Blood Bond

I limped another step, my hand pressed against the still-tender flesh beneath the shredded remnants of my blue silk dress where the wound remained half-open, bloodied. The Aethelwing on the branch above let out a final, sharp cry, then launched itself into the air, circling once before winging towards the distant peaks where Aethelgard Keep lay. Aethelgard. The name, a fresh stab of pain.

My three puppets, the grey-clad elves, stood motionless, their masked faces vacant and their limbs hanging, awaiting my will to pull their strings. An eerie silence settled over the clearing, punctuated only by the groans of Stonehand's men, who were scattered like felled logs over the ground, and the distant caw of crows.

My gaze snapped to Kael. He was still bound where Jarlen's men had left him, propped against a tree. His eyes were closed, still caught in the grip of that toxic elven poison from the feast. It was a close thing, if I hadn't recognized that the poison was the same as the torrent of crystals from the IV drip, Jarlen would have…

A colder, sharper realization sliced through me. "Three seeds." Jarlen's words echoed in my mind. He wasn't just killing. He was collecting runes, live runes, from living people. If the elves could make poison this advanced, they must have the tech that could extract... Meris. He wanted to take her alive. That's why the trap was so elaborate.

He needed living specimens. Stonehand had said soul seeds rotted without a living host. My blood ran cold. Astrid, her Mage-Knight rune. Anya, with her Diviner rune. Father, Mother—their Soul Seeds are powerful too.

Jarlen and the Deepwood elves–they'd crave them all. The Academy Masters... anyone with a developed rune must be a target for their harvest. The runes for those weapons. They weren't forged! They were stolen, from living people! A sudden, feverish urgency seized me. I had to get back. Anya. Father. Mother. Astrid!

Through the manipulation of its strings, I willed one of my puppets toward Kael. It moved with a fluid, remembered grace, its dagger slicing through Kael's bonds in a single, swift motion. He slumped further, still in the throes of the paralyzing poison.

I reached out and became one with my blood flowing within his veins and arteries. Inside him, the torrent of crystals still raged, their tendrils keeping his cells locked in their icy grip. Once more, I willed my blood to form the 'keys', and slice through the crystals, to shatter that volatile tide. Unlike with Stonehand, Kael's cells stirred at once. His eyes snapped open. Was he more responsive because I had converted so much of his blood to mine? Because I had already taken his heart?

Before I could dwell on it, Kael launched himself at me. "Your Highness!" His panicked hands seized my face, turning it to his. My fingers instinctively covered his. It was then that I felt the crusts of dried blood that caked my lower face.

His touch, though quivering with panic, was surprisingly gentle. For an instant, just sinking into his wide, dilated brown eyes made everything else vanish. Then he flinched as if burned, his hands recoiling, leaving me back here, again.

"Princess, I—I'm sorry," he choked out, stumbling further back, his face and eyes crumpling with bewildered shame. But as he looked to his hands, his gaze fell to the gaping tear in my dress, and the blood still pooling in the flayed wound.

"Are you… alright? Gods, I failed you again!" he cried out, his voice raw with agony and guilt.

I placed my hand back over his, and tried to squeeze it with what comfort I could give. "I'm fine Kael. Really. It's not your fault."

The words, or my touch, seemed to quiet his panic. But his head remained bowed, his gaze fixed on the forest floor. He refused to meet my eyes. Was it my bloodied face? The still-open wound? Or something far more awful?

A flicker of movement at the edge of my visions – Meris! She's still tangled in the remains of the now inert net. I directed another puppet, the Air Assassin, towards her. Shroud Step. In an instant, he was over her. His blade drew a silver arc over the net and it split open.

Meris was on her feet before the last cord snapped. She swept her hands over her tattered uniform, and somehow made herself look stately despite her wild nest of hair, and dirt covered face. Relief warred with ingrained protocol in her eyes as they found me; a shaky attempt at a curtsy died before it truly began.

My hands fell away from Kael's.

