Bloodrush (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 1)

by Ben Galley

  ‘Tonmerion Hark,’ she whispered to herself, with a shake of her head. ‘Whatever have you gotten yourself into?’

  Merion and his friend had already slid over the railing and into the dirt of the hot street. Her two lordsguards were already moving in, swords drawn and glinting. Merion was oblivious, trying his hardest to help the man to walk. Calidae fanned herself for a moment while she shaded her eyes with her hand, thinking. Merion’s movements were strangely fast, as if he were having some sort of fit. Something about that gave her eyebrow a barely noticeable lift.

  ‘Wait!’ she ordered her guards, who were already striding forward. ‘I would speak to him,’ she said.

  ‘Calidae?’ Merion spluttered, his mouth a mask of blood. Somebody had whacked him in the face, it seemed. Not only was his nose streaming with blood, but it looked as though he’d bitten his lip in the process as well. He looked atrocious.

  It was then that the angry mob broke out of the swinging doors and came spilling onto the street. The sight of the two lordsguards in their livery and armour halted them somewhat, especially when Calidae ordered the man and boy to be arrested.

  ‘Get back inside,’ barked one of the sheriffsmen, who mere seconds before had been baying for blood as loudly as the rest of them. He straightened his jacket and strode forwards to bow to Calidae. She curtseyed in return.

  ‘I do not think my father would wish to see a riot in the streets, sir.’

  ‘No ma’am, I mean, your ladyship. But these two are traitors, spies even. For the Shohari.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ chided Calidae. ‘Surely it was just a brawl?’ she asked, turning to look down at Merion. He was slowly shaking his head, eyes silently pleading. He looked very mature all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the blood, the dust on his face, or the tousled hair, or maybe it was the glint in his eye, a steady look she had not seen before.

  ‘The boy there ain’t normal, your ladyship. He’s got the magick in him.’

  ‘And how much have you had to drink, sir?’

  The other sheriffsman stepped forward. He had been hovering between them and the disintegrating mob. ‘It’s true, milady,’ he told her.

  Calidae looked Merion up and down, testing him. The glint in the boy’s eyes refused to fade. Her eyebrow climbed even higher.

  ‘You can have the man. I will have the boy taken to my father,’ she said.

  The sheriffsmen exchanged a look, then a shrug, and nodded. ‘Of course, milady,’ said the second, bobbing up and down like a chicken with indigestion.

  Merion struggled. ‘No, he’s done nothing wrong, don’t take him!’ he exclaimed, as Lurker was seized by the sherrfismen. ‘I’ll get you out!’

  ‘Guards, bring him with us,’ Calidae told her protectors. As Merion was hauled up, and Lurker seized by the sheriffsmen, she began to walk away down the street, leaving her dwarfish foreman to wipe his sweaty face and marvel at the howling coming from the arrested man.

  Chapter XXVII

  A LETTER FROM LONDON

  ‘That boy’s a stubborn one, that’s for sure. And yet he has the gall to call me stubborn in return. All because I wouldn’t tell him more about Sift and the Hoard, and why any faeries would still be chasing me. Bloody hell. At least there’s been no signs of more.’

  5th June, 1867

  ‘My father has told me that I am not to speak to you,’ she curtly informed him as she walked. Her guards manhandled Merion along next to her.

  Merion panted. The rush had faded quickly, along with his adrenaline, and all they left behind was a numbing ache from tip to toe. The lordsguards’ grip was like iron.

  ‘Calidae,’ he said, ‘I can explain …’

  ‘And now I hear talk that you’re a traitor to this town, Merion Hark,’ she said, turning to pierce him with a frosty yet strangely curious gaze. ‘A shaman of some sort.’

  ‘Look,’ Merion said, trying desperately to hold onto the confidence and defiance he had felt in the saloon. ‘There is something I need to explain to you. It will make everything right, I promise you, but you have to listen. And I need to tell you and you alone,’ he told her, forcing himself to meet her eyes. He shrugged in the guards’ grip.

  ‘My lady …’ the one on his left began to say.

