PULL ME UNDER - Pleasure To Kill - Twenty-Six
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Twenty-Six
Repairs to the tents and assessing injuries and praying for the dead and burning the giant. They were running behind. This didn’t bother Ddun too much, though guiltily he knew it should have—but he was able to spend far more time with Lauren, to the point where she had to keep her legs crossed, laughing at him as she swatted his hands… That memory of magic she had given, what had coursed in his veins, all from her—it was a merciless intoxicant that he couldn’t shake from his head. That liquid steel through him and how much he loved Lauren for it. Every time he looked at her, even as she rode beside him at the head of the train, he’d catch her blue eyes and he wanted to have her again—insatiable, and with some regret had to admit it was affecting his ability to lead. There was no mystery now, why others would want that magic, too. The tales were all true. And she was his.
He could finally breathe without thoughts of her magic in him whenever she rested in the cart out of sight. His muscles could relax and his head could clear. He never knew anything to obsess him so.
They were coming to the river South-Hare, frozen solid and they would make better time to go along it, being one of the arterial rivers that met the lowlands near Kisku. That’s where he led the train as Borga came out from the crowd to ride beside him, a hesitant look on his greying, broad face. “She’s something else,” he said with a low laugh, a wary, nervous type of laugh as if he were frightened of Ddun’s reception of words intended as a compliment. The sounds of the train around them was nearly deafening with hornblasts relaying Ddun’s command to head to the river, and Borga had to raise his voice. “When she took to the field against the Stenya… When I tell that story, there are some who think it’s an exaggeration, something to drum up spirits. They follow, anyway. But they all know the truth of it, now.”
“Get to the point. What’s on your mind to make you shout at me about it?”
“Some are speculating… if she weren’t here, the giant would not have been either. That she may wind up being a bad omen.”
“They can bring their concerns to me.” Ddun paused, eyes ahead, waiting for Borga to speak, but as nothing came he continued. “They chose to rally under our banner and are free to ride back home as they please.”
“And their repercussions?”
Ddun shot a look at Borga, his mask hiding a crooked smile. “Well, there won’t be any songs about them, will there be?” He urged on even faster, his banners snapping behind him.
***
Ddun decided to walk through the camp, nodding in greeting and sharing seats beside fires to talk candidly as the night began to creep in. It was a rare breed who had the courage to engage him in conversation, and those faces he would remember. Plenty of boisterous talk about the giant, the sight of it climbing from darkness, the incredible feat of strength to bring it down—and all the while, they remembered Ddun did not face it alone, he called on the help of his men. He would give smiles of thanks and slapped shoulders and take horns of beer and move on to the next fire, and so it went until he had enough beer in him, he could head back to Lauren with a pleasant sway in his step. He gathered good men, and he was proud of that, wishing he could sit with all six thousand of them.
His tent was patched with a red and yellow blanket chopped into squares. Lauren and her maids did the stitching, darning the layers closed to keep out the weather. He thought the job looked rather endearing, a splash of colour on the stark white. Nodding to his new guard, he went in, hit with a wall of heat. Lauren had already fallen asleep, her maids spinning thread and chattering quietly. They scurried from the tent at the sight of him, pale faced, as if he would strike them, though he never had. Maybe he killed their fathers or some other action he forgot.
A knock at the door frame as he sloughed off his armour. His guard called to him to declare a guest, and Ddun returned the call, with a warning to be quick and quiet, even if he raised his own voice a bit too much.
Borga again, lifting his mask once Ddun nodded his permission. “What is it?”
“There was a fight.”
That was hardly worth the visit. “And?”
“I think you should… dress again, and come with me.”
He was warm and comfortable and slightly drunk, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep, but the look Borga gave compelled him, begrudgingly, to follow. The only lights were the dwindling embers of cookfires, poorly imitating the stars above them. The camp was so sprawled if Borga hadn’t been Ddun’s guide to the proper spot he could easily be lost.
“Upright, you cunts,” Borga said as he tore wide the flap to a soldier’s barrack, a gust of wind snuffing some lamps. “You’ve got a guest.”
