Empire of Night

Chapter Twenty-Five

Growing Pains

Inerys had learned that some post-advancement changes were not immediately apparent.

After not one, but two full days spent in a deep and dreamless sleep, she awoke to slight, yet noticeable alterations. Blunt, black claws had grown in place of her fingernails and toes, having left the shells of their former occupants scattered about in her bedroll and tent. They, like her former teeth, were dispelled. It seemed whatever could not be enhanced or built upon was replaced. She could not help but wonder what remnant of her former self she would lose next. Her hair? Her eyes? Would she sprout the same antlers her maker bore?

Where she had expected surprise or outrage, she found nothing but resigned acceptance. There was an underlying curiosity as well, but she’d hardly had the opportunity to acknowledge it, once she had discovered the other changes. Her limbs, while sore, were stronger. They were also longer, which in combination, raised an entirely new set of challenges she had not been prepared for.

In her surprise, she had practically launched herself from her tent and taken the poor thing with her as she’d rolled down the gentle incline along the southern edge of camp. It had been erected far enough from the slope of the surrounding hills that tumbling down the steeper grade further down shouldn’t have been an issue. However, her panic had sent her into a gravity-assisted bounce right over the edge. The fall was far from lethal, but a particularly swift summersalt on the way down had left her whiplashed and winded by the time she’d finally slid to a stop at the bottom of the hill.

Rhydian had skidded to a halt beside her within moments, his eyes wide as he’d searched her prone figure in stunned silence. Given his initial alarm, she had expected to find herself in pain, yet as she’d stared up at the first of the evening stars, she realized she was more annoyed than anything else. Aside from a few grass stains and patches of errant mud, she was fine. Remarkably fine, in fact. Had she still been an ordinary Hound, she may have broken a bone. Perhaps several. This body, however, had suffered little more than a sore backside and a scraped elbow.

The sheer distance she had fallen appeared utterly absurd from her vantage at the base of the slope. As had the startled expressions of the wyverns. They had peeked over the distant rise like snakes from a burrow and she had to bite her lip in an effort to keep from laughing when she turned her attention to Rhydian. The slight twitch she had caught along the corner of his mouth had hinted at his own barely restrained smile. The sight of it cracked her composure and in the end, the two had laughed themselves hoarse. She may have imagined it, but she’d been fairly certain she’d spied Ayduin smiling further up the ridge before she’d clapped a hand over it in an effort to stifle her outburst. It was strange, hearing such unabashed laughter from the others, but not unwelcome. In the days that followed, there had certainly been no shortage of it, given Inerys’ sudden proclivity for impromptu performances.

It had taken the better part of two days for her to relearn how to move and walk. Thankfully, the setback in her coordination had not disrupted Rhydian’s plans. Minor adjustments had been made in regard to his ideal timeline for her, but that had been the extent of it. Together, they would hike down from their campsite and trace a wide circle through the surrounding woods. By her estimate, the route was close to a league or so, which was manageable, even if she struggled to keep herself under control when the terrain grew too steep in places. She had a tendency to overcommit and send herself sprawling when she moved any faster than a brisk walk. So, for several days following her tumble, she’d been forbidden from doing anything more, aside from cycle during the breaks she’d required along the way.

The new technique, while different, had not been difficult to grasp, once Inerys knew where to locate her meridians. Unlike the circulatory, which was limited to the confines of her chest, her musculoskeletal meridian claimed holdings in each limb in addition to her torso. It required her to redirect her vital essence up through her heart and neck to a natural fork at the base of her skull. From there, the meridian split into two parallel paths through her body until it eventually rejoined her core. It was a simple structure, though evidently, it would grow more complex as she advanced, as would the adjoining channels.

Unsettling as the notion might have been, it was oddly exciting. What other changes would advancement bring about? What would she be able to do with her newfound speed once she learned to harness it? If she harnessed it. How much stronger would she become?

Would her family even recognize her when she finally returned home?

The thoughts plagued her more than she deigned to admit.

After Vesryn had guided her through her first few cycles, both Rhydian and Cydan had chosen to join her while she practiced each day after her breakfast. The sage had taken his leave of her early on in the week, so she’d welcomed the extra company. Their encouragement had gone a long way in soothing her frustration, if she were honest.