  Calidae had already made up her mind. ‘I will hear him out,’ she said, holding up a finger. ‘You are to stay here.’

  The guards looked nervous, but they did as they were instructed. Merion led Calidae down the street and out of earshot. They stood alone between the cart-ruts and drying blood, a little island of secrets amid the bustle and dread of the battle-scarred street.

  ‘This may sound very strange,’ Merion began, catching his breath, ‘or it might sound very familiar. I’m hoping it’s the latter, and if it is then I want you to know that I understand and that I do not judge you, nor your family. And I can keep a secret too. Nobody will ever know.’

  Calidae crossed her arms. ‘Do you have something to tell me? Or are you just wasting my time? Because I’m hardly in the mood for riddles.’

  Merion just let the words fall out of his mouth. He had not planned to tell her so much, but he could hardly bring himself to stop. ‘Calidae, I know there was blood in the wine and brandy that you poured for me. I know what it does and why you drink it. I know because I do the same thing, only with other types of blood. I’m a rusher, Calidae, just like my father, and I don’t care what my aunt says about lampreys, or whatever they call you, because I know that we can be … friends.’ he almost tripped at the end, catching himself before he said something more heartfelt.

  Merion was left waiting for an answer for quite a while. He had played his hand, or opened a vein, he was not sure. He stared at her, watching for any flicker or glimmer of something good in her eye, so he could stop his heart thrumming and know that he had fixed it. All he wanted to do was fix it.

  ‘Show me,’ she said. It was barely an answer, but it was better than nothing.

  Merion reached under his shirt and pulled out a third and final vial. He uncorked it and slipped a quarter of it into his mouth. He swallowed hard, making sure to show her that he could do it. If he was hoping to glimpse a reflection of his own pride in her expression, he was sorely disappointed. Calidae’s face stayed frosty, and her arms stayed crossed.

  ‘It takes a moment or two,’ he whispered, straining.

  ‘I’ve got all day,’ she replied.

  ‘Good.’

  Merion looked down at his hands and bent his fingers into claws. As he felt the tingling grow in his stomach he put his fingertips together to make a cradle. He took a breath as the magick made his head spin. He forced it down into his arms, deep into his bones. Blue light began to flicker around his grubby, blood-stained nails. Sparks flickered. Lightning began to flow. It lasted barely half a minute, but it was enough to show that he was not lying. Merion let his hot hands hang loose and watched Calidae’s face, seeking his verdict.

  ‘Electric eel,’ he added, quietly.

  ‘Your shade,’ she said. Those two words had more weight than a thousand. A spark of vestigial lightning ran down his spine, making him twitch.

  She knew. She bloody well knew it all, Merion inwardly panted. Had he done it? Had he fixed it?

  But Merion would have to wait for those answers. Calidae hollered to one of her lordsguards. ‘Canton, the wiregram from Master Gile.’

  That only set Merion’s heart to beating harder. A wiregram meant only one thing. A reply from London. Precious news. Truth be told, Merion felt a little faint. He had not expected to be answered with this, and now it was all he could think about. All he wanted was to hold that piece of paper in his hand and know that there was something beyond this ring of dusty hills, with its murder and war and its hardship. Merion practically snatched it from the guard when he came near enough. His eyes devoured the words, sitting neatly on the steam-printed lines.

  Dear Tonmerion Hark,

  I regret to inform you that the investigation into your father
’s untimely death has been closed. Despite the generous aid of Her Majesty and the Honourable Second Lord Dizali, we have been unable to identify any culprit or villain, nor the reason for your father’s death.

  I wish you well in the New Kingdom, and may we see you return safe when the time comes.

  Regretfully,

  Constable Jimothy Pagget, Esq.

  The paper crackled as Merion’s fingers closed around it. A moment ago he had felt as though he had been shot out of a cannon and was soaring like an eagle. Now it felt as though he had been shot by one, and the eagle was picking at his remains.

  ‘Untimely death …’ he whispered.

  ‘I am so very sorry, Merion,’ Calidae said, a little emotion creeping into her tone. She even went as far as to step closer.

