by Gail Dayton
“Who isn’t me.”
Crow flapped his way down to her shoulder, startling her. But her hand rose to stroke the bird’s glossy feathers.
“Think of it as payment for the bird.” She sounded desperate to be rid of him. Why? Why was she so afraid?
“Crow belongs to himself alone.” Jax backed toward the path. How far would he get this time? “He chooses where he stays. I require no payment for him.”
“His name is Crow?” Miss Whitcomb looked at the bird, so close to her, her eyes must have crossed. “Not Odin or Ragnar or something more impressive?”
Jax felt the laughter rumbling in his belly. He didn’t let it out, but it was there. Twice in two days now. How long since that had last happened even once? Before Yvaine? He couldn’t remember. “Odin’s beasts were ravens, not crows. Crow is who and what he is. He has no need to impress. He may have another name, but that is his own, secret, crow-ish name. We have no need to know it.”
The lady inclined her head. “Good-bye, Jax.”
He bowed. It was not good-bye, but he did not know how to make her believe it.
———
Amanusa had finished breakfast but had scarcely gotten a stew on the hearth for dinner when she heard Crow’s welcoming cry.
Welcoming? She didn’t know how she could tell one caw from another, but this was no cry of alarm. Knowing who the creature greeted, Amanusa let go her temper as she stormed out to tell the man exactly what she thought.
Which brought her up short. She rarely let her temper loose on a man. The results were invariably painful. And yet her instinctive control did not work with this man. As if she had no fear of his reaction. Obviously, her instincts were off kilter.
Jax had stopped several yards down the path, still in the forest, as if afraid to come any closer. When he saw Amanusa striding toward him, he sighed, turned round, and started down the path away from the cottage again.
She lengthened her stride and caught up with him, taking hold of his elbow. “I will show you where the road is, so you do not mistake it.”
“Thank you, Miss.” After a stretch of quiet, with only the crunch of their feet on the earth and the twitter of birds overhead, he spoke again. “But it won’t do any good. It’s not the cottage I’m bound to. It’s you. And you’re with me. As long as I’m at your side, I can go anywhere. To India. Timbuktu. Nagy Szeben.”
Amanusa snorted. She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe him. She was not a blood sorceress. And she didn’t want any man hanging ‘round. She didn’t dare trust him, no matter what her instincts said. Or didn’t say.
Another several minutes of walking and they reached the road. She pointed east. “There. That way to the village.”
“Yes, Miss.” Jax tipped an invisible hat and started off. Crow landed in a tree beside the road and cawed as if to ask where he went.
Amanusa shook off the fancy. Perhaps she had been alone a bit too long, to be imagining birds asking questions. But she liked her life that way. More could be dangerous. She crossed her arms and slipped into the forest, leaning a shoulder against Crow’s tree, intending to watch the man until he was out of sight. Her drab clothes would hide her presence. If he stopped and returned, she wanted to see it, to be able to throw his lies in his face.
The man walked with a loose-jointed, ground-covering stride, head up to spy out his surroundings. He was a pleasure to watch. It was a pleasure to see any of God’s well-made creatures do what they were made to do. He was a man, yes, but he had never hurt her. Not yet. And she’d be a fool to give him the opportunity. As she watched him, he seemed to walk straight into a ray of sunlight and disappear.
Amanusa blinked. She scrubbed her eyes and looked again, but the man, Jax, was gone and not around a bend in the road or over a hill. He’d simply—
He stepped out of the shadow, striding diligently back toward her. He still walked in that lovely head-up, alert fashion, but he didn’t seem to see his surroundings, until Amanusa stepped out into the road in front of them.
He stopped, stared at her a moment, sighed, and turned as if to trudge back the other direction. But he hesitated before taking that first step. “How far did I get?”
“Not far. To that big patch of sunlight.” She pointed.
“Did you see what happened?”
“Yes.” She still didn’t want to believe it, but she could not deny it. “You stepped into the sunlight.”
