Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (3 page)

“Even if she smelled like rotten
vegetables,” I said aloud, cackling. Those days were far away; not one of the
masters who had trained me was alive now.

My hands shook more. This thing was
the reason. This merciless, bodiless thing. Inevitable, indeed. Sleep was
unavoidable for everyone, from the lowliest peasant to the most powerful
magic-user. What a crock, and what an utterly clever cruelty. 

I didn't remove the daggers buckled on
my arms or ankles. I laid back, made sure one hand was off the mat on top of my
swords, and the other on the hilt of any comfortable dagger within range.  No
matter where I was, I always slept in this fashion. It was good to at least
looked well-armed and ready, even if I did not own the privilege of being a
light-sleeper. My condition made it impossible.

I felt it swell in me, a beast emerging
triumphant, closing in around my typical dread. It was torture in the truest,
sickest sense, this fear... but it was time, and my eyelids closed without
permission.

My mind tricked me once, then twice
into thinking I was floating. Then I was out.

Smoke touched my skin like an eerie fog, and made
shapes in the blackness. The air reeked of burning flesh, and water crashed
against rocks I couldn’t see. I was probably standing on some sort of dock, but
it was always too dark to be sure.

A flash of light pierced the darkness, blinding me even
though I had known it was coming. I groaned, and my body moved on its own. The
beginning and ending of this little puppet play was old news, but I couldn't
make it stop any more than I could help having to sleep. I approached the hazy
silhouette of a boat bobbing on black water.

My body stepped in quickly, and picked up the oars. The
boat pushed off the dock all by itself and headed out into the emptiness of a
black ocean, floating underneath a starless and moonless sky.

I rowed, cutting soundlessly through the stillness. My
brow collected warm, salty sweat that slid down my face and pooled at my chin.
No wind or waves, only an eerie silence and a bitter heat. I willed away the
feeling of the wooden oars splintering into my hands, but that got me
predictably nowhere. The Dream had never been anything but persistently
realistic.

Finally I heard the noise I had been dreading. A
bloodcurdling roar echoed across the water, and the sky began to lighten.

The boat stopped, and I stood. I had arrived at a
little island of large, sharp rocks. Sitting on top of the rocks was a demonic
being of about seven times my size. All I could see of its face was glowing red
eyes, and of its body a jagged profile of spiked armor. In one large, clawed
hand was a sword that was almost as tall as my body.

Before that gaze I stood, weaponless, with nowhere to
go but forward.

Make it stop, my mind whispered. How useless a thought.
This was in the dreamlands of my own head. There was no one here but the giant
and me.

“So you’ve come again,” the thing said, its guttural
voice filling the empty air, “and so I ask you. Are you ready to die?”

I shook my head. It was the same tired, jaded reply.
“No.” 

Red eyes flashed. “I will enjoy breaking your useless
body in two.”

“Come on then,” I said, empty inside.

It lunged forward, huge body barreling towards me, and
I dodged, tumbling on the slippery rocks, bruising skin and jarring bones. The
black waves rippling around the island swam into my vision. I thought
desperately of diving into them, but knew better—I had already tried that many
times, and couldn’t. Something always stopped me.

The giant came again, and I slid underneath its
tree-trunk legs as it swung wide. I slipped to the ground as the next swipe
barely missed my head. Its attacks weren't especially good, and its speed
wasn't impressive, but we both knew the ending to this. It did not tire,
whereas I did.

Once again, in my fear, I was only delaying the
inevitable.

As we moved, the sky grew brighter and brighter still.
I tripped, a foot catching in the treacherous rocks, and its sword finally
found a home right below my ribcage. As I lay pinned, the demon came to stand
over me. Its large hand with yellowed, sharp nails reached down and clawed into
my chest.

Much worse than any pain imaginable was the horrifying
absence of it as those fingers tore my flesh, cracked my ribcage and encircled
my beating heart.

I sat up, soaked in a deep sweat and
breathing hard. No matter how many times the Dream took me, I never found peace
with it. My mind played back images of those last moments and shudders racked
my body.

Go away,
I thought.
Go away
. There was
no logic behind the fear. It wasn’t real, it didn’t hurt… and yet there was a
child inside me, curled up and frightened of what lurked in the darkness every
time I closed my eyes. The endless repetition of terror and blood. I breathed
in, calming my heartbeat, and remembered the teachings the Restful Monks had
instilled in me.

Leave it behind. Every new moment is
the shedding of an old one. What is past cannot—

“Did you have a bad dream?” an
annoyingly perky voice cut in from across the room. I jerked, dagger instantly
out and pointing into the dim space. I knew that voice.

