Bloodletting Part 2

by Peter J. Wacks

  Two toward the Rocmire. One toward Castle Drayston.

  Klithissala flicked her tongue, thinking on both destinations. She sucked through her nostrils, scenting smoke on the wind. Good. Smoke from fire. Patterns within patterns. She wove in place for a while longer, turning over an imagined hourglass in her mind, weighing the balance of the blood-red sand within it. It might take longer than they’d planned, but she knew what would come.

  “The Quantus will be stopped, no matter what the price of blood is,” she hissed as she slithered away, leaving the ruins to the carrion and cold.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Pavil Serevin

  The worst of the cold was over. Snow still clung desperately to branches and thinly coated the ground, fighting the coming spring. Wildlife skittered around the forest, breaking the silence of the long winter as the animals started waking for spring. Even the smells of fresh growth floated through the air, despite the snow and ice. Malec led the way forward, trying to find a path for the two boys to use.

  Pavil’s stomach growled. He felt like he had been hungry for months. He had been, in truth, though neither he nor Malec were starving. He wondered, and not for the first time over the months since their escape, what it’d be like to starve to death, which seemed increasingly likely.

  It had almost happened to him during the rocwolves escapade. He grimaced, remembering that afternoon. He had slept for days afterward, and in the weeks since awakening he had been having troubles controlling his emotions.

  It was all Malec’s fault, of course. He’d agreed with Pavil’s escape plan, intending to get help for the other prisoners. Being the smart one in their bunch, Malec should’ve known better and pointed out all the flaws in the idea. Malec’s fault, for sure.

  As he followed Malec through a thick patch of thorny weeds, Pavil shivered and hugged himself in a futile attempt to get warm. Their mad dash through the forest had reduced his nightclothes to little more than tattered rags. Every day—every week—since, they had gotten a bit worse. They both wore hide wraps, gathered from the little bit of wildlife they had managed to bring down. Pavil had also collected vines to tie tanned scraps around their feet, but these only did so much given the wintry conditions. His fingers and toes had gone numb long ago, and he kept pinching his face to make sure the skin hadn’t been scoured off it by the wind. Neither of them had been willing to risk a fire at any point during the long winter months.

  His stomach growled again.

  “I thought you said you never get lost,” he grumbled at Malec’s back. They’d been traveling for nearly two days since the last group of oroc hunters had almost stumbled across their hiding place. It hadn’t been as close as the time with the rocwolves, but it had been close enough. Malec claimed the oroc camp sat just a day’s walk inside the forest, and the camp was only a four-day walk from here. Head north, and they’d be clear in no time. But the packs of oroc hunters kept driving them further and further away from the direction they wanted to go.

  “I don’t get lost,” Malec said, voice tight.

  “Then why are we still in the forest? It’s been months!”

  “Because of the orocs, Pavil. And today because of the river. I know we’re going southeast, but unless you want to swim across here and freeze to death, we’ve got to keep following it until we reach a spot shallow enough to cross, or find a bridge of some kind. With all the oroc patrols, we’re lucky we haven’t been caught. It’d be worse if we turned around.”

  Pavil eyed the river. It was still frozen over long stretches. Though water gurgled beneath, it looked like the ice was still thick. “Why don’t we just cross the ice?”

  Malec sighed and paused, brushing some slush off the furs protecting his feet. “Too thin. I can tell. So unless you want to go back and try to sneak past the orocs, we’ve got to keep going south.”

  “Voids, Malec, how do you even know what direction we’re going? We’ve been trapped in this stupid forest for half the winter.”

  Malec stomped, finished clearing the slush, and walked forward again. “I’m a Magnus, idiot.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? And Malec, you’re not a real Magnus yet—”

  Malec let go of a pine branch he’d bent aside and it whipped back into Pavil’s head. Slush from the bough splashed all over his face and he got a mouthful of snow. Pavil sputtered, slapping at his face and howling in frustration.

