Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

His breath came quick, like he’d been running. He’d been fine while practicing forms, and afterward he’d sat still for some time. What was wrong? What had changed?

  Sweat trickled down his temple. He ducked to wipe his cheek across his shoulder. Perhaps laying against the stone would make him cooler. Steadying himself against the perpetual spin, he stretched out. Ah, yes, that was better!

  Eyes closed, he tried to work through a meditation sequence. Master Chimoke tried to teach him how to meditate. Focusing on his breathing was no good; it made him light-headed. He left his breath to sort itself out, and recited one of the Meditation Texts. Twice he caught himself repeating a stanza. It unsettled him.

  He rolled onto his side, arms tucked against his torso. Stone dug at his shoulder, his hip, his knee. The stillness nibbled at him. Had he ever been some place so utterly silent? He’d crept through the secret tunnels without feeling so suspended in… nothingness.

  Not nothing, he chided himself. A little bitty room somewhere in the bottom of high-and-mighty Jansu Chiro’s castle. And a very fine castle it was, too. Well—ugly building, but fine innards.

  His own innards tightened.

  He swallowed half a dozen times. Fight the urge, or let it happen and be rid of the poison? It was bad enough to have the sewage hole in the room—he didn’t need the sour reek of vomit, too.

  Heat crept over him. He pressed a hand to his face, but his skin was cool. Another pain twisted his belly. He sat up, rocking again, wishing the hurt away, wishing the entire weeks-long torment into oblivion.

  Just when he thought his guts had settled down, the cramping began in earnest. He hugged himself and rocked, but it didn’t lessen the pain. Now and then it wrung a cry from him, but no one came to help, nor even to stand over him and gloat.

  The hours crept past like slugs. He thought he made out their silvery trails across the ceiling and walls. Certain places in the darkness deepened and moved. He knew it didn’t make sense, but it didn’t stop the phenomenon.

  When eventually the cramps stopped, the cold seeped into his skin, into his muscles, then deeper, into his very bones. The stone murmured to him in a voice too rough and deep to understand, but it helped to know he was not alone. Maybe the stone would claim him entirely. The thought of not returning to his home ever again brought a wave of sorrow he could not contain, and for a little while he cried. Eventually, the grief trickled away. He rocked until it made him dizzy, then crept to the door again and sat beside it.

  “Demons?” he whispered. He leaned against the indifferent iron and pressed his ear and one hand to the pitted surface. He listened for a long time.

  After a while, he turned his back to the door and closed his eyes again. Sleep eluded him. His head ached. He tried the meditations again, but focusing on his breathing only woke a sense of anxiety. He had to move. Push-ups this time, until his arms shook with effort. Then sit-ups, though those didn’t last as long. They hurt his ribs. He turned to rocking again.

  Completely alone, Sherakai leaned his head against the unforgiving stone wall and stared into the darkness. Slow waves of heat moved through him. They burned his skin, then slowly receded. His awareness drifted, washing back and forth with the tide of unnatural warmth. Wide awake, he dreamed of home until he caught himself and banged both fists against the floor. That version of home didn’t exist any more.

  Bare toes pressed hard against the floor and he rocked…

  Chapter 49

  “Sherakai.” The whisper pulled at him ever-so-gently. Lazy, he batted the air as if by that small motion he would chase the intrusion away.

  “Open your eyes, besh me.”

  Little one? By the saints, no one called him little and got away with it, even if it was true. His jaw inched forward as he cracked his eyes opened. “Unless you want a—Mimeru?” He blinked at his sister.

  The smile she gave him banished the tautness in her features for a moment. “Yes. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” He pushed himself up, only to find the room reeling around him.

  “Easy, now.” Soft hands pressed him back into the pillow. He didn’t argue, sure his skull would crack right open. He closed his eyes again, breath catching in his throat. “I think you are a little less than ‘fine.’ What did he do to you?”

  He didn’t need to ask who she meant. Bairith’s cold, calculating gaze seared him still. “The healer m-made me drink something.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to capture fleeting images. “I was sick. Shaky. I think I had a fever. They p-put me in a cell and there were things in there, except that’s not possible.”

