“Does that happen often?” Will asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished that he could take them back.
“Fighting off bandits or getting lucky?” She shot him a wink. Will flushed. “Bandits have become more common the past few years. As for the latter, well, I’d say that’s a private matter.”
Will couldn’t help but chuckle at that while Madigan roared with laughter. Even Cephora snickered, cracking her stoic demeanor for a moment before turning her back to the group and placing another log into the fireplace. The wood smoke filled the room lazily and Will realized that Cephora had placed a small pot over the fire. Whatever was inside smelled delicious.
Despite his embarrassment, he began to relax a bit. The time on the road from Undermyre had taken its toll, he could feel it, but Morella’s presence was a welcome respite from the dust and grime of travel. A very attractive, intoxicating respite. Definitely tricky, though. There’s something about her that has an edge. He shook the thought away. Maybe I can get her to open up a bit, tell me her thoughts on The Veleriat.
More boisterous laughter from Morella distracted him from his thoughts. She was engaged with his brother across the makeshift table, making idle, if entertaining, conversation. Her dark eyes caught the glint of the firelight and shone in the smoky room as the pair of them bantered playfully. Will felt uncomfortable, frustrated by the ease of their conversation. She placed a hand on Madigan’s forearm and Will stiffened. No, not frustrated. Jealous.
Dammit.
After a few minutes Cephora brought the pot over to the table. Conversation opened up and came easy as Morella inquired about Mad and Will’s home. Each of them did their best to explain their upbringing without divulging too much information and Will noted that Madigan was especially careful about any mention of their grandfather. Ignoring his pangs of jealousy, he followed Mad’s lead and kept it ambiguous, although he couldn’t understand why there was a need for such circumvention. Morella was a delight.
Will was already more than a bit smitten. She had woven a tantalizing spell on him the night he first met her, and each time she laughed that raucous, barking laugh he lost a bit more of himself in her. She was rough around the edges, no doubt, but it didn’t faze him. Any sort of true caution was forgotten as soon as he saw her laughing flirtatiously with Madigan. Will was captivated. Something about her seemed so easy, so familiar, that he never gave it a second thought.
22
Fangs of Blood
They decided to spend the following day in the ruined tower, resting and recovering. To Will’s surprise, Madigan’s leg continued its strange, rapid healing. The wound on Morella’s side, however, was a bit more problematic. Cephora’s skillful stitching and treatment had prevented it from festering but, once the initial adrenaline of the afternoon had dissipated, it became apparent how painful it was for her to move. Will admitted to himself that he wasn’t entirely upset at the notion of some rest. Especially given the newcomer to their little band and the close quarters of the tower.
Early in the morning, Cephora woke Will and beckoned him to follow her outside. He rose, stumbling slightly as he got to his feet, and followed. Walking a short distance from the tower, Cephora made her way to a downed tree trunk and leaned against it, crossing her arms. Suddenly uncertain, Will fidgeted under her gaze. Who is this woman, really? What does Morella know that we don’t?
“I thought this might be a good opportunity to continue an earlier conversation of ours,” Cephora said. Will’s nervousness increased and he shifted uncomfortably. “A chance to discuss in earnest the intricacies of the more magical properties of your fangs.”
“Oh,” Will said, the nervous tension suddenly replaced with excitement. “That would be brilliant, yes!” She motioned for him to sit on the log.
“I do not know what you know of dragons or what your world has made them out to be,” she said as she took a seat next to him, “but dragons were guardians, great, powerful beings who wielded the powers of life and death.”
“Yes,” Will nodded. “I’m familiar with that, just not much more than that.”
She smiled at him. “Ignorance is dangerous, even innocent ignorance. You must think of these blades as one would think of a surgeon’s toolkit,” she told him. “Such a kit, to the uneducated, could appear to be the instruments of a man who disposed death upon others, no? Something far more barbaric than their actual purpose?”
Will was quiet for a moment, considering the notion. It had never occurred to him before but, once put in such a light, it was unmistakable. “I could see that, yes. Sharp edges and metal and clamps and wrappings and the like.”
Cephora glanced back at the tower as a faint noise trickled through the empty area. Madigan appeared from the tower and began to train with his noctori.
“And yet,” she continued as she watched Madigan progress through his forms, “in the hands of one skilled in their use, such seeming barbarity is the most noble of trades, the most valuable of assets in any circumstance—someone who is able to restore health and vitality.”
Will nodded his agreement and she held out a hand. Will unclasped his belt and removed it, handing it over to the Seeker. She gazed at it a moment, rubbing her thumb along the leather, then spoke again. “One of the dragons’ many powers was their unnaturally long life, nearly immortal. Some believe that the ancient dragonkind granted this gift upon this realm at the forming of the worlds, hence why time has little effect on Aeril.”
“I thought that was Velier’s doing?” Will interrupted. “In The Veleriat, that was his gift to the world.”
