April 10, 2008
After Being Jumped by Bandits.
“Do you know,” Yehon said conversationally, “what happens when you pick up a desert demon in the middle of a … heh … highly-charged situation?”
The bandit opened his mouth to respond. A deafening crack left everyone’s ears ringing. The bandit holding Yehon collapsed; the others squeaked and ran.
“Idiots,” Yehon muttered dismissively. He looked over at Victor, who was still on the other side of the road. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not stupid enough to go near you while you’re throwing off sparks, loon,” the siren said, polishing his glasses.
Wildcard.
When I was little, the first thing we learned was “don’t anger the Agents“. Everything else was contingent on that: “don’t leave the village; you’ll anger the Agents”. “Don’t make a fuss. Do you want the Agents to get you?” “Do your work, or the Agents will be angry.” You could hear the capital letter.
The Agents were our bogeymen. We hated them and feared them – hate because they were like us, and fear because they weren’t. We wanted them gone, but we had no power to make them leave. They had built our villages, they traded with us, they protected us in bloody war after bloody war.
And they never let us forget any of it.
When I was older, old enough to work, a different specter loomed: service. “You’d better get that apprenticeship, or you’ll end up in service,” was the way it was usually phrased. Always with the sneer, too.
See, everybody in the village, and in every other village, works. If you aren’t lucky enough or skilled enough to land an apprenticeship, and you don’t sell out and become an Agent, the Agents enroll you in service – and you have no choice. Not really. The Agents draw up a list of jobs you might be suited for, and then you’re either contracted out to private service or, more likely, kept on at some Agency fortress. Technically, you’re not a slave; you can refuse an assignment or an order, but let’s just say there are reasons the Agents are so loathed – and reasons the servants are, too.
I think you can see where this is going. Yeah, not blessed with many skills was I.
I was entering my fifteenth year of service at the North Fork fortress when the third bogeyman of my life took on a terrifying reality.
A wildcard came to North Fork.
We talked about Agents in whispers, and we weren’t much louder when we talked about service.
We didn’t talk about wildcards at all.
Someone, occasionally, would start to say something, but would invariably clam up and jump at shadows the rest of the day. Even more rarely, an elder would pull aside one of us young ones and breathe a quick caution in our ears. You couldn’t call that faint voice a whisper.
“The Agents’ Agents”, they were called. “They’re like shadows,” one elder told me. “Everywhere and nowhere and completely unnoticed, unless they want to be seen, and they hide monsters in their depths.”
We hate and fear the Agents. We look on servants with loathing and pity. We are so terrified of the wildcards that the word looks like an understatement.
You can understand why I wasn’t too happy to discover that my contract was being reviewed by the wildcard.
Chess.
There’s always something a little uncomfortable about watching someone play chess against himself. You find yourself wondering what the attraction is, and thinking about what a loser he must be, to play chess alone, and then the embarrassment bubbles up, and you look away.
Watching him play, you can’t help looking back.
There’s something off about the whole game, about the intensity with which he plays. You think, at first, that he’s just absorbed in the game, but his eyes are too alert. You look closer, and you begin to notice little quirks in his facial expressions and his body language, quirks that are distinctly unsettling…
Then you look, really look, at his game, and how he’s playing it. You watch his reactions, you watch his moves, and it dawns on you that the Adrian Reed playing white has no idea what the Adrian Reed playing black is going to do, and vice versa.
Yes, it’s always more interesting to play chess with another person, whether he has his own body or not.
Heizhan and the Vampire, part 2.
Heizhan entered his rooms, locking the door behind him with a sigh. He slipped the killer’s sword from his jacket, idly wiping his blood off the blade as he crossed the sitting room. He stopped in front of the large window, drawing back the shutters and placing the sword down on the wide sill.
Unconsciously, Heizhan’s fingers traced the glyphs etched in the sword’s hilt. He didn’t need to read Ilin to know what it said. The Thaziazhstai were fanatical about accounting for their swords, and only one was missing.
So lost in thought was he that it took Heizhan a full minute to realize something was obstructing his view. He rubbed his eyes, focusing tiredly on the shape in front of him – and jerked back. Not something. Someone.