  “What things?”

  “I don’t know, I couldn’t see them.” Confusion suffused him. “There wasn’t any light at all and it was so small I couldn’t stand up straight. Fesh and Teth howled for a long time. I thought they’d break the door down, but then it got really quiet.”

  One of the beasts whined, drawing Sherakai’s attention to the foot of the bed. The other creature hunched over a bowl at the door making wet sounds.

  “I bribed them.” Mimeru shivered a little. “They like raw, red meat.”

  “That’s disgusting,” he grimaced. Bile stung the back of his throat and he turned away.

  “Here, can you drink?” There came a clunk and a gurgle, then she held a cup out to him. “Water.”

  “Yes. Please.” Nothing like having water right in front of one to wake a fierce thirst. He gulped it greedily, but the clever woman had only filled the cup half full. “Why are you whispering?”

  “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “Will the demons get you in trouble?” he asked, and she shrugged. “You shouldn’t be here if it’s dangerous.” The full weight of the last several days slammed into him, leaving him dizzy and breathless. “Oh, stars, Ru,” he groaned. The cup fell from his hand as he pressed both hands over his eyes. “I didn’t make it! They found me and brought me back.”

  “I noticed,” she said drily, and rubbed his back in sympathy. “I am thankful that you’re still alive.”

  “What good does that do?”

  “It gives us another chance. Are you sure you’re feeling well? It’s not like you to be so… dramatic.”

  He shifted one finger to peer at her, then flopped back against the pillow. It set his head to pounding again. “No, you’re right. Barely escaping the keep, getting chased and beat up, chased and tackled, then tortured, poisoned, and thrown in a pitch black cell smaller than this bed is nothing to get theatrical about. How did I get here, anyway?”

  Mimeru gnawed her lip, worry dark in her eyes. “You were carried in. Scared the spit out of me, but I figured if they went to all that bother you couldn’t be dead yet.”

  “I’ll try to stay that way.” He gave her a crooked, humorless smile. “Do you think this is what Zar went through before he—before he died?”

  She didn’t say anything for some time, though she moved her lips as if she might. And then, at last, “I don’t know. How did it happen, Kai?”

  “He was tortured then dragged to Tanoshi behind a horse.” Stark and awful.

  Mimeru stared at him, then at the window. “And Toru?”

  “There’s been no news. Not that I know, anyway. What does he want with us?”

  “He wants me to have babies. You…” Lips pressed together, she picked at the bedclothes. “He wants you to become his hada utasi. His war master.”

  “His what?” Every thought in his head fled to safer, more reasonable climes. A war master was, as he understood it, a kind of general. A champion. The term came from the mainland, but was not much used in Alshani history. Papa would know better.

  Mimeru remained silent, distraught.

  He struggled to regain control of his tongue. “That is… ridiculous. He wants me to be his champion? Tasan had to have been his first choice. Zar and Toru, even, but me? What am I supposed to do, stand at the head of his army, wave my arms and shout so his enemies will die laughing?�
��

  “He’s serious, Kai.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “This,” he said with a wave to indicate his slender frame, “will never be a mighty warrior. A war master is invincible.” Until he was dead, of course, but legend suggested they were notoriously hard to kill. The bards’ tales painted them tall as trees, broad as oxen, fierce as lions. He snickered and shook his head. “Oh, Ru, can you see me cleaving through a shield wall with some mighty, heroic sword? I probably couldn’t even lift it over my head, and I’d bounce right off the first shield—which will be carried by an actual warrior—and fall on my backside.”

  His sister did not smile.

  “Were the others ever as little as I? He can’t change that unless he—Oh, saints,” he whispered. The blood drained from his face. “H-he said it would take work to change my size. How can he do that? Is it even possible?”

  Suddenly tense, Mimeru stood and pulled up the blankets he’d disarranged.

  He caught her wrist and she stilled. “Is it?”