She and Cydan were finishing up their warm-up cycle when Rhydian approached and held out an unfamiliar bow and quiver for her retrieval.

“What’s this?” She asked, tilting her head.

“A change of pace,” he said, “I’m curious to see what our resident huntress can do.”

Her brows lifted. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever give me the chance to earn my keep.”

Aside from the sage, she was the only other person who hadn’t been a part of their hunting rotation. For obvious reasons, of course, but she’d still felt like a burden. Relying on anyone outside herself was a concept she still struggled to accept.

“The way you’ve been eyeing my bow of late, I half expected you to try sneaking out on your own by now.”

To be honest, she had considered it once or twice.

She stiffened as she rose, fingers shying away from the curved wood.

Had she been that obvious?

“Theft is a poor way to earn favors,” she said with a shaky smile.

He chuckled, “Well, I appreciate the restraint. Are you feeling well enough for a hunt?”

She weighed the bow in her hands, considering.

“Will it hold up to my strength?”

“Trust me, it can handle the abuse.”

“All right. Did you have a site in mind?”

“Not in particular, no. I’m used to hunting from the skies,” he said.

Glancing up, she wondered if the addition of a wyvern was more a help or a hindrance.

“In that case, I say we start near the stream. With luck, we can pick up a trail from there without wandering around most of the night.”

Adjusting his own bow along his back, he nodded.

“I’ll follow your lead, then.”

She eyed him in mock inspection as she slung the bow over her shoulder and adjusted the quiver.

“You’re awfully tall. Are you sure you won’t scare off all the game while stomping around in the underbrush with us mere mortals?”

“Unlike some, I can keep quiet just fine. So long as you don’t trip and knock over another tree along the way, we should have nothing to worry about.

Warmth crept into her cheeks as she scowled.

“It was a sapling and you know it.”

The spark of mischief in his eye had her wishing she could take back the tease.

“Are you sure? See, it was my understanding that saplings were thin and relatively short, not thick as a man’s torso through the trunk. My mistake.”

“Oh hush.”

She turned heel down the southern slope, ever mindful of the very strength he’d teased her about. To her credit, she didn’t stumble as often. While walking, anyway. So long as she didn’t break into a jog or anything faster, there was nothing to worry about.

Once they reached the waterside, she knelt and scanned the soft spaces between stones for prints. Her nose, however, alerted her to potential quarries well before her eyes. There were dozens of threads upon the wind, most of which she was barely familiar with. Prior to her change, she had thought herself intimately familiar with the sights, sounds and scents of the forest. However, her heightened senses threw a majority of her previous assumptions into question. She had never put much thought into what a bird or pine marten might smell like, yet here she was, trying to determine what each trail belonged to.

Something close by reeked of day-old carrion and dried grass. She peered up into the dense canopy, searching for movement, for anything out of place. A hoot drew her attention to a tall, feathery figure perched among the branches. A pair of eyes found hers, wide as they were yellow. An owl, then. It possessed a slight, musty quality she had difficulty placing at first. Realizing what it was, though, her nose wrinkled. Rodent. Definitely rodent. Evidently, her feathery new friend suffered from a particularly nasty case of rat-breath.

Muttering her displeasure, she made her way further up the bank. As she did, a new scent drew her attention - one of acrid urine and something akin to turned milk. The smell of deer in rut had always been pungent. Now, though, it threatened to turn her stomach. She raised a lip as she crouched beside the faint impressions of their toes along a damp stretch of earth. From what she could tell, there were at least a half dozen in the herd. Their tracks were fresh enough that they couldn’t be all that far down the trail.

Rhydian crouched beside her, his attention on the forest.

“Have you caught something?”

“A few deer,” she said, brow drawn, “I was hoping I could tell how many there are in the herd based on their scent, but they’re too closely mingled. Given their tracks, I’d say five or six maybe? Can’t you use that awareness of yours to tell for certain?”

While he had explained it to her when she’d asked, she still wasn’t sure she fully understood how the ability worked.

He shrugged a shoulder. “I could. But we’re here to hone your abilities, not mine.”

She cast him a brief look of annoyance.

“If I’m sniffing out dinner, the least you could do is tell me if what I’m tracking is worth it.”