Cephora’s eyes hardened at the interruption but she did not chide him. “There are many stories for the unknown. Returning to dragons, however, these fangs”—she plucked one from its sheath and gave it a measured look—“still bear the ability to bestow such gifts as they gave.”
Will’s eyes grew wide and he glanced at them warily. “Are you saying I can make people immortal?”
Cephora gave a hearty laugh. “No, no, although that would be impressive. But you are capable of restoring health and vigor to those who need it.”
A spark of excitement gripped Will. “How?”
“The same way a surgeon works. Training. By understanding your tools and how to use them. By recognizing and accepting the cost of such endeavors.”
Cost. Of course, Will should have known there would have to be a catch somewhere. “And that is…?”
“It is straightforward enough,” she said. “The cost is simple. Life for life. In order to give life, you must first bring death.”
Will felt his stomach twist into a knot as Cephora gestured to the gem-like stones in the pommel of his blades. “You see, these bloodstones are connected directly to the properties of the knives themselves. They are a fount of power, the connection that binds the two blades. Through them the conduit of life from death may flow.”
The twist in Will’s stomach moved up, turning into a knot in his throat. “I have to kill?” he managed to say.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Blood for blood, Will.”
He stared at the blades. He suddenly realized that he had no idea of their history, where they had come from before his grandfather gave them to him. How many lives they had taken. And saved, he reminded himself. But still, in a world of pseudo-immortals vying for power, who had wielded them before Will? How many people had died screaming by their edge? He recoiled, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
Cephora placed her free hand on his other arm and gave him a level look. “Not everything is so black and white as you seem to see it, Will. The world is filled with grey.”
Will met her eyes and saw that they were kind, but stern. So very much like Grandda’s. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever been hunting?” she asked. Will nodded. “These bloodstones store life force within them, the power of vitality. Things are not always an equal scale. You do not need to kill a man to heal a broken bone. Small creatures, be it fish or b
irds, or even larger animals like deer and the like, anything with a beating heart and flowing blood will power the stones. The stones are a well that you both fill and tap as needed.”
Well that changes things considerably. The key tingled against his chest. “Alright,” he said, “you’ve piqued my interest.”
“The art of the Blood Fang requires more than just two dragon fangs. They must be two very specific fangs, opposite ends of the spectrum of life. Once they have been obtained, they must be paired through the use of blood magic.” She sighed, looking somehow disappointed. “As I said before, most of the art behind that has been lost or bastardized. However, once they have been paired, the bloodstones are capable of containing life-force and acting as a conduit between the two fangs. One fang absorbs life force while dispensing death. The other directs the accumulated flows.”
As soon as she finished speaking, there was a soft snap in the distance. Cephora leapt to her feet and darted into the trees. After a moment, she called and Will followed after her. Only a short distance away, he found her standing over a snare that contained the limp body of a dead rabbit. “Perfect timing,” she said. “What do you know of death, Will?”
“The same as anyone, I suppose. Death is death, the end of this life.”
“Generally, yes. However, death is not a spontaneous occurrence. As everything in existence is the sum of many parts, death happens in stages.” She crouched down to the rabbit. “Once the heart stops, brain activity may continue for up to six minutes in a human being. Skin cells can survive for days after death. Both the parasitic and symbiotic bacteria in your body continue to act independently of the brain. When a creature dies, it is still filled with life.”
Removing the rabbit from the snare, she used the tip of the fang to pierce the hide at the base of the skull. Will watched as Cephora remained still for a moment, then withdrew the blade and rose. She turned back to him.
“Life is energy,” she said. “And energy, in all things, is conserved. There is no true give or take, only a transference. From the life of this rabbit, not only are we able to obtain nourishment but we are also able to restore health to those who may need it. Someone like our new friend, Morella.”
Will couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Well, I think that could be absolutely delightful, Madame Cephora.”
She let out a laugh at his sudden enthusiasm and handed the blade back to him, carrying the rabbit in her other hand. “Let’s go get this processed and have some breakfast first. Then we’ll buckle down and get to work.”
Will cleaned the spot of blood from the blade and followed her back to the tower. Madigan was still training while Morella remained inside, resting. As he and Cephora worked to prepare food, Will allowed his gaze to drift to Morella. Lounging on her side, she was poring over her notes and writing in a small, leather-wrapped notebook. Every once in a while, she would shift and a look of discomfort would cloud her pale features. Will grinned as he imagined her expression when he healed the pain away but then chided himself for using her pain as a method of gaining her favor.
Breakfast was simple, a quick stew of dried meats, vegetables, and the fresh, lean meat from the rabbit. Madigan offered to clean up, much to Will’s delight, allowing him to return to his training with Cephora. Mad had no qualms about staying behind with Morella, and as Will returned to the small clearing by the woods he could hear them chatting easily.
The key tingled against his skin as he thumbed his blades in anticipation. Visually, the bloodstones appeared no different than before but, to Will, there was a marked change. He couldn’t explain it, but it was as though he could sense that their power had increased, albeit only fractionally. He knew that the life-force contained within a single, mostly dead rabbit couldn’t have amounted to much—but the sheer possibility of fluctuating power was tantalizing.
