Color Mage (Book 1) (36 page)

“No, Hon Kirian,” Chiss said. “He has not.”

Chapter Sixteen

Callo lay back on his bedroll, spread on the deck in the cabin, and watched Ha’star and Chiss get themselves ready for sleep. His mind was numb.

Kirian was in her private chamber, created by the strategic placement of a big blanket that Ha’star had hung from the ceiling with nails he found somewhere on board. She moved about, preparing for rest. He imagined her removing her tunic and her veil. He closed his eyes and pictured her wavy hair falling free. As for her naked shoulders and her soft breasts—he caught himself up short. Now was not the time to indulge in that sort of fantasy.

Ha’star lay in his bedroll on the floor near Kirian’s little chamber. His knife, a big-hilted affair probably used for hunting, lay in its scabbard near his hand. He looked prepared to defend Kirian’s honor to the death. Just at that moment Ha’star said, “I’ll be here in case there’s any need at all, Hon Kirian.”

A hand pulled back the curtain, and Kirian peered out, wrapped in a blanket. “Thank you, Hon Ha’star. I feel very safe.”

Safe from
me,
Callo thought, disgruntled. He looked away and turned on his left side, away from them both. Not long after, his wounded arm began to protest this position against the hard deck, and he turned back. Kirian had vanished behind her curtain.

Chiss brought a jug and some cups. Callo hoped whatever it was, was strong. He still felt shaken at the power of what had broken out of him. What had been locked inside him all this time. With Jashan’s help he had buried the color magic again, reinforced the wall that kept the psychic magery bound; but now he felt crippled and restrained as if a good half of his mind was beyond his reach.

He slept deeply and dreamlessly, waking when the sunlight streamed into the little cabin to find that the other bedrolls were folded aside. Dust motes spun in an angle of light that looked like late day. The ship must be in calmer waters; it barely rocked. He looked around, feeling disgruntled and neglected. His throat was scratchy, and his shoulder ached. He rose and went about his preparations for the day, cursing Chiss for not being there when he was needed.

The first person he saw when he set foot on deck was the crewman Thamsa, who bowed and scuttled out of his way as a mouse might run from a cat. Callo stared after him. Then he looked in the other direction and saw they had reached land.

The boat rocked in a narrow bay surrounded by bare rock. The southern section of the inlet was green with trees, but the rest rose into a mountainous crag that reminded him very much of SeagardCastle. But there was no village in sight and definitely no Castle. He spun and climbed the ladder to the upper deck, looking for his other companions.

He found Modjho. “Captain!” Callo said. “Where the hell are we?”

“Righar, great lord,” Modjho said, with disingenuous respect.

“
Where
in Righar?”

Modjho shrugged. “Should be north o’ Two Merkhan. Not sure exactly where. The warrior went ashore to see.”

Callo swore, then took a deep breath. He turned to look around, letting Modjho walk away. Returning to the lower deck, he found Chiss and Kirian, sitting near the stern. Kirian dangled her bare feet over the edge of the deck. Chiss, with characteristic propriety, sat a couple of feet away from her with needle and thread, mending a tunic.

Kirian saw Callo first and stood, her face aglow. “There you are! Did you have a good sleep?”

Callo’s face softened. She was flushed by the sun, and her bare feet looked soft on the wet deck. “I wondered where everyone was.”

“It is almost dinnertime,” she said. “You slept all day.”

“Jashan! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the rest, my lord,” Chiss said.

“I take it we are somewhere near Two Merkhan?”

“Ha’star is ashore. He will find out exactly where we are.”

“He’s more likely to be imprisoned as a spy,” Callo said. He rubbed his temple, feeling a sense of oppression.

“My lord, we didn’t know exactly what your plans were. There is no harm, is there?” Chiss set aside the mending and stood. Callo gritted his teeth, full of anger he could not explain. He saw Kirian look at him uncertainly, and cursed himself.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Kirian asked. Her brow was wrinkled; her hair, almost brushing her shoulders now, shone in the sunlight. Her use of
my lord
grated on him.

