The Scarlet Star Trilogy

by Ben Galley

  ‘Alright,’ Merion nodded. ‘We do it your way.’

  Lilain drummed her fingers some more, letting her eye wander over to the end of the table, where a lonely slice of bacon lingered in brown paper.

  ‘You know, they say it’s never wise to rush on an empty stomach. Why don’t you eat that bacon there before we begin?’

  Merion followed her eyes to the bacon. ‘I don’t think I can be trusted with cooking it.’

  ‘No,’ Lilain replied, her voice as flat as the tabletop. ‘Eat it raw.’

  Merion grimaced. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  Lilain raised an eyebrow. ‘You afraid?’

  ‘No, I’m just not an animal,’ Merion retorted.

  Lilain kept on firing questions at him. ‘You’re a bloodrusher, are you not?’

  ‘Apparently so, but…’

  ‘So you drink blood raw?’

  ‘Well, hopefully…’

  ‘Then you’re an animal in many eyes.’

  Merion gave his aunt a haughty look. ‘Well I’m not in mine, and that’s what counts.’

  ‘Eat the bacon.’

  ‘I refuse.’

  ‘It’s the same as blood.’

  ‘No, it’s slimy and cold, and meat,’ whined Merion.

  Lilain slapped her palms on the table. ‘I guess we’ll see, won’t we?’ she said, and with that, she went down into her basement, and was gone for a little while.

  When she returned, her hands and pockets were full of vials and she clasped a beaker under one arm. Once she’d lain them on the table, she fetched the water bucket and placed it by her feet. She dipped the beaker into it and brought it up dripping to sit between her and Merion. With finger and thumb, she picked up the first vial. This one was bright red, almost orange. It was filled almost to the cork. Merion involuntarily gulped.

  ‘We’re going to go through the veins first. All six, until we know the extent of your rushing ability,’ Lilain told him, as she examined the vial.

  ‘So do I get to find out if I’m a leech?’ Merion asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, almost tersely.

  Merion rubbed his hands despite himself. He waited patiently as Lilain slid the beaker closer and then uncorked the vial. She tilted it over the brackish water and let a little of the blood spill in. She then swirled the beaker around in one hand, keeping an eye on Merion as she did so, one eye narrow and curious.

  She offered him the beaker. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Put the red in your belly.’

  Merion took the beaker and looked into the water. It was even browner than before, but at least it didn’t look like blood. This, Merion could do. He put the beaker to his lips and began to gulp the cold water down. If this was bloodrushing, then this was easy. Once the beaker was dry, he set it back down and then spread his fingers across the wood, waiting to feel whatever effects Lilain had chosen for him. His heart thundered away. His stomach began to itch. Gradually, that itch became something fierce. Merion winced, half-expecting pain, but instead he felt something else. Hunger. Ravenous hunger.

  Merion’s mouth had become a pool, nay, a fountain of saliva. His nails dragged at the tabletop as he cast around for something to devour.

  The bacon.

  There it was: glistening on the brown paper, all pink and fresh, ready to be gobbled down. Merion snatched at it, hooking it with a finger. He didn’t spare it another glance before shovelling it into his mouth, raw fat and all. He chewed like he had never chewed before. His teeth felt like razor-blades. His tongue was an overlord, commanding the consumption of the delicious, salty meat. All too soon it was polished off. Fortunately for Merion, the effects of the rushing were beginning to wear off. His mind began to shrug off the lust for meat. He blinked owlishly at his aunt.

  ‘What happened? Did I do it wrong?’ he asked, a little worried, already feeling a little disgusted with himself.

  Lilain shook her head, smirking. ‘Nothing at all, my dear nephew. How was the bacon?’ she asked, while she scribbled a symbol on a scrap of paper.

  Merion felt the bile rising. He could imagine the slimy, ragged meat lying in his belly. ‘Almighty,’ he gagged. ‘Did the blood make me do that?’

  Lilain lifted up the vial and shook it. ‘Hyena.’

  ‘Hyena! Where on earth did you find a hyena?’ Merion was stunned.

