Dusk Falling (Book 1) (17 page)

The two in the front fell to her spell, knocking their fellows off balance. That was Serrtin’s queue. She quickly closed the distance with a hard fist, giving the man much more to think about than manners. Using the flat of her hilt, she made short work of the next. The last man standing wasn’t standing for long. Serrtin plucked the knife out of his hand like it was a child’s ill-gotten toy. Latching onto his shoulders, the Yarcka sent him flying into the stone wall of the building.

“The Guards are coming.” Serrtin said, knowing Zara Krell’s well-trained security would surely on their way. “We can’t take on the likes of them. That’d make us enemies of Indelsis as well as Circuit renegades.”

“But we can’t leave-”

“We’ll regroup. There’s nothing we can do right now.”

“But the sphere!”

“Run! Here they come!” When Aya lingered, the saurian shouted. “Damn it, Aya! If I have to throw you over my shoulder, we’re getting out of here. Don’t worry, they won’t be getting away.”

Finally the girl relented with a nod and the two raced down the road, unable to hide from the eyes of the public. One look back showed the Guards with the impeccable timing speaking to bystanders and assisting the fallen men to their feet. Standing in the doorwell to the Circuit Hold was Gartus. Aya momentarily caught his eyes and the look he gave her nearly froze her to the spot. She mistepped but did not fall and as she ran on, pushing through crowds, the Bounty Master’s unforgiving eyes followed her.

~ ~ ~

They slowed at the gate and strolled out unharassed for word had not yet arrived to the guardsmen posted there. Agemeer met up with them a safe pace away. His Wulf senses picked up on their negative energies, immediately knowing something had gone wrong. Aya flopped to the ground and glumly told her side of what had transpired- the Clients, the sphere, the gray cloaked man’s hasty entrance, even the icy look Gartus gave her as they retreated. As Serrtin answered Agemeer’s questions, voices fading into the background, it was a pair of amber-orange
eyes that haunted her thoughts. Sitting on the cold ground, she felt treacherous even though there had been nothing she could have done to foresee how things would turn or to change the end results. In the end they had gotten exactly what they wanted. She turned him in. And now they had him. It was to Aya as if she had signed the death warrant herself, handing him over tied with a ribbon endorsed with her blessing. The thought made her ill.

Chapter 14

Kcrienalpralopar listened to the details without interrupting, a frown marring her face. Aya was used to Kcrie being distant and often times short but never had the girl felt such acute disapproval from the Asrai as she did then. Her blue eyes were lidded and cold, her small mouth set, and her thoughts she did not speak though they were fairly clear to Bren girl.

The Asrai set the boundary as she did every night. As the lines glowed brilliantly red, Agemeer approached her. “Forgive an old man for his questions but I wondered if your water scrying could perhaps give us an idea of the direction our foes have taken?”

“It could.” Kcrie said, voice still ringing with displeasure. “But I will not do it. Tonight, I need to think on my own.” As she stepped out of the boundary, long cloak billowing after, she said, “I will return before morn with my answer.”

The night seemed colder and quieter that night, miles from Zara Krell amidst a patch of stony hills. The Bren mage lay watching the stars till finally sleep overtook her.

~ ~ ~

Sleep was coming all too easy to Genlo and he fought the losing battle with every fiber of his being. The sphere had the same effects as the Sealing Spell. It even negated the small spells the Bren had relaxed.

He knelt in what looked to be the center of a bubble to his eyes, he himself about the size of a large bug. Weariness tugged at his shoulders but his mind did not want to give in. He worried for his fate. Most of all he felt the fool for having trusted
them
. Their hastily designed plan was doomed from the beginning.

Genlo had heard the girls emphatic protests, could see the gray-cloaked man through the walls of the sphere. She had tried, didn’t she? What else could she do? Slowly he relented to oblivion, falling to sleep in a graceless pile in the bottom of a glass sphere.

Nightmares fell upon him almost instantaneously, ripping him with razorlike claws that did not relent.

He ran as fast as his young legs could take him. Still he tripped, tumbling over nothing but his own feet. Still he could hear their steps following him, catching up quickly. The boy did not know where he was running to until he halted in front of his mother’s door. Panting, gasping for breath with the sound of rushing blood in his ears, he pushed open the heavy doorway. Inside the spacious room thick with the scent of burning incense, Ivariljhle sat at her vanity brushing her long snowy hair with a smile on blood-red lips.