"Meris." The word grated against my throat. "I'm sorry I didn't free you sooner. But I… I'm glad you're alright. Really glad."

Meris's stern composure flickered as she took in my appearance. Her sharp features, usually held rigid and controlled, began to crumble as her gaze dropped—from my eyes, past my bloodied chin, to the ruined silk of my dress, and then, with dawning horror, to my chest.

"Princess!" Her cry was a sharp blade of horror. She lunged forward, her dark green eyes wide with alarm.

"A healer! We need a healer!" She scanned the clearing desperately, but only the silence of my still puppets answered her.

Her hands clawed at Kael's arm, shaking him. "What are you doing standing there! She needs help! How could you let this happen? She's your ward!"

Kael just took it. He reeled, as if physically struck by the force of her accusation.

I raised a hand, but the muscles pulled clots loose in my chest, pulsing up another wave of pain. "Meris, stop." I gritted to push out words. "He did everything he could. Saving me… was impossible."

The words hung in the charged air. Meris's frantic energy faltered. Her gaze darted from my face to Kael's bowed head, then back to me. Confusion warred with the alarm still stark in her eyes. Kael remained with his head bowed, the weight of Meris's accusation, and perhaps the horror of knowing what I am, crushing him. He can barely look at me now.

The hunger stirred again, that ravenous, void, clawed at me from the impossible depths within, demanding to be filled. What blood essence I had drawn when I took over the current set of puppets: it wasn't enough.

The bodies strewn about. That might be enough. I needed to drain them fully, to turn them into shriveled up, desiccated corpses. As that thought settled, my gaze lifted only to find Meris staring down at me. Those eyes, so haggard, so wary, and so brimming with worry. Those stern eyes that had watched over me even in my earliest memories. No, not her, I can't let her see what I had truly become!

"Kael. Please, take Meris. So she can't see…" My words trailed off. Meris stiffened. She was about to protest, to push Kael away, but then our eyes met.

Please, I can't lose you too.

The corner of her eyes crinkled, as if she was about to dismiss one of my usual tantrums, but then it froze, as if she finally caught the plea in my eyes. She let Kael guide her away after taking one last look at me.

—

The moment they were gone, a heavy silence descended. I turned to face Stonehand. The massive dwarf had retrieved his giant axe, Grief-Giver, and stood leaning against it, arms crossed over his broad chest, his golden eyes fixed on me with an unreadable intensity. He was an immovable mountain of scar and dents.

"You should go too," I stated, my voice flat, heavy with a weariness that went bone-deep. I met his gaze. "You don't want to see this."

He merely snorted, a harsh, grating sound. "No, girl. This I must see." Sunlight glinted in his eyes. "You've done something to me, haven't you?"

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He flexed the arm that wasn't leaning on his axe and looked down at his own scarred bicep. "There's something… different in me now." His eyes flicked back to me, sharp and questioning, before he gestured with his chin towards his incapacitated warriors, who lay scattered like felled timber around the clearing. "Besides, my boys are still here. I'm not leaving them alone. Not with you."

He wouldn't budge. There was no arguing with the raw certainty in his voice, nor did I have the strength or care to change his mind. Besides, a dark, twisted part of me didn't want to be entirely alone with what I was becoming. I proceeded.

The hunger churned within me, as the essence of the dead called out to me. I could sense their vibrancy fading.

Through my blood connection into their minds, I moved the puppets out into the field of corpses. There were six of them. My puppets dragged them all into the center of the clearing, lining them up in a neat row as they just let their limbs fall, one by one, with a thud to the ground. The Fire Stalker pulled out his dagger and walked over to each corpse, examining them for open wounds. When he found none, he'd cut them open, slicing through the grey cloak and tunics to reveal lines of bright, glistening red.