  Merion just stared at the crumpled ball of paper in his hands. ‘They couldn’t even say murder.’ He had not dared to dream of such a response. It had not even crossed his mind.

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t want to offend,’ she offered. A lace-gloved hand landed lightly atop his, and Merion snatched at it, like a drowning man reaches for a pole. All talk of magick was thrown to the wayside. ‘Calidae, listen to me. I need to get back to London. I need to finish this, to find my father’s killer and see him hanged for what he’s done. I need to go home,’ he said, as he slowly took her other hand. ‘Can you help me? Can your father help me?’

  Calidae took a moment to withdraw her hands, slowly, but surely. Merion wanted to hold on, but he knew he could not. He stood there alone. They say no man is an island. Well, they must not have met Calidae. She stepped away, and in one small movement, marooned him in the centre of the street. Merion had never felt so awkward. Salvation seemed a mountain climb away.

  ‘Please,’ he said. He could count the number of times he had begged in his life. He reckoned this was probably the third, but the occasion called for it. If that was what it took.

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ she said at last. ‘We will expect you for dinner. A carriage will come at seven, or it won’t come at all.’ With that, she turned and walked away, back to her business.

  ‘Calidae,’ Merion called to her. She looked over her shoulder as she left. ‘What of my friend?,’ he asked. ‘He is no more a traitor than I am. Please…’

  She sighed, and waved a hand. ‘I will see what my father can do for him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Merion mumbled.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to my father yet,’ she replied, and that was that.

  And there Merion stood, for a few minutes maybe more, adrift in a sea of dust, blood, and bullet casings, weighing up tenacity against cold despondency, and wondering which one he should give in to. It was only as the sun began to plunge itself into the ragged horizon that Merion found his answer. The town had been hiding it all along. Merion stared at the flea-bitten horses, and the brow-beaten workers pouring oil on the piles of dead, and the way the whores had begun to come out with the stars—just because every last scrap of beauty had to be perverted and crushed in this torrid, sunburnt little hole—he chose tenacity. Merion took a breath, and shook his head. Whatever it took.

  ‘Fuck this place,’ he said, turning on his heel.

  *

  ‘What on the Maker’s good earth happened to you?’ Lilain gasped, when a blood-streaked Merion walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Today happened to me,’ he sighed, as he took a seat at the end of the table, shoulders hunched. There was something hard in his eyes, like flint. Lilain could see it.

  ‘Shit,’ she cursed. ‘That sounds about right. Let me clean you up.’

  Merion nodded, and let his aunt fetch water and cloth. She set up a stool beside him and gently began to dab and wipe the crusted blood away. It barely took a moment to turn the cloth and water bright red.

  ‘Who did this to you?’

  Merion stared straight ahead. ‘A man in a bar. Took offence to Lurker and I for some reason. Obviously upset over the battle last night. We ended up fighting.’

  ‘You drunk?’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’

  ‘Lurker?’

  ‘No more than usual.’

  ‘And did you rush?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be that stupid,’ he lied.

  ‘Good.’

  Merion winced as the cloth uncovered a cut across his nose.

  ‘Looks like he had a ring on,’ Lilain surmised.

  ‘Calidae managed to convince the sheriffsmen to let me go, but Lurker’s been arrested as a traitor. He’s in jail. I’ve asked her to get Lurker out, but …’ Merion said worriedly.

  Lilain’s flinch was barely perceptible, a momentary halt in her dabbing, a stumble in her progress. Merion caught it. ‘And what was she doing there?’ asked his aunt.

  ‘She was with a foreman, surveying the town I think.’

  ‘Mhm,’ hummed Lilain. ‘I’ll talk to the sheriff in the morning. See if I can clear it up. He’ll be safe for now at least, out of trouble,’ she sighed. ‘So she’s talking to you again? That’s good.’

  ‘She had news from London.’

  Lilain stopped altogether. ‘Oh?’

  Merion turned to face her. He cut an odd look, with one side of his face clean and the other masked in dark, crumbling blood. ‘They’ve given up on the investigation. They barely acknowledge it as a murder.’ Merion tossed a crumpled ball of paper onto the table.