  “Shut up,” Malec spun around and cupped his hand over Pavil’s mouth. “You want every oroc for leagues to hear you—”

  Pavil dove to tackle the other boy, sending them both crashing through the wet branches. Malec pulled his hand away and jumped aside, letting Pavil sail past, tumbling down the incline he’d failed to notice just beyond.

  Pavil lay panting at the bottom of the shallow gully, staring up at the sky. Ice and snow coated him, numbing his skin, and his temper. A flash of red caught his eye and he turned his head to get a better look. Blurry green and red splotches resolved into a bush laden with hundreds of crimson berries. He rolled to his hands and knees and scrambled over to the bush.

  Malec shouted, “No!” as Pavil grabbed a fistful of the small berries. Malec slid down the slope and slapped the berries away just before Pavil stuffed them into his mouth. “Those are—”

  Pavil loosed a squeaky roar and launched himself at the other boy. He successfully tackled Malec this time. They rolled through the snow and thick undergrowth, scraping and scratching themselves raw as they tried to get in a good shot on the other. Neither of them was hitting particularly hard. Both realized, that despite being frustrated with each other, neither was actually angry and their blows slowed.

  A woman’s voice rang clear through the cold air. “I would think that the two of you would be better served spending your energies hunting rocboars. Do you really hate each other so much?”

  Pavil and Malec froze. A silhouetted form, the sun bright behind her, stood atop a snowcapped boulder and gazed down at them. They released each other and scrambled to their feet. Both of them stood awkwardly for a moment, rearranging furs and brushing dirt and snow off themselves. The woman watched them, a smile twitching at the edge of her lips. The sun silhouetted her, catching her platinum hair but leaving the rest of her in shadow.

  Pavil recovered from his embarrassment first. He looked up at the woman, eyeing her critically. Her height was the only thing average about her. Her lithe, muscled form and demeanor spoke of nobility. He took a step up the incline, drawn to this mystery woman. Teenage hormones flared in his blood, but he didn’t know what to say.

  “No closer,” the woman commanded in an unfamiliar accent. She wore a patchwork of earth-toned clothing with mismatching leather armor and the occasional steel plate sewn in place.

  Pavil halted. The woman dropped gracefully from the boulder, landing lightly on the forest floor. Locks of sandy blonde hair curled out from under her hood, framing high cheekbones and thick lips. A couple of quick steps brought her to the bottom of the slope. She smiled wryly. “A Pathos and a Magnus … little more than boys, in the middle of the Rocmire?” She walked a wide circle around them.

  Pavil turned his head to track her movements. “Who are y—”

  “Hush,” the woman said, continuing her inspection. After a few more steps, she paused and crossed her arms. “You two look like you have had a rough week.”

  “Try a few rough months,” Pavil muttered.

  “You’re a Prios,” Malec said, fists clenched at his side. After months of the two of them fighting to survive in the forest, he found himself wary of the human contact. Trust was not coming easily to him.

  The woman smiled but stayed quiet, sharp eyes glittering.

  “How’d you know that?” Pavil asked. He was certain Malec had never met the woman before.

  Malec rolled his eyes. “How else would she know what we are? She’s like Elder Proumin was.”

  Pavil’s leg twitched and he almost tackled Malec again.
Almost. But the woman’s presence inspired him to act a little more dignified.

  “And I’m not the only perceptive one here, am I?” she asked, continuing to study the two boys. “How’ve you come to this place? What’re you called by?”

  “I’m Pavil and this is Malec. We were taken—”

  “Don’t tell her anything,” Malec said. He shifted slightly, keeping her in his line of sight.

  The woman pursed her lips and tilted her head, giving them an innocent, but concerned, look. She stepped forward between them, taking a step up the slope, then turned to face them again. Pavil was entranced, but Malec’s emotions made Pavil feel like a mouse being batted between the paws of a cat.

  “We’ll be going now.” Malec turned away, while Pavil shuffled in place. Malec paused to grab Pavil’s shoulder, dragging him along.

  A dozen figures dressed in garb similar to the woman’s emerged from behind the shrubs, rocks, and trees all around them. Pavil had no clue they’d been there, but Malec’s expression of frustration said he hadn’t been so unaware.