“Damn it, I’m fine.” He turned away. He heard an explosive exhalation of breath from Kirian—she was angry, then, and no wonder—but he ignored it. He stalked away toward the cabin, found his sword, and took it to an open area on deck. There, he lifted it and began the invocation to Jashan, lord of light. Sunlight glittered all around him, half-blinding him. He slid into the first stance, arms holding the sword in its ritual salute. It felt heavy; his feet felt leaden. His feet slid into the next stance, but he felt no balance, no fluidity; he almost stumbled, and the core of rage in his heart grew.

“My lord?”

Startled, he spun around. Chiss stood near the deck rail, watching him. Chiss had dared
interrupt
him, a thing he’d never done before. The sword dropped into his fighting grip, and he caught himself just before it leaped for Chiss’ throat.

“My lord, I think you’d better stop,” Chiss said.

“How—dare you?” Callo choked. Deep inside he raged at Chiss, at the world, at himself for threatening his liege man with violence. Before he could turn, he saw the red filaments of light tracing his hands. He froze.

“You see,” Chiss said. “Something is wrong. My lord—Callo—please come inside with me.”

Callo stared at Chiss. His hand would not move; his sword was a part of him, all violence and control, and he could not release it. Then Chiss came and took the hilt from him, and Callo took a ragged breath.

“You will not hurt me,” Chiss said. “Will you, my lord?”

Callo shook his head. He followed Chiss to the cabin. Chiss sheathed Callo’s sword and placed it in a corner. He poured something into a cup and offered it to Callo.

Callo almost sobbed with the tension of keeping the magery locked up. It wasn’t working; he could see sparks out of the corners of his eyes. The words burst out. “All the gods, Chiss, what am I?”

“My lord, you are what you have always been. What they tried to make, I would surmise, all those years ago when the ku’an’an came to seduce Lady Sira Joah. There is nothing new, nothing you cannot handle.”

“Gods damn it, nothing new!” Callo gulped the wine. “It won’t stay locked up anymore, Chiss, and I can’t keep it down. I’m going to go insane.”

“You must come up with a better way to control the energy.” Chiss poured himself wine. Callo was surprised to see that the manservant’s hands were shaking.

He gave a dry, shaky laugh. “You’re afraid of me too.”

Chiss’ head lifted in surprise. “Never, my lord.” Callo could feel the sincerity in the reply. He calmed a little. “I am—afraid
for
you, rather. There has never been someone with both the color magery and the psychic magery.”

Callo sipped more wine. A gentle fog was forming in his mind, dulling the intensity a little. “What might I do, with such magery? Be like Sharpeyes, who manipulates even his nephews to shore up his power? You know he tried to have little Ander killed—he hates the boy. Maybe I should aspire to be like Ar’ok, the warped little demon. Do you think so?”

Chiss was silent, his eyes on Callo’s face.

“Or maybe I’ll just go down in a blaze of self-destruction.” His head still hurt.

“I pray not,” Chiss said.

Callo began to pace. It took the edge off the pain.

“The intensity should dull, with time. Things do, my lord.”

There was a shadow in the door, followed by the bulk of Ha’star. He said, “Modjho told me you were in here.” He stopped short, looking at Callo. Callo wondered what he saw. The Ha’lasi warrior made an apologetic motion and backed out of the room.

“Wait!” Callo said. Ha’star turned and looked at him with no expression, just a level gaze. “What’s your opinion? You who hate all ku’an. What do you think, Ha’star?”

“I think that you best get this force under control before it kills all of us.”

“Tell me how. I will do what you say.”

There was a glint of surprise from the scarred warrior. “You always were different. You want my advice?”

“Gods, yes, anything.”

“My advice is, quit your whinin’ and go see the healer.”

Anger sparked in his head, showing red in his vision. Ha’star stood balanced, as if waiting for an attack, eyes narrowed as he watched him. Callo choked a little, fighting down the headache, forcing down the agonizing color magic. Words stuck in his throat.

Chiss said, “Hon Kirian does not know the color magery, but she is a Healer of mind and body.”

Watching Callo, Ha’star relaxed a little. “Good. I wasn’t sure I’d live through that much honesty.” He grinned. “I’ll get her.”

Callo stood, trying to suppress the violence that threatened to explode from him. Ha’star went away. Eventually he took a ragged breath and was surprised to find Chiss still there. “Still here?” he said hoarsely. “Haven’t run?”