When she spied the boy falling to his knees behind her in the mirrors reflection, the smile faded, eyes darkened. The boy babbled and cried in the Jrahda tongue. He pleaded with her to stop them from finding him for surely they were going to hurt him. Orange-amber eyes brimming with frightened tears, he asked his mother to save him.

Ivariljhle turned on her velvet stool in a single fluid motion. Her face was schooled to expressionless. Then she struck him hard with the back of her hand across his mouth.

Her face changed from serene to disgust as she latched onto the boys arm and pulled him close. Her long pointed nails dug into his skin through his sleeve. Ivariljhle sent out a call to the men who were after the boy. Unbeknownst to her, the boy picked up on the mental message. He stopped his futile struggles as he looked up into her cold gaze. There was no love there, no motherly need to protect her young. His tears melted away as the Verca came and drug him away. Their harsh words fell on deaf ears, his mind was focused only on his mother.

When Ivariljhle spun back around on her stool, the boy shut his eyes and vowed to never cry in front of her again.

~ ~ ~

Years older, the boy was ingrained with the knowledge that weaknesses were punished, strengths were not. Cruelty and uncaring actions were awarded with the basic necessities of food and drink, following the Verca’s explicit orders brought him rest.

The boy retreated inwardly when the
narrasu
, the teachers, came near for they had the ability to pluck the very thoughts from his head. They would know what he was hiding. They would betray him if he let his guard down. A momentary lapse was all they needed.

Though he could not say he was openly opposed to killing the Youkai beasts set against him in his training, the boy did so only to save his own hide. Youkai instinctively reviled other Youkai, just as Jrahda hated the Yierhna. The creatures would attack ferociously while the Verca would simply watch with steely eyes, studying and talking softly to each other in their ugly guttural tongue from the safety of a high balcony.

The next step was the harnessing of his Youkai strengths through runes and glyphs controlled by his Jrahda magics. Each symbol burned onto his body felt like a fire-emblazoned brand but it came more bearable one by one until he merely sat passively and let the Verca mages do what they would with vary a twitch.

~ ~ ~

Later once more, as the Trethen’s body filled out, shedding the lanky awkwardness of adolescence, he gained his own quarters near his mother. It was a small room to be sure but it was also a refuge, his own. Here at last, he felt he could let his barriers slip ever so slightly. Often times he was mentally weary when he was allowed to return to his room. The Verca tested his barriers, his abilities to remain unconfused and conscious during a mental assault, even testing how he set up spells within his own mind.

~ ~ ~

One night, returning to his room, his unhealed wounds trailing crimson down his left arm- punishment for not learning the shadowclaws quick enough- he was barely able to rid himself of his filthy clothing before crawling into bed.

Soft, comforting, the bed seemed to bid him to relax and uncoil. The coverings were like silk-threaded down, warm and snug. The youth’s internal mental barriers, the last vestige of protection he truly possessed, were slipping dangerously but he didn’t care. He felt safe and secure in his room. The Verca were not there.

The trethen fell into a deep sleep, exhausted, without even sensing the sleep’s unnaturalness nor did he feel the spells that trailed him as he fled into the most hidden part of his mind and blocked his passage back out.

Ivariljhle perused the portions of her sleeping son’s flawed mind that she hadn’t had access to before with ease. The Jrahda easily stepped past the foremost barriers through the set holes he was sure to never be able to find
on his own, ones that would allow his teachers to control him should he ever stand up against the final plans for his life. She knew he kept things from the narrasu- that blasted curse of a demon- but what it was truly surprised her.

She flew to her feet, enraged at what she saw but strangled back her desire to strike out. Instead, she would let the others deal with him. The narrasu would stamp out that rebelliousness that lurked so deep within. He would come to realize his life was not his own. He was theirs and he would learn that.

~ ~ ~

The Verca did not let him sleep for long but he had expected that. The fact that Youkai need not sleep every night assisted him when they prodded him awake, bade him dress and accompany them. They lead him through a myriad of rooms and shoved him into their final destination. The trethen’s amber eyes immediately fell on Aral and gave pause. Aral was his most vicious narras for any of the boy’s shortcomings were Aral’s to iron out.