The men inside all sprang to their feet, the most sober were the quickest, but there were two that stayed down on their bedding, caps on their faces. Ddun went to them first, kicking them solidly in their sides to urge them upright, even as they swayed with the effort. Caps dropped to reveal bruises, and he looked around to the other men and saw more injuries on a few of them. “Well, you all seemed to have a fun go of it. Now, why am I here?”
“Speak up,” Borga snapped.
One of the swaying men cleared his throat. “We…” He swallowed, lamplight on perspiration had him sparkling nervous. “It was in defence of your witch, General.”
“And who were you defending her from?”
“There were some men… laughing and… boasting they would be the next ones to take her magic, that she ought to magic the whole…” he swallowed again, sweat getting thicker, blood draining into his feet, a healthy flush replaced by sick yellow. “That we’d win with half the men if she…”
“And who was this that joked so boldly?” He could feel his heart quicken despite himself, as ridiculous as this was. These men were very lucky he was loose in his thoughts and could find the humour of it, just then, but it was fragile.
“We killed him, sir, it was an accident!”
“His clan, brothers, came after us when they saw him fall…”
“And before we knew it we were all brawling,” they began talking over each other.
“They didn’t know why they were fighting, some were claiming we were devils ourselves—”
“Didn’t recognize us, it was a big fight sir, a big fight.”
Ddun looked around the barrack. If any of them died fighting each other thick in drink it was a pitiful waste. “Well, I’m glad you put that fool in his place, he’ll be burned in the morning. If I caught anyone making jokes like that, I’d have killed him myself,” he looked to each of them, walking slowly back to the entrance, they knew exactly what he meant and they were to spread that threat. “Now, the bout of madness in the fighting, that’s a different thing. Are the men who claimed to see devils still standing?”
The two soldiers nearest him exchanged glances, as if daring the other to speak. “Well, we all did. The others just… Had it worse. They killed themselves, sir. Two men, took knives to themselves.”
Ddun froze, a sobering claw wrenched his stomach. He remembered how mad Tanner was before he vanished, how terrified he was to look at everyone around him. If he were weaker, would he have killed himself, too? Out of fright? “You all saw devils?”
“In each other, yes sir.”
He ran a hand over his thickening stubble, remembering the burn of Tanner’s hands on him. Ddun was lucky he wasn’t killed that night.
He left the tent with Borga without any further words to the men. “I want to be told if there are any more bouts of this madness. Rudda needs to know, too, he would recognize it right away, if it’s what we saw at the castle.”
“This isn’t the first, though it is the first deaths.”
“And a sorrowful waste of men it is!” Ddun was louder than he intended again, long strides with growing frustration at the thought.
“The closer we ride to Kisku, the more fights I’m breaking up. It doesn’t matter how it starts, but it’s getting harder to keep the men in line. Old clan rivalries, cheating at games, it doesn’t matter. If they aren’t in the saddle they’re itching to fight.”
“They will have to save that need to fight for when we storm the winter capital, or they will meet the edge of my sabre. This has truly soured my mood, Borga.”
“I know it has, I know. But it’s more than just drunken men, if it were I wouldn’t have bothered to tell you—you felt that yourself, like I was being a fool to bother you over a fistfight, I know that. Well, it’s the strange sights they see. I was wondering if…”
“If Lauren has felt anything? I’m not waking her to ask.”
Borga gripped Ddun’s coat sleeve, turning him sharply mid-step. Voice lowered and quivering, knuckles white, he didn’t look like the stout, stern Borga from earlier, improper in his desperation. “Please, can you wake her? I’m seeing your face flash and twist in the dark as I talk with you, and I fear I’m going mad too.”
Borga waited outside the tent while Ddun nudged Lauren awake. She mumbled in complaint, some dreaming nonsense, and Ddun had to shake her again. “Christ, Ddun, you can’t wait ‘til morning?”
“Can you talk for a minute?”
“About what? I’m tired.”
“Have you been having headaches recently?”