The killer knelt on Heizhan’s windowsill, his golden eyes fixed on Heizhan. The tattered red robe that had made him so damnably hard to see at sunset made the killer seem more real in the darkness – and eerier.
Heizhan was not generally a talkative man, and neither, it seemed, was the killer. They remained like that – Heizhan standing in his room, the killer perched on the window – for long minutes, observing each other.
The killer was tall – taller than Heizhan had thought, in the alley – and had the hard, lean look of a man who’d spent too long living by his wits. He had the dark skin and the gold eyes of the Thaziazhstai, but his long hair was white. His clothes were practical and worn; the only color to them was in the red robe, and the strips from that robe that he’d used to tie back his hair and bandage his arm.
The killer moved slightly, and removed a knife from his belt – Heizhan’s knife. “You left it in the alley,” he said, extending the knife hilt-first.
Heizhan didn’t move. The killer’s lips twitched in a fleeting grin, and the hand holding the knife moved.
Heizhan ducked back, pulling out another knife, but the killer was already there, his injured hand wrapped around Heizhan’s throat. Heizhan winced; the man was strong.
“I could have killed you when you first wandered over to your window,” said the killer, his breath tickling Heizhan’s ear. “I could kill you now, with ease. You surprised me in the alley, but you will not do so again. I want my sword.”
Heizhan didn’t even dignify that with a response.
The killer laughed. “Okay, that was a stupid request, perhaps.” He slid the knife up under Heizhan’s shirt, returning it to its sheath. “I will simply have to incapacitate you, then, and take my sword back.”
Heizhan tensed. The killer laughed again and pulled the tie from his hair, unwinding the long strip of fabric. With practiced ease, he bound Heizhan’s hands, then steered Heizhan over to a chair and knotted the free ends around its arm, then stood back.
Heizhan gave the fabric an experimental tug. The cloth felt like iron. Ice settled in the pit of his stomach, and he looked up.
The killer was looking down at him, smiling mirthlessly. “Steelcloth has many uses.” He turned towards the window – and the sword.
“Why don’t you just kill me?”
The killer brushed his hair back and looked over his shoulder at Heizhan. “So you can speak. I don’t want to.”
“Really?” Heizhan’s voice was laced with skepticism.
The killer ignored him and picked up his sword.
“Or are you just not hungry yet, Nathan?”
The killer froze, then smiled, being careful to hide his fangs. “You are smarter than you appear. Mother may have been right to pick you for General after all.”
With that, he was gone.
A Visit to a Library.
“Tell me, Nathan, just how that book ended up here, anyway,” I said in exasperation. The last thing I really wanted to do was test the effectiveness of wildcard glamours in the middle of a busy human public library.
Nathan looked back at me, amusement glinting in his currently brown eyes. “It was donated by a generous patron, I think.”
“Or a mean one,” I muttered.
Nathan almost smiled. “We should be thankful,” he said. “It hasn’t eaten anyone, apparently.
“Unfortunately,” he said after a moment, “we need someone to tell us, in person, where it is, or it will remain hidden.”
I glared at him. “I doubt even wildcard glamour’s good enough to stand up to close scrutiny.”
“It’s not,” Nathan said, heading toward a short woman bent over a cart of books. I followed, none too happily, and hoped the glamours held.
“Excuse me, miss,” Nathan said, letting a false brightness creep into his voice. “Do you work here?”
The woman sighed, straightened, and turned to face us, one hand still on the cart. “Can I help you?”
I felt myself relax; it was clear that she had trouble seeing, even with her glasses on. She wouldn’t see through the glamours.
“I’m looking for a book.” Nathan held out a slip of paper. “Can you help me find it?”
The woman looked at the paper, then pointed to the far wall. “It should be over in nonfiction, somewhere in the 290s. Fourth or fifth row.” She turned to me, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m with him,” I said.
“Okay. I hope you find it,” the woman said. “If you don’t, ask at Information. It might be on a cart in the back.”
Nathan nodded to her and walked off in the direction she’d indicated. She turned back to her shelving.
A few minutes later, as we left the library with the book, I noticed that the amused glint was back in Nathan’s eyes. “What?” I asked.