“And?” Jax looked at her over his shoulder when she stopped talking.
She didn’t want to say it, but when he looked at her like that, blue and brown swimming together in his eyes, she couldn’t stop herself. “And when you stepped out again, you were walking toward me.”
He turned his face back toward the village, but didn’t take that first step. “Please do not make me try again. Please. Each time I try to leave, I am turned back sooner. If I keep trying—” He shuddered, eyes firmly on the distance. “Leave me just a few feet of space for my own.”
Amanusa echoed his shudder. “What magic is this?”
“Blood magic.” He turned those multicolored eyes on her. “Your magic.”
“No,” she whispered. “No!” Her sudden cry sent Crow skyward, shouting his alarm. She bolted, running down the path back to the haven of her cottage, the man running behind her, her fears chasing her.
She had enough sense left to skirt her garden when she reached the clearing. She ran inside her house and slammed the door shut, fully expecting that man to follow her in with his horrible accusations. But he didn’t.
She could hear his harsh breathing through the door, but he stayed on the other side. The few feet of distance he asked for?
After a time, he rapped on the door. “Miss Whitcomb, are you all right?”
Amanusa shoved the kettle over the fire and tried to lose herself in the comforting ritual of tea making. But her hands shook so, she spilled tea all over the table. When she couldn’t brush the leaves off the table into the pot, she made herself set the teapot gently and carefully down. She leaned against the table a moment, gripping it hard enough to turn her fingers white, until she got her breath under control. She wiped away the signs of weakness her tears had made, smoothed down her dress, then walked to the door and snatched it open.
Jax lifted himself off the wall beside the door where he had been leaning and pivoted to face her.
“I am not a blood sorceress,” she cried. “I’m not like that. I care about other people’s pain. I don’t take pleasure in it. I don’t steal children to take their blood. I don’t.”
She screamed the last words, shaking and crying, halfway to hysterics. Or perhaps already plunged into their manic depths, for she didn’t object when the man very carefully put his arms around her and drew her slowly in.
“Is that the trouble then?” He stroked a hand down over her hair as she surrendered and laid her head on his shoulder. He was just enough taller she could do it. She didn’t have even the strength to scold herself for accepting the false comfort he offered. Just now, it didn’t feel false.
“Of course you’re not like that,” he murmured. “If you were, you’d be conjuring, not working blood magic.”
Amanusa pushed back and he let her go, easy as that. She swiped her hands across her cheeks and stiffened her spine. “What do you mean?”
“That bit about blood magic needing to steal blood from children—that’s a bald-faced lie. Of course, the old sorceresses were some of the ones who spread it, but still, it’s a lie.” Asking permission with his eyes, Jax ducked through the door of her cottage and began brewing the tea she’d started, rescuing the spilled leaves with brisk, efficient motions.
Amanusa trailed back inside and crumpled into one of her sturdy chairs, content for the moment to let him wait on her. “Then where does the blood come from? I won’t kill anyone for his blood—not even a condemned murderer.”
Or so she told herself. She knew of a few she thought deserved death. But what if she was w
rong?
“Good,” he said. “The blood for sorcery comes from various places. The most important thing is that it be given willingly.”
Willingly ? But everyone knew…
Amanusa shook her head, trying to get it around this astounding new information. Jax was a blood servant, or so he claimed, and he had the magic to back it up. What reason would he have to lie?
He poured water over the tea and set it to steep, stirred the stew, and turned back to her. “What do you know about the great magics?”
She cleared her throat and sat up, straightening her thoughts as she did her body. “Only what everyone knows.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Whether that is rumor or truth, I don’t know. They don’t teach magic to girls in school, and I haven’t been to a school since we left Vienna. Are you sure? Willingly?”
“Positive.” He nodded, firm and certain. “Blood magic is not inherently evil. Nor are any of the others. What do you know about them?”