“Of course I have headaches. I’m pregnant.”
He sighed. “Can Borga come in so he can talk with you?”
“Why Borga?”
He sympathized with her, she was exhausted, but he had to know. He called his friend in and she sat up in the bedding, pulling the blankets up to her neck. When Borga raised his mask, she flinched as if she were looking at a bright light. “Is there anything wrong?” Ddun asked her.
“Yeah. Sorry Borga. There’s trick-sight on you.”
“You make it sound like he caught a cold.”
“It’s spreading like one,” Borga said with grit and adjusted his mask back over his face.
A plague. Perhaps this is what was meant, not a physical illness, not like in Kaddusk… “All the men must know, what they’re seeing is not real. Perhaps if they’re aware, they can correct their actions.”
***
The bitter potion didn’t affect Tanner as strongly as it had at first. His body was becoming accustomed to it, the taste had become almost welcome, acquired like black coffee, which was a bit worrisome. He drank it down and ate the rich meal that had been passed to him through the door of his damp cell, ripe cheeses and pickled vegetables and a solid, lovely hunk of venison, still bloody, no knife so he tore at it like a wolf, juices dripping and jaw tight.
He was fed well, a pleasant thing for being stuck in a bare stone box, humming to himself all day just to hear something. He might even be getting fat, there were no mirrors to tell. It was wet and cold and even if Meired did make him puke he’d be happy whenever she would drag him out to gloat, if nothing more than because he was getting a change of scenery. “These lands need Kings,” she’d say. “They’re bringing her right to me like fools,” she’d say. “I wish you could see it my way,” she’d say. He ignored all of it. Most of the time she just laid there in a trance, doing whatever it was she was doing in her head that made his brain feel like it was being pulled—mentally drained to sit there, like water passing through his skull, and the less the drink worked the more he felt it. He was a conduit for her spells, and he suspected that was the true reason she had him in her presence. The taunting was a bonus for her.
While he was alone in the cell, he would think back to her lessons, not all forgotten. Little things at a time, he tested himself. Nothing better to do when he couldn’t walk five paces in any direction. Distracting the guards with sounds down the hall, laughing his ass off when they chased lights. Summoning up rats at their feet to see them dance through the gap where they passed his food. Meired hadn’t admitted to detecting his little tricks, so Tanner hoped there was enough magic floating around to cover for him.
“Grandfather has fished out the disloyal in the city,” guards doing their rounds were gossipping. “If you saw their eyes you’d piss yourself, Hannuk, I tell you.” Some things couldn’t be negotiated, the rest could be forced. “Poor devils. And with those fools on their way, more and more have them eyes.”
Tanner whistled. “Hey, I’m done.”
Their footsteps padded to his door, leather against stone bringing the stink of horseradish and ball sweat. He pushed his empty tray half through the slot under the door. “Give us the tray, now,” one guard said, and Tanner did, keeping his hand near the slit, let his palm get warm, scars going taut over his skin.
“Why not give it back?”
The guard returned it under the door. Tanner gave a sharp, voiceless laugh, surprising himself how easy it was, excitement like a high. The other guard shot an insult to his buddy, perplexed as to why it was done. The first was silent, taking the insults with no care at all. “Shit, y-you got them eyes, too!”
“Give me that skin on your hip.” The bewitched guard bent to put down the skin, and the second picked it up, swearing again. “Why don’t you give me yours, too?”
Two wineskins, he cradled them like twin newborns with a little hop in his step. Stealing wine was at a whole new level now, and the guards stood there silent until he broke the spell and told them to fuck off, which they did with confused mumbling at the hole in their memory.
He took a long draught of the wine, the best thing to ever warm his stomach and hit his head, and he sang merrily to himself for a while.
“Oh, balls to your partner, ass against the wall! If you never been had on a Saturday night, you never been had at all…”
Next meal, he dumped the milk-water down the hole in the floor, took more of the wine for his thirst. The joy didn’t stick with him for long—after a few hours his stomach began to heave, little creatures clawing his skin in the dark, sweat poured from his brow. The strange liquid he was given was suppressing something, more than just his motivation. Meired would know he had stopped drinking that shit the second she saw his clammy skin. He’d wean himself. That would help is precious wine last longer, too.