“That woman we spoke to … do you know who she was?” I shook my head; Nathan’s eyes crinkled in silent laughter.
“The woman that Arawn’s been talking to in those dreams of his.”
Heizhan vs. the Vampire.
Heizhan turned into the dark alley, freeing a knife from its sheath as he walked. Night was falling, and it was getting harder to see the footprints…
They stopped just ahead of him. Their abrupt end stilled Heizhan momentarily, and his hesitation almost cost him his life.
The General barely ducked out of the path of the sword blade – as it was, its point scored a line across the back of his neck. Heizhan hit the ground and rolled, cursing. Something about the angle of the blow was off…
As Heizhan came to his feet, drawing a second knife, he caught a glimpse of his attacker balanced on a low ledge running along the alley wall. Heizhan threw a knife at the shadowy figure – it was damnably hard to see him in the twilight gloom – and ducked as his attacker swung at him again. Whoever he was, the attacker had one hell of a reach, Heizhan thought as he dodged again.
The man jumped off the ledge, and with a sinking feeling, Heizhan realized how skillfully he’d been maneuvered. The alley was one of many dead-end paths in the haphazard city, and his would-be killer had just placed himself between Heizhan and the exit. He’d also placed himself with the setting sun at his back, shining straight into Heizhan’s eyes.
The sun…
The idea came to Heizhan in a desperate flash. As the killer swung again, Heizhan rolled under the blade, coming to his feet right behind the other man. Unthinking, the attacker turned, bringing up his blade, and got a faceful of sunlight. He was staggered for only an instant, but it was enough – Heizhan’s blade slashed deep into his arm, and Heizhan wrenched his attacker’s sword away with his free hand.
The killer looked at him for a long, still moment, then vanished into the gloom. Heizhan didn’t even try to follow.
Footsteps echoed down the empty street behind him. Heizhan turned, recognizing the singular silhouette of the Queen. Quickly, he slid the killer’s sword into his jacket.
He couldn’t let Lia see it. It would break her heart.
Meet the Ladies
The castle rose over the forest, tall and imposing. Ekion didn’t like it.
“Why do we have to stop here, again?” she snapped, trotting to catch up with her ward. They were the same height, but Nathan possessed a ground-eating stride that was hard to match.
Nathan sighed. “Because the Countess is one of the great powers of the region, and I am just an ambassador. I can’t risk offending her.”
“I still don’t like it,” growled the guardswoman. “You heard the rumors – you collected them in the first place. If the Countess really is capturing and killing all the beautiful women in the area, I’ll be hard-pressed to keep her away from you.”
Ekion could have sworn Nathan was blushing, but the light was dim and she couldn’t be sure. “And yourself? Surely the Countess would be interested in you, too.”
It was Ekion’s turn to blush. “Hardly.”
“Besides, she wouldn’t come after me,” Nathan said, quickening her stride.
Ekion snorted.
Staring fixedly ahead, Nathan finished, “I heard she’s only interested in virgins.”
Ekion barely avoided tripping over a root in the path.
And then they were at the gate.
***
The Countess was charming, if arrogant. She welcomed her guests warmly and summoned servants to take them to two warm bedchambers. Ekion was worried to note that the rooms were at opposite ends of a hall, but Nathan’s quick look silenced her protests.
***
Midnight came and went, and Ekion couldn’t sleep. She swore she could hear screaming from some distant part of the castle, and once, she’d heard people run past her room.
She hoped none of it meant what she feared it meant.
***
Midnight came and went, and Nathan was trying very much not to touch anything in the room. As clean and refurbished as it was, nothing could remove the lingering traces of blood – not enough for it to be hidden from her power. The stones, sometime after sunset, had compounded the problem by singing out the torment of some hapless servant girl.
People rushed down the hall to her door. The stones screamed a warning, and Nathan dove.
***
A hand reached out and gripped Ekion’s shoulder; only sudden recognition kept her from screaming. The rest of Nathan emerged from the stone wall.
“They came for you,” Ekion said after a moment. It wasn’t a question, and it was.