“Why are you here, Traken?” I asked,
slipping quickly into a crouch on the mat. “You already blessed me with your
presence today.” 

“Do I need a reason to visit my
favorite sword-for-hire?” he asked playfully, stepping into a thin beam of
fluorescent orange coming through a crack in the closed shutters. The frail
light revealed that he had not come as a dog this time, but as a human.

Human-Traken had short blond hair that
curled at his ears and mischievous eyes. He was pale and ghostly, and wore a
strange array of ritual amulets, piercings, rings, and bracelets with
protective glyphs chiseled into the beads. His body was slim under a short,
black robe that looked silky and light, and loose pants made of the same
material; all of which were good for movement but not much in the form of protection.
It was infuriatingly cocky of him, practically a taunt. Indeed, the only weapon
he possessed was a short sword strapped at his waist. Then again, Traken wasn’t
a warrior… he was a sorcerer. He didn't need to be well-protected, and locked
rooms meant very little to him.  

I narrowed my eyes, and after a moment
of silence he smirked.

“I see you are in no mood for the fun
stuff, so I’ll get to the point. You've heard that tonight is supposedly the
start of the Week of Colors?”

“Yes, though not in the same words,” I
said. My nose crinkled. “What does that mean anyway?”

Traken's laugh was pleasant and
insulting all at once. He had that way about him, but despite being some
strange lord's dog with a penchant for violence, he had never once turned down an
opportunity to condescendingly explain something to me that I didn’t know.

“It is a meeting of the divine forces
in the universe, as it has been told to me. You know the energies from which
magic-users draw their power?”

“Yes, a little,” I said. “Just by name.
Sola
,
Teran
,
Orpheo
and
Kan
.”

“They are the sources that control
life:
Sola
from the sun,
Teran
from nature,
Orpheo
from
the dreamlands and
Kan
from the spirit. Each are separate entities from
each other, and beyond the control of the gods.”

“And anyone born affiliated with one
of the sources can become a magic-user,” I added.

“Yes, but each source comes from a
different realm, and that is the unique part about this event. For one week, every
century or two, a delicate converging of those powers occurs, sort of like a
celestial dance. It doesn't run on the time of the mortal realm, so it's not
exact when it does happen, but it must be quite the party for the gods.” There
was laughter in Traken's voice. “It doesn't affect normal people very much,
except for giving them a pretty light show at night and perhaps some strange
and erratic thoughts. The emotions and balances of the world are mixing, after
all. For those who use magic-craft, however, the event is like a week-long
gift. We don't become stronger, per se, but our spells and rituals become that
much more potent.”

“Excited then?” I asked. His teeth
shown wickedly in the dim light.

“I will be when and if it happens...
the gods are fickle with their messages to the seers. They may be telling us
that the event is tonight, or that it's next year this night, or some trickster
godling may be whispering it into the ears of magic-users just for fun. If it
is tonight, which has not been officially established yet, things will
definitely be stirring throughout the realm.”

“The moon isn’t up yet?” I asked,
cautiously rising from my crouch to open the shutters and peek out. The slight
glow of orange, which I had thought to be torchlight, was actually the ebbing
life of the sun still lingering on the horizon. The sky itself, what I could
see past the alley walls, was full of thick orange and purple clouds... no moon
could be seen yet. I left the shutters open and put my dagger back in the sheath
on my arm. “Tell me, then, what does all this have to do with you visiting me?”

“Today’s earlier visit wasn’t just a
normal encounter. My master has been waiting for this day for a long time, and
your presence has now become imperative along with it. I am here to take you
back with me by force, if tonight is actually the beginning of the Week of
Colors, and if not, then you'll be free to go along your merry way.”

“It was very nice of you to give me a
heads up, Traken, instead of just kidnapping me in my sleep. One question,
though, before I get on with the obvious assertions of how you could
never
kidnap me and I
will
kill you if you try... why in all the realm did you
come and tell me this before the moon was even up?”

He sighed, falling limply back against
the closed door. “I got bored... I've been waiting for hours for the sun to go
down. I needed a bit of stimulation.” He cocked his head at me. “You won't come
with me willingly, will you? Don't disappoint me, Santo.”

“You do hate when things are easy,” I
said, lugging both my swords over one shoulder and my fighting robe and sash
over the other. “Aren't you jumping ahead of yourself, Dogboy?”

“Oh, things always happen eventually.
It’s only a matter of time, and that we have plenty of.”  

