Sweetblade

by Carol A Park

  The doctor checked their mother over thoroughly and then gestured to the girls. They huddled in one corner of the room. “She doesn’t have the rash,” the doctor said without preamble, “but I’d say she’s caught blood fever.” He packed up his bag.

  Ivana blinked. Blood fever? But that afflicted the poor and…and…

  What are we? “Isn’t there anything you can do?” she asked.

  “No,” the doctor said. “Nothing to do but keep her comfortable and hydrated and wait it out. She’ll get worse, and then likely she’ll get better within another week or so.”

  “Likely?”

  The doctor gave them both a kind but firm look. “I don’t believe in mincing words. We’ll hope for the best, but you’d best prepare for the worst.” With that, he left.

  They both stared at their ill mother.

  “Ana,” Izel said. “I’m scared.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A shadow fell over Ivana’s book and the sheet of paper she was practicing the Xambrian script on. “Yes?” she asked without looking up. She had learned that Elidor liked to be dramatic like that. Sneak up on her without announcing his presence. Almost as if to see if he could startle her.

  It wasn’t as easy as it used to be.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  Ivana’s pen froze mid-word. “I thought you said it would be at the end of this week?”

  “Sometimes things change. The target is moving on before we anticipated, and our instructions are that he must be eliminated before he leaves the city.”

  The dot of ink that had begun as the top of a letter was growing into a spreading stain across the paper.

  This was it then. Five months after Elidor had started taking her with him on jobs, tonight it would be Ivana, her blade, and a man marked for death.

  Ivana laid the pen down and turned to face Elidor. “The sky-fire is tonight.”

  “Indeed. My informant tells me the target intends to use it as a cover for slipping away. All the more reason to hurry.” He held up his arm, and from his hand dangled her sheathed dagger on its belt and her cloak.

  Great. Of all the nights for her final test. Not an interpreter. Not a body-hider. Not a trap-setter.

  Not an accomplice.

  Elidor would be nearby to observe—and ensure she didn’t fail to complete the job.

  She inhaled through her mouth and then exhaled through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart. She stood and took the proffered items.

  “Then let’s go.”

  The streets were already deserted at dusk, even though the sky-fire never started until after midnight. People were no doubt already preparing to closet themselves up in their safe rooms, if they had them, and if not, to huddle together in the darkest corners of their homes, hoping and praying that none of them would be changed into a Banebringer on this, the single night of the year when new Banebringers were created by the heretic gods.

  Hoping and praying that if someone else nearby was changed, or a tear opened, the summoned bloodbane would think the house unoccupied.

  Ivana had never been sure whether bloodbane were intelligent enough to know the difference, but since detailed information on bloodbane and their Banebringer summoners was difficult to come by, she supposed people thought it was better to be overcautious.

  Certainly, there was no reason to make oneself a target.

  By walking alone down a deserted street on the most feared night of the year, perhaps?

  As Elidor said, all the more reason she should get this over with quickly.

  Their information said that the target was staying in a house that was outside the walls, but the sprawl of urban life couldn’t be contained by stone. Either way, it would be more than a two hour’s trek to the other side of the city, given that she would have to avoid the city’s main thoroughfares. Though the streets looked deserted, Watchmen were scattered strategically around the city.

  The paths less traveled were not empty, despite the date. She could feel the periodic pair of eyes on her as she wound her way through back alleys in the dark, gauging her as a target for robbery.

  Ivana wasn’t concerned; she was vigilant. She heard the skitter of a rat she had startled, the soft brush of a footpad’s tunic down the alley she had just passed, a dog barking in the far distance. Anyone who tried to surprise her would have a nasty surprise in return.

  By the time she had closed in on the target’s location, the sun had fully set. She crouched in a tangle of overgrowth, listening to the sounds drifting out of the open window beside her.

  Strangely, there was laughter. She could distinguish three or four voices, and none of them seemed overly concerned about the sky-fire drawing closer.

  Then again, if Elidor’s information was correct, the target was preparing to leave, not hide.

  Still, she hadn’t expected so many people to be around. He was supposed to be alone. This increased the complexity of this allegedly easy job.

  Nearby, in and out. No long-term setup, no games—a test to see if, in the end, she could actually do it.

  She fingered the sheath of the dagger at her thigh. If she couldn’t do this, if she froze, if she lost her nerve—it would be the end of this long experiment. There were no second chances. Even if she escaped, Elidor was somewhere nearby, hiding in the dark and watching her every move. Waiting for her to fail.

  Failure was not an option.

  What was the target doing?

  The clink of plates and cups shortly thereafter told the story plainly enough. A meal before he left. She amused herself by trying to listen to the conversation. They were speaking quietly, so she only heard bits and pieces as one person or another became a little too fervent in their opinions:

  “…the anti-Sedationists and their damn…”

  “The Conclave will never cede…”

  “…stupid argument!”

  Ugh. Politics.

  She had to confirm that the target was among those inside.

