Within a few moments, Sen Rhikar opened the door. When he saw Korbin, he hissed through his teeth. He shot a sharp glance at Octavia. “What are you doing bringing someone here?”
“I have questions,” she said.
Rhikar grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. When Korbin stood motionless for a moment, Rhikar said, “Well, get in. Quickly.” He muttered, “Standing out on the street where anyone can see.”
“No one saw us,” Octavia said.
“How can you be certain?” Rhikar shot back. “It’s a busy street.”
“Not at this hour.” She stared at him levelly. What was wrong with him? “What’s happened? I went to see Hammil in Four Keithing. He indicated all was not well with the order in the city.”
Rhikar sighed. “Come through. We should indeed talk.” He shuffled down the dimly lit corridor to the living quarters behind the shop.
When they arrived in the small seating area, Octavia noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. “You haven’t slept.”
His expression softened a fraction. “No, not very much. And neither have you.”
She shrugged. She couldn’t deny it. Their night at Eliam’s guest house had been a strange and uncomfortable one. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept away from her flat, and she was surprised how much it felt like home. “These are difficult times.”
“Quite.” Rhikar gestured to the seats, watching Korbin closely as though he was a poisonous snake. She wondered if he’d ever had a Talmoran guest in his home. She doubted it.
“Lettoria has been speaking against me. Hammil practically accused me outright.”
Rhikar shrugged, but he looked troubled. “She’s wrong, of course. I know that. Don’t worry.”
“Her words are hurting our people more than they hurt me. When the squads came for us in Kilovia, it wasn’t only conduits who suffered. People remember that. People remember friends and family turning on one another to save themselves.”
His expression darkened. She could almost see the memories dancing in his mind, and a pang of regret shot through her at having brought up such painful images.
“Where have you been?” Rhikar asked after a moment.
“One of Korbin’s people gave us refuge,” she said. Rhikar would never betray her, but she owed Eliam a debt, and neither would she betray him.
Rhikar nodded. “That is good. Few will think to look for you among the Talmorans.”
Octavia shifted uncomfortably. “We cannot stay there. Where have you hidden the others? Are they together? In the city?”
“You should leave Vol,” Rhikar said. “As I plan to do.”
Nothing could have surprised her more. Of all the conduits, Rhikar was the least exposed. He owned a Talmoran business. Had a shop. Had even attained citizenship. “Forgive me, Sen, but that’s madness. Leaving would draw more attention than staying put. You must gather your nerve and be patient.”
He opened his mouth with an expression that said he planned to deliver a sharp reprimand, but he stopped short and sighed. “In two days, I’ve had almost no patrons. Those who did enter the shop left soon after asking to speak to the Talmoran owner. They did not want to do business with a Kilovian.”
“This is temporary,” Octavia said. “A panic caused by misinformation. We will learn the truth quickly, and things will return to normal.”
The doubt in his eyes told her he didn’t agree. “This is what you plan to do? Stay and learn the truth?”
“Of course,” she said. “Running would be to accept the blame for the attack on Dul Graiphen. But there is more than just my own reputation at stake. All Kilovians will be tainted by the accusation, perhaps even forced into devotion to the eight Spirits. And this is no small Talmoran outpost. This is the second largest city. If we are driven away from here, where in Talmor can we go?”
She felt Korbin watching her, but he said nothing. Concern was etched over his features.
Rhikar finally sighed, a sound signaling his resignation. “I will stay put for a short while,” he said. “A few days, at least. Perhaps there is no harm in that.”
“Where are the others?” she asked again.
“You mean to seek them out? Even though they have likely turned against you?”
“Only Lettoria speaks against me. I can handle that one.”
With a sideways glance at Korbin, Rhikar seemed to weigh his words. “Dramworthy.”
Octavia blinked. “I do not know this place.”
Speaking for the first time since their arrival, Korbin explained, “It’s a farm about ten minutes past the gates, down the Southern road. Quiet place. Near Ancothy Wood.”