“If or when it does, you know the
answer,” I said, staring him down through strands of long, loose hair as I tied
my wide hat atop my head. Traken was an unpredictable force—while I had never
personally fought him before, and he had never tried to attack me, I couldn't
see through that smile on his face to tell what he was planning next.

“I’m afraid you won't have much of a
choice when the time comes,” he replied merrily. Always a contradiction and a
half. “Until then, why don't we enjoy the festival? I haven't been to one in
such a long time. Even if the Week of Colors does start tonight, we could
always have some fun first.”

Somehow I couldn't imagine my version
of fun being the same as his. From what I had gathered over the years, Traken
was practically the right hand man of his “master”, and though I did not know
who this mysterious lord was, I had heard enough to realize he was power-hungry
and vicious.

“I'm afraid you're going to have to
find ways to amuse yourself until the moon comes up, Traken... go find a bone
to chew, or a pretty dog to chase.”

His face fell, though I had faith there
was no more real emotion behind that than his smirks and smiles. “Don't say
that... I'm so bored. So, so bored. Do something with me?”

“I don't want to,” I told him. Having
gathered all my things, I edged past him and opened the door, closing it sharply
before he could follow me out. I grinned as I heard a soft thud against the
wood. “Oh, sorry, thought you were going to leave the way you came in,” I
called, and cackled quietly to myself all the way down the hall.

I caught Madam Jin on my way out, and after
a lengthy discussion of how long it had been since I had last seen her, picked
a time slot of my own for one of her private baths. It seemed like they were
all booked during the times before the festival was supposed to start, but she
had been right... they were completely free during.

After talking with her, I hurried out
into the streets to find a clothing shop that was still open. I wouldn't have
told him, but I was as excited as Traken at the thought of a good,
old-fashioned Kurdak-style festival. The northern countries I had been
traveling through for the last five years hadn’t had much in the way of those
kinds of celebrations.

Stands and stages were already being
erected in the marketplace, and the mouthwatering smells of meat grilling
flooded my nostrils. I was home.

By the time the sun had set, and
torches and magi-globes were blazing brightly, I was no longer an outsider to
the people of Rusuro. At least, not in appearance. Everyone, even the poor,
were dressed in their best festival robes, and so now was I.

Festival robes were long, down to the
knees or lower instead of ending just below the waist like every-day robes, and
were not worn with trousers or loose pants. The robe I had found was in a style
I was unaccustomed to, a long slender look of emerald green with onyx designs
slithering up the sides and down the long, wide sleeves that reached almost to
my ankles. The sash around my waist was a burnt gold, and so were the ribbons
in my hair. It had been a lot of trouble... not only to buy the robe on such
short notice, but to find a comb and get Madam Jin to help me with the ribbons.
I could honestly say it probably hadn't been worth the effort, but details were
important when trying to blend in. Besides, any new amusement was worthwhile.

Amusing was definitely the right word
for Madam Jin's furious attempts to smooth and contain my coarse and untamed
hair. It was usually straight and soft on its own, but I rarely kept it in
anything besides the long braid I had grown during my stay with the Restful
Monks. Madam Jin had always been a woman of great patience, but I had actually
had to bribe her with a couple coins halfway through so that she would agree to
finish the job. She was highly pleased with herself when she was done, though...
she said I looked just like a young woman out of my school years. I couldn't
even remember what school years felt like, but she said my large eyes and
smooth face were the perfect picture of youthful ignorance.

Not exactly a compliment, but I supposed
the best explanation for that was my lack of practice in showing emotion on my
face at all. I rarely needed to convey things through such language, but I was
practicing. My etiquette book told me that facial expressions and body language
were the key to any successful conversation.

With such efforts in place, I
successfully blended into the massive crowd of villagers and visitors standing
in the marketplace plaza, waiting for the opening events of the festival. A
dais had been set up for Lord Gersham and his fellow nobles to lounge at, and
another where a group of paid magic-users, probably sorcerers like Traken, waited
to impress the crowds. All eyes were on the cloudy night sky, yearning to catch
glimpses of the moon. No light could be seen from the heavens as of yet.

My swords were strapped on my back as
usual, but tied in a dark cloak so they looked like parcels and wouldn't scare
anyone. The crowd I was in was tight, but I still noticed the moment a certain
body got abnormally close to mine from behind. I spun, instinctively trying to
protect my precious swords, and came eyes-to-eye with Bartalow, the fellow from
earlier in the day. His hand was out in what had probably been an attempt to
tap me on the shoulder.