“No, my lord, why would I run?” Chiss held up a narrow hand. “Because you are within a fingernail’s width of losing control? Trust yourself, my lord. You will not hurt me or Hon Kirian.”

The thought that he could hurt Kirian had not occurred to him. He shuddered and ran through the invocation to Jashan in his mind. When the Healer appeared, he had himself under tight control. He let Chiss run through the explanation. Then Kirian sat down on a wooden stool and scooted it towards him. She made no move to touch him.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. I was rude.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You are fighting a battle.” She looked at him a moment. Callo wondered if she and Chiss could feel the pressure building up behind his wall, the energy trying to get out.

Chiss nodded at them and began to walk toward the door.

“No!” Callo said. “Don’t go. You need to stay and protect her.”

Chiss looked at Kirian, who shook her head. Chiss said, “You will do that, my lord.” He left the room.

“Demons of hell! Don’t you realize what danger you are in?”

Kirian said, “You would not hurt a Healer. My lord, relax. Relax your shoulders, here . . .” Her hand soothed his clenched muscles.

He dared not relax. He said so.

“No, my lord,” she said. “You cannot keep up this tension. You can struggle to contain a force of that immensity until your strength gives out. The force will win in the end. This rigid control is not the way to handle it.”

“You are no color mage.”

“Lord Arias, your half brother. He does not spend his life in this strain.”

His muscles were beginning to shake. “He’s had—years of training. I am just—a container for this magery. Never trained. Just a gods-damned—breeding experiment.”

“You have done very well so far. Now, my lord, relax.”

Fire etched his hands, and his vision started to tinge red. He felt a compulsion to stand and let it loose, and destroy whoever got near him. Then he remembered who was next to him—Kirian, with her rebellious short hair, who had gone to Ha’las and been imprisoned because of him. He took a deep breath, said a silent prayer to Jashan, and eased his inner barrier, just a little, just a little . . .

She inhaled a deep breath.

“What?”

“The color magery. It’s all around you, washing up the bulkhead like it did when Lord Arias was Collared. It’s beautiful. Go on. Relax.”

He eased his shoulders. Her warm hands, making small circles on his skin—when had she started stroking his skin?—made it easier. He felt the redness in his field of vision ease. Looking around the cabin, he saw it filled with skeins of multicolored light. Her hands were warm, pressing on his skin, sliding against him. He began to feel another sort of strain as arousal made itself felt. She leaned forward; he felt her warm, soft roundness pressed up against his back. He groaned.

“The color magery is beautiful. There is a sting in the air from it. Can you feel it?” Kirian whispered.

Callo supposed he could feel the sting. Next to the agony he was experiencing, it felt like a gentle breeze. His headache eased. Light writhed in his mind, but it was gentler now, something he could live with. Kirian came around in front of him. She said something, but between the color magery and his headache—and his arousal—he could not make out the words. He leaned forward and kissed her, a rough kiss, his hands pulling her toward him. She smiled at him and kissed him back. He reached for her.

“Now,” he said. The fire in his mind and his body echoed and enhanced each other.

“Gods, yes,” she said. She embraced him. His hand slid around her, pulling her close, pulling at her tunic, sliding under her clothing to feel the warmth of her skin. The color magery was damped down, yet he felt it fueling his desire. He pulled her down on the bedroll with him, and forgot the rest of the world.

* * * * *

It was another full day until Callo felt he could face going ashore. His mind still felt raw, and Jashan’s ritual only helped a little. He wondered how he would come to terms with the energies that he would have to live with from now on.

He sat with his three companions the morning of the second day and told them what he planned. Kirian argued with him until she was red in the face and then stalked off in a rage. Ha’star accepted his plans without comment; the scarred Ha’lasi warrior was making plans to return to Ha’las and to his unit. Chiss said nothing. It might be only Callo’s imagination that his manservant seemed troubled about something.

He caught up with Kirian after the noon meal. She sat at the stern with her shoes off, looking at the shoreline.

“Still upset?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

“It was you who made me see that Arias is just as much a victim as—as Eyelinn, even.”

“I’m sorry I said it. You have no business going right into SeagardCastle. You’ll be killed. I thought you would meet him elsewhere.”