  Lilain made quick work of the message, and when she finished she ripped it in two and threw its halves back onto the tabletop. ‘Idiots,’ she muttered.

  Merion was a little shocked to say the least, when her arms wrapped around him. Hugging had not been a common practice in Harker Sheer. He gently rested his arms on his aunt’s shoulders, and waited until it would be polite to pull away. Lilain smelled like dust. He could feel the angles and edges of her bones far too easily. She was also strangely warm. Merion took a little comfort in that, knowing somebody else was burning as hot as he was, for whatever the reason. His was rage. He wondered about hers.

  The bloody cloth was soon at his face again. ‘I’m sorry, nephew. You need to put it to rest. There’s nothing you can do it about it now, so just …’

  Merion interrupted her. ‘The Serpeds have invited me to dinner again. Tomorrow night.’

  Another flinch. ‘Everything seems to be patched up then,’ she murmured, barely audible.

  ‘I hope so. They may be able to help me.’

  ‘I see,’ came the reply, just something to fill the space of an answer, betraying nothing but disappointment. Merion could feel it. But then she sighed and said, ‘It’s your decision, Merion. I can’t stop you.’ Her words were surprising, but more than that, they were welcome, and warming. Finally, somebody other than Lurker understood. His aunt, of all people.

  ‘Thank you,’ Merion said.

  They were interrupted by a rattle from down the hallway, something falling maybe, something small but heavy.

  Lilain was instantly on her feet. Merion chased her. ‘Did it come from the basement?’ he asked, hoping to draw her away. Rhin must have returned. Merion cursed the clumsy little fool.

  ‘No it didn’t,’ Lilain replied.

  Merion gulped when her fingers wrapped around the door handle of his room. He could say nothing, lest he arouse suspicion. He hoped the faerie had heard the sounds of heavy boots and voices.

  Lilain paused in the middle of his room, staring down at the edge of the bed, next to the bedside table. ‘What is it?’ he asked, trying hard to hide his breathlessness. The lone candle on the windowsill was half-dead or dying, and the room was dark. She bent down to get a closer look, and Merion wanted to put his fist in his mouth. The books. The notepads. The schematics. She would see them all there. That would be it. Rhin would be caught.

  ‘Nothing,’ she shrugged, straightening.

  ‘Just an old house, creaking,’ Merion suggested. His insides were squirming, but his face was empty, expressionless, innocent as a babe. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think it’s time I went
to bed.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Yes,’ Merion lied. Tomorrow would come quicker if he went to bed now. He had no time to waste on food.

  ‘Alright, well, probably for the best. Sleep well.’

  ‘I will,’ Merion replied, and gently shut the door.

  He listened to the sound of boots receding into the kitchen, and a door quietly closing. Only then did he dare to speak, and in a low whisper.

  ‘Rhin?’

  ‘Here,’ said a little voice, over in the corner of the room. A little form shivered into being, all dressed up in armour and with a sword held low.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Merion asked, striding forward.

  Rhin shrugged. ‘Hiding as usual, of course,’ he replied. ‘By the Roots, what happened to you?!’

  ‘I got into a fight at a saloon.’

  ‘I …’ Rhin didn’t know what to say, so Merion just said it for him.

  ‘That was the first time that you weren’t there to help. I needed you, and you weren’t there. Just like the last two weeks,’ Merion said, flatly. ‘Lurker’s been arrested too.’

  Rhin drew himself up to his full height. Merion could see the shame in his eyes all the same, but there was something else there too, something stronger than shame or guilt, something overriding. ‘I have been busy.’

  ‘With what, Rhin?’ Merion hissed. ‘It’s like you’ve gone mad! Watching the door for days on end. Stealing books, schematics, the silent treatment. There’s a war going on, if you haven’t noticed! What is wrong with you?’ he demanded. ‘I want the bloody truth, and I want it now!’

  Perhaps Rhin felt he owed Merion, after he had quite obviously failed him as a friend and sworn protector. Maybe he was tired of holding onto his secrets. Whatever the reason that dragged the words out of him, it was plain it tortured him to do so. Rhin laid it all bare.