“Fair enough,” he said, momentarily distracted, “I can sense at least two fourth Ascensions in range. We might be able to harvest enough blood between the two of them to last more than a few days this time.”

Inerys did her best not to make a face. Blood had become a new staple in her diet, yes, but its procurement was still a touchy subject for her. She wasn't fool enough to believe what they supplied her with came solely from their hunts. It was mixed, she'd noticed, but a portion of it still came from Rhydian. And Cydan, if her suspicions were correct. Her allotment rotated between the rich spice she’d grown accustomed to and a newer, earthen variety every other day. The new addition was sweet and oddly floral. She may have even enjoyed it, were it not for the fact the two were bleeding themselves in order to keep her sated.

“And if we don’t?” She asked, allowing the unspoken question to hang between them.

She felt his eyes on her then, even as she crept forward to follow the tracks.

“If we don’t, I send the others out hunting again when we need.”

She debated the merit of having this particular discussion at all. The subject wasn’t exactly easy to broach for either party. Considering the lengths he and Cydan had taken to conceal the matter, even around the others, she couldn’t imagine he was keen to openly admit he had been providing the bulk of her supply. She had a feeling the man already knew. If that were indeed the case, wouldn’t he have said something already? The hypocrisy of the thought wasn’t lost on her.

Further up the path, she turned back to face him and hesitated.

“The blood I’ve been given has been yours the whole time, hasn’t it?”

She watched a muscle flicker along the lower edge of his all too vulpine face, saw the moment those defensive walls of his began to rise.

“I know, Rhydian,” she said, finally finding her voice in full, “I’ve known for a while.”

A wariness she had not seen since those initial days crept back into his eyes when he finally met hers in earnest.

“Inerys–”

“I want to know why. If blood is all I need, what difference does the source make? Why give yours when we can gather it elsewhere? Isn’t that the point of us being out here now?” She asked, gesturing to the forest around them.

“The source,” he said as he approached, “makes all the difference. I learned that. The night I tested you, you chose my cup without so much as looking at the other one. Tanuzet and I had hunted for something of comparable rank to see if it made a difference, but it didn’t.”

That . . . couldn’t be right.

Her breath hitched behind her teeth, but he continued before she could find the will to speak.

“I told the others that if the blood came from a high enough Ascension, the source didn’t matter because they’ve had a hard enough time accepting what you are. If they knew you really were a cannib-” he caught himself and smoothed a hand over his hair, “Cydan is the only one who knows the truth and I intend to keep it that way. He’s been stepping in because he volunteered. The truth is, I can’t keep up anymore. He won’t be able to either, which is why I’ve been mixing ours with what we’ve gathered from our hunts.”

The admission struck her like a physical blow, so much so, she missed the slip-up. She was going to be sick. She made to turn away from him, searching the surrounding wood as if she’d find some other truth she could cling to. Maybe it was just a matter of taste? Deer blood might not be as appealing, but surely she could choke it down if it meant sparing the others.

“There’s no need to mix it anymore,” she said shakily, “I can make do.”

One way or another, she would make it work.

His tone softened as he said, “I don’t think you can. I’ve seen the way you inspect what we give you. Whether it's conscious or not, I can’t say. The latter part is what worries me. An even split is as close as I’ve been able to manage. If our blood makes up any less than half the blend, you lose interest. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Peace? You’re bleeding yourself in order to feed me! In order to what, keep me from lashing out?”

Fire lit the silver in his otherwise grey eyes.

“Yes!” He shouted, “And I will continue to do so if it means keeping you and the others safe.”

Inerys flinched, her hands flying to her ears at the sudden volume. The instant regret written across his face gave her pause, though. For a moment, a real moment, she saw the stress and fatigue of a man doing his best to hold himself, and the situation, together. The bruises under his eyes were less pronounced, given the darkness of his skin, yet present all the same. Spirit’s breath, she should have seen them sooner. He’d looked haggard for days and she’d been too caught up in her own struggles to notice.

A shaky breath escaped him as he quickly sought to recompose himself.

“I’m sorry. It’s just– There’s been more than enough death already. I can’t risk any more going wrong.”

He was still afraid of her, then.

