White Blood (27 page)

Carlich scowled at Barilan. Now the light was gone the baby started to fuss again, and Vinhor passed him back to Maryn. She shifted him to her shoulder and patted his back. Carlich kept his eyes fixed on Barilan until, deep beneath the power of the spell that compelled her, Maryn felt a stirring of apprehension.

Carlich turned to Vinhor. His face paled a bit, and he seemed to speak with effort. “You said there might be some way around this difficulty. That it might be possible to free the Kingship from Barilan. Even vest it in me, as it should be.”

Vinhor frowned and drew his brows together. “I did mention that something of the sort might be possible. Though it’s not a venture to be lightly undertaken. We are speaking of great mysteries, subjects hidden from all but the most devout students of Holy Scriptures. The secrets concealed within their pages are not for common knowledge. Nor even royalty, but only for those most dedicated to sacred study.”

Carlich gave a deferential inclination of his head, his words coming a bit easier. “Surely your Grace is among those to whom all such arcane truth is made plain.”

Vinhor smiled a little. Maryn was sure the priest was perfectly aware Carlich was only flattering him, but took pleasure from it anyway. “Perhaps. I do at least know a bit beyond what is commonly available.”

“How, then, can we approach this problem?” Carlich leaned forward, intent.

Vinhor sat down behind his desk and motioned for Carlich to take a place in one of the chairs facing it. Neither of them looked at Maryn, so she remained standing, doing her best to quell Barilan’s intermittent whimpers before they progressed into full;-;fledged crying. He probably wanted to nurse again, but she’d rather wait until they returned to their room and she could relax. Now Vinhor had established Barilan was indeed the king, they shouldn’t need him for anything else. Hopefully she’d soon be dismissed.

Vinhor leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What you must understand, your Highness, is that the powers of the Kingship take up residence, not in the body, but in the soul. Are you familiar with the theological truths underlying blood sorcery?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. My studies have focused on practical applications. Please, enlighten me.”

Vinhor nodded, and took on a lecturing tone. “Blood is the connection that binds soul and body. Its power comes from the soul; thus human blood is potent, while that of animals is not. The soul inhabits the body, rooted in the blood. When blood is drawn, some of those roots break away and become available for use. And at death, when the soul separates from the body and departs for the courts of the Holy One, it leaves its roots behind in the blood that remains.”

“I’ve heard of such concepts, but never phrased in quite that way.” Carlich glanced at Barilan. “Go on, tell me more.”

“As your Highness commands.” Vinhor lowered his voice until Maryn had to strain to hear. “It is not impossible for the soul to depart the body, and yet the body live on. Cases of such have been recorded. Sometimes it occurs naturally, following some grave injury, particularly to the head. In such instances, the subject can no longer think or speak, or move of his own volition, or respond in any way to what is around him, yet can take food and drink if tended carefully enough, and may live for months or even years in that state.”

Carlich frowned. “That wouldn’t serve, even if we could bring about such a condition. I need Barilan alive and healthy if I’m to use him to bargain with Voerell. And I must be seen as his protector. I’d lose half my support if it were known he’d come to harm while in my care.”

Maryn’s face went cold, and she swallowed. Her arms tightened around Barilan, causing him to squirm in protest. She forced her grip to loosen and he calmed, but her legs felt so weak she feared they might refuse to support her. Did Carlich mean he would consider doing that to Barilan?

“No, of course not. But hear me out. Certain sorcerers by magic have induced something similar. A soul can be compelled to depart a living body, if the proper incantations or gestures are employed. It’s not a terribly difficult spell to accomplish. Far more delicate is the reverse operation, to call some other soul into the body left unoccupied.”

Carlich drew in his breath sharply. “Then such a thing is possible? I’d heard rumors, but I dismissed them as mere superstition.”

Trembling, Maryn crept closer, desperate to hear. Though she didn’t know what good it would do. If they decided to work some nefarious sorcery on Barilan, she’d be powerless to protect him.

“Oh, no, it’s quite real. There are a number of cases well documented in the church’s records. We don’t share those records often, of course.”

“I see.” Carlich swallowed. “How is it done?”