He moved as they told him till he stood before Aral and three of the other Verca narrasu. He was sitting in an uncomfortable stone chair the next moment without even realizing how he’d gotten there. Limbs tied down, the urge to fight back was squashed by the combined might of the three narrasu before the urge even came to fruition.

“So, little demon… planning an escape were you?” Aral purred in his light aristocratic voice. “That is not very nice of a thought to entertain after all the time we have invested in training you, bettering you, helping you achieve a greatness no normal demonic-spawn could achieve. After all that,
this
is the gratitude we receive?”

The trethen watched silently, not responding.

“Hmm, so did you enjoy your nap?” Aral smiled at the barest twinge of the grayed corners of the youth’s eyes. “I was quite surprised at what you’ve managed to hide; you’re quite resourceful, much more than I gave you credit for.

“I do not like resourcefulness. Neither does your dear mother. You nearly broke Ivariljhle’s heart. She was the one to find your…flaws.”

“No.” He breathed incredulous, not having meant to speak.

“No need for such vehemence, my crafty little boy. I have a new game to teach you, one that will solve all our problems. Are you interested?” The youth did not respond but he did not have to. His expression spoke for him.
“I can tell you are. Now, this game will continue until you prove yourself worthy again of our trust. And worthy to be our
Yashvre
once more.”

Aral took something from his pocket and drug it torturously up the trethen’s arm to his cheek. The boy had shut his eyes, turning his face away from the horrible repulsive feelings the Verca narras’ touch brought up. “No sense fighting it. Either open your mouth or I’ll make you open it.”

Aral did just that, punching the trethen in his unprotected diaphragm. Taking the opportunity, he stuffed in the apparatus. “This will keep you from breaking your teeth and, though I personally do not mind you making noise, some of the other Verca find it very distracting.” Aral made a show of dusting of his hands. “Now, trethen, fend us off as you can- it will tire you more quickly- but like a healers knife, we will cut out the bad parts we don’t like. You will become the Yashvre willingly body and soul and you will no longer entertain any foolish thoughts of escape or freedom!”

Despite all, the young trethen proved skilled but inexperience brought about his fall. He was well-used to mental attacks but never on a magnitude this scathing. Normally, the narrasu attacked to wound, to cripple, but not to destroy- now the Verca attacked in concert to take down every last sign of defense. The youth fled back but they burned a path toward him like a wildfire; He could feel them ripping at the very things that made him who he was inside. It scared him to feel other beings so close to his thoughts, delving through everything he ever knew or remembered.

He could feel Aral foremost, the Larren’s touch like a festering wound in his mind, bespeaking such terrible delight in destroying the trethen’s resistance.

For what seemed like hours later, the three narrasu took their leave. They were tired but triumphant. The boy had given up very suddenly. He remained like a ghost at the edge of their senses- inanimate and barely there. He did not try to stop them any longer.

Aral, brow slick with perspiration, looked down into the wide vacant staring eyes of their wayward Yashvre. A small trickle of blood ran down the youth’s chin. His thin hands jerked spasmodically and other than his erratic breathing, the trethen was not reacting. His body knew what the mind endured but the mind was gone- hiding now. No, it was just looking for refuge but it would not find any.

Aral tempted to touch that mind to make sure it was still there but drew back after a slight brush. An open salted laceration felt better. With a self-satisfactory grin, he turned to leave then stopped and looked back once more.

“Keep running, demon, there’s no place to hide. And should you make a place again then I will personally force you to burn it down. And to make doubly sure you don’t try something foolish- like attempt to escape- I will make sure your body learns what your mind first refused. You belong to us. There is little sense in denying it.”

~ ~ ~

Months past, blurring into a full year and the youth had truly become the Verca’s puppet. When not physically exhausted by fighting Youkai, weaponmasters and mages, he was mentally tired by Aral and the other teachers. He slept every fourth night- a Youkai able to go two or three easily, especially when fortified by spellwork. Any sign of conscious thought on his part that was not part of his training was swiftly and severely punished. Only once since that day was there a need to postpone the healing of a broken bone.