Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 30
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“What’s…what’s happening?” Rannith gasped, scrambling for a sheet to cover himself as he stared around, trying to keep his balance.
“It’s me,” Jae said, answering the question gladly. She looked up at the ceiling and could feel each individual brick.
“Stop it!” he screamed. “Stop it all!”
The Curse reared up again, making her deaf and blind from pain. It stabbed at her skull, raced down her spine. The whole world was agony—
Agony, and power. Teeth gritted, she reached for all that power. The Curse ripped at her, stabbed and screamed and tried to wrestle control back, but even when it took over her body, she could still control her mind. She couldn’t see properly, couldn’t open her eyes unless she surrendered to the Curse’s authority, but she didn’t need to.
Instead she reached for her magic and struck back, throwing energy at the Curse. Even with her eyes shut, she could sense the Curse around her, almost see it. It was enormous, invisible, but everywhere, like the air itself. She’d inhaled it, moved through it, lived with it her entire life, but now she could see it, see how it gathered around her, choking her and demanding she submit. She wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t. She threw magic back at it, all the energy she could find. She wedged the magic inside herself and pushed out, tried to throw the Curse back, but it wasn’t enough. The Curse rushed into any space she created, too much, too huge. She needed to see more, to see it completely. She pushed past the Curse until she was outside herself entirely, able to see everything in the strange other-vision that was just energy.
The Wellspring Bloodlines were tangled together, each life a strand within ropes, the ropes making up a braid. They were stronger together, but another thread ran through the rope with them. Bloody and burning, it twisted between them, around them, stifling any hint of resistance. The Curse, part of them, destroying them.
When Jae tried to pluck it away, to unravel the Curse from the Bloodlines, another wave of agony hit. The pain struck everywhere at once, in her body and her mind, and more—not just hers. She sensed every Closest in the world screaming as the Curse came down on them all. She retreated, back into its agonizing embrace—
But no, no. Rannith knew she was the one shaking the world. Lord Elan would know she’d tried to disobey him. She had disobeyed him, just by holding the Curse off for so long. They’d never let that stand; they would kill her unless there was a way out. But how could there be, when she was one of the threads tangled up in the Bloodlines, in the Curse?
The world pulsed black and red around her as she fought to stay out of her body and in this magic realm. She searched and found herself inside the rope of Bloodlines. She was one tiny, glowing thread, but she pulled at it—plucked herself away from the outside. The Curse rushed in, but only in on her, and she didn’t care, even as the Curse stabbed and tore, trying to keep her in her place. It hurt, but the pain didn’t matter, because she’d rather die than live as one of the Closest any longer. Not when she knew all this magic belonged to them, and not the Highest. She’d never give in to the Highest again—
She pulled with all her strength, with all the Bloodlines’ magic, with all the energy she could reach. For a moment it was too much, stretching her in every direction, as the Curse tried to pull her apart—
A snap echoed above everything else. The pain stopped, and she slammed back into her body so hard that the sleeping mat skittered to the side. Energy still glowed brightly around her as she opened her eyes, but she didn’t see the Curse clinging to her. It still pulsed nearby, but it ignored her, the same way it ignored Rannith—
Rannith.
Jae laughed as she sat up, staring at him. He seemed so small, suddenly, puny and pathetic as he cowered. The ground still shook faintly, and the air was hot and dry. When Jae moved, the blanket crackled with energy, as if it was going to shock her. She could sense each individual brick in the ceiling, felt for their energy, and tugged. The bricks above Rannith fell, the ceiling collapsing, rubble piling over half the room while she watched.
Rannith screamed once, and then there was nothing but the sound of bricks tumbling into a pile as they hit the floor. Jae tried to catch her breath, looked down at her handiwork. It was impossible to see Rannith under all that, but she could see the pool of blood leaking its way across the floor.
She exhaled and leaned back on the sleeping mat. There was still too much energy in the room around her, so much that it was stifling, and she was exhausted. She could barely breathe as it all tried to escape back to where it belonged, rushing away from her. She let it go, knowing she could call it back when she needed it, use it whenever she wanted, however she wanted. She was free of the Curse—she was free—and all that power was hers.
It swept away, and she let it, let the room go black around her, let the exhaustion catch up to her. Shut her eyes, unconscious but free.
Dinner over, Elan retired to Lady Shirrad’s study. She and Desinn both followed him and settled around the table. The empty wall stretched above him, the bricks that had been behind the mosaic darker than those around them, untouched by the sun for so long. The mosaic itself leaned against the base of the wall, clean and ready to be packed away.
“My message should reach Highest Lord Elthis soon,” Desinn said. “We’ll want the estate to be ready for abandonment when he arrives. The less time he has to spend here, the better.”
Lady Shirrad scowled. “The Well might still provide.” She didn’t sound hopeful, though. Just angry.
Elan took a moment to examine her. When he’d first arrived, she’d been made up beautifully, carefully. He’d seen through the facade quickly enough, the paint on her face and the fraying embroidery on her recently dyed dress. Now she didn’t seem to care anymore. Instead of an artful arrangement, she’d pulled the thick coils of her hair back into a simple knot. Her face was clean of everything but sweat, and her clothes were as dull and unwashed as everyone else’s. She stank of perfume—but so did everyone, even Elan. His skin itched with how much he wanted a bath, but there simply wasn’t water for it. No wonder Shirrad had looked so pained when he’d demanded a bath that first night.
“Lady, enough,” Desinn said. “The Highest have decided Aredann must be abandoned, for the good of everyone—even you, whether you want to admit that or not.”