“It’s a spell like any other, though longer and more complicated than most. Once the body is divested of its native soul, the soul of one recently deceased is enticed to depart the courts of the Holy One and enter the vacant body. As you might imagine, such souls are most reluctant to leave Paradise, yet under certain circumstances they can be persuaded. If they’re close kin to the body it’s easier, and if they have some pressing desire to return, perhaps to complete unfinished business, or to be with one dear to them.”

Carlich nodded slowly. He took a deep breath, and dropped his voice even lower. It seemed a great struggle for him to force the words out. “So if we were to perform this magic on Barilan…”

Vinhor didn’t appear in the least shocked, or even surprised, at the suggestion. “When his soul departed, and flew in joy to the courts of the Holy One, the Kingship would be released. His soul is so young and unformed that no one would mark the difference if it were replaced by another. Preferably one also young and unformed, of a child who died at a similar age. Barilan’s body would remain unharmed, and his soul also, in the Holy One’s care. But the Kingship would have nowhere to come to rest, since King Froethych sealed no further heirs, and none have ever been sealed to Barilan.”

“Could you make me Barilan’s heir?” Carlich turned to look speculatively at the baby in Maryn’s arms. Maryn forced her expression to remain blank, but she needn’t have bothered; Carlich’s eyes remained fixed on Barilan.

“I’m afraid, your Highness, that only the one who holds the office of Prelate has the power to seal heirs to the Kingship.” Carlich turned back and opened his mouth, but Vinhor held up a hand to silence him. “And only the one who wields the power of the Kingship—at the moment, the regent—can appoint a new Prelate. No, I’m afraid it won’t be so easy.”

Carlich scowled. “So what would happen? Would the Kingship be lost?”

Vinhor shook his head. “It would be as it was after the passing of King Ettellan and all his heirs during the plague. The Kingship was freed, and became available for your ancestor King Fridollan to take up when the people acclaimed him their leader. In a similar fashion, we could work the spell which would invest it in your soul, correcting your father’s error in disinheriting you.”

Maryn thought longingly of the door, but the compulsion spell was much too fresh to allow her to even edge in that direction. Even if she were free to run, she’d never get far. Barilan was utterly vulnerable to Vinhor’s plan. She’d probably have to watch while they performed the spell.

Carlich breathed hard, in contrast to Vinhor, who remained tranquil. “You’re sure this would violate no holy laws?”

Vinhor shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “That has been a matter of debate for many centuries. Some scholars hold that the spell which frees the soul is equivalent to killing, and subject to all the strictures which bind when such an act is justified, as in war or execution or self;-;defense, and when it is forbidden as murder. While others hold that as long as the body remains unharmed, no such strictures apply. In my studies I’ve found no evidence to suggest that the Holy One ever forbade such magic. In fact, one interpretation of the story of the healing of the Basilan demoniac is that He employed just such a spell. It depends on how one translates a certain word in the original…but I see that I’ve lost you. In any case, although I believe the Holy One would look with favor on this action, I cannot guarantee it. Perhaps it might be safer to entrust the task to another, so that any potential Holy censure would fall on them.”

Beads of sweat stood out on Carlich’s forehead. “Yes, I think that would be best,” he gasped. “I will not do it myself.” Immediately he seemed to feel relief, for his panting eased. He wiped his brow. “I think my father’s spell must interpret the spell as harm to Barilan, for I can barely manage to speak of the possibility. But another, with no blood ties…” He struggled again, then gave up. “I trust you to take care of the matter as you see fit, your Grace.”

Vinhor looked taken aback. “I, your Highness? Though the risk is slight, I am afraid I cannot take even the smallest chance of sullying my hands with a morally questionable act. But we can have another carry out the task for us. It need not be a sorcerer; anyone could perform the magic with sufficient instruction. I’m sure someone can be found whose loyalty to your Highness is unquestionable.”

Carlich looked doubtful. He turned again to Barilan, studying the baby with a troubled frown. Barilan was busy trying to pull a strand of Maryn’s hair free of her braids, oblivious to his danger. Carlich focused on Maryn’s face. She stiffened at the sudden wild look of speculation that dawned in his eyes.

