‘What’s a letter?’
‘Why do you insist on jumping … Oh, for Maker’s sake. A letter is a blood-letter, Merion. A bleeder. A butcher. The person who collects, purifies and sells the blood to bloodrushers. Letters were once prized possessions. Every bloodrushing kaesar of the First Empire had his own personal letter, though they left it out of the history books. Bloodrushing used to be the sport and skill of nobles, and nobles only. A lot of gold was spent and a lot of swords drawn to keep it that way, to keep the magick secret. Letting was no different. It’s a dying art now. Shame.’
Merion was starting to read between the lines. The way Aunt Lilain spoke of letting compared to the way she had spoken of Karrigan’s leech-powers was noticeably different. Even her posture had changed. From slumped shoulders to a raised chin, Merion could see it now. He went about it delicately, if that were possible for a Hark.
‘And what, if I may ask, is your shade, Aunt Lilain?’ Merion enquired.
Lilain rolled her eyes and moved to the sink so she could wash her blood-encrusted hands. ‘I don’t have one,’ she replied. It sounded like a confession, the way she mumbled it, almost as if she were ashamed.
‘So, you’re not a bloodrusher?’ asked Merion.
Lilain watched the water drip brown and bloody into the white porcelain sink. ‘No, I am not. As I said, it can sometimes skip a generation, or a sibling, in my case. Karrigan got all the powers, whereas I was left with my mind and my hands. If my father couldn’t have two rushing offspring, he’d raise a letter instead. That was why he’d surrounded me with tutors since I was a child. I’ve been doing this since I was your age.’
Merion nodded. ‘So I take it you sell the blood you collect? This is your business.’
Lilain snorted. ‘Why do you think I’m so keen to bury the cats and dogs of this town, as well as its people? I’m a Hark as well, remember. I too have business in my blood.’
Merion could not help but curl his lip. ‘What a business it must be.’
Lilain almost threw her towel at the boy. Instead she took a step closer and stared down at him. ‘Let’s say you are a rusher. Maybe even a leech. Where are you going to get your blood from, hmm? Just going to strut into the desert and bleed yourself a lion, are we? Or an eagle? What about a bluebuck, or an auk? No, you would go to your letter, and they would give you what you need. For a price.’
Lilain kept her eyes fixed on her nephew as she bent down and pulled a lever underneath the counter. Merion heard a click and a rattle of chain, and before he knew it, the wall behind her was moving. A whole bookshelf was swinging inwards, revealing a dark passageway into the earth. Something glittered in the darkness. Lilain reached for a lantern so she could light the way. Merion, fidgeting with undeniable curiosity, hopped from his stool and followed her into the gloom of her little lair.
Blood. The hidden chamber was full of it, from top to bottom and end to end. A hundred colours shone on a hundred different shelves, captured in vials and bottles of all different shapes and sizes. Some were square, others round. A few were banded with metal as if their contents were struggling to burst out. Each wore a little label on a string, with a strange, spiked pattern scrawled on it. Merion peered at every one in turn as he followed Lilain deeper into the chamber, hoping for a more familiar language. A thousand different hues of red watched him pass, the lantern light splashing their carmine colours against the sandy ochre of the walls. Here and there other colours stuck out: yellows, browns, even blues.
Merion heard the rustling first, ominous in the darkness. Lilain did not seem worried by it, so Merion held his tongue. But then he heard their yowling, their cawing and screeching, and the sweat began to flow. Whatever was making that noise could smell them now, could see the flicker of the lantern, and they sounded hungry. Far too hungry for Merion’s liking.
The dull gleam of cage doors assuaged his fears somewhat, but with the doors came the beasts that hid behind them. Merion spied their eyes, some glowing, others merely glinting, staring back at him through the shadows. Their fangs and flickering tongues were not far behind. Their whines and growls rose in pitch, until Merion was almost forced to cover his ears.
Lilain reached for a nearby broom handle and began to whack it against the bars. ‘Shhh! Pipe down. Food’s coming, food’s coming,’ she told her pets, or her captives—Merion wasn’t too sure of the terminology.
As Lilain paraded around the small half-circle of cages, the lantern-light drew their curves and features for Merion to gawp at.
The cockatrice was old and dishevelled. It seemed happy enough, in its rather spacious cage. At first it seemed too small for the space, but as Merion’s eyes moved from its feathered rooster’s head to its scaly belly and coiled tail, it was plain to see the creature would have stood at least four foot tall had it the room.