“There are four great magics: alchemy, conjury, wizardry, and blood sorcery.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Alchemy deals with the elements—earth, air, water, fire. Conjury is worked through spirits. Wizardry is herbal—plants and trees—and sorcery is done with blood.”
“Essentially correct.” He gave her a gentle smile. “These four magics are in the European tradition. Other places—Asia, Africa, the Americas—follow different traditions. I know little about them. And blood magic—sorcery—could more properly be called human magic, or perhaps body magic.”
Amanusa frowned. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Jax picked up one of the charms she had worked late into the night to finish. “How do you fasten these together?”
“With string. They’re witch magic. Herbs, leaves, flower petals. Small magic.”
“Small, yes.” Jax tossed the charm into the air and caught it again, then opened his hand to show it to her. “Why didn’t it come apart? The string is dislodged. Loose. But the charm is still intact. Why? How?”
“I—they always came apart until I started…” Amanusa paused, met the encouragement in his eyes before admitting her secret. “Until I licked the edges of the leaves. It seemed to hold them together.”
“It does. The product of your body seals the charm shut and carries all the magic. There is no magic in these leaves, these petals. The magic is in your—” He pantomimed licking the leaf’s edge. “Your saliva.”
“But I learned these charms from Ilinca, the woman who lived here before. She was a witch. She made them all the time, and others, against straying husbands or rotting teeth.”
“Do your charms work as well as hers? And how did she close them?” Jax tossed the charm to Amanusa who just managed to catch it. “Did she lick them shut?”
“No, she didn’t lick…” Amanusa thought back, trying to remember. Now that she thought about it, Ilinca had warned her against licking the leaves. Otherwise Amanusa might never have tried it. But it worked. So she kept doing it. “And there are no more teeth in the barber’s pail than before, so they work about as well.” She bit her lip. “They didn’t, before I started licking the edges.”
“You see?” He handed her a mug of sweetened tea, asking silent permission before pouring one for himself. He leaned against her cupboard, holding the mug in both hands. “You have some talent for wizardry, perhaps, but for sorcery, for blood magic—you’ve worked it without knowing you are. Almost anything from the body can be used for magic. As long as it’s willingly given. Why else would barbers be so fanatical about sweeping up their clippings to throw them on the fire? Hair and nail clippings work the weakest magic, because they’re dead when they’re cut, but they can be used.”
“Then why is it called blood magic?”
“Because blood is the most powerful source of magic. Because its willing gift is the greatest sacrifice.”
“Oh.” It made sense. It stood everything she thought she knew on its head, but it made sense.
“All blood has power.” He held her eyes with the intent blue-brown gaze of his. “But the blood of the sorceress carries the most power. If any blood is spilled in creating magic, it will most often be yours. This is why blood sorceresses have always been rare, and why apprentices can be difficult to find.”
Amanusa stared at him, her mind chewing on this fresh news. Hadn’t enough of her blood been spilled already?
Jax cleared his throat. “There is one thing that unwillingly spilled blood can do. The blood of a victim cries out for justice. At one time, a sorceress was a judge, and often executioner. This is the source of their reputation for ruthlessness. But it is never capricious or cruel for cruelty’s sake. It is justice.”
Justice. The word resonated through Amanusa’s soul. Was it. possible? Could she finally have justice for all the many wrongs done to her and her family? It was her desperate need for justice that held her here in this place, this forest. If she left, who would obtain justice for those she’d loved?
She shook away the longing. “Why do you always say ‘sorceress’? Are there no blood sorcerers? No men working blood magic?”
“Men have tried.” His mouth curved in a small, bitter smile. “But few men have proved capable of spilling their own blood time after time to work the magic. Every woman in the world gives up blood voluntarily every month of her adult life. Women are simply more attuned to this sort of magic, just as men seem to be more attuned to alchemy.”
“So.” Amanusa sorted her new knowledge. “Things willingly given from the body make magic. Blood and spit. Hair and nails.” She worked her shoulders, trying to ease the discomfort riding her. Much of what she’d learned wasn’t comfortable at all. “What if I don’t want to be a blood sorceress?”
