Wrayth (21 page)

Then she looked at Raed. In those hazel eyes she wanted to be better than logic permitted. Sorcha sighed, “Yes, you are completely right.” Activating Voishem once again, she thrust her Gauntleted fist through the bars and toward the woman. The once Deacon however stepped back, shaking her head. “Too late. I told you too late!”

“Don’t be a fool,” Sorcha hissed waving her phased arm. “Come with us.”

The woman folded herself into the dank corner of the cell and continued to shake her head violently. “You don’t know how powerful they are. There is nowhere you can go where they cannot.” She jammed her tiny fist into her mouth as if to block out any more words that might escape her.

Sorcha pulled her hand back and turned to Raed in despair. “I can’t make her come, but I can…” She shook her head in frustration. “This is so—”

“Then we move on.” The Young Pretender clasped her hand. “Find if there are others.”

Merrick had spent hours with Sorcha when she was locked in her own body, telling her what had happened to him when he’d gone missing from Orinthal. He’d also spent a bit of time talking about Raed, and how he had left her. Merrick had emphasized how he suspected Raed’s disappearance had something to do with the Young Pretender’s sister.

Sorcha heard the crack in his voice, and didn’t need to be a Sensitive to understand how important it was for him to save a young woman—even if he had given up on his sister.

“Raed,” she said as gently as she could manage, “we can’t force these women to come with us. We can’t save everyone…”

“I know that,” he snapped. “Fraine’s different—she’s trying to start a bloody civil war. I have to stop her.” His expression was so tormented that Sorcha reached out to him. “We have to take her,” he repeated, and she knew that look. Raed could be funny, jovial and gregarious, but when he put his mind to something that was it.

“Fine,” she whispered, “then let’s get moving.”

Like two old men after a hard night drinking, they staggered farther up the hallway, heading gamely in the direction Sorcha could feel the tug of Aachon. As they went, they passed more women in the same state as the previous ones, all of whom turned away and hid their faces when Sorcha reached for them. It was by far the most ghastly thing the Deacon had ever seen in her time hunting geists, and yet she found herself walking past her colleagues with a masklike expression.

We’ll get them later. We’ll go back to the Mother Abbey and bring a contingent of Deacons back here to clean this nest out. We’re not abandoning you.

It was the best she could do, but it didn’t make it any easier to walk past these fellow Deacons—these fellow women.

They reached the end of the cells with people in them. These last few were only full of shadows. When Sorcha propped Raed up against one of these, she leaned back to take a few breaths herself.

Darling.

The chill voice ran up her spine and made her spin around.

“What is it?” Raed’s fingers brushed hers. “I hate it
when you see things I can’t.” He was trying to be amusing, but it fell flat in the darkness and shadows of the hive.

“I heard someone’s voice. It sounded familiar, but…” She stopped, uncertain, and peered into the empty cell. Was it truly empty? She narrowed her eyes as shadows flickered in the rear of the cage.

Beloved.

“We should go.” Now it was Raed tugging at her, but she resisted. The voice was feminine, soft and pleading. It broke with longing and sadness. A part of her twisted when she heard it; a deep primal muscle that jammed her breath in her throat and brought tears to her eyes.

Daughter!

“Sorcha?” Raed turned her head so he could meet her eyes, and flinched back when he saw her crying. Though she choked back sobs, the tears kept coming. Such a visceral reaction caught her completely off guard.

Her training told her that some tiny shard of a person remained here—most likely a rei. It would have taken nothing to dismiss such a tiny geist. Rei were the least kind of shade. While shades could sometimes be seen by normal folk as they repeated what their human selves had done, rei were emotions. They reflected a specific feeling that a person had felt when they died. They were in essence little capsules of the moment of a person’s passing.

Their effects were limited to an icy feeling on the back of the neck, or a touch of sadness for no reason. Most Deacons did not bother to dismiss them, since there were many worse kinds of geists in the world that were far more important to get rid of.

As a member of the Order, Sorcha should have been able to brush its effects off easily, but instead she was almost unable to see out of her eyes for the tears. Reaching out, she pushed against the cell door and it opened with a slight creak.

Raed tugged her cloak tighter about him, and stepped in after her. “It’s very…chilly in here.” Even he could feel
it, the difference to the oppressive heat in the rest of the fortress. “But shouldn’t we be going?”

Sorcha didn’t answer him for a moment, but cautiously examined the room. It, like all the others, had a small benchlike bed, and a waste chute. It also contained a set of shackles, though these were rusted and ill cared for. Standing over the bed, Sorcha examined it. This was the seat of the rei. She could tell by the great well of sadness that was threatening to choke her.

She was certainly getting an appreciation of what Sensitives dealt with every day. It was no wonder that they had to train just as hard as Actives. Sorcha was having difficulty understanding her own reaction to this one room. A rei should not have had this effect. She had no Runes of Sight to rely on, but she did have her Center.

It told her there was blood on the bed, and that knowledge made her feel quite ridiculously ill. Her hand hovered above the marks for a while—trembling in fact.

“Raed,” she whispered over her shoulder, “I have to experience this rei. It’s…it’s like nothing I’ve felt before.” She thought back to what the Fensena had said on the
Autumn Eagle
; he had promised answers ahead. The odd thing was, she hadn’t really had questions…until this moment.