“All the conduits are there?” Octavia asked with a frown.
“All save you and me,” Rhikar said. “Others as well, of course.”
She nodded. “What of food? Supplies?”
“They are taken care of,” Rhikar reassured her. “And as you said, we hope the need for refuge will not be ever present.”
She looked at Korbin. “We must go there. I wish to question the others of the Sennestelle, to try to learn something of the identity of the dark conduit.”
“You do not believe it’s one of our own, do you?” Rhikar asked. “We discussed this.”
“No.” She tried to give him a reassuring look, but inside, she worried. Could one of the others be capable of more than she realized? With a smile for her former mentor, she stood. “We should leave.”
“You will go to Dramworthy now?” Rhikar asked, standing with them.
“We must see one of Korbin’s contacts first. We believe he may know someone who can give us some information. I plan to be at Dramworthy tonight. If fortune favors us, we will not need to stay long.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rhikar said. “Octavia?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t return here. Not until the storm has passed. If the winds continue to blow, I won’t be here anyway.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling despite inwardly being taken aback. “Of course,” she repeated, trying to sound more confident the second time. “I would never intentionally put you in danger.”
Rhikar’s eyes turned to Korbin, and she saw an accusation in her mentor’s expression. She already had, she realized. But what choice did she have? She owed a debt. If one of their own had unjustly attacked his father, they all owed recompense to his family. And she meant to see that debt paid and her name cleared.
Chapter 10
The robed conduit walked into the shuttered room, moonlight pouring through the uneven slats. Sinewy hands gripped a wooden beam and slid it into place across the door. The conduit’s skin tingled with excitement.
With a sharp nudge, the shutters flew open and a beam of light brightened the dusty room. The conduit shrugged off the robe and let it slip against bare skin and into a soft puddle of fabric on the ground.
The conduit turned, admiring the brightness that glinted off the tools, which were kept polished and waiting on the workbench opposite the window. A smile curved upward, then lips parted as a sigh of delicious expectation escaped.
Muttering an opening chant, the conduit selected the necessary tools: a lump of soft wax, a slim silver blade, some black wire barbed with sharp-bladed stars, a fine linen handkerchief, stained with blood, and a round coin with a hole bored in the center.
As the conduit prepared, the flow and power of the One became evident. Focus grew clearer and stray thoughts vanished. Lighting a series of candles slowly and deliberately helped sharpen the senses even further. By the time the salt circle was drawn upon the floor, the conduit felt steady and calm.
Kneeling in the center of the room, the conduit spoke softly and clearly, invoking the power of the One, using the shared memory of the universe to recall a time when the One had been all that existed. Surrendering to that ancient power took little effort. Within moments, the conduit had become the One, light and dark, void and existent, perpetual and ephemeral.
The
power of the One flowed from the moonlight, through the conduit’s skin, into muscle and bone and blood. Using those tools, the soft wax could be manipulated. A crude body emerged from the shapeless mass. Cutting the bloodied part of the handkerchief away from the clean portion, the conduit wadded it into a ball, then formed the wax around it as though the ball was a small, beating heart. Then, with care, as the knife pressed defining lines inward, a face took shape atop the poppet. With the blood of the father and the Rider’s token as a guide, the likeness was made from the heart of the universe, a rudimentary but compelling copy.
Taking the round coin, the conduit pressed it into the chest of the poppet. Hard. Until the wax squeezed through the small hole. With a smile, the conduit picked up the wire. Now it was time for the fun to begin. Opening to the darkness of the universe, the vast unknowable expanse, the seed of hatred grew. Evil tendrils of malice spread from heart to fingertips, flooding every sense until naked skin slickened with sweat.
Tension built from temple to toe, from heart to groin, pulsing and quivering in this fragile human form. Bodily fluids surged as muscles trembled. Every breath was ragged as the late night air suddenly felt cold and sharp against the fevered quaking body which raged in the night.