  “I don’t know, besh me. He has other… projects. Experiments. Like your guards.”

  Cold horror snaked through him. “Do you think that’s what he did to Zar and Toru?”

  “If he wanted them to be his war master, yes. It makes sense.”

  He snorted. “Nothing about this makes sense. He’s mad.” Leaning back against the pillows, he scrubbed his head with both hands. His greasy, lank hair needed washing. How long had Bairith kept him in the cell?

  “I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged into this, Kai.”

  “We all have.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” A hitching sigh left her. She fiddled with the edge of the blanket, then cast a sidelong glance at the demons. The one at the end of the bed had gone to join its mate by the door. Did she, like him, find it easier to breathe when they sat a little further away? “We still have the same need.”

  He nodded. They could hardly discuss another escape in front of Fesh and Teth. They had no way of knowing how much information the two communicated to their master. And with Mimeru’s worsening condition, time was of the essence. Every day he put off escape brought her closer to death.

  “It may be best not to plan for me,” she said, choosing her words carefully. They echoed his own thoughts, but in the opposite direction.

  He sucked in a breath. He would not leave her to die here. “I can’t do that.”

  “If it means your life?”

  “No. No, Mimeru. Don’t ask me to abandon you.”

  “It would be a waste if we both lost the game.”

  Hardly a game… “I suppose this is like Papa’s is’fidri board, only I don’t know how the stones are laid out. How can I play blind?” Fiddling with tactics and strategy made him impatient.

  “Give me your hand.” When he did, Mimeru wrote on his palm. Win the demons.

  “Too slow.”

  A start. I will ask more questions.

  “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  One shoulder lifted. “Not in any way that truly counts. I am, for the moment, still valuable.” Leaning over, she kissed his forehead, then ruffled his hair the way she’d always done. “I’d best go. Get some sleep. You need to be well.”

  As she approached the door, the demons got to their feet. She snatched the bowl and dashed out, pulling the door swiftly closed behind her. One of them sniffed at the wood. The other came to stand next to the bed and look at Sherakai. After a moment it poured more water into the cup and held it out, ears perked forward. The normal, everyday human behavior unsettled him, but if he were to do as Mimeru asked, he must push his revulsion aside.

  “Thank you. Teth? Fesh? Which are you?”

  The creature smiled at him, revealing the length of its fangs.

  “Ah.” Was that supposed to reassure him? It didn’t. He pushed himself up to empty the vessel. “Fesh?” he guessed, wiping his mouth. Every movement hurt, every thing hurt. The pain after the training Master Chimoke put him through was nothing compared to this. He felt strangely heavy.

  The other creature trotted over and bounded onto the bed.

  Stars. Would he get used to that? Did he want to?

  “You are Fesh, yes?”

  The creature made an abrupt up-and-down motion with its head and yipped.

  “Good. Gray-eyed Fesh, brown-eyed Teth. I’ll try to keep that straight.” It was unlikely, but perhaps common decency would make an impression.

  Fesh patted Sherakai on the head.

  “Don’t do that,” he grimaced, smoothing his hair.

  Unperturbed, it lifted a vial of cloudy greenish liquid from where it sat on the nightstand. Off came the cap, and he held it up.

  “No.”

  The word had hardly left his lips before Teth scooted behind and captured him in a headlock. Fesh leaped up on the bed, put a foot in Sherakai’s belly, and jabbed a finger between his lips to pry his mouth open. He thrashed as hard as he could, and the elixir went down his throat anyway. He gagged at the sour taste. The two loosed him to stroke his head solicitously, straighten the bed clothes, and give him another cup full of water.

  “You can’t do that!” he complained, snatching the water and hurrying to wash away the awful flavor of fermented milk and herbs.

  Fesh made a sympathetic face and took the youth’s hand to stroke it gently.

  Sherakai snatched it back. “Not that, either.”

  The creature hung his head and looked away.

  Teth chirped and clicked his teeth together, shaking his skull-like head back and forth. He pointed to the door, then tapped bent fingers against his mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say. Can you talk? Can either of you?”

