai could hardly recall what was the truth and what Benassi had suggested. “You had help.”

  “No.” Darai sighed, dropping his hands into his lap. He couldn’t remember anyone offering assistance, but now he wondered if the sorceress in the pens had let them slip out. Had the children held her attention? Had someone else? “No,” he said firmly. “Why don’t you think we could escape on our own?”

  It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it the minute the words left his lips. He jumped as Benassi slammed his fist down on the table between them.

  “I know who helped you. You’d save me and yourself trouble if you just admit it. And your pretty friend. Eh?”

  Darai gritted his teeth and shook his head. “If anyone helped us, I didn’t know.”

  “Ah ha, so you admit—”

  “I didn’t hear him admit anything.” How long had Harshal been standing in the doorway? The sorcerer smiled grimly at Darai and closed the door behind him. “Long enough,” he said, answering the query on Darai’s face. “How long since you ate?”

  Benassi’s skin tinged red, fury burning hot in his cold eyes. “I am dealing with this, sorcerer.” He used the title like an insult.

  “Sevele suggested you get some rest, Benassi,” Harshal responded cheerfully, deliberately failing to use any honorific at all.

  Benassi merely smiled savagely. “Very well, you take over, it will not change her guilt.” He rose from his chair and stormed from the chamber, the door echoing as he slammed it behind him.

  Her? Darai thought, her who?

  CHAPTER 14

  If the guild wanted to punish a sorcerer with the ability to channel from the earth, they could take away their staff and effectively cut them from their magic. Lock them in a cell with nothing to replicate the staff and the sorcerer would be powerless, like any other ordinary person. Tabia gave the guild a headache, as they couldn’t remove her power to draw magic via the air. At the hall of the incanti in Vanmala, they built cells deep in the rock of the mountain the hall was carved from. These rooms were encased in precious copper, so that not even Tabia could draw in them.

  She vividly remembered the hours spent in hunger and total darkness, no sound but those she made, the smell persistently dank. The women who brought her food, changed her candles periodically, but mostly she had been alone in darkness. Even now, so many years later, she slept with a small candle burning in her room. Waking to find it had gone out brought her to a state of near panic.

  Here, the guild had similar cells, but they chose to keep her confined to her room, guarded by two young sorcerers, the door open so they could watch her every move. Guards were rarely needed at the hall, since most occupants could take care of themselves. The two who stood outside did so for show. She suspected they knew that. At least they weren’t down in the cellars. Her room was comfortable and contained the books she used for study. Apparently, she was innocent until proven otherwise. Or at least treated with respect. They knew as well as she, that she could incapacitate them both along with half the hall, and escape before the alar
m was raised. But short of executing her without a trial, the assembly’s collective hands were tied.

  Leaning back in her chair, she sighed. She was too tired to continue reading, yet too agitated to sleep. Another lesson she’d learned from the incanti was that you never sleep while under siege. She had no doubt that she’d been set up, but she wasn’t sure how or by who.

  Benassi was the obvious first choice. But did he really hate her enough to kill, and if so, why Genari?

  She rose from her chair, only to sink back down when both sorcerers, colleagues of several years, stepped forward, their staffs ready to draw.

  “All right, I’m not going anywhere.” She raised her hands. “I was only going to lie down anyway,” she muttered. Instead, she turned the night over in her head, her thoughts often resting on Darai and Adina. Had they killed Genari? Her instincts told her they had not, but they also reminded her that she’d taken time for them, and tried her best to make them like her. It was entirely possible that her own desire to make their lives more comfortable blinded her to the truth.

  She shifted uneasily in her chair, sure she was missing something, maybe something important. If she dismissed the idea that Darai, Adina, or even Benassi was the killer, then who did that leave? The question wasn’t a simple one; the hall consisted of several hundred magic-users, both trained and in training. In that context, there was no one she could trust, and they were all in danger.

  Still, she couldn’t see either as a murderer, even if they possessed the ability, which they didn’t. Only she did. She and one other.

  ***

  “So how did you get out?” Harshal asked amicably, settling himself into the chair opposite Darai. Before Darai could even respond, he chuckled. “You should have seen their faces. You’d think two Kalili arena lions had gotten loose in the city. But you’re not lions, are you?”

  Darai frowned. There was obviously something more to the question than it appeared. Harshal might seem harmless, but there was a shrewd mind behind those friendly eyes. “No,” he replied carefully. He licked his lips and started at the beginning, telling the story he’d already told Benassi.

  “That’s all, we walked out. We didn’t see have any help, we heard one scream but saw nothing.”

  “And then you were found and brought back.”

  Darai nodded, his head sagging with exhaustion. “And we didn’t stop anywhere on the way and saw no sorcerers on the way back, until they found us and brought us back here.” This point seemed of some importance to Benassi, but Darai couldn’t tell why.

  “You didn’t see Tabia?”

  “No, not since we got back from the markets.”

  Harshal nodded. His expression was thoughtful, but otherwise unreadable. In spite of that, something made Darai uneasy, an air that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise as they did when his prey was close. He curled his hand on his lap around an invisible spear, not even knowing the direction he’d have it aimed. If, instead of sorcerers, he’d been surrounded by wild hogs, all scratching their trotters in the dust, preparing to charge, he’d have been more at ease. Even if he had to rely on his feet to flee, or climb a tree to escape the tusks, he could do that.

  Here, he felt like the prey with his feet wedged in sink-sand. And he’d taken Adina down with him. In the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that she’d been willing to leave, but the man in him felt responsible for her. He should have found somewhere for her, a place the sorcerers would never find her and people willing to smuggle her out of Dassane. Where in the name of the Mother of all Gods he thought he’d find such people, he couldn’t guess. The fact was, he should have tried.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Harshal’s voice broke through his self- berating and made Darai blink.