“Sorry, lass,” he said, gruff-voiced. “Just
wanted a better look. No need to be scared.”

He wouldn't have called me scared if
my swords had been showing.

“I saw you come out of The Little
Flower,” he continued. “That's where I'm staying as well. It's strange to see
such a young thing travelin’ alone. Where do you come from?”

“You start with the tough questions,
don't you?” I asked, and felt the corners of my mouth twitch. “That is quite a
lot of looking you must have been doing, to follow me from the inn to here.
What could you possibly mean by it?”

His thick red cheeks turned that much
redder, yet he stood his ground and didn't look away. I had not taken him for
the brave type when it came to the opposite sex, but it seemed Mr.
No-Sword-Can-Gut-Me was indeed that.

“Well, there you go out with it, lass.
I just thought... you know, such a little thing you are, probably never been
here before in your whole life and all alone. Maybe you'd like some company.”

If I had really been young and at a
festival all alone, I thought perhaps I would have been frightened. It wasn't
this man's looks that made me think badly of him, or the fact that he had
almost spit on my foot. Well, that may have biased me a little. The thing was,
he had a depraved look in his one eye that made me pretty sure I couldn't trust
him. He was staying at The Little Flower for a reason, after all.

I smiled warmly.
Can’t forget the
book. Manners are important in all situations.
“Thank you for the
consideration, sir. I do appreciate it. I would take you up on your offer, but
I don't want to.”

His eye widened, then narrowed. The
charade of gentleness instantly crumbled.

“I'd pinned you for a puffed-up
peacock,” he growled. “Don't got a care in the world, do you? Flip your hair
and men fall to their knees around you, and suddenly you think you can get away
with anything. What haven’t I got that all those other blokes do?” One thick,
quivering hand hovered over the scarred mass on his face. “Are you laughin’ at
me?”

“Your eye must bother you a great
deal,” I tried again graciously. “I offer my warmest wishes for your pitiful
situation.”

“Arrogant tramp,” Bartalow shot back,
baring his brown teeth. His hand snapped into a fist. “You’ve got a lot of
nerve. I don’t take kindly to it, especially from nasty little harlots who
think they’re clever.”     

He took a step closer, his chest
obscuring my field of vision. He was probably thinking he could snap me like a twig…
and he could, if I were to just stand still and let him try. I bowed my head,
remembering that my hat was not there to hide my face.

“Is that what this is about?” I asked
softly. “Do you make a habit of stalking women just so you can attack them when
they turn you down? In that case,” I looked up and smiled kindly, “I should
inform you that selfish desperation is not attractive.”  

He floundered, and the whites of his
knuckles told me I had not been helpful. “The princess has spoken, has she?” His
arms quivered just on the edge of my vision. “Wonder if you'd feel any
differently if you had the same scar as me runnin' down your face?”

He was not taking it at all as I had
hoped, but I smiled nonetheless. No peace was fine by me when it came to this
sort of creature; he was the perfect prey. It would lose me the festival, but
sacrifices had to be made sometimes. I reached for my bound swords, feeling
their own excitement thrum against my back... and was interrupted as an old man
stepped forward and stuck his bony finger in Bartalow's face.

“Shame on you,” he croaked. “What
right do you have to harass this young woman?”

“Pssh, all these outsiders,” the
elderly wife of the man added. “You come to our town, throwing your weight
around this way and that, acting like you can talk to people however you want
just because you've been places. Well, I don't care who you are or how many
weapons you're carrying! Lord Gersham will throw you out if you start any
trouble.”

“'Ere, 'ere!” someone cheered giddily
behind us.

“Forget Lord Gersham, we'll kick yeh
out ourselves,” a woman in a patched robe said, bony arms crossed in front of
her. Her friend, a plumper lady with a high-strung expression, leaned close to
me. I could smell cider on her breath.

“Don't worry now, sweetheart, you
don't need anyone who's only looking to please themselves, my mammy always
says.”

The people had moved in aggressively,
and Bartalow looked overwhelmed. His cheek color leaked down to his neck as he
slowly backed away.

“Look honey, that young man over there
is wavin' at you,” the plump woman suddenly said, grabbing my shoulder and
directing my attention away. “That's who you were really waiting on, huh? Guess
yeh didn't need a speech like mine with a looker like that.”

“Lara, you're married!” her friend
told her with a playful elbow. The plump woman giggled.

“I didn't say he were better lookin'
than my man, did I? Jest said he was worth lookin' at. Don't you lie and say
otherwise now. He's even in a matching robe... what a tickle that puts in my
belly!”