The tiny wood nymph sat cross-legged and tucked up. There was ivy wrapped around the bars of her cage, and moss growing in its corners. The nymph’s skin was fractured and frayed like the skin of a birch tree. Her eyes were bright emeralds thumbed into hollows, and they glowed back at the boy as he stared.
His aunt pointed at the next cage along. ‘This is a mockinghawk. You can tell from its rainbow feathers and bright eyes. It’ll change plumage to mimic any bird it wants. That way it can join a flock and go unnoticed, picking off the weak or young whenever it pleases,’ Lilain intoned. ‘And this,’ she said, pointing at a rather excitable-looking slug-like thing in a higher cage, ‘this is a sandworm. Eats rocks like they were butter. Lives off the mould and bacteria.’
‘What’s bacteria?’
Lilain waved her hand dismissively. ‘That’s another story for another day. Don’t want to give you a headache now, do I? Now, I think you know the others, pretty much. Aside from the stunted huldra over there, and maybe the wampus.’
Merion did indeed. Aside from the huldra, which turned out to be a small shrivelled woman with a long cow’s tail, and the feral, cat-like wampus, which was the one apparently making all the noise, the rest were just plain old animals. The only remarkable thing about them was that they were behind bars, hidden under the earth in a strange woman’s basement, in this far-flung corner of the world.
There was a young wolf pup with a missing ear, a snake or two, kept behind a grate. There were birds in most of the higher cages, but nothing out of the ordinary. There was even a large bowl full of odd-looking fish, nudging shoulders with a grimy tank full of what appeared to be huge spiders, or maybe crickets.
Merion stuck his hands in his pockets and wondered what to make of it all. ‘I take it this is not just your own private zoo?’
‘Far from it, nephew,’ Lilain replied, running her hands over the bars and letting her beasts sniff and scratch at them if they could be bothered. ‘Some shades are pure enough in their natural state. These are just a handful of creatures I’ve been lucky enough to trap over the years, and as long as they’re kept alive and well, I can take as much blood as I please without hurting them.’
Merion stepped forwards to take a closer look at the stunted huldra. Her eyes were sad, her face glum, and her cow-tail flicked back and forth impatiently. ‘What can their shades do?’ Merion asked. The huldra smiled at him then, and the boy took a step back. It was strange to see such a human smile in such a wild creature. Its teeth, despite its shrivelled appearance, were perfect and white.
‘Not as much as you think. The wampus might give you claws, if you’re strong. The mockinghawk can change the colour of your skin, but not the shape of it. The cockatrice will spit hot venom, if you poke it long enough. I hear its blood tastes like acid. It can give you a poisonous kiss, however,’ Lilain lectured.
Merion turned and took a few paces back towards the shelves. He reached out and plucked a slim vial of dark red blood from its place and held it close to his face. The thick blood clung to the glass as he turned it over in his dusty hands.
Could I really drink this?
he asked himself.
Could he?
There was no denying the little hiccup of bile he tasted in his throat. He looked up at his aunt. ‘And what do you suppose is to be my shade?’
With a flick of his aunt’s wrist, the vial was snatched away and placed back on the shelf. She kept her fingers on it as she spoke, as if it were a chess piece she had not yet decided what to do with. She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘You’re too excited by it all, I can tell. You need respect for rushing, and I don’t think you have it yet. Your father was wise enough to entrust you to me, and I will honour that wisdom by making sure you don’t go putting the red in your belly any time soon. Not until you learn otherwise,’ she said, shaking her head.
Merion’s face turned fierce. ‘That’s not fair. I could be a leech for all you know. A rarity.’
Lilain shook her head. ‘Or you could be some grubsnout addicted to woodpecker blood and rue the day you ever asked. What a fine little lord you would make then,’ she told him.
‘But it is my right to choose,’ Merion cried.
‘Not when you don’t have the first clue about what you’re choosing!’
Merion bit the inside of his lip, wracking his brains for some magic words to make his aunt change her mind. ‘You said there’s no going back. I know what I am now, what I can do. Would you rather keep me under your roof, and teach me yourself, or would you rather I run off again, and have the Shohari show me how it’s done?’ he challenged her.
Lilain rolled her lips inwards and glowered at him. Merion pressed on.
‘Surely you know more on this subject than any shaman—’
‘Yes, alright! You’ve made your point, nephew. Maker’s hands, if you haven’t got your father’s wicked tongue.’
‘Among other things,’ Merion retorted, fighting not to punch the air.