Nathan shrugged. “The stones warned me. We either need to leave, or confront her.”
“I vote for the latter,” the Siren said, flexing her talons.
Nathan smiled a wolf’s smile. “Me, too.”
***
Three shaken, bloody girls, formerly servants at Castle Bathory, turned up in town the next day. They told an amazing tale – the Countess a bloody murderer, who’d tried to kill two female guests; for her wrongdoings, the pale guest had killed her, like some great avenging angel. The dark guest had freed the three girls – the only three left not accomplices of the Countess – by commanding the stones to release their chains; she had waited for them to leave, then made the earth swallow the blood-soaked castle, the Countess’ body, and all the Countess’ henchmen. They’d last seen the two strangers disappearing to the north, heading towards the Monastery.
Irina heard this, handed the girls some coins, and smiled.
The Madman.
The orderly came back and escorted me down a dank hall to a room with a thick iron door. I followed, trying to ignore the faint echoes of the inmates’ cries.
The orderly stopped, gripped the iron door handle, and looked at me. “The patient is already inside. After you enter, I will lock this door after you; someone will come to let you out in an hour. Do not touch the patient; do not undo his bonds. It would be wisest if you simply remain in the other chair.”
I rolled my eyes, thankful that he couldn’t see that. “I had no intention of going near him. I simply wish to ask him a few questions.”
The orderly looked askance at me. “You can try, I suppose, but the patient is rarely cooperative.” He opened the door and waved me in.
I walked purposefully towards the empty chair, barely noting the sound of the door closing. I took my time arranging my document case before sitting; I heard a faint sound that could have been a laugh from the other chair. I sat, and finally, deliberately, looked at the man I’d come here to see.
“You are very pale,” he said once I looked at him. He tilted his head to one side. “Like a glow-grub or the white minnows that live in the caves. Did someone leave you in a dark place too long, and leach the color from you?”
“I was born like this,” I said, keeping my voice level.
“Oh.” He tilted his head the other way. “You are not a vampire, though.”
“No,” I agreed.
“Hm. Do you have a name?”
“Victor Hunter.”
“Ah. Come to kill me, then?”
“No. I came to ask you some things.”
“I will not answer.”
I had expected difficulty; I had not expected a flat refusal. “Why not?” I demanded, more sharply than I intended.
The inmate’s polished-gold eyes narrowed. “I will not answer anything for anyone while I’m kept in this hellhole.”
I stare at the other man for a tick or two. Finally, I asked, “And if I can get you out?”
He may have smiled; the room was too poorly lit to tell. “Then I will give you anything you ask for.”
We sat in silence for the rest of the hour.
Awan.
The first time I met Awan, she was weeding one of the Academy’s many gardens. (I was later to learn from the chief gardener that she did this for free, claiming the work relaxed her.) On some whim, I asked her to share my lunch; she agreed.
There was something alluring about Awan – alluring and mysterious. Over the years, as I came to know her, she never lost that allure. I don’t know when I realized I was in love with Awan, but I was not terribly surprised.
I was surprised to find that she had fallen equally hard for me. We declared our commitment to each other by simply applying for a joint apartment at the Academy, as was the custom. Life went on, and I finally began to learn more about Awan’s family.
She had two brothers, she told me, and of them, Abel had always been the favored child. He had loved animals, apparently, in much the way she loved plants – and that was the only favorable thing Awan ever said of him. Her other brother, called Cain, had loved plants too; Awan told me that he’d taught her everything she knew.
There had been some conflict over the inheritance of the family lands. Awan’s parents were reaching the age where local custom allowed them to transfer the lands to their heir and retire, but while Cain was the oldest and should have received the inheritance, their parents favored Abel. So they decided to set up a test: the two children would bring their parents the best of their work, and the parents would then decide who was more worthy of being heir.
The test, as Awan related it, was rigged: not even the best fruits of Cain’s trees could compare to the scrawniest of Abel’s sheep, as far as her parents were concerned. So Abel took over the family lands, and the first thing he did was turn on Cain. The second thing he did was turn on everyone else. The local folk hated both brothers – Cain due to the rumors Abel had spread about him, Abel due to his cruelty – cruelty hidden behind a facade of kindness, so none of the local authorities thought anything was amiss.