Oh, no-no-no. Please, don't let this
happen
, I prayed to
any lazy god that would listen. Traken was standing at the edge of the crowd,
waving wildly like he had just found a long-lost friend. I turned my attention
back to Bartalow, much more interested in hunting, but he was already slinking
away.

“Go on,” the old man told me, stopping
me before I could give chase. “Go to your friend. We'll make sure this brute
doesn't try following you.”

I forced myself to smile at them and
say thank you, and then made my way over to Traken. My expression was surely as
menacing as my thoughts, yet he was grinning brilliantly as I approached.

“You are absurd,” I said. “Why are you
wearing the same thing I am?”

“I said we should have fun at the
festival, and you said I should find a pretty dog and chase her. I'm going for
both,” he said with a wink. I glared heartily.

“Please don't mock me, Traken. I haven’t
mastered the chapter on patience yet.”

“I suppose I can't compare much to the
fun you were having over there, but we must make do,” he said, pointing to his
cheek. “Don't I get a kiss? I mean, I am the one you were waiting for all
along, right? You don't want to disappoint all those people who just saved your
life over there.”

“How were you even listening to that?”
I asked.

“What a grumpy expression,” he
admonished. “Is that really the sort of face you should be wearing at a
festival?” I tried to push past him but he grabbed me around one shoulder and
squeezed tightly. He sent a friendly wave back towards the group I had come
from. “We have to thank them in some way for saving you from that big, ugly
brute.”

I pulled his face closer to mine, eyes
narrowed. “Do not tempt me to bring out my swords.” The moment was spiraling so
far out of my hands I felt like I was losing control of myself. Traken, full of
tricks and games, was good at that.

“What's this?” he said. “So polite and
good-humored with everyone else, but the moment you open your mouth around me,
out comes rubbish.” He squished my cheeks together, and his rings pinched my
skin. “Pure rubbish.”

I jerked away, only to have him grab
my head again and pull me back. He stared hard.

“Your eyes,” he said in an awed hush.
“I never noticed. They—”

I yanked away violently this time,
pushing him off just as a thankful silence fell over the crowd. Lord Gersham
had begun to speak. Traken and I looked up at the sky in unison. The dark
clouds were still thick, and no light penetrated them.

“...no sense in sitting around holding
up everything because of some clouds,” the lord of Rusuro was saying. “So, in
the spirit of the Week of Colors, we'll put all of them up and began our
tribute to the gods and their miraculous power. We will change the colors when
the moon shows itself, as ancient custom dictates... but until then, everyone
enjoy!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and music
soon rose up above that in tumultuous noise. Voices rose above our heads.

“Place yer bets on the color of the
moon tonight,” someone shouted. “Over here! Place yer bets.”

“Buy two skewers, get one free! Only
at Arsak's cart!”

“Come on,” Traken said, grabbing my
arm and dragging me behind him through the thinning crowds. His eyes had the
shine of a child on the Day of Gifts. “I hear there’s supposed to be a lot of
good food. I’ve forgotten what my last festival was like.”

I wondered then how often Traken
actually got out. I only ever saw him once or twice a month, at which time he
usually just said his part and left if I didn't get him talking a while on a
certain subject. He never looked tired, stressed, or in a hurry, but it seemed
like he was never lacking in “important duties” either.

Lord Gersham had really gone all out
for this festival, and so had his people. There were colorful carts and tents everywhere,
and intricate magi-globes with jewels sparking different colors in their
centers danced in circles above our heads. Banners cascaded down the sides of
buildings, purple and pink and gold, and crowds were beginning to gather around
stages where actors and musicians put on fanciful plays. The air was alive with
cheery noise and music.

“Well now, what's this?” Traken asked,
stopping in front of a cart that had steam billowing over the edges. He hovered
over a plate labeled
deviled quail eggs
.

“Thems a copper each, or five for a
plate,” the stone-faced seller said from behind a large boiling vat. I eagerly
nudged around Traken, taking in the spicy scent.

“I'll take a plate… please,” I said,
swiping the entire thing right out from under Traken's nose. “These are my
favorite. I used to eat them all the time, long ago when I lived in Yume. I
haven't had ones as good since.”

“That’s cause they're a specialty in
Yume,” the seller said proudly as I handed him payment. “Not many know the way
to make 'em right outside o' it. I came all the way 'ere just for the
festival.”

I bowed my head, thanking the seller
with all the polite words I could remember from my book. He got a strange look
on his face and shooed me away, an action I was happy to oblige.