Anyone in their right mind would be, if what he said was true. How had she not seen it herself? There had been a time or two where she hadn’t finished what was in her cup, but she had assumed it was because she was already full. After all, they were still providing her with full meals of venison, cheese and dried fruits. Thinking back, though, she recalled the blood’s more gamey qualities. It was thinner, somehow and the memory alone had her passenger squirming its displeasure in the back of her mind.

The sensation chased a shiver along her skin and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to claw the cursed thing from her body. Whatever the entity was, it had no business being inside of her. Her surety of the fact grew with each passing day. It may have arisen around the same time as her change, but it was removed, somehow. It was something distinctly other. A parasite, yet one she felt she could not reveal. Not yet, at least.

The trust between she and Rhydian was still too tenuous, much as she wanted to believe otherwise.

With a degree of uncertainty, she closed the distance between them.

“It’s all right,” she murmured, placing her hand upon his upper arm, “if anything, I feel I should be the one to apologize.”

To her relief, he didn’t shrink away from her touch.

“None of this is your fault,” he said.

“And neither is it yours, Rhydian. You weren’t the one who attacked me, who turned me into this thing.”

His nostrils flared, hand balling into a fist.

“No, but if I hadn’t missed that cursed shot–”

“Is that what this is about?”

His shamed silence was answer enough.

She understood, then, for she had grappled with a similar sentiment.

“You think that if you’d killed her from the start, none of this would have happened.”

Not a question, but a statement.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

For a time, neither one of them said a word.

How long had he kept this bottled up inside? In truth, she almost feared the answer. If she were to hazard a guess, this was likely the first he’d confessed as much to anyone. Aside from Tanuzet, she supposed. Maybe they were more alike than she’d thought.

“You know, all this time, I’ve dwelled on the fact I never should have gone back out in those woods. If I hadn’t, maybe I would be home right now, reading to my brother or laughing with my friends at the tavern. Maybe I wouldn’t be the monster I am now. Much as I want to go back and throttle myself for being an idiot, I can’t. Dwelling on what might have been won’t change anything,” she said, feeling as though she were rambling, “the point is, you can’t focus on the what-ifs. You’ll drive yourself mad. I won’t pretend to know what happened out there, but I’m sure you did everything in your power to try and stop her.”

She had learned early on that any discussion of what had happened to their companions was off limits. No one had gone into detail about how Keishara had died, but she had gathered enough to know it had been brutal. It was no wonder her death haunted him the way it did.

“If only it had been enough,” he said.

She gave his arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Give yourself a little credit. You killed her, in the end, and got the rest of your friends out in one piece. Spirits, you even managed to save me in the process. I might be a bit different now, but I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

He searched her face as if seeing her in a new light.

“You . . . are far from what I expected, you know that?”

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” She teased, before her cheeks had the chance to betray her.

His chuckle was sore, but he did manage the ghost of a smile.

“You can take it however you will. All I ask is that what we’ve discussed tonight remains between us.”

“Of course,” she murmured, letting her hand drop.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth, I think I needed that. I’ve never really dealt with anything like this before.”

“You’re in good company, then. Still, I’m sorry I pushed so hard. I hadn’t realized how much you were sacrificing on my account.”

“It’s been difficult,” he admitted, “but I have a feeling you’re well worth the effort.”

Her cheeks finally darkened. “High praise, for a beastie like me.”

“I can call Cydan off the nickname, if it bothers you. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“There’s no need,” she assured, “I know he’s just teasing. If anything, it’s helped me feel a bit less monstrous. Contrary as that might sound.”

“Good. I’m glad the two of you are getting on well.”

“I’d like to consider him a friend, one day. Ayduin too, but I have the feeling that I am far from being anything more than an annoyance, right now.”

She fell into step beside him as they began making their way along the path once more.

“She’s always been more reserved with her affections, but she has a good heart. She’s just in mourning. Given a little time, I’m sure she’ll warm to you, when she’s ready.”

She nodded, hoping that was true.

“What of Vesryn? Do you think he’ll ever come around?”

Rhydian sighed, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, where he is concerned. The man is here out of obligation, nothing more.”

No surprise there.

“I’ll keep my distance,” she said, then drew a deep breath, “Now, let’s see if we can catch up to our new friends.”