Carlich rose convulsively to his feet and came to stand before Maryn, staring at her all the time with disconcerting intensity. “You. You had a child, before you came to the Palace. He died. Isn’t that what you told me?”

The words forced themselves from Maryn’s numb throat. “Yes, your Highness. My son Frilan died in the fire here in Ralo, just before Barilan was born.”

“How old was he?” The light in Carlich’s eyes was frightening.

“Six weeks, your Highness.”

“And Barilan is three months old.” He whirled on Vinhor. “That’s close enough, surely?”

“I would think so, your Highness.”

Carlich turned back to Maryn and took her by the shoulders. He looked directly into her eyes. “Tell me, Maryn, would you like to have your son back? Your own baby’s soul, returned to you from the Holy One’s courts? Would you like to hold him again, cuddle him to your breast, nurse him?”

It was the thing she had wanted most in all the world since the moment she realized Frilan was lost. Her heart had not for one minute ceased begging the Holy One to grant her such a miracle. She had grudgingly come to accept how impossible it was, yet some deeply buried corner of her being had never completely given up hope.

No compulsion tore the cry from Maryn’s heart, only her own desire. “Yes!”

“What are you willing to do to make that happen?”

Maryn panted. She clutched Barilan protectively close, though she knew she herself was now the greatest threat he faced. She closed her eyes, her voice no more than a whisper. “Anything.”

Fifteen

V
inhor looked back and forth from Maryn to Carlich. “Yes, I think she might serve very well. It should be easy for her to call her son’s soul back; he’ll be eager to come to her and take up the life that was cut short. No one besides the three of us need ever know. And she’s not blood;-;kin to Barilan, so your father’s spell won’t apply.”

Maryn dared not consider what she’d consented to do. Frilan! She must think only of Frilan. This time she wouldn’t fail him as she had that awful morning. She would snatch him from death’s grasp, no matter what it cost. If she fixed her eyes on Carlich she didn’t have to see Barilan looking up at her. The baby’s warm body melting against hers, secure in perfect trust, was harder to ignore.

“Yes.” Carlich nodded sharply, though he struggled against King Froethych’s spell again with his next words. “If you would instruct her in all she needs to know, your Grace, and make sure…” He wheezed to a stop, choking.

“I’ll be glad to, your Highness. Rest assured I will leave nothing to chance.” Vinhor cocked his head, appearing concerned at Carlich’s continued distress. “Perhaps you should absent yourself for the actual enactment of the spell. I’ll notify you when it’s done.”

Carlich nodded wordlessly, and stumbled for the exit. At the threshold, he turned back. Looking straight at Maryn, he forced out between his teeth, “Do whatever he tells you.” Then he staggered through the door. It slammed shut behind him.

Vinhor gazed after him for a moment before shaking his head and turning his attention to Maryn. “Come, child, sit down. You’re performing a very great service for Prince Carlich and me. Be assured we won’t forget it.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Maryn whispered. She stepped tentatively forward and sank into the chair Carlich had vacated, perching nervously on the edge. Barilan squirmed. She pulled loose the tie of her shift and offered her breast. Luckily, he was willing to nurse. He might fall asleep if she could keep him still long enough.

Vinhor waited until they were both settled. When Maryn looked up at him, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and interlacing his fingers. “Tell me child, how much do you know of sorcery?”

“Very little, sir,” she mumbled. “Only what everyone is taught, how to release power from accidentally shed blood.”

Vinhor pursed his lips, but kept his voice gentle. “Then you know the prayer of invocation to the Holy One?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The spell I’m going to teach you begins the same way. Let me hear you say it.”

Maryn recited the syllables of the ancient tongue. Vinhor winced once or twice. When she finished he went back over the words with her, correcting her pronunciation in several places.

Satisfied at last, he sat back, frowning thoughtfully at her. “The rest of the spell could be accomplished by incantation also, but it would be very complicated, and it might take days for you to memorize the lengthy stanzas required. I take it you don’t read? No, of course not.” He sighed. “Let’s try something different. Here, can you get one hand free? Good. Do this.” He made a graceful gesture with his hand, touching his thumb and forefinger together in a circle and scooping the air with his other fingers spread wide. Maryn copied it as best she could.