Shaking fingers picked up the barbed wire. Lust for power, hunger for revenge, fury, and scorn all combined in a roiling angry wave of hatred as the conduit began to gleefully inflict pain.
∞
Octavia watched Korbin with a measured degree of concern. He’d begun to sweat, even though the cold stone floor in Eliam’s office sent a chill from her feet all the way up her legs. Because of the late hour, they’d managed to get into the house without being seen, but she wondered how long into this mess before Eliam demanded Korbin return the key to the back door.
The two men had a curious relationship. They seemed distant in some ways but like brothers in others. She wondered if it was simply her Kilovian upbringing that prevented her from understanding the subtleties. Although she’d had Talmoran clients, she hadn’t spent more time with them than necessary.
Korbin shivered and mopped his brow.
“Are you all right?” Eliam asked, as though noticing for the first time that his friend wasn’t himself.
With a wave of his hand, Korbin dismissed the concerns and gestured for Eliam to continue. “I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”
Eliam nodded and continued to talk, but Octavia wasn’t listening. Her skin prickled and a familiar buzzing passed over her body. Her stomach clutched as she realized what was happening. Just as she turned, Korbin winced and tugged a leather thong from around his neck.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her tone sharp. “Where does it hurt?”
Korbin shouted, “Holy eight, that burns!” He pulled on the thong, but it caught on something.
“Hold still,” Octavia said and she knelt in front of him and opened his shirt. Muttering an oath of her own, she pulled her hand back. The token around his neck was blistering hot, and his skin was growing an angry shade of red all around it. He continued to pull, but the token wouldn’t budge. “Don’t,” she said. “You’ll only pull the skin away.”
Panic built in his eyes, and she put her hands over his. “Shh, I know it hurts, but you must stay calm.” She turned to Eliam. “I need a knife. The sharper, the better.”
“What’s wrong?” Eliam asked.
“Now,” she barked and then softened her tone. “He’s being attacked. I need the blade, quickly.”
“Right.” Eliam leapt into action, opening a cabinet door behind his desk.
“Korbin,” she said, turning to stare deep into his eyes. She put her hands on his face. “It’s going to get worse. Much worse. You must be strong.”
His eyes wide and face covered with a sheen of sweat, Korbin nodded. “Okay,” he said through gritted teeth. The redness on his chest deepened and spread further.
Eliam hurried to her side and handed her a small knife. “All I have is this letter opener. Will it do? Or should I get something larger?”
Silver. Perfect. Not as sharp as she would have liked, but it would do. “It’s fine.” She took the blade and muttered an incantation to bless it with the power of the One, cleaning it physically and spiritually.
Korbin moaned through clenched teeth and his eyes rolled back.
“That burn is bad,” Eliam said. “Should I get water?”
“No,” she said sharply. “Water will only make it worse. I need rags. Clean ones.” Not daring to wait another moment, she sliced the blade down her left arm. She clenched her hand and opened it, then repeated that many times over. The cut stung, but blood flowed as desired.
Eliam dashed to the hall and shouted something she couldn’t make out. She focused on Korbin and the dark power centered around his token. With all her concentration, she poured power into her arm. Placing her hand over the token, she stood so her body would be higher than her arm and the blood would flow more freely. The ruby liquid ran in rivulets down her fingers and over his chest, dripping onto his shirt and skin.
When Eliam returned with a bundle of clean rags, he gasped. “Dear gods alive.”
A twitch of annoyance fluttered through her, but she brushed it away. She couldn’t afford the distraction. There was a reason conduits rarely worked in front of others. She could hardly demand he leave his own study, but she needed him away from her, lest he break the focus required.
“I need a green apple,” she said. “And a narrow red cloth, a black pouch, and fifteen flawless hairpins.”
“Hairpins?” Eliam asked.
“Now,” she told him, maintaining eye contact with Korbin.
“Okay,” their host said, scurrying away.
Korbin smiled through the pain. “An apple?”
“I panicked,” she muttered.
“You could have just told him to wait outside.”