  ‘Met a Zulu letter in Mocorrow. Sold me that vial for some owl blood if I recall. That’s a primary shade in the second vein. Mammals. What the water does is dilute its purity, meaning it takes the edge off it and makes it quicker. See, most shades have a positive effect and a negative effect. Sometimes the bad comes out slowly, like an addiction. Sometimes it comes instantly. Sometimes it comes charging on in with the good. Impurity can affect it. So can the rusher’s own skills. Some are more susceptible than others, and sometimes you’re just darn unlucky. The blood and water mixture flattens the curve and gives me a clear insight. Simple really.

  ‘So this is just an experiment, not actual bloodrushing,’ Merion asked. He furrowed his brow. ‘And what do you mean by “severe”?’

  Lilain frowned. ‘Not yet. I’m the best letter in the Kingdom. I know what I’m doing.’

  Merion shrugged. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘Hungry for more, are we?’

  The boy’s stomach growled, and he clutched it. ‘Please, don’t use that word.’

  Lilain held up the next vial, a little fat-bottomed thing with a red cork. The blood inside was a sickly, putrid yellow. ‘The second shade. Insects.’

  Merion felt his guts entwine. ‘Can I have more water?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Lilain refilled the beaker and as before, tipped a little of the blood into the water. Merion put it to his lips. The water smelled acidic. He did not care for it.

  ‘Go on,’ Lilain urged. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  Merion held his nose and drank it down, trying very hard to ignore the bitterness on his tongue.

  ‘Aaah,’ he spluttered, ‘There, done. What’s next?’

  ‘Just wait a moment, Merion. Watch your hands.’

  ‘What about my hands?’ Merion held up his palms, already grimacing in unease. And rightfully so: his skin was starting to blister and turn a dark green. He winced as he tried to flex his fingers; the skin was rock hard. Merion knocked his hand against the tabletop. ‘It’s like I have wooden skin,’ he said.

  Lilain shook her head. ‘That’s odd. Merion, look at me.’

  Merion did as he was told, and Lilain quickly refilled the beaker of water. ‘Drink some more,’ she instructed him. ‘Now.’

  Merion lifted the beaker and caught his reflection in the water. His face was skeletal, his skin drained and grey. Long wrinkles scored his face like the bars of a prison cell. Merion drank as deep and as fast as he could.

  ‘That’s a no for insects, sadly,’ Lilain muttered, drawing another little symbol on her paper, and a big cross next to it.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked.

  ‘Bloodglyphs. One for each vein, and together they make up the Scarlet Star of bloodrushing. It’s how we letters organise the shades,’ Lilain informed him, pointing out her scribbles.

  ‘The script on the labels is Sanguine, a blood language to describe shades. I’ll teach you, in good time.’

  Merion nodded absently. One yes. One no. Though if that was what all insect blood tasted like, then he was glad of the failure. Putrid stuff.

  The next shade was from the underwater kingdom. Pufferfish to be exact. As well as nearly suffocating, his face ended up so swollen he could barely see.

  ‘It’ll be a while before you can handle that vein,’ Lilain lectured.

  Once Merion’s face had deflated, he stuck out his fingers. Three veins in, and only insects had been a disappointment. He had to be a leech. He had to be.

  The reptile vein was his second failure, bringing it equal. The salamander blood gave Merion the most horrendous nosebleed of his life. In mere seconds, he was saturated in blood. It did no
t stop trickling for almost half an hour.

  When it finally did, Lilain hummed to herself. ‘I told you. Magick i—’

  Merion thumped an incarnadine fist on the table. ‘Isn’t pretty, I know. Next,’ he said, thumping his fist on the table.

  ‘Birds.’ Lilain proffered the beaker. This shade tasted oddly sweet, and not all that unpleasant. He silently prayed for another success. Bird vein. He could be like Lurker, with a pet eagle or something …

  ‘Is something burning?’ Merion suddenly asked, sitting rigid in his chair.

  Lilain shook her head slowly. ‘No, I don’t believe so.’

  ‘There’s smoke …’ Merion looked around, wondering how it was that Lilain could be oblivious to the thick grey smoke that was now filling the room. He knuckled his eyes, but the smoke only got thicker. Soon enough, Lilain was lost in the haze. ‘What’s going on?’

  The voice wandered out of the fog. ‘You’re going blind, Merion.’

  Merion instantly jumped his feet, sending his chair flying. ‘What?’

