Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (26 page)

“Climb,” I
said. “We'll... we'll have to keep a balance. My left leg can't hold our weight
for very long, so we'll have to double step. Start with your right on my word.”

A strained
gasp of air was his only response. I tightened my hold on his arms, which
elicited another groan, and trained my eyes on the opening above.

“Go.”

We moved. It
was clunky at first, and even though it got easier as we went, it did not get
faster. The walls were dry, and our feet didn't slip, but our bodies and our
minds were not in good shape. I moved quickly enough to keep most the weight
off my injured leg, but it still stung and made my other leg tire faster. By
the time we were only halfway up, I already felt like I couldn't keep going.
The muscles of my overused leg burned like they were on fire.

“There's no
stopping now,” I muttered to myself, the only assurance I could manage to give.
The bottom was a far way down, and my mind was trying to convince me that it
would be a much better plan to fall.  

“Focus,”
Traken barked, a sound more like a gasp of air. “Move.”

And we did.
Nearly three quarters of the way up I felt Traken start to slip from me, our
arms slick with sweat. I grabbed tighter, squeezing until my shoulders burned
and his body went rigid.

“Sorry,” I
said. My voice was only a loud whisper. “Keep going. Don't fall.”

He grunted,
and we continued to shuffle our way to the top. In no time we were within the
ring of sunshine around the rim of the well, and as we inched our feet to the
very top, we found that we now had no idea how to proceed from there. We were
on the edge of freedom, and my legs were convulsing in a way that told me they
may not listen much longer.

“Are we high
enough?” I gasped. “Can you use your magic?”

His low groan
rumbled through his chest and into my back. “No, not high enough. We'll have to
be over the lip more, I think.”

We tried, but
the well was too wide to give us room to push our bodies up any further. The
breeze and the sunshine were so close, within reach. A blue butterfly flew over
the hole, and I followed its path. Oh, for its wings.

“This is ridiculous,”
Traken grumbled. We both wobbled as his legs buckled, and suddenly we had
slipped back down an inch. I felt my heart shoot straight into my throat. Seconds
more, and there was no doubt our muscles would lose. We couldn't fall. I didn't
want to do it again.

“Traken, you
had better act fast,” I said, and bent my legs as far as I could. He made a
noise as he fell back with me, feet coming off the wall, and then I pushed off with
what was left of my strength, propelling us up and into the open air.

It was
weightlessness, and it lasted forever. We teetered upwards, hung there, and
then started to fall. I shut my eyes and prayed to gods I had forgotten the
names of long ago.

We didn't
fall. I felt the air tickle and come alive around me. It grew heavy and firm
beneath me, and when I opened my eyes I was staring straight up into the bright,
clear blue sky as we were gently placed onto the soft grass by a clear bubble
of pure magic. My arms had come untangled from Traken's, but they were so stiff
that I couldn't feel them as we landed with a “whump” on the soft grass.

Immediately
Traken rolled over to my side, and his good hand lifted shakily above my body.
The golden aura appeared, and I feebly tried to bat it away.

“No, you have
the head injury. You need to do yourself first.” His hand came back over me,
and the cool sensation swelled in my fingers, then on my ankle. When the
feeling hit me, I could no longer protest. I closed my eyes with the pleasant
sensation, and took it in along with the joy swelling in my chest. When he was
done, I tested my fingers. They all responded. There was scarring, bruising,
and a lot of dried blood, but they were whole again, and just as nimble as
always.

I turned my
head in the grass to look at Traken. His eyes were closed as he healed himself.
Even with the boost of power the Week of Colors gave him, he still couldn't be
having an easy time of it. When he was done with his head and arm, he fell back
and laid still, eyes staring unblinkingly up into the open sky.

There we lay
for a while, shoulder to shoulder in the grass, two people just happy to be
alive. I hadn't thought I would be able to think something like that, but it
was true. I was really, honestly grateful to be here, out of that pit. The
color of the great big sky itself filled my eyes and made laughter bubble up
within me.

“Traken, you
are amazing,” I said, and rolled towards him, flinging an arm over his face and
hugging it playfully. It was the arm with the sleeve left still, so the fabric
did an amusing job of smothering him. I touched my head against his gently.
“Thank you.”