It was around that time, Awan said, that she started leaving the town, venturing out as far as the Academy. She eventually gained admittance here, but continued to go back to her home from time to time.
Then Cain killed Abel.
Awan never told me precisely why, but she did not need to. Abel’s cruelty had continued to escalate, and the authorities had continued to turn a blind eye, and Cain had finally decided to deal with his brother once and for all. The specific act that motivated Cain didn’t really matter.
Cain had become a fugitive, and had never been seen again. Awan finished her story and lapsed into silence. I held her close, but she was tense in my arms, and we both lay awake all night, staring out into the darkness.
A few weeks later, Awan vanished. I was heartbroken, and took to sitting for hours in the Academy’s less frequented gardens, which seemed to miss Awan as much as I did. Eventually, as is the way of things, the pain of her departure grew less sharp, though no less present, and I returned to my routine.
Then, one night I returned late to my apartment, and found a man inside. His resemblance to Awan was startling: the same slender build, the same red hair, the same height. He turned, and I saw he had Awan’s black eyes, too, and I knew his name. Both his names.
“Awan.”
The man flinched, and his form blurred slightly before taking on a clearly female form. “I had hoped you wouldn’t guess.”
I could not seem to find anything to say.
An unsettling gleam shone in Awan’s eyes. “They were coming for me. I had to leave. Not that it did much good – they caught up with me before I reached the Roarer,” she said, naming the major eastern river. She held out her hands; her palms were criss-crossed with deep, raw wounds. I flinched, reaching for her, but Awan moved back.
“They’re finished with me now, but I still can’t stay. Too much is lost, too much is broken – I have to go.” Even as Awan spoke those last words, she’d slipped out the window, climbing quickly but awkwardly down the trellis, ignoring how her hands broke open and bled. She vanished into the night before I could even blink.
It would not be until years later, when I found the enlightenment that spans worlds, that I realized the enormity of what “they” had done to her. At a fundamental level, we are the same person across all the worlds; we just express ourselves differently. Whether or not we ever realize it, that connection between our selves is fundamental to our being – and the vengeful magi who’d hunted Awan down for the murder of her brother had shattered that connection – and shattered every one of her selves.
I remind myself of a fundamental tenet of magic: that anything a magi can do can be undone. I tell myself that I will find a way to heal my wife, eventually, for I am as much a magi as those who hurt her.
I only hope I am not lying.
Strange School.
Diplomats’ children tended to attract a great deal of attention at any school they attended; even the most unattractive of them had an exotic allure that drew flocks of followers. Nathan Thaziazhsta was hardly unattractive, but “striking” was a better description for him than “handsome”; in fact, with more ordinary coloring, he’d be considered just a little good-looking.
Predictably, he had a following. It didn’t help that he was as much a diplomat as his mother (moreso, if rumors were true); he was too polite to drive off any of his admirers.
He was canny enough to stay away from everyone, too. Until Ekion.
No one ever learned Ekion’s last name – not even the administrators. For all anyone knew, he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t have one. He was almost certainly not lying when he said he hadn’t even wanted to attend this school, but his claims that he was actually forced to attend were too far out to be believed.
White skin, white hair – “ghostly” might have been a good description for Ekion, except that he was far too solid to be a ghost, in body and in presence. Nathan, for all his striking looks, could be quiet and overlooked when he wished. Ekion, for all his soft-spoken nature, was so focused that his mere presence sent prickles down the spine of everyone else in the room. Except Nathan.
Everyone was surprised when the two of them became friends – and yet somehow, no one was.
Plenty of people were angry, though.
***
“No one knows why the Howlers hate the Librarians so much.” Nathan rested his chin on his hand, staring out over the field.
Ekion blinked and adjusted his dark glasses. “So…a group of vampires with motorcycles routinely attack members of the most bookish club in the school?”
Nathan nodded slightly. Ekion stared at him.
“You know why, don’t you?”
Nathan glanced sidelong at his friend, then looked away again. “I have some idea.”
***
“You’re kidding.”
“You didn’t think it strange that a librarian club would be able to hold its own against vampires?”