  She opened the satchel at her waist—the only item she carried other than the dagger at her thigh and knife in her boot—and selected a strange-looking object from among those few she had brought with her for this job.

  It was a long tube with mirrors positioned at an angle at both ends, which were bent. She had obtained the curious device from a festival in the city a couple months ago. Someone had made dozens of them to sell, purporting to allow the owner to see over the heads of the crowd.

  Of course, Ivana had seen other applications for the tool.

  Now, she raised one end of it over the edge of the windowsill until she could see inside the room. As she had guessed, four people sat at a table, eating. Her target was Fereharian, and only one Fereharian was in the room. She studied him for a moment. He fit the rest of the description as well, down to the scars of a slave’s brand on one ear.

  She lowered the device and slid it back into her satchel. He was definitely here. Now to get him away from the others. Should she wait him out and catch him a little ways down the road? But she didn’t want to be wandering too far away from the city at night, let alone this night.

  Her dilemma was solved when the back door opened a few minutes later.

  Ivana shrank deeper into the overgrowth.

  It was him. He had a pot full of leavings from dinner and was headed directly toward the compost pile.

  She glanced back toward the open window. The three left were still talking. No one else was around. A quick flick of the dagger, just like she had been taught…

  She would be long gone by the time they wondered what was taking him so long.

  He had his back to her as he emptied the pot, humming to himself, and didn’t show any sign he heard her as she slunk around him to find a better position.

  This was it. The moment she had feared and anticipated, the moment Elidor was scrutinizing from wherever he hid. There was no more spying, no more gathering information, no more planning.

  Her heart pounded erratically,
and her hand was sweaty as she loosened the dagger from its sheath.

  It’s his life or yours.

  And before she could think more about what she was about to do, she attacked.

  Her dagger struck true. She muffled his cry of pain with her arm, which she had wrapped around his face at the same moment she’d stabbed him, and then he collapsed.

  He lay motionless, eyes open, and she checked his pulse. Dead.

  She felt numb as she stared down at him. Who was he? Why did the government want him dead?

  How had she become someone who could do this?

  She turned away. Nothing mattered now except getting away from here as fast as possible.

  And when she turned, she faced the abyss.

  Literally.

  Black flames licked out from a split in the air, directly in front of her face.

  She stumbled back, shocked and horrified, and then glanced up at the sky. The sky-fire hadn’t started yet! How could…?

  She tripped over the body and caught herself in a pool of his blood. Blood that, when she rose back to her feet, glistened silver on her hand.

  Rhianah, he was a Banebringer!

  She turned to run. She had only seen bloodbane a handful of times before, and even once was too many.

  But it was too late. A half-dozen black shapes burst forth from the tear, screeching as they came. Most of them flew harmlessly past, but one headed directly at her face. She caught it before it could claw at her face, and for a few terrifying moments, she grappled with what looked, at first glance, like an overlarge bat: a bat with white, pupil-less eyes, claws at the ends of its wings, and dozens of tiny, needle-like teeth in its mouth, which was open and screaming at her. She tried to grab one of its wings to hurl it away from her, and it grabbed at her cloak with its claws, swung around, and sank its teeth into her shoulder. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out—she could not be caught.

  But it was too late for that. The bloodbane’s cry had alerted the three remaining people in the house, and they burst out of the door. They stood, gaping for a moment, taking in the scene, and then all started yelling at once.

  “Temoth, they found him!”

  “The bloodbat! Kill it!”

  “Grab her—don’t let her get away!”

  Her head spun. The bloodbat had attached itself to her shoulder by its teeth and obviously had no intention of letting go. The pain was overwhelming. The shouting of the men, the certainty that one way or another, this was it for her…

  And then, in a blur, Elidor burst out of the darkness.

  The scene around her turned to carnage before Ivana had finished staggering out of his way, all three men as dead as their companion.

  Elidor whirled on her, his eyes flaring with rage.

  She dropped to her knees, the treacherous bloodbat still hanging by its teeth from her flesh, and waited for his dagger to strike her down as well.

  Instead, Elidor ripped the beast off her shoulder, and it took a chunk of her flesh with it, finally tearing a cry of pain from her throat. Elidor hurled it with tremendous force to the ground, scraps of her skin still between its teeth, and shoved his dagger into its chest with all his weight behind it.

  Even then, the bat thrashed and screamed, refusing to give up, trying to sink its teeth into Elidor’s hand—anything it could grab hold of. Elidor held firm, pushing the dagger down, further, and further, until finally the beast lay still.

  “Get up,” he hissed.

  “But—”

  He lifted her to her feet by her hurt arm, and she bit her tongue again. “And get home—now!”

  A fleck of fire streaked across the night sky, like a burning claw mark against a tapestry of black. The sky-fire was beginning.

  The sky was so bright with fire by now that at times it felt like daylight. Ivana was running across a densely populated city during the height of the sky-fire.