  ‘Relax, it’s not permanent. Cataracts are one of the side effects of the Hunter’s Gaze. Eagle blood. Actually, this is rabbit hawk, but their shades are very similar. Can you see me now?’ she asked, waving with both hands.

  Thankfully, he could. The smoke had begun to fade away. Merion was left blinking and deeply grateful for everything single object in that dingy little kitchen. Pots, pans, peelings, his eyes roved over the lot. ‘Well?’ he asked.

  Lilain tutted. ‘Might just be too strong a shade for you. This one’s a maybe for now.’

  Merion groused away beneath his breath, muttering something about eagles and feathered swine.

  ‘One left,’ Lilain said, quietly. She pondered over the vials before reaching for a little tube of bright blue blood. She swirled it around in her fingers. The way in which she did it suggested this was a very special vein indeed. Merion ached to know more.

  ‘Myth,’ was all she said, and with great care, she refilled the beaker, right to the top, and then slipped just one drop of the sapphire blood into the water. Merion couldn’t help but notice the blood hissing as it met the surface.

  ‘Myth?’ he asked.

  ‘Mythical creatures. Also called the magick vein.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Imp essence.’

  ‘Right.’ Merion sighed. He was sure there were more glamorous creatures in this vein, that his aunt was just starting him off at the bottom. Entry-level rushing. He couldn’t wait to find out what other myths Lilain had hiding on her shelves.

  This blood tasted of earth. Not of sand or dirt or old grass, but simply of earth. Of something rich and deep and ancient. The taste of deep roots and ageless rocks. Merion could barely taste it all before the beaker was emptied.

  ‘What do you feel?’ his aunt asked, chewing on the end of her pencil.

  ‘What do you feel?’ Merion echoed. Once again the noises had sprung unbidden from his mouth.

  ‘Any odd sensation? Itching?’

  ‘Any odd sensation. Itching?’

  Lilain smirked, and Merion found himself smiling along with her for no apparent reason. Traitorous lip.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I see.’

  A mischievous look bloomed in his aunt’s eyes. ‘Oh how I wish I had a husband!’ she proclaimed, quite suddenly.

  Merion’s eyes went wide. He tried to clamp his lips together but they broke free. All he could do was puff out his cheeks and glare as he shouted. ‘Oh how I wish I had a husband!’

  Lilain just sniggered. Childish pranks, or rather, impish.

  Fortunately, this vein wore off more quickly than the others. When Merion trusted himself to speak again, he shuffled his chair forward. ‘So?’ he asked.

  Lilain tapped her pencil against the paper. ‘Well,’ she mused, ‘three veins and one maybe. My boy, it seems you have your father’s talents.’

  Merion beamed, but that smile soon fell when he noticed how dry her tone was; how little pleasure she had taken saying those words. ‘You don’t seem all that happy, Aunt Lilain,’ he stated.

  Lilain folded her hands on her lap and spoke to the tabletop. ‘More veins means more danger, Nephew. And the more dangerous you become. Teaching you to balance the two is not something I exactly relish, to tell the truth.’ Here she sighed. ‘But it is infinitely better than any alternative.’

  ‘And you promised,’ Merion reminded her.

  A curse was crushed between her teeth. ‘That I did,’ she muttered.

  Merion’s smile returned. ‘Tell me then, what’s next?’

  ‘Nothing. We’ll wait until tomorrow, I think. We need to ease your body into it. Most rushers start young. Most leeches start even younger: seven, eight …’

  ‘But …’

  Lilain flicked him a sharp look.

  Merion relented. ‘Alright. Tomorrow. But I want to star—’

  It was then that there came a sharp knocking at the door. Lilain moved to get up, but Merion beat her to it. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.

  ‘Probably Lurker,’ she muttered, praying it was nothing to do with dead bodies and railwraiths.

  *

  Calidae Serped curtseyed as the door swung open.

  Merion had forgotten many things on his way to the door. He had forgotten to smooth his hair. He had forgotten his shirt was encrusted with nose blood. He had forgotten his face was in a similar state. He had even forgotten to wipe some of the raw bacon grease from his chin and lips. Truth be told, he had expected Lurker, and Lurker wasn’t going to care about such things, was he? And who else could be calling at this hour?