  “I’m allowed to now?” he snapped. He hadn’t meant to sound so curt, but he didn’t regret it for a moment. Harshal was still one of them, no matter how pleasant he might try to appear.

  Harshal merely looked amused and nodded. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the pens.”

  It sounded like the worst offer Darai had ever heard.

  ***

  When he woke, his side ached from sleeping heavily without moving. His eyes felt leaden and his head pounded. Darai was alone in the men’s pen. By the sun angling through the window and the rumble in his stomach, he judged it to be around midday.

  Cursing himself for sleeping so late, he staggered from his cot and went in search of Adina.

  He found her in the courtyard, sitting alone in a corner with her knees drawn up to her chin. Around her was an empty space; quite obviously deliberate on the part of the women and children gathered there with her. None looked at her, although a few looked past her or through her. If any stepped close, they took pains to walk around her, their chins raised.

  Ostracised. Because of him.

  “Adina?”

  Her head jerked up, startled, her shoulders only relaxing once she saw it was him. Her expression remained just as grim. Her jaw was tight, her eyes lined and wary. Her cheeks were damp with the evidence of her crying. She looked like a child lost in a forest of hostility, too weak and scared to run, only able to sit and await her fate. His heart was coated with a heavy layer of guilt. Her sadness added another.

  Darai flopped down beside her and glared at the women closest to him, accusing and furious. They stared back for a few moments before turning away, apparently unrepentant.

  Turning his attention to Adina, he put a hand on hers and squeezed gently. “Are you all right?”

  “They think we killed someone.” Adina’s voice was choked with the effort of holding back further tears. “I said we just . . . I said, but they didn’t believe me.” She sniffed loudly.

  Darai cursed under his breath; words his mother would have switched him for if she knew. How dare they take out their problems on an innocent girl? Whatever had taken place last night here in the hall, it concerned neither of them. All they were truly guilty of was wanting their freedom, and having unfortunate timing. Anger and hatred burned inside him so hot the magic crackled around his head and shot from the tips of his fingers like tiny flames.

  Adina shrank back from him, but where his magic touched her skin, her own danced around in welcome. It might be beautiful, but Darai couldn’t appreciate the sight. It was taunting him, making his fury burn a little hotter. Magic was poison and he wanted it gone from them both.

  “D-don’t,” she breathed, her eyes so wide they showed more white than black or her gorgeous deep brown. She raised her arms to shield her face. The magic moved over her skin so looked like it was on fire.

  Darai leaned back and closed his eyes. He stood still, gritted his teeth, and breathed slowly, trying to control his temper. He needed to run, long and hard until he sweated the frustration out of his body. He couldn’t do that now, he needed to stay and make things right. Gradually he felt a sense of calm start to pass over him. It sat uncomfortably at first, but he tugged it down, forcing it into place. His skin itched, but the anger had receded a little. Just enough for now.

  He opened his eyes and saw Adina looking at him over her lowered arms. How much time had passed? It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help it, damn this . . . damn them!” He rose and stalked a few steps away, children and women ducking aside as he crossed their paths. He didn’t care.

  Spinning on his heels, he snapped, “We did nothing wrong!” He stared around into the sudden silence of the courtyard, glaring at one face and then another. “Nothing. Nothing!” His frustration rose slightly, but this time he had it contained, more or less.

  “Darai.” Adina leaped to her feet and lightly touched his arm with her fingertips. “We know that. Isn’t that all that matters? They won’t do anything to us, they need us. By the time they’re done with us, they’ll have found whoever is responsible. Once they’ve finished with us, we can go home and forget all about this. We can go back to our lives and never
see another sorcerer again. The year is passing so quickly, it won’t be long. I just want to be home and pretend none of this happened. You want that too, don’t you?”

  They were sweet words and Darai wanted to drink their nectar and savour them. But he wasn’t sure he believed as she did that they’d leave here soon, or at all.

  “Adina—”

  His tone must have spoken the volumes of his doubt, as she shook her head and pressed a finger to his lips.

  “Let me believe it, leave me with some shred of hope. I’d rather die on my knees at their feet hoping to go home than live knowing I may never see my family again. Please?”

  Darai nodded mutely, wishing he could live by her simple philosophy. Maybe if he could just . . .

  His thought died half-formed when Benassi appeared at the courtyard door wearing a face of thunder and beckoned to him. What now? Surely there was nothing he could say that Benassi hadn’t heard. No question that Benassi hadn’t asked. With ever-growing reluctance, he followed the sorcerer back to the main hall.

  “I have an offer for you.” Benassi closed the office door behind Darai and bade the young man to sit.

  “There’s nothing you can offer that I want,” Darai said, slumping in a chair and looking up at the sorcerer, his face tired, but resolute. “Except to be allowed to go home.”

  Benassi’s bark of laughter startled him into sitting up straighter, his teeth clenched defensively.

  “You’re not going home until we’re done with you.” The sorcerer walked to the window, his back to Darai for a few long moments. “I have something for you to sign, to admit you saw Tabia kill the woman.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I don’t care.” Benassi turned back to face Darai. “You sign it, that’s all I need.”

  “And what do I get in return?”

  Benassi moved toward him faster than he’d have thought possible. He flinched as the sorcerer’s fists slammed down on the top of the ornate desk in front of him. He found himself looking up, his neck at an awkward angle while Benassi’s nose was a finger’s width from his.