  “A couple of months, you say?” The woman asked, sounding amused. “You definitely look like you have had a rough winter.” She stepped forward and flicked Malec’s dirty furs. Her nose crinkled. “You smell like it, too. Aren’t you hungry?” Pavil’s stomach growled loudly.

  “No,” Malec said, still facing the direction he’d chosen.

  “Yes,” Pavil said simultaneously.

  Malec glanced over his shoulder and shot him a dark glare. He mouthed the word outlaws, then gritted his teeth.

  “What? I am.” Pavil shuffled his feet and shrugged, looking away from Malec. He wasn’t feeling any hostility from the outlaws, just wariness, and hunger was overriding prudence at the moment.

  “Wonderful,” the woman said. “I am Sibyl Nan, humble leader of these ever so quiet fellows. We’ll see you safely back to our camp.” Sibyl turned and held out a hand, motioning to her band. The men split into two groups, some behind, some ahead. As they started forward, Malec scowled at Pavil once more before falling in step.

  They continued along the river for another hour, following its bends and icy shore. The couple of times they were forced away from the banks, they didn’t go far enough into the forest to lose sight of the water. They finally reached a massive fallen tree that spanned the river. Green moss peeked through the patches of snow covering the fallen pine. The troup carefully crossed the tree single file, the boys in the middle, then spread back out. They followed the river for a short while longer, then turned and headed north into the forest.

  Pavil’s stomach protested its emptiness almost constantly. After a while, one of their escorts edged over and offered what looked like a brown stick. Pavil eyed it warily until the man laughed and bit a chunk off.

  “Rocboar jerky,” he said through the mouthful. “Give it a try.”

  After a first nibble of the tough, salty meat, Pavil’s eyes grew wide. It tasted better than anything he had ever eaten. He devoured half the dried meat and sighed in contentment. Malec watched from the corner of his eye. Pavil really wanted to eat the rest, but friendship won out over hunger. He handed the rest to Malec.

  Malec raised his eyebrows, silently asking if he was sure. Pavil nodded, and Malec reached out and took the jerky, hungrily biting into it. He didn’t finish it as fast as Pavil had, but it was close.

  Pavil looked to the chuckling man while Malec chomped on the jerky. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

  “Jaimson,” he said with a nod. “Lial Jaimson.”

  “Interesting accent,” Malec said, picking at his teeth while they walked. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “I don’t hail from Promencia originally.”

  “Where then?” Pavil asked.

  “Levant.” Jaimson was tall and wiry, and with that revelation, Pavil noticed that his olive complexion and features didn’t look like anyone he had seen before.

  “Never heard of it,” Pavil said. Malec grunted agreement, trudging along next to Pavil.

  “Not many around here have.” Jaimson went quiet as a voice hollered through the forest ahead of them. One of the men returned the call. “We’re close to camp. Won’t be long now.” Jaimson quickened his pace and joined Sibyl up front, where they quietly exchanged words.

  Soon they came to a thick wall of trees that appeared impenetrable. The group led them to a small gap between two trunks, where they slipped through one at a time. Pavil followed Malec into the hole and stopped short once he emerged on the other side. The smells of roasting pig hung thick in the air. How’d he not notice it until just then?

  His mouth watered as he took in the sights. A large clearing sat within a ring of entangled trees. Cook fires blazed and small earthen shelters sat in random spots around the area. No snow covered the ground. The grass didn’t even look damp. At the clearing’s center, a stone dome rested atop a ring of smooth columns. Several people sat underneath this in poses of deep meditation.

  A hand pushed at Pavil’s back, and he stumbled forward, making way for the people behind him. For the first time in months, Pavil wasn’t cold.

  Sibyl stood before the boys, a fist planted on a hip. “Welcome to the home of the Admired.” She flourished her other arm at the camp. “Get some food and rest. Then you can tell us what brought you into our forest—and convince us whether you ought to remain, or if we should dump you back where we found you.”