I dipped my fingers into my wound. And just as I had with the mercenaries before, I stepped along the line of freshly dead, sprinkling my alms of blood over each open wound. Droplets of my blood seeped into their wounds, and like a blight, they radiated outwards, swiftly claiming every vessel to the extremities. Some still had a pulse, faintly pumping blood through. Others were more cold, still. But they all still held the bright glow of blood essence. And I consumed it all, siphoning all the vibrance voraciously into myself through my connection to all my blood cells—I was the center of a web of blood essence flowing in.

I drew in the light and warmth until there was nothing left, until even my own cells in their bodies were emptied into dust inside hollow, cavernous blood vessels. Their faces were now sunken, eyes shriveled into points in the pits of their skulls, their skin nothing more than dried up sheets over bone.

These elves, their essence felt richer than the mercenaries, they were more vibrant, more powerful, more… filling. Perhaps this is due to their Soul Seeds being more evolved?

I stared down into the shriveled up skulls as the rich essence filled me, just six felt like it was more than double the twenty. I felt that void within being filled and stretched, deeper. A chill came over me, but I kept drawing in the rest of the essence. I closed my hands into fists and refused to look away from those hollow eyes. I can't stop. I need to get stronger, to save them all.

Throughout the entire grotesque display, Stonehand remained where he stood, leaning on Grief-Giver. He didn't move, didn't speak, his yellow eyes fixed on me, on the shriveling corpses, his expression utterly unreadable, a silent vigil over my monstrous feast.

It was done. I surveyed the incriminating remains of what I had left behind. What Jarlen had said came back to me, how he had found those 'frozen' dried out corpses. Kael must have covered for me then, and I should keep it hidden now. I don't want anyone to find out, not Jarlen, not the usurpers, and especially not... My eyes glanced to where Meris had gone. Her.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to Stonehand. "You're an Earth Juggernaut, right? Can you open a hole in the ground for me?"

He scoffed gutturally, and waved me away with a swipe of his large hand. Without another word, he dropped to one knee and pressed an open palm flat against the earth. Unable to help myself, I tapped into my blood within him. Streams of blood were once again converging upon his Soul Seed. This time though, instead of releasing all at once, the green light grew brighter as more and more blood was pumped through the crystal. It seemed to be charging up. I could feel the blood essence being sucked into the crystal as it became almost blindingly bright with energy.

Chasm!

The word resonated out of his crystal. The ground shuddered in response, and then cracked open into a three feet wide gash before him. I peered into its depths. About six feet deep. I suppose that will do.

Through my fractured, kaleidoscopic vision, I guided my three puppets. They moved in eerie silence, dragging the shriveled elven corpses, what's left of them, to the edge of the chasm's edge. One by one, the husks were tipped in, landing with soft, dry rustles at the bottom.

Then, with a steady somber gait, my ninja puppets turned and stepped into the depths themselves, landing amongst the pile of skeletal limbs.

I released my blood's grip upon their mind. The kaleidoscope blinked off - image by image. And they slumped over - their strings cut. The pins retracted from my mind. I drained the last of their essence, and down below the grey cloaks flattened against the outline of bones as their flesh crumbled away.

My hand reached out, on its own. I thought of that flute player by the fire. Was he down there? The beauty of that ethereal music and face. Now all gone.

Stonehand watched the entire procession, his expression still unreadable. When the last puppet settled into the ground, he grunted, and placed his hand back on the ground, the earth roiled and sealed the chasm shut, leaving only a rocky scar on the forest floor. The clearing was quiet again, almost peaceful, save for the lingering scent of metal and salt, and the unnatural stillness of his paralyzed men.

—

Dust settled over the hidden grave. Stonehand straightened, Grief-Giver held loosely, and turned his full, unwavering attention to me. We stood for a long moment, staring at each other across the newly scarred earth, the silence stretching taut between us, thick with unspoken questions.

Finally, he broke it, his voice now a low rumble, devoid of its earlier dismissiveness. "What are you, girl?"

A strange, giddy wave of hysteria shook me. I felt like laughing. What could I possibly say? That I was some twisted amalgamation of a boy and girl from two different worlds? A monster that perpetually hungers for the essence of the living?