“Now,” Cephora said, “what are your dominances?”
Will stared at her blankly. “What?”
“Hand, eye, what do you use most?”
“Oh, got it. I’m right-handed mostly. I’m left-eye dominant though.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Right hand and left eye, really?”
Will nodded. “It always made archery lessons a bit of a struggle.”
She chuckled. “But your swordplay felt more natural, didn’t it?” Will nodded again and she held out her hand. “Good. Let me make a few adjustments to your belt.”
Will removed the leather belt, handing it over to her. She crouched and set to work on the straps, adjusting the sheaths into a new configuration and wrapping the straps in on themselves. When she stood and handed it back to him, Will admired her handiwork. The left blade now sat upon his hip, angled slightly in front of his body, while the right had been shifted to his back, sitting horizontal in a scout-carry.
“This will allow for quicker access to the blade with your nondominant hand. Your right blade is now concealed far better by both your cloak and your jerkin. Give them a few practice draws.”
She was right. Will found the drawing motion was much more fluid on the left. He was able to unsheathe the blade and raise his arm in a deflective blow in a single motion, saving precious moments that could potentially be crucial. The right blade was more difficult to adjust to as it forced him to flick his arm in a semi-circle as he brought it forward. After a few tries, he got the motion down and linked the two actions together.
Cephora nodded her approval. “Much better,” she said. “This will allow you to deflect an incoming blow quickly while following up and eviscerating your opponent at the same time. You will block and counterattack at the same time, if need be.”
Will imagined the razor edge of the fang slicing across the fleshy stomach of an opponent and shuddered. “That sounds lovely.”
Cephora continued as if his sarcasm had gone unheard. “Your use of the fangs should be your secondary combative option. Given the training from your grandfather and your stature, we need to get you outfitted with a sword as your primary. A saber will probably prove best, given what I’ve seen of your movements. That will leave your off-hand free to access the fang should it become necessary.”
At the thought of training with a saber against Madigan’s bastard sword, Will groaned. Cephora rolled her eyes and gave Will a level look. “Will, you are young and may still have some growing to do but it will not be as much as you might hope. You will not fill out the way that your brother has. It is simply not going to happen.” He glowered as she spoke, the words stinging, but still she continued. “Your assets are your speed and mobility. That is what you need to hone. You must outthink your opponent. You must be ten steps ahead of them and plan for their mistakes rather than attempt to overcome them with brute strength. Your grandfather knew this, else he would not have given you the weapons he did.”
Deep down, Will knew that her words were true but that did not make hearing them any easier. Madigan had always surpassed him in size and strength, but Will always dreamed that it was only temporary, that the years would equalize them. Not knowing how to respond, he furrowed his brow in frustration. “All of this is necessary for me to heal a pretty lady’s cut, is it?”
“Yes, it is.” Cephora’s voice was cold and sharp. “If you want to rise to your full potential you need to know both what you are, and are not, capable of. You must be honest with yourself.”
After a moment under the scrutiny of those hard eyes, Will apologized. He reminded himself that Cephora was there solely because she truly did want to help. She accepted the apology without further comment and immediately went back to her lesson as though the interruption had never even occurred. Dropping to a crouch, she began to draw in the dirt as she spoke.
“Your right fang, the slightly larger, consumes life,” she said, sketching a rough outline of the blades. “Your left grants it. The powers of the right are inherent within the fang itself, which automatically transfers the life-force of whatever it touches into its bloodstone. The left fang is not so
simple.”
“I would hope so,” Will interjected. “It doesn’t seem like stabbing someone would be the most effective way of making them feel better.”
She cracked a smile and tipped her head to him. “No,” she said, “it would not be. The method initially involves a far greater amount of focus, but the quicker you master it, the quicker and easier it will be for you. Eventually, it may even become a passive part of your consciousness, allowing you to act without hesitation.”
“Well, let’s get to it then, right?” Will quipped, trying to restore the excited, light-hearted nature of moments before. “What do I need to do?”
Cephora gestured to the belt and signaled for Will to withdraw a blade. “You strike me as a rather intuitive individual, Will. How would you go about it?”
Will thought a moment and considered the weapon before responding. Turning it in his hands, he eyed the edge of the blade. He examined the leather wrapping and the bloodstone. As he traced his fingers along the stone, he felt the excited vibration of the key as it began to tingle against his chest. Remembering his first experience with the key, he focused on the stone itself and stared into it. Like the key before, something about the stone, too, was hypnotic. Yet, while it was beautiful to gaze at, Will would be lying if he said he had any actual idea of what to do.
Finally, he broke his concentration and looked to Cephora. “You said the flows need to be directed.” She nodded. “So, I have to access them then, right?” She nodded a second time and Will brightened. I can do this. Thinking back to the Nordoth and how he managed to access his Shade through meditation, he tried to find connections between the two. “I would need to know the nature of the fang. I would need to will it to follow my direction.”
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