  ***

  Chapter Four

  Tetra Bicks

  Tetra sat on a bench in the training yard, taking a break from cleanup duty. The sun was hot in the sky, despite the brisk late-winter air. He could smell spring fighting to take root. Adjusting his position, trying to find a way to make his back throb less, he wiped at his brow. It was too cold to be sweating, but too hot to ignore the sun.

  Just a day after the attack he was already weary and exhausted again—though clearing rubble and bodies proved a far cry from the weariness he had faced last night. He’d shoveled at least a dozen carts full of detritus this morning, hauling the debris off and dumping it into orderly piles outside the gates. The Tectons outside were fusing it into the walls, patching damage from the battle. The smell outside was the worst part of the duty. Despite the cold, the bodies of humans and orocs alike turned his stomach.

  He had thrown up when he had first walked out of the infirmary and was greeted with the smells and sights of the battle’s aftermath. Once his stomach had emptied itself, it had been a fight to regain control of his body. It was rebelling. Tetra didn’t understand how he could be so happy to see the orocs dead, yet so troubled by it.

  He banished the ghost smells and sights, just enjoying the sun while resting instead. His stomach grumbled and he grabbed the pouch next to him. He gnawed a thick cut of mutton, still greasy despite being dried. For the last day, Tetra had found his energy levels were all over the place. Exhaustion mingled with adrenaline, leaving him tired and excited at the same time. But the food helped.

  Healer Alma’s hound, Kafa, sat nearby, watching his every bite. Every time the mutton touched Tetra’s lips, Kafa would softly whine.

  Tetra smiled at the dog. “Sorry, boy. I think I’m not supposed to feed you. Doesn’t someone else do that?”

  The hound huffed and lay down, ears tucked in a mournful pose, staring soulfully at Tetra with big blue eyes.

  Tetra glanced around. No one was watching. He tore off a hunk of the meat and tossed it to his furry friend. Lightning fast, Kafa snatched the mutton out of the air and happily worried at the meat. Tetra smiled and went back to his own meal, watching the activity in the courtyard.

  An officer had gathered a few dozen guardsmen nearby and began singling them out for various duties. The orocs were separated from the humans, to be stacked in heaps which the Volcons would set ablaze.

  For the human casualties, they needed to build small pyres, and the castle priest would pray for their souls before she sent them to the afterlife in a respectable fashion. Prie
sts garrisoned with the kingdom’s armies kept the prayers generic. With the twelve divine Aspects, there seemed to be twelve thousand religions, and there were too many risks involved with specific burial rights. It would be at least a week before they disposed of every last body. A week of struggling with this, trying to understand his conflicted feelings.

  Tetra patted the bench. Kafa perked up and then trotted over. He rubbed his fingers through the hound’s soft black and white fur. It didn’t make the smell any better, but it did calm his nerves enough that he kept his lunch down and it helped relax his back. A few Vortens took shifts standing on the walls, summoning the occasional gust to keep the smoke and stench from overwhelming the grounds.

  Rebuilding was an unstoppable flood of noise and activity, almost busier than the battle had been. Tectons and Magnuses were paired off to rebuild damaged portions of the walls, working from the inside. Materials that could not be shaped by affinity were instead fashioned with tools and sweat. Tiduses began clearing sections of ice before it could damage the castle’s foundations, though left some portions intact for the time, in case the orocs did return. All available Geists reported to Healer Alma in shifts, lending what strength they could in drawing soldiers back from the brink of death.

  As he watched, the infirmary door opened and the Tidus guardsman Tetra had fought beside the night before exited the healing ward without so much as a limp. The man met his eyes across the way, saluted, and then hurried on to join the reconstruction and cleanup efforts.

  Corporal Mikkels had come through the fray with nothing worse than a broken hand. The story circulating was that he tried to punch an oroc into submission after his sword got knocked away. Tall tales and rumors of heroism spread like wildfire as survivors rejoiced in the simple act of breathing in air, and the way to share that with other soldiers seemed to be swapping feats of valor. Mikkels just grinned and went about his work anytime someone asked about it.