I didn't have
the energy to move after that so I just stayed there, my arm wrapped around his
head. He didn't say anything, and he didn't move, but I felt the pleasant puffs
of his breath. It was so good to be out, and healthy, and feel the sun. It felt
like a nightmare had ended.

When I could
finally move again, I rolled off Traken and stretched out as far as my limbs
could reach. Traken moved as well, sitting up and looking away.

“Let's go
back to the river,” he said. “We'll get clean again, get some more water and
head out. This is no place to linger.”

“I'm sorry that
we fell in that trap, but I am glad we found this place,” I said. “A part of me
feels at peace knowing where my village was and what came of it, even if it
isn't happy.”

“The energy
here is twisted,” Traken said, eyes lowered. “Some spells, darker spells, draw
on soul energy. Rather than use their own, magic-users prefer to find places
where there have been great tragedies and death, where souls are not at rest.
That is why magic-users would be attracted here, and why a headhunter trap was
set.”

That
information disturbed me. It would mean the spirits of my family and friends
from once upon a time were not at rest, and had not been for all these years.
The light feeling turned to heaviness in my belly.

“Thank you
for telling me,” I said. Traken didn't look at me still, just turned and
started carefully back towards the river. I followed, and didn't mention aloud
the troubling spot on my sleeve that was wet with warm tears.

We did not talk about Traken's strange
behavior in and out of the well, or the anguish of blood and sweat we had
shared together down there. We did not say the words “I am relieved” or “I was
worried”, and I doubt if we had thought to say them that we would have. Yet,
those very things hung heavy in the air between us as we traveled.

After the tears Traken had left on my
sleeve, my senses would not rid of him. How close he rode, how far, where he
looked, how he breathed, the tinkle of his amulets in motion. He did not look
at me, and yet it felt like that was all he was doing. A nervous anxiety
festered, and I could not shake it.

Why did he cry? The unicorn said he
was afraid. What is he afraid of?

When curly gray smoke etched its way
into the horizon about midday, the muscles in my shoulders finally unclenched.

“Where are we?” I asked Traken after
he slowed, his own gaze marking the smoke disappearing into the clouds. It was
our first sign of civilization, but he did not look thrilled. He didn't really
seem to feel anything about it at all. After what had happened in that well, it
was like something tough and stagnant had stirred within that standoffish shell.
I couldn't place it exactly, but there was a wholeness to him that had not been
there before... and consequently, an alarming heaviness as well.

But then he turned to me, grinning
with bright brown eyes through a steely mask, and the feeling temporarily
passed.

“We are coming up on Partchoo, the
town that lives in the shadow of my master's residence. It looks like the
dancing about has finally come to an end.”

Those words hit me with undue
melancholy, but I hid it by pretending to shoo a fly away from my face.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“You ask that with so much
indifference one would think it had nothing to do with you,” he said, rolling
his eyes backwards and spurring the horses on with another silent command. They
did not go nearly as fast as they had before, and I wondered if this was so
that we could talk, or because he was hesitating. His grin slipped as he looked
away.

“We stop in,” he continued, “alert the
guardians of our presence, and he will call us forward when he is ready.”

“Guardians?”

“They are the people assigned to
regulate who sees him and when.”

“Who
does
see him?”

“Hardly anyone. The man is very
private. He doesn't even talk to his own guardians in person; he uses
communication orbs or the like.”

My brow bunched. “But how can he
possibly run half of East Kurdak like that?”

“I believe the mystery adds to his
power.”

We topped a large hill, and the town
of Partchoo came into view. The rolling grasses came to a stop, and so did the
random crooked trees. From our vantage point, I had the unique perspective of
viewing the insides and outsides of Partchoo, which had cleared away the wilds
and tamed the land into downright orderliness. The town itself was a resolute
black spot in the middle of a vast circle of vibrant green crops whose rows
extended outwards from the town like rays from the sun. Every ray, from the far
outskirts straight on into the coal-colored buildings at the center, was lined
with poles and laundry wires weighed down with magi-wards. They were even more
elaborate than the expensive ones I had seen the Falcons use, and if the sheer
numbers alone weren't daunting enough, the bright colors and intricate loops
and knots brought to mind a large festival.