‘Yes, well, we shall see. But you listen to me. The moment I decide you ain’t fit to taste a shade, you do as I say. I won’t be disobeyed on this matter. Not when your life is at stake. Do we have an agreement?’ Lilain stuck out a bloody hand and waited for Merion to grab it.
Merion slowly reached out, painfully mindful of the blood still drying on Lilain’s palm and fingers. His aunt could see his eyes, and his face twitching.
‘Better get used to it fast, Merion. Imagine a bloodrusher who’s afraid of the sight of blood,’ she said drily, half-hoping he would falter, and give up, decide it wasn’t for him after all. Merion grabbed her bloody hand and squeezed it with everything he had.
LEECH
‘Almost caught again today. Three months since the suitcase and today I decide to let my guard down. Karrigan was in his study. I stupidly knocked a table. Rookie error. The man moves fast, that’s for sure. Far too fast for my liking. His fingers must have brushed my wings as I made it to the fireplace. Thank the Roots it wasn’t alight.
There’s something about him that makes my skin crawl, and I can’t figure it. Merion must know.’
19th May, 1867
I
t was almost three o’clock when Merion strode out into the roasting sun. He had not waited to watch Mister Khurt get sewn up. He had barely waited for his aunt to seal up her alcove. There was an excitement in his heart that failed miserably to understand why he should sit around in dark basements on stools, watching corpses get poked by the needle. For the tenth time in almost as many paces, he readjusted the strap of his rucksack.
‘Will you please stop that?’ Rhin hissed, flicking him through the fabric.
‘Sorry,’ Merion said, fingers already itching to do it again.
‘All you needed was a dead body to change your tune, I see.’
‘That, and a conversation I’ve been aching to have since I arrived in this cursed little hole,’ Merion said, unable to stop his lips from curling and his eyes from narrowing. ‘What’s that old peasant saying? Where there is a will, there is a way? Well now I have a way, and a will.’
‘So, you can rush then?’
Merion stopped dead. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you knew … all this time …?’
‘No,’ Rhin sighed. ‘I heard Lurker say rushing. It doesn’t take an idiot to figure it out. The Fae have always known about humans and your blood-magick. I just thought it had died out with your ancestors.’
Merion moved off, wiping his brow. ‘Well, apparently it hasn’t. I may be a leech, Rhin, a leech.’
‘A blood-sucking parasite?’
‘A rusher that can stomach all sorts of different shades,’ Merion said, his excitement as clear as a bell.
‘You’ve lost me,’ Rhin muttered.
The boy tutted and walked on down the hill, past the houses of the Runnels and into Fell Falls. There was a subdued feel about the town. The saloons were quieter, the crowds thinner. Every worker Merion passed looked hollow-eyed and robbed of sleep. The sheriffsmen wore a little more armour than usual; sported more than the usual number of knives. When he had left, Fell Falls had been a brave outpost jutting out into the wilds. The Fell Falls he trudged through today felt like a town under siege, as though the town had suddenly realised its weakness. Everybody seemed to be mechanically going about their business as if monotony and routine would save them, as if breaking it would admit defeat to their intangible enemy.
Despite the mood lingering about the town, there was an awful lot of activity near the station and around the work-camp. Fresh scaffolding poked at the bright blue sky. The smell of cut wood and pitch was thick in the air. If this town was truly under siege, somebody was making arrangements. Merion suspected it had to do with whoever’s coat of arms now streamed from the taller scaffolding poles and weathervanes: a coat of arms displaying a green wyrm coiled around a silver spinning-top. The Serpeds had come to town. Merion was still intent on seeking them out, but for now the Serpeds could wait just a little longer. He had more pressing things to attend to, namely blood, and rushing, and Lurker.
The young Hark knew that the prospector was still in town. He would not leave, not after Lilain had told him to. That was the exact reason he would stay. Lurker’s face may have been a mask of dead emotion most of the time, but he had seen the little twitches in that mask on the road whenever Lil was mentioned. If Merion knew anything of men and their sorrows, Lurker would be seeking out something strong and wet, so to speak. He traipsed through the dust and heat of the streets, one by one, peering into each of the town’s saloons as he went. Through each set of swinging doors he found only frowning gazes and leering, lead-toothed stares, the punch of acrid pipe-smoke and the smell of sweat and dust. There were plenty of burly men with hats pulled low over their eyes, and plenty of figures in leather, but none of them Lurker. Merion pursed his lips and moved on. There were some more saloons on the western edge of town, near the railroad and the worker camp.