“Psychic powers?!”
“According to some of the Howlers, the blood of psychics tastes the best. I wouldn’t know.”
“Let me get this straight. A group of vampires is targeting a group of psychic librarian wannabes because their blood tastes better than normal blood, and the librarians are holding their own against the vampires. In other words, there’s some major vampire-psychic war going on in our school.”
“Yes.”
Even sunglasses couldn’t hide Ekion’s shock. “And no one’s doing anything to stop this?”
Nathan’s cool gaze settled on Ekion. “Better them than me. For all concerned.”
***
The Howlers had always steered clear of Nathan, for one very good reason: his mother. The lure of a psychometric’s blood, however, proved irresistable.
Nathan didn’t show up for days after the attack. No one at school knew what had happened. Rumors flew. By the end of the first day, half the student body was convinced that Nathan was dead. The other half was equally certain that he’d been bitten and was now the newest member of the Howlers. By the end of the first week, half the students were convinced that the Thaziazhstai had been sent packing after Nathan’s mother killed half the Howlers. The rest of the students were sure that Ambassador Thaziazhsta was just refusing to let her son come back to school, for fear of the Howlers attacking again.
Ekion was simply frantic. He’d almost worked up the nerve to face Nathan’s fearsome mother when Nathan returned to school.
The first indication that something was wrong came when his flock rushed out to see him. Ekion, who’d long since learned to stay back or be crushed, saw the crowd halt and heard a shocked silence fall. Nathan just kept walking, ignoring everyone.
The second indication that something was wrong came when Nathan came into view. Nathan was walking with his head down and a book raised in front of his face. Nathan never hid his face.
The third indication that something was wrong came when Nathan kept walking right past Ekion, without even acknowledging his presence. Slightly hurt, Ekion followed.
“Nathan?”
Book still held in front of his face, Nathan turned. Ekion tried to tug the book down, but Nathan was stronger than he looked, and the book didn’t move.
“Nathan…”
The book wavered, and this time, when Ekion tugged at the book, Nathan released it.
The scar ran right below Nathan’s eyes.
A red haze fell across Ekion’s vision, and he turned, snarling. If any Howler’d had the misfortune to run across him, the vampire would be dead.
Nathan’s grip on Ekion’s wrist snapped Ekion out of his killer trance as it pulled him into Nathan’s mind.
***
It was a little after midnight when Teleika woke him. “Is not right outside.”
Nathan sat up. “What’s not right, imp?”
Teleika wrinkled her nose, but didn’t respond to the nickname otherwise. “Is not same-same.”
“Same-same?”
“Same as other nights.”
“Someone’s outside.” Liamariye Thaziazhsta stood just outside her son’s open door, naked sword in hand. “Several people. Not human – the tread is off. Vampires, I think. I’m going outside to take care of them. Watch your sister.” She disappeared down the hall.
Wild howls – the gang’s trademark cry – sounded outside … only to become screams of pain and rage moments later. Ambassador Thaziazhsta was on the warpath.
On instinct, Nathan grabbed his own sword – and the window crashed in behind him. Teleika shrieked. Nathan swung his sword at the same time the Howler swung his knife. Both dodged; neither dodged enough.
Sharp pain seared across Nathan’s face. The vampire, screaming, fell with Nathan’s sword in his gut and Teleika beating him about the head with her tiny fists.
Outside, vampires died or ran. Inside, Nathan tried to staunch the bleeding from his face. Teleika kicked the corpse of the one Howler who’d made it inside the house, fuming.
***
Ekion floated out of Nathan’s memories. Disoriented, he found himself being held up by Nathan. A crowd was beginning to gather – and whisper.
Nathan grimaced, though only Ekion noticed, probably. The last thing he needed were more rumors surrounding him, but at least this scene could still be steered into a better direction. No one would believe that nothing had happened here, so Ekion gave them the first plausible explanation he could think of.
As their minds meshed again, Ekion found himself swept up in mental laughter. Never tell my mother you saved my reputation by kissing me in the hallway. I’ll never live it down.
Their schoolmates were gaping; neither Ekion nor Nathan cared.