“Bah. He is a Talmoran Dul. I am but a foreigner.” She paused. “Shush.”
“Yes, Senne,” he replied with a grin, which faded in an instant. He cried out, arching his back.
“Damn him,” Octavia grumbled. “He works fast.” She didn’t want to be impressed, but she couldn’t help it. She recognized the method, of course, but the precision was impeccable. She felt more certain than ever this was the work of a man. Although female conduits certainly had the capacity to be vicious, this attack had a blunt force that she associated more with the power men wielded.
“Who?” Korbin asked, his breathing labored. He cried out again as another lash of pain hit him.
“Your enemy,” she said, then added, “and mine.”
“Who?” Korbin repeated, more faintly this time.
She couldn’t let him succumb to the pain. She needed his help. “Look at my blood,” she said, smearing it over his chest where the power had burned him.
He glanced down. “It’s helping.” He winced as another wave of pain struck him.
Carefully, she smeared a thick layer of blood over the token, covering it completely. She could no longer make out the Talmoran lettering carved into it. When the writing was entirely obscured, she lifted it from his body. Pulling the thong over his neck, she held the object away from him.
His breathing calmed as soon as she removed the token, but he inhaled sharply when she soaked one of the clean rags with blood and wrapped it around the coin. “It’s not over,” she said. “Where does it hurt?”
“It’s better now,” he told her. When she gave him a sharp stare, he relented. “My shoulders.”
“Take your shirt off.”
He did as commanded, much to her relief. Talmorans had strange ideas about nudity and shame. When he pulled the cloth over his shoulders, she struggled not to show her shock. His upper back looked as though he’d been repeatedly and severely struck with a whip.
With as gentle a motion as she could make, she took some of the blood that had dropped onto his chest and had him turn so she could smear it over his wounds. With all the focus
, and drawing as deeply as she could from the power of the One, she sought to soothe and heal, using her own blood as a shield to protect Korbin from pain.
Soon, she felt tightness in her shoulders and the sharp sting of pain across her own back.
Unfortunately, the flow of blood in her arm had begun to slow. She didn’t dare cut again. She was already lightheaded. Dividing the pain between them, she muttered every benevolent word of protection she could recall, focusing on his injuries as tears splashed down her cheeks. She caught the precious droplets in her hands, then spread them over his back, offering the all-encompassing love of the power of the One, the purity and unadulterated light to offset the grim darkness that had been used against him.
After long moments passed with no further strikes, Korbin asked, “Is it over?”
“I think so,” she said, nearly breathless herself. “I feel no more lashes.” She leaned back against the soft arm of the wide double seat.
He turned and looked at her, no longer fevered or disoriented. His eyes widened. “You’re pale. Too pale.” His glance took in the blood-soaked rags and the deep cut on her arm as though he’d only just seen it. Taking one of the remaining clean cloths, he wrapped her arm. “You lost a lot of blood.”
“You needed it,” she said with a stiff shrug. In truth, she gave too much, but she’d never been witness to an attack like this before. She hadn’t known what else to do. This was beyond her experience. Perhaps not her knowledge. Of course, she’d learned of such things, but only in theory. She understood why the dark conduit had attacked Korbin and not her. She would have had too many protections and been able to use her blood internally without hurting herself or him. This way, the attack affected them both.
“Was someone trying to kill me?” Korbin asked.
“Perhaps. Men have died from pain.”
“Is this what my father endured?”
Not wanting to answer, Octavia asked, “Do you think Dul Eliam will allow us to stay tonight? I’m very tired.” It pained her to admit it, but she didn’t think she could easily make her way across town to the house they’d hidden in the previous nights, and she didn’t feel up to finding her sister conduits, either. If she was honest, she didn’t want them to see her so weakened. Although blood was a conduit’s main tool, they were taught how to carefully regulate its use. She’d never seen anyone so recklessly and wastefully pour their precious blood like she had.
Spirits of Light and Shadow (The Gods of Talmor) Page 11