Which was chilling, because their
purpose was anything but cheery for the poor sod who set them off.

There had never been a need for me to
use magi-wards, but I knew many high-ranking officials who would have been
green with jealousy over these things. Recently, Emperor Rallis had banned the
use of them in public areas of most major cities, as they promoted prejudice
and hostility. The political and social pros and cons had been debated heatedly
over the last 30 to 40 years, owing not only to bias but the fact that magic
was in frequent use across the country, and you didn’t have to be a magic-user
to get those things shaking.

Nonetheless, the Emperor himself
probably kept a good stock in his personal estate. No one, especially those in
power, wanted to risk letting a mind-mage, a deathworker, or even a sorcerer
into their midst without their knowing. I didn't even want to know what
happened to the sorry stranger with a weather-ward on their vest that wandered
into Partchoo.

We skirted slowly, discreetly, down
the hill and to the edge of one of the rows of crops. A large blue and purple
knotted ward nearest us on a post began to quiver. Traken did not look at it,
though we both knew it was shaking for him. He stopped the horses entirely and
slid down from his, signaling me to do the same. No sooner were my fingers
untangling from the silver mane when the horse disappeared and I was left
staring at empty space.

“Again? It's disconcerting being
reminded that I've been riding on nothing but air this whole time,” I said,
waving my hand in the space in front of me. “Usually you’re so concerned with
the realism.”

Traken's lips quirked up proudly.

“Sorry for the lack of theatrics, but
we will cause outrage and mob-mentality mayhem riding rendered horses through
this place. I think you can already tell how these people feel about magic.”

“That does not seem like something
that would usually stop you,” I pointed out.

“Usually it wouldn't,” he agreed, but
left it at that.

We headed down a path between the rows
of crops that led straight towards the town. The land was even and flat here,
and we were walking in between rows of budding corn stalks and pepper plants.
As we went, I realized there were people among the crops, crouched figures
dressed in dark clothing and leather armor whose half-lidded eyes followed us
shrewdly. They did not move to greet us or even chase us away, despite the
shivering magi-wards along the path, but every new face I found among the green
plants was watching. I shifted, keeping each in my peripheral, muscles as tense
as the low thrumming of the swords on my back.

“Who are they?” I asked Traken, voice
low. He laughed, just a little too loudly for my taste.

“Wouldn't they be townsfolk?”

“Would they? Every single one of them
is carrying a weapon.”

“So you did notice. They are also the
military force for my master. Everyone who lives here, young to old, is trained
in combat and war.”

I felt a lump in my throat as I
watched them, each with that sharp, sullen look of a predator at ready. As my
gaze fell on a young boy who was tending cabbage, his fingers twitched and his
eyes shifted away quickly. He hadn't been looking at me. 

“They're afraid of you,” I said in an
awed whisper.

“Yes,” Traken said. My lips twitched.

“Well, what do you know? Someone is.
It must make you very proud.”

He raised an eyebrow delicately and continued
staring resolutely forward as we walked, but a ghost of a grin was all my
sarcasm needed to feel duly encouraged.

“Do you terrorize them with threats of
fireballs too?”

“I don't need to. I save the fireballs
for my particular favorites.”

At our conversation, which had grown
to an almost normal volume, an older woman looked up and narrowed her eyes. I
watched her face change with interest—it wasn't just fear. They felt contempt
for him too.

“They deal with me because they must,”
he explained, gaze following mine. He grinned wickedly at the woman, who
immediately gathered her supplies and hobbled away. “They still consider me an
abomination.”

“If they believe that strongly that
magic is heathenism, then what could possibly convince them to follow your
lord? You said his soldiers know of the magic-users he employs, but I didn’t
realize the soldiers were regular villagers.”

“He is a man of mysterious power. His
military is almost a religion. He has convinced all of them that he is
practically one with the gods, and the magic he uses is their will. His magic
users are merely instruments, tools of the gods. As long as we are under his
control, we are acceptable.”