  Teth tossed his head and made a clacking sound. Fesh merely whined softly.

  “You know what I’m saying, though, don’t you?”

  They both chittered at him, dancing in place. The action reminded him of Tasan’s hounds when they were about to get a treat.

  “What breed of beasts are you? No, that won’t work. Yes and no questions only. Have you always been like this?”

  Fesh dropped down flat with his snout between his feet and his brow puckered. Teth just growled.

  “Did—Did Bairith do this to you?”

  His question prompted Fesh to sit up again, and both creatures growled, teeth bared.

  Fear and anger overtook him. With a cry, Sherakai thrust himself against the headboard. It was no improvement in safety, but a knot of panic shot up from his belly to throttle him and hold him captive. The empty cup bounced off the bed and clattered across the floor.

  Teth quieted, but kept one lip curled back from his teeth in a sullen expression. Fesh whined again.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. He pulled the blankets up around himself, but Fesh’s weight kept one side pinned. Worse, the creature stretched out alongside him like a pup, head up and watching.

  With an impatient snort, Teth jumped down and trotted out the door.

  Sherakai wished Fesh would go, too, but a tentative tug at the blankets didn’t move him an inch. Emotions washed back and forth through him like waves trapped in a bottle. Wariness, curiosity, fear, patience, loathing, anxiety, anticipation… None of them made sense, at least not all together. Exhaustion and pain made it hard to think straight.

  Slowly, he freed his arm from the covers.

  Fesh licked his chops.

  Sherakai squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for a pounce that never came. When he cracked one eye open again, he found the creature still staring at him. Certain he would lose a limb, he slowly reached out to touch the beast’s shoulder. To his surprise, Fesh lay down to be within reach of the tentative scratching, but he continued to regard Sherakai with an uncomfortable intensity. “W-Will you stop that?”

  Fesh quirked his head.

  “Stop looking at me like—like you’re hungry.”

  The creature grinned.

  He blew out a breath. Wonderful, a demon watchdog with a ho
rrible sense of humor.

  Chapter 50

  “I have news.” Bairith stood in front of the fireplace in his office. The fur collar of his tunic caught golden light and held it in the fragile threads. Cool and self-possessed, he gave away nothing by either expression or magic.

  Sherakai wanted control like that. Envious, he stood in the center of the room at the edge of the rug with his hands clasped behind his back and said nothing at all. The jansu would speak, or he would not. He would tease, or he would not. Sherakai had no control or influence over him. Fesh sat beside him, hunched and rigid, head low. Teth opted to stay next to the door.

  Sherakai feigned interest in the room’s decor. Floor to ceiling bookcases flanked two tall windows draped in embroidered gold fabric. Flames danced in a fireplace opposite the windows. A desk took up one end of the long room, a high table with maps spread across it stood close to the windows, and a pair of low couches occupied the other end. Most amazing of all was the map covering the wall behind the sitting area, intricate and wonderful with three dimensional mountains and seas that sparkled.

  “Are you not curious?” Bairith finally asked.

  He dragged his attention from the map. “I trust you will tell me what you want me to hear.”

  The mage turned to face him and Sherakai noted that he held an unfolded parchment. A broken seal weighted the top. He was not close enough to make out the symbol inked at the head of the missive. “I want you to hear what is necessary.”

  Sherakai waited.

  Bairith exercised his pupil’s patience. After a time, Fesh settled on the floor, though tension revealed his wariness. The movement prompted the mage to hold the letter up for a moment. “Were you close to your uncle?”

  “He’s dead?” A cold lump settled hard into the pit of his belly. Rather than remembering the summer visits, he focused on the texture of the parchment. A spidery scrawl covered its surface.

  “He is. I’m sorry.” A sigh weighted with sympathy and regret wafted through him. He folded the parchment, tucked it into a pocket, and went to one of the tall armchairs flanking the fire. Turning it toward Sherakai, he sat. “There have been riots in the capital. Your uncle and his family evidently fell victim to the chaos.”