“I want nothing more than to see your guts wrapped around your neck while you writhe,” Meired said to him at their next meeting. He had just told her to go fuck herself—she had asked if he could see his sister in his mind’s eye. Whether he could or not, he wasn’t going to tell her.
He kept his voice slow and slurred, as if he had taken his dose of medicine and it affected him the same as day one. “You know, I don’t think you’re the first person to feel that way. Must be my irresistible charm with women.”
“Ha!” She turned from him, the hem of her dress whispering along the stones. She always wore the same thing and it was never dirty. Grandfather was there, the aspiring King, King of Dandruff, shuffling through papers, dispatches from spies or whatever it was. Ddun had a much nicer desk. “Stop bothering with that, I know full well they’re coming. They’re on the leyline.”
“We still need to prepare, my girl.”
“I have prepared, everything I need is right here in this room.”
“They’ll lay siege to the castle,” Tanner interrupted them, “so unless you plan on starving to death, I suggest you listen to the old man. I know you can’t go through the portals, you’re stuck here.” He couldn’t look at her to see her face, but he imagined she was haughty and scowling. He couldn’t help but giggle, her silence proving he was right. “A leyline. What is that, like a magic road?”
“Yes, just like that, a road. More like a net.” Something skittered across the floor beside him. “The earth is covered in them, and you’ll learn to feel them. Both capitals sit on an intersection of leylines. The forest you traipsed through with that bitch sister of yours was another intersection. I’m always wondering if someone new will pop through, if these places are the key to the phenomenon. Imagine if someone new did come through, might be more useful to me than either of you have been.”
“Useful how?”
“Inquisitive today, aren’t you?” She returned to where he was tied, held up his chin, again his eyes crossed to try and look at her. He couldn’t. He coughed as the bile rose up in his throat, and she let his head drop, no longer feigning that weakness. He swallowed the bile. Lauren was tagging the tunnel. She turned to him and said something he couldn’t hear. His legs squirmed to move, like electric currents through his flesh.
In a bed, a plush mattress, not a mat on the floor, furs thick above him. He had already been here. His hand was freshly burned, he had no clothes.
I want you to draw from within yourself. I want you to open it, the portal to your world. Can you do it for me?
She had whipped him when he refused.
Grandfather was at the desk, Meired at his side, they were both staring at Tanner, and he began to groan, slurry wanting to burst from his gut. Hands still tied. Something was fooling with his head. Fingers twitching, eyes darting. He struggled at the rope but it only dug in worse. “Get out of my head.”
“I’m not in your head.”
From behind a pillar, Lauren walked to the corner of his vision. She was dressed as she had been in the tunnel. She touched the tapestries, looking absent-minded around her as if she had seen it all before. His eyes burned to watch, but he couldn’t close them. She went to the desk. Picked up a blade from the table—he began to squirm, tried to jump. “Stop it, stop it!” Lauren took the knife to her wrist, and her blood was sand across the carpet. He could finally turn away, panting, gasping for breath as if he drowned in her pouring sand. “You are, you are! Get out of my head!”
“It’s all you, I have nothing to do with it.” Meired was amused.
His father was there. Sharp angles, thick stubble, glass-blue eyes. Nicotine stain on his fingers, on his teeth. Lit cigarette, the orange-red tip the brightest thing in the room. He could smell the rope burning, and Meired was covering her mouth, eyes wide.
She didn’t make him sick.
Could she see his father there? Sitting on the desk, a hand on his knee, blocking Tanner’s view of Grandfather. The rope sizzled, he could hear the fibres crackling as they burned. Guards came around the corner, though he wasn’t sure if they were real until they touched him, and he screamed, pushing away from them on his back, his heels getting rug-burned in his attempt to scramble away.
“Stop!” Meried called out. “Don’t you dare!”
Beneath him spread an opening, and he fell, one of the guards with him.