My gaze dropped to the right side of my chest. The wound was now fully closed, only a jagged, angry red line remaining where there was once a raw, gaping hole. Could I even die? Would cutting off my head truly end me?

My shoulders shook as I caught his eyes again. "I don't know."

Stonehand rubbed a massive hand over his ringed beard. His golden eyes never left mine. They narrowed now with a shrewd, calculating intensity that went beyond mere curiosity. "There are old tales in the mountain halls," he mused, his voice while still rough fell into a steady measured cadence. "Of witches, women touched by the wilderness, their power raw, untamed, beyond the ken of runes or even the gods themselves." He shook his head slowly. "Fireside stories to scare younglings into obedience. But this..." He waved one thick finger towards the freshly scarred earth where the chasm had been, then pointed back to me. "This is no legend."

I felt myself swaying, the laughing hysteria that had shaken me a moment before, now receded. Wild witch, Raw, Untamed, Power, Beyond the Gods. Perhaps those labels could apply to me, and I am some crazed witch. But there's one thing I know for sure, that I held within me the memories of both my worlds, and all those I hold close.

"This," I said, meeting his intense gaze squarely, my voice quiet but firm, "is me."

Stonehand stared at me for a long, assessing moment. Then, his gaze flicked down, to my right forearm. "Your blade, show it to me," he said, his voice low and flat. It wasn't a command or a request, just a statement.

My dry lips parted, a denial forming. How could he possibly know? I hadn't shown it out in the open, the only time I had used it was with my palm pressed against my target. And he was fighting then!

"Don't lie to me, girl." He tapped the side of his head, a thick finger pointing towards his yellow, piercing eyes. "These eyes don't miss much."

A sigh escaped me. There was no escaping that relentless gaze. And I was too tired to hide.

Reluctantly, I extended my right arm, palm up. Pale skin, faint blue veins. My wrist didn't look any different – the muscles, the tendons, looked smooth: no strange bulges, no sign of what lurked beneath. I tensed my wrist. A sharp pain, a tearing sensation—and the skin at the base of my palm flayed outwards as a wicked, half-foot long fang erupted. Ivory-white, perfectly smooth, gleaming, and curved into a sharp point at the end. My palm fang.

Stonehand was silent, no words, grunts, or snort, his eyes were transfixed upon the thin long tooth protruding out of my palm. He then stirred and searched about. I watched, puzzled as he grabbed a dented metal cup lying strewn on the ground and emptied its contents. He picked up a wineskin, uncorked it and filled the cup.

He set the cup down between us and then grabbed my outstretched hand. His grip was like iron bands. Before I could react, he directed the point of my palm fang down in a line over his own, massive, line wrought palm. Dark, almost black blood welled up in pools along that line. Stonehand tilted his hand and let the blood drip into the cup.

He thrust it out to me. "Drink!"

Confusion swirled as I looked down at the offered cup, the wine was red and in it was my blood mixed with his. A hazy memory surfaced – back at the Earl's study, hadn't he mentioned something about a test of strength, some sort of a pact in blood. Then it dawned on me: he had drunk my blood.

The surface of the wine rippled. I was repulsed by the thought of drinking blood in such a primal, vulgar way. I'm not even close to legal drinking age! But then came the crushing weight of necessity: Mother, Father, Astrid, Theron, even Anya… all of them are in mortal danger. This pact, this powerful, unpredictable, and brutish ally, might be my only chance, a desperate means to an end.

"Just a sip, girl," Stonehand's gruff voice prodded me. "Don't tell me you're afraid of this, of all things, after what I've just witnessed."

I snatched the cup from his hand and raised it to my lips. A sour, acrid liquid flooded my mouth, mixed with metallic salt. It was foul! I wiped at my lips to keep from gagging it out.

"That's quite the sip there!" Stonehand rumbled as his roaring laughter rang throughout the forest. He took my hand – looking tiny against his – and squeezed, his eyes boring into mine.

"Now, the pact is sealed."