  Merion’s face was nothing short of aghast, when he opened the door to find Calidae Serped and three of her finest and tallest lordsguards standing on his aunt’s porch. Calidae was dressed in flowing green, and there was a bow in her hair. Whatever smile she had been wearing was slowly but surely melting away, turning into a flat line of uncertainty. The guards stood on the steps with their hands now on their longswords.

  ‘Tonmerion,’ she began, ‘are you unwell?’

  Merion’s hands wanted to do a thousand different things. They wanted to plunge into his hair and wrestle it back to normality. They wanted to slap the blood from his face and wipe the mess from his lips. They wanted to grab hold of time and throw it back so that he wouldn’t be standing there in front of Calidae Serped, looking like a stray dog who had just eaten its own master. Instead he just closed the door behind him and then clasped his hands in front of him, where he could keep his eyes on them.

  ‘I am indeed,’ he answered, bowing quickly, formality coming to the rescue. If he could not look like a lord, then he would bloody well sound like one. ‘I am afraid you have caught me at a very unfortunate moment, my Lady Serped. Calidae, I mean. As you can see I am suffering from some sort of desert ailment. Nosebleeds. It must be the heat. Please do excuse my appearance,’ he explained, waving his hands about, feeling like an escaped lunatic.

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ Calidae curtseyed again. When she arose, the smile had returned. ‘I shall not keep you for long. I simply came to invite you to dinner aboard my father’s riverboat. Our home here in Fell Falls. Though as I see you are unwell … Perhaps another time?’

  ‘What about next Sunday?’ Merion blurted. ‘I mean, if that suits? I know he must be busy, but I would be honoured to meet your father. I had hoped he might help …’

  Merion felt the door behind him swing inward, and he groaned. ‘Help with what, Merion?’ asked his aunt, coming to stand over him. ‘And who are you, might I ask?’ she asked the entourage loitering on her porch. The guards edged a little closer.

  ‘Tonmerion’s aunt, I believe, the undertaker? Madam Rennevie, I am Lady Calidae Serped, daughter of Lord Castor Serped,’ Calidae announced as she curtseyed again. She flashed her most winning smile, but it splintered into pieces against Lilain’s sour gaze.

  ‘Yeah, I know who you are,’ Lilain muttered, ‘and it’s Lad
y Hark to you. Madam Rennevie died with Mister Rennevie.’ Merion flashed her a stern glance, as if trying to press some manners into her.

  Calidae clearly did not know what to make of that. ‘My apologies, Lady Hark,’ she apologised. ‘Tonmerion, we can talk more over dinner on Sunday. I will have a messenger send the details.’

  Merion beamed. ‘Sunday, of course,’ he replied.

  Calidae curtseyed once last time. Before she turned to leave she turned clicked her fingers and looked up at Lilain. ‘Ah yes, Lady Hark. My father has a message for you and he has asked me to deliver it,’ she said, and then held out a hand. One of her lordsgaurds reached into a satchel and fetched the message.

  ‘And what does he want now?’ Lilain snapped, making Merion wince with embarrassment.

  Calidae shook her head and handed over the letter, thick paper wrapped in twine and sealed with green wax. ‘I’m afraid my father’s business is his own. I am simply a messenger,’ she offered.

  Lilain snatched the letter from her and tucked it into her pocket. ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s all you are. Good day to you, Lady Serped.’

  Leaving Calidae looking stunned and more than a little put out, Lilain veritably dragged Merion back into the hallway and slammed the door.

  ‘How dare you be so rude!’ Merion cried, half-hoping Calidae would hear him before angrily marching down the steps to tell her father how unpleasant the Harks could be. Dinner would be cancelled. No help would come from Castor. He would be shunned by the only sort of high society this blasted desert had to offer.

  Lilain was already making for the kitchen. Merion followed at her heels like a hungry dog. ‘She’s the spawn of Castor,’ Lilain spat. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, that wasn’t rude enough.’

  His aunt performed a lap of the kitchen table before coming to a halt behind her chair. She gripped its wood so tight her knuckles turned white.

  ‘What could you possibly have against her and her father?’ Merion demanded.

  Lilain fixed him with a stare. ‘Do you really want to pick at this scab? You hold them in such high regard, especially her. I can see it in the way you looked at her. It would be a shame to spoil it all for you.’