“It’s me,” Jae said, answering the question gladly. She looked up at the ceiling and could feel each individual brick.
“Stop it!” he screamed. “Stop it all!”
The Curse reared up again, making her deaf and blind from pain. It stabbed at her skull, raced down her spine. The whole world was agony—
Agony, and power. Teeth gritted, she reached for all that power. The Curse ripped at her, stabbed and screamed and tried to wrestle control back, but even when it took over her body, she could still control her mind. She couldn’t see properly, couldn’t open her eyes unless she surrendered to the Curse’s authority, but she didn’t need to.
Instead she reached for her magic and struck back, throwing energy at the Curse. Even with her eyes shut, she could sense the Curse around her, almost see it. It was enormous, invisible, but everywhere, like the air itself. She’d inhaled it, moved through it, lived with it her entire life, but now she could see it, see how it gathered around her, choking her and demanding she submit. She wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t. She threw magic back at it, all the energy she could find. She wedged the magic inside herself and pushed out, tried to throw the Curse back, but it wasn’t enough. The Curse rushed into any space she created, too much, too huge. She needed to see more, to see it completely. She pushed past the Curse until she was outside herself entirely, able to see everything in the strange other-vision that was just energy.
The Wellspring Bloodlines were tangled together, each life a strand within ropes, the ropes making up a braid. They were stronger together, but another thread ran through the rope with them. Bloody and burning, it twisted between them, around them, stifling any hint of resistance. The Curse, part of them, destroying them.
When Jae tried to pluck it away, to unravel the Curse from the Bloodlines, another wave of agony hit. The pain struck everywhere at once, in her body and her mind, and more—not just hers. She sensed every Closest in the world screaming as the Curse came down on them all. She retreated, back into its agonizing embrace—
But no, no. Rannith knew she was the one shaking the world. Lord Elan would know she’d tried to disobey him. She had disobeyed him, just by holding the Curse off for so long. They’d never let that stand; they would kill her unless there was a way out. But how could there be, when she was one of the threads tangled up in the Bloodlines, in the Curse?
The world pulsed black and red around her as she fought to stay out of her body and in this magic realm. She searched and found herself inside the rope of Bloodlines. She was one tiny, glowing thread, but she pulled at it—plucked herself away from the outside. The Curse rushed in, but only in on her, and she didn’t care, even as the Curse stabbed and tore, trying to keep her in her place. It hurt, but the pain didn’t matter, because she’d rather die than live as one of the Closest any longer. Not when she knew all this magic belonged to them, and not the Highest. She’d never give in to the Highest again—
She pulled with all her strength, with all the Bloodlines’ magic, with all the energy she could reach. For a moment it was too much, stretching her in every direction, as the Curse tried to pull her apart—
A snap echoed above everything else. The pain stopped, and she slammed back into her body so hard that the sleeping mat skittered to the side. Energy still glowed brightly around her as she opened her eyes, but she didn’t see the Curse clinging to her. It still pulsed nearby, but it ignored her, the same way it ignored Rannith—
Rannith.
Jae laughed as she sat up, staring at him. He seemed so small, suddenly, puny and pathetic as he cowered. The ground still shook faintly, and the air was hot and dry. When Jae moved, the blanket crackled with energy, as if it was going to shock her. She could sense each individual brick in the ceiling, felt for their energy, and tugged. The bricks above Rannith fell, the ceiling collapsing, rubble piling over half the room while she watched.
Rannith screamed once, and then there was nothing but the sound of bricks tumbling into a pile as they hit the floor. Jae tried to catch her breath, looked down at her handiwork. It was impossible to see Rannith under all that, but she could see the pool of blood leaking its way across the floor.
She exhaled and leaned back on the sleeping mat. There was still too much energy in the room around her, so much that it was stifling, and she was exhausted. She could barely breathe as it all tried to escape back to where it belonged, rushing away from her. She let it go, knowing she could call it back when she needed it, use it whenever she wanted, however she wanted. She was free of the Curse—she was free—and all that power was hers.
It swept away, and she let it, let the room go black around her, let the exhaustion catch up to her. Shut her eyes, unconscious but free.
Dinner over, Elan retired to Lady Shirrad’s study. She and Desinn both followed him and settled around the table. The empty wall stretched above him, the bricks that had been behind the mosaic darker than those around them, untouched by the sun for so long. The mosaic itself leaned against the base of the wall, clean and ready to be packed away.
“My message should reach Highest Lord Elthis soon,” Desinn said. “We’ll want the estate to be ready for abandonment when he arrives. The less time he has to spend here, the better.”
Lady Shirrad scowled. “The Well might still provide.” She didn’t sound hopeful, though. Just angry.
Elan took a moment to examine her. When he’d first arrived, she’d been made up beautifully, carefully. He’d seen through the facade quickly enough, the paint on her face and the fraying embroidery on her recently dyed dress. Now she didn’t seem to care anymore. Instead of an artful arrangement, she’d pulled the thick coils of her hair back into a simple knot. Her face was clean of everything but sweat, and her clothes were as dull and unwashed as everyone else’s. She stank of perfume—but so did everyone, even Elan. His skin itched with how much he wanted a bath, but there simply wasn’t water for it. No wonder Shirrad had looked so pained when he’d demanded a bath that first night.
“Lady, enough,” Desinn said. “The Highest have decided Aredann must be abandoned, for the good of everyone—even you, whether you want to admit that or not.”