“This does not seem like something he
would like you telling me or anyone else here,” I said, pleased. I caught
another wary glare from a young field hand as we passed. He even signed a
protection glyph on his wrist.

“Not one of them would believe a word
I said if I decided to preach it,” Traken said, waving his hand playfully in
the direction of that same field hand, who squeaked and fell backwards in our
wake. “I am an unholy being, here to spread lies and corruption.”

“No wonder you're so full of
yourself.”

Traken huffed, covering what I am
pretty sure was a laugh. Another voice laughed along too, a high-pitched cackle
that set my teeth on edge instantly. The air swelled outwards behind us, and I
twisted around.

“He
is
quite pompous, isn't
he?” 

The owner of the voice was a thick and
squat raven-haired man who wore a prickly grin. Heavy arms were crossed tight
and high on a broad chest, and his silky black attire matched the uniform
Traken had originally been wearing. Behind him, the field hands we had passed
were shuffling further and further away, eyes now narrowed towards the dirt.

“Derk,” Traken said with a curt nod.
In all the years Traken had harassed me, I had never received such a cold and
indifferent greeting. I could only imagine what kind of relationship had to be
behind it.

The grin on the other man's face grew
bigger.

“Now that is the sorcerer I am more
familiar with,” he said. “Since when have you ever conversed with anyone like a
bubbly, smitten child, much less let a little girl talk down to you?” The man
had a broad forehead too, and stiff eyebrows that arched high on them. There wasn't
a lick of kindness in his eyes as he looked me over, but there
was
intense and unsettling interest. “So this must be the mysterious thing our lord
sent you to fetch, yes? I heard from Wilkos that he had to check in on you for
an update. Said the girl with you had a peculiar smell.” His nostrils flared,
and exaggerated euphoria crossed his face. “And that she does... what is that?”

“We do not talk about the master's
orders,” Traken said, tone low and yet as frightening as if he were shouting.
“You’re the one who taught me that particular lesson, remember?”

“I’d like to see you try and teach me
the same,” Derk sneered, ambling just that much closer to the two of us. His
nose was still up in the air. “By the flipping horns of
Kanri
, that is
amazing. What kind of power could create that?”

“I am in a hurry,” Traken said.

“Oh, I think we’re all aware of that
at this point. I've heard he's been contacting the guardians constantly to see
if you've arrived yet, and he even sent Wilkos out again looking for you. The
boy's a good tracker, if nothing else. Been hiding from us, haven't you?”

“There are more impressive things to
be hiding from out there.” 

The man threw back his head in a
mocking display of laughter.

“When the time comes to hunt you, I
doubt you’ll be saying the same. It has happened to many much wiser.” His lips
stretched. “Even you aren’t exempt.”

“We are busy,” Traken said with a
chilling calm.

“Well now, 'we', is it? A communal
word, that. Does it mean you've upgraded your package to an equal? Daring.”

I grinned, fingers tickling for my
daggers, and cut in. “I know someone even more daring.”

His eyes leveled on me finally,
disdainful orbs of contempt. I kept my thoughts empty, so he would not see
anything flash through my eyes.

“She would be docile and timely if the
master had sent me instead,” he said, chin raised as he appraised me.

“My apologies,” I responded
pleasantly. A hand fell on my shoulder.

“I don’t have the time to clean up
messes,” Traken cut in. “Leave us, Derk.”

Derk tsked, his lips thinned and his
eyes met mine one more time. He winked, as if we were sharing some sort of
secret, and vanished into thin air. Once he was gone, I could see how empty the
surrounding fields now were; the many eyes had scattered. Traken released my
shoulder quickly.

“A sorcerer, right?” I asked, though
it was pretty obvious. “Part of your lord's inner circle? You didn’t need to
hold me back, I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Traken made a “pssh” sound through his
teeth. “You were using your polite voice. The more your manners improve, the
more violent things get.”

“You don’t know everything, Traken,” I
said, crossing my arms. “My book says that manners are a way of relieving
tensions between parties so that both sides can come to a reasonable
understanding.”

“Did you come to one?”

“With more time and a little violence
it might have worked. By the way, wasn’t that quite the mellow reaction from
you, Dogboy? What happened to the fireballs?”