  She didn’t know if she would make it. In the major cities of Setana, there were always some Banebringers created—and some random tears as well.

  Some years, the damage was minimal. Most years, there was enough property damage to keep workers busy for weeks. A handful of years, there had been pure carnage.

  It was one of the risks of living in a city.

  She didn’t bother with the alleys. No one in their right mind was out now, not even the opportunists. She just wanted to get back to Elidor’s as fast as she could.

  Her shoulder was on fire, she had a stitch in her side, and her frantic pace was fast draining her of any energy.

  Then a more sinister sound rose above that of her feet slapping against the pavement—the sound of a hundred rats scampering down a road that would soon intersect with the one she was on.

  It was an ominous, unnatural sound, and surely didn’t portend anything good.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  She caught her bearings and searched frantically for an alternative destination.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Was she close to…? Yes, she was.

  She couldn’t go there.

  The scratching was getting closer.

  She had no choice. She darted down a different side road instead, stopping only to discard the sheath with her dagger and her cloak in a dumpster.

  She didn’t even stop when she reached her destination. She let the door halt her momentum instead as she slammed into it, then banged on it with both fists. “Help! Someone!” she shouted, praying to whatever god would listen that she would be heard by someone other than a god.

  If they were in a safe room, no one would ever hear her. Did they have a safe room? She didn’t remember ever seeing one, but…

  The door was flung open, and Boden stood there, gaping at her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Unlike Elidor’s converted wine cellar, Da Grania’s root cellar was just a root cellar.

  The wooden door wouldn’t stop a determined bloodbane, but it kept her family out of the way and hidden.

  Ivana sat on the ground in one corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, while Grania knelt next to her, tending to her shoulder.

  Ivana winced as she pressed a wet compress against the wound, but the initial sting wore off quickly, and then the constant burning cooled.

  “We’ll keep that there for a little while,” Grania said, securing the compress to her arm with a bandage, “and then I’ll do what I can to stitch it back together until you can see a proper doctor.”

  “Thank you,” Ivana whispered. She felt lightheaded with pain and exhaustion.

  Grania patted her uninjured shoulder, rose, and went back to her family.

  It had been over a year since she had seen Da Grania and her family, who were playing a game by lamplight. The youngest, Annan, whom Ivana remembered as an incoherent almost-toddler, was now quite verbal, though at present he only peered out at her from between his mother’s legs, oblivious to the danger that might be roaming the streets.

  Oblivious to the danger that sat in this very room.

  She flashed the boy a smile because it felt wrong not to, then looked away.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  A pair of legs appeared, and then Boden, crouched in front of her. He held out a steaming cup. “Tea?”

  “Thank you,” she said again, taking the cup.

  Boden moved away, returned with a blanket that he arranged gently over her shoulders, and then settled down next to her.

  Boden hadn’t spoken much, what with the flurry of activity that had surrounded her arrival. After he had ushered her into the root cellar, Grania, upon seeing the extent of her injury, had dared to dart out and collect what she needed to tend to it while Ivana waited and Grania’s husband tried to keep the eyes of their curious children from seeing the mangled flesh.

  Even then, after things had settled, Boden had seemed hesitant.

  No wonder, since their last interaction had been a letter Ivana had sent declining his overtures.

  If only he knew that since
that letter, she had lain with so many men that the very idea of overtures toward her ought to now appall him.

  “Bloodbat?” he asked.

  “Yes.” No one had asked what had happened. On a night like tonight, no one needed to.

  He nodded. “I’ve seen their bites before. They’re vicious.” He fiddled with the ties on his shirt. “What in the abyss were you doing outside, though, and so far away from home?”

  To her knowledge, he didn’t know where she lived. But she obviously hadn’t run there for refuge.

  Why indeed?

  I shouldn’t be here.

  She managed a weak smile. “You’re going to think I’m superbly foolish.”

  “Anything that could have brought you out of the safety of your home tonight must have been important.”

  “I suppose that’s a matter of perspective. We have a mouser that I’ve…” She looked at her hands and gave a little chuckle, feigning everything but the flush itself. “Well, I’ve grown fond of it. She decided today would be a grand time to go for a jaunt across the city. I was trying to find her before the sky-fire started.” She shook her head. “Like I said. Foolish.”

  He didn’t laugh at her. “Did you find your cat?”

  She shook her head again. “No.”

  “I hope she’s all right.”

  She finally glanced at him. He seemed perfectly sincere. He was so…so…sweet. He probably assumed she was too.

  If only he knew that some of the silver blood on her had not come from the bloodbat.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  “I’ve missed your visits,” he said.

  No. You miss her visits.

  The one who would return from those visits to a room as empty and alone as she had felt on the inside.

  The one who had to drown her despair in her own blood.

  The one who had given up everything she had left—which was only herself—not to be that person anymore.

  That person was not the person sitting there next to Boden. That person was gone.

  As was the naïve young girl who had come before her.

  Boden smiled at her, and she pitied him more than she pitied herself.