Jax opened his mouth and she waved him to silence.
“I know, I know. I’m already working blood magic. But what if I don’t want to learn any more of it? What if I don’t want a blood servant? Why can’t I just let you go?”
He didn’t move a muscle, his expression didn’t change, but Amanusa felt the difference in him, a sudden intensity as he watched her. “You would do this?” he said finally.
Amanusa could sense currents roiling beneath his calm appearance. He wanted to be set free. She nodded. “Tell me how.”
Slowly he shook his head. “I do not know. Yvaine has books—Why would you wish to? I can see that I could be a great help to you, even if you have no wish to learn more magic.”
Why indeed? “I suppose… it’s like the blood. Do you serve willingly? If you stay only because you cannot leave, how is that different from—from stealing someone for his blood? It’s not right.”
He smiled. It held a tinge of sadness but it was more purely a smile than any he’d shown her. “I was bound willingly enough at the beginning. If I had not been willing, I could not have been bound.”
“And now?”
“Now?” Jax shrugged. “It is what I am. Blood servant to the sorceress. I cannot remember any other life.” He paused to meet her gaze. “You are not Yvaine. Already I know the difference. Yes, I serve you willingly.”
“Until I can learn how to release you.”
He set his mug on the cupboard and bowed. “If that is your wish, sorceress.”
Amanusa scowled at him. Was he as agreeable as he seemed? Or would he turn on her the minute she relaxed her guard? He’d seen her in her nightgown. “You’ll sleep outside.”
“Of course, my—Miss Whitcomb.” He bowed a little deeper.
“And you’ll keep your hands and the rest of yourself to yourself.” She was never doing that again. Ever.
Darkness overtook her suddenly, and pain. Her neck strained, twisting to turn her face away from the wet mouth, the teeth, the stinking, heaving male body crushing her. As quickly as the sensations swept over her, they departed again, leaving her shaken, shivering with sudden icy sweat sliding down her spine. She took a slow breath, hiding her shattered state. The memories would never be totally gone,
but it had been a long time since one had possessed her like this.
“No, Miss.” Jax tilted his head to look at her from his bow. He seemed to have noticed nothing. “Were you worried about that? About me… taking liberties?”
She couldn’t deny it, despite her little, not-so-nonchalant shrug.
“You needn’t.” He straightened, blushing a little as he picked at the battered edges of her cupboard, keeping his eyes down. “That’s part of the binding. I can’t—” He coughed. “Have intercourse without permission of the sorceress. It’s the magic. The… Well…” He trailed off.
“I… See.” Amanusa’s own blush burned. She ought to be more comfortable talking about this, given her past, but she wasn’t. “Truly?”
“Truly. I am a—a eunuch, until permission is given.”
Pity mixed with the relief rolling through Amanusa, knowing what she did about men and their affection for their private parts. Had the old sorceress suffered like she had? Amanusa didn’t know, didn’t want to ask. But the information reassured her. The man wouldn’t have confessed such a thing if it weren’t true.
She heaved a sigh and drank down the last of her tea. She needed to come up with a plan, but a plan for what? Did she want to learn this blood magic?
The promise of true justice, even the mere possibility of achieving it, pulled at Amanusa. And the hunger for knowledge, to know new things, burned deep inside her. She’d eagerly gobbled up everything old Ilinca had to teach her and begged for more, but Ilinca had none. She’d warned Amanusa against learning more, saying the Inquisition would notice a woman working any magic greater than these small spells and tiny charms, and they would pounce.
“What about the Magician’s Council?” Amanusa asked. “Hasn’t blood magic been banned? Will they even let a woman learn magic?”
“Blood magic isn’t banned. Not officially.” Jax shook his head slowly. “I think I would have heard and remembered if it were. It has merely been shunned. Avoided. Because it is women’s magic. And because only the sorceresses know the truth of it.”
“And women are banned from learning magic.”