Now her hand was only a few scant inches from the ancient blood on the stone. She was deathly afraid, but it drew her nevertheless; blood to blood.

“Is it dangerous?” Raed asked, touching her back lightly. She appreciated that he wasn’t stopping her, trusting her judgment. Just as Merrick would have.

“I don’t think so.” She glanced back at him, having great difficulty holding back her tears. “I have to do it though.”

“Then don’t hesitate on my account.” He smiled, a memory of his wicked smile that had undone her in the first place. “I’ll watch over you.”

Spreading her fingers wide, Sorcha placed her hand on the blood. The effect was like no other rei she had
ever known. It jerked her beyond thought, and into the memory of flesh. It took her away, until she was a person she had never known, but sometimes wondered about in idle moments.

FIFTEEN

She was lost and alone. Frightened. Pregnant. Caoirse curled up in the cell they had placed her in, and remained very, very quiet. It took every ounce of her self-control. As long as she didn’t cry out when the contractions came they would not know she was in labor. Not yet anyway.

The sweat was running down her back as she crouched in the corner, straining to both hold back her groans and give birth to her daughter. She knew it was a daughter. She’d heard her tiny thoughts; mostly thoughts of comfort, warmth and desire for life.

Her mother, long dead, had been a midwife in their village, and Caoirse was now grateful for all those births she’d witnessed, however unhappily, as a child. She’d never thought she would have to use the experience she had gained on herself, alone and in the shadows. However the daughter she’d never wanted to have was coming soon. As a Deacon, few expected to have children, but as a captive she’d had no choice.

No, she couldn’t afford to think of the drone who had taken her into the cell, his blank stare, his unnatural
strength, and how she’d been unable to resist either. Not today. Caoirse couldn’t afford to think of anything but what lay ahead. Her plan.

Luckily it was night, and the Wrayth were elsewhere, terrorizing the population of their kingdom no doubt. Though which kingdom or province she was in she’d never found out; there was only so much she could get from the terrified women that occupied the other cells. All of them were Deacons, and all of them had similar experiences. Unfortunately the Wrayth were clever. The cells were carefully crafted with thick walls to keep the woman from touching and forming a Bond.

By the Blood, she missed the Bond. She missed her old life, and her partner—even if he’d been the lucky one.

She’d been in Sousah province in Delmaire, exploring a strange ancient temple with her partner. An earthquake had revealed a new section of tunnels beneath the temple, and they’d been sent to investigate it to see if there were any geists lurking there. Delmaire was mostly a tamed continent, but old places were still feared. Rightly so as it turned out. What they had found was a twisted creature of flesh, lurking in the water. The creatures that boiled out of the tunnel when they approached she had not been able to sense. They had killed Klanasta immediately—having no use for men. And they had taken her Strop. She was a Sensitive, alone in this place, with no Active to help.

Except the one she was birthing.

Caoirse breathed deeply but as quietly as she could, and pushed. Reaching down, she felt between her legs for her daughter’s head. It was there, but also a lot of blood. When she raised her hands, she could see it traveling between her fingers and gliding over the marks on her arm. Ink and blood. She had known they would be a powerful combination.

The engravings on her arm were an idea that had come to her in her sleep. If she believed in gods she might have thought it some kind of divine inspiration. Her plan had to
work. The leather that the Gauntlets and Strop were made out of was essentially skin anyway, and it also pleased her that she would never be separated from the runes again. Not even the Wrayth could take them from her now.

She had hidden her plans so very well from her captors. Luckily they cared little for the Deacons once they were impregnated, and did not examine the women. In fact, they only ever came into the cells to deliver food. The blank stares of the peons were her protection. If any of the elder Wrayth had bothered to examine her, they would have seen the marks she had carved in herself. The quill and ink pot had been in her belt pouch, and she’d hidden them in her cell for months.

Caoirse knew all the runes, but she’d only been able to carve three into the skin on her arms before the ink ran out. Voishem, Seym and Pyet. It was probably best that she’d only managed those. Her Active power was minor, and she’d be acting as a conduit for Daughter’s.

Daughter. That was the only name she would give this little creature, until they were safe; until she could tell if the Wrayth had made something horrific or miraculous with her, and if either of them would survive. Naming things
was of great importance, and something she dreamed of doing in the sunlight. She missed sunlight.

It was time to find out what Daughter was. Her body was telling her to move, to push and uncover the truth. Everything went still, perfect and still. She felt open and alive, poised for a perfect moment in this darkness. Caoirse pushed, feeling her whole body open, and bright white light flashed behind her eyes. Then Daughter lay in her hands, not twisted, not malformed. Beautiful. She stared up at Caoirse with tiny, bright blue eyes, while her new mother cleaned her with the least stained cloth she had in the cell. Daughter had a beautiful crop of reddish hair, and, as if knowing the situation they were in, didn’t cry.

The desire to nurse her was intense, but Caoirse resisted it. If she lay back and coddled Daughter there would be no
going back. The Wrayth would find them both there, and take her baby away to whatever fate it had planned. Then there would be no escape for either of them, and what they would do with Daughter could only be a nightmare.