There was no needle, that part was performed more precisely with his aythar. “The magic you have used until now, is what I think of as ‘natural’ magic. It is raw, unrefined, unrestricted, but it also lacks permanence and strength. I’ve shown you how to use lines and circles drawn in the dirt to improve your shields, and how words can improve your results as well. This is an extension of that.
“Using runes you can create effects that last much longer and with greater potency, but you must understand the meaning of each symbol for it to work properly.” Using his finger he drew a line of blue fire in the air, creating a triangle with a wavy line inside of it. “This is the rune for water.”
He began showing her runes one after another in careful succession until at one point she held up her hand. “Where did the runes come from?” she asked.
“I made them up.”
“What, just like that? You just decided, ‘this is water’, ‘this is air’? Why do they work then?”
“Because I’ve ingrained the symbol and the concept with one another in my mind. Just like words, the meaning your mind assigns to a symbol is what is important.”
“Why do they all have triangles then?” asked Brigid.
He smiled, “I made each within a triangle so that I can fit them together easily when drawing. You’ll understand that part better when I explain enchanting.”
“This isn’t enchanting?”
“No, this is just runes. An enchantment is built from them, but if they aren’t balanced against each other with proper geometric precision, they won’t last. You wind up with something that’s just a very strong, long lasting spell, something I call a ‘ward’, but if they are fitted properly, they become permanent, and much more powerful. That’s an enchantment,” he explained.
She thought about his statement for a minute, her eyes taking in the tattoos on his arms. “So those are wards then, since they aren’t permanent?”
He shook his head, “Not exactly. These are incomplete enchantments. Since I don’t want to be stuck with force blades permanently around my arms and hands, or shields around my entire body, I kept them unfinished. I activate them by creating the final symbols just like I drew this one in the air. I can turn them off by removing the final rune when I no longer want them to be active.”
The dark haired girl’s eyes showed uncommon understanding. He could almost see her mind working as she sorted through the concepts he was explaining. It made him proud, but he kept that thought to himself.
“It doesn’t have to be on your skin does it?” she wondered aloud.
“No, it could be on an object, like I’ve done with the stones in this house, or the doors. In those cases you can usually make it complete and permanent,” he answered.
“Then why not put your shield enchantment on your armor, or your blade enchantment on the sword?” she asked.
Tyrion nodded, “I would, but when I made these I was a normal slave, as you are. The She’Har don’t allow anything into the arena but your body, no weapons, no possessions, nothing external to yourself.”
Brigid thought about it for a moment before pointing at his lower left leg, “So what’s that one do then?”
He frowned, “Those are just part of the shield enchantment that covers my body.”
She shook her head, “No, not the ones on the skin, the ones inside, on the bone.”
Tyrion struggled to mask his surprise. He hadn’t expected her to look so deeply. The runes engraved on his shin bone were inactive and difficult to see unless one was looking for them deliberately. He kept his voice calm, “An experiment. Something I never used. Why were you looking beneath the skin?”
Brigid’s face was smooth as she answered honestly, “Don’t you study your enemies? That’s what you taught us. ‘Study your foe, examine them completely in order to find their weaknesses or hidden strengths’.”
The words sent a faint shiver down his spine. She studied him to kill him. He gazed at the beautiful girl, there’s no denying she’s my daughter.
“Let’s get back to the topic at hand,” he insisted. “We need to start the tattooing. I’ll explain the other runes as we go.”
She nodded.
“I can block the nerve in your shoulder to stop the pain…”
“No,” she answered, “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“The pain is my own,” she replied. “It will help remind me of everything you are owed.”
Chapter 27
The tattoos took two and a half days. Despite her resolve, Brigid still hissed at the pain as they worked and occasionally let out a yell. She swore and said things that he knew wouldn’t have been allowed if she were still at home, but in Albamarl he couldn’t see any reason to censor her language.
Why bother trying to make her talk like a lady when she was being trained to be a killer?
Brigid’s strength returned as they worked, but he knew she still wouldn’t be fully recovered by the time the arena day had arrived. He hoped the arm blades would be enough, for they didn’t have nearly enough time to do the shield tattoos.
They developed a semblance of closeness while he worked on her arms, a bond born of pain and shared time together. Once or twice he saw her smile again, in between grimaces, as she made light of her own gasps and occasional yelps. It was as if she sometimes forgot to be angry.
The smiles were the worst, for they reminded him of the happy girl she had once been.
At one point she caught herself laughing at some dark joke he had made. Bright eyes and a flash of white teeth complimented the light sound of her laughter, but she stopped abruptly, closing her mouth and looking down, as though she had forgotten something.
“You don’t have to do that,” he told her. “It won’t hurt you to relax a little. You can think about the dark stuff when the time comes.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said without preamble.
He nodded sympathetically.
“When I came here, you were everything she said you were. Everything you did fit perfectly with her description, but you seem different now,” she declared.
“Whose description?”
“Mother’s.”
Brenda Sayer, it made perfect sense now. Brenda ‘Tolburn’, he mentally corrected himself. He could only imagine what she had told her daughter about the circumstances of her conception and birth.
“She said you were disturbed, violent, and bloodthirsty,” added the dark haired girl.
“That’s certainly true,” he agreed.
“None of the others know what to think. Some of them never learned anything about what you did from their parents. They kept it hidden from them like some dark mystery. Some of their mothers lied, like Emma and Abby’s mothers. They told them they were born from secret romances, but Mother told me the truth.” Brigid spoke as if she were reciting something from a story, something she had repeated to herself many times.
“Go ahead,” he told her. “Say it.”
“You hurt her, beat her until she let you have what you wanted. Didn’t you?”
The words were more painful than he had expected. It was ironic that she had told Brigid that, since Brenda was the one woman he hadn’t raped. He supposed the lie was an easy one for her, almost necessary, to keep her daughter’s respect. Brenda was dead now, though.
What would she do if I told her the truth? he wondered. He doubted she would believe him. She couldn’t; the thought would undermine everything else she believed, and if she did, she might no longer have what it would take to kill Haley. Better to let her have the lie, he thought. No one should hate their own mother.
He nodded, accepting her words.
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
The memory of those days flooded his mind, Brenda’s coercion, his weakness, and eventually her extortion. He could still see the look on Kate’s face when he had been forced to tell her he didn’t really love her. The guilt, the sickness of it, and later the anger, they
all were bound together and unbidden tears sprang from his eyes. “Because I could,” he said simply.
“It doesn’t make sense, though,” she said, confused by his sudden sadness. “If you’re really that selfish, that evil, why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” he asked.
“I thought you wanted to kill me, but you didn’t, instead you kept me alive…”
“Only so you can kill Haley for me,” he corrected.
“To protect the others,” she added. “None of it makes sense. Why would you agree to let me kill you?”
He finished the last rune, ignoring the sudden intake of breath as he pierced the skin more deeply than was strictly necessary. “Perhaps I’m remorseful now. I’m older, and the guilt of my crimes weighs heavily on me. Or perhaps I’m too selfish. My life has become nothing but suffering, but I’m too proud to let the products of my labors be ruined one by one. You, and your brothers and sisters, are my legacy to the world.”
Brigid watched his face, as though trying to see behind the mask. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Does it matter?” he added. “You’re getting what you wanted.”
“So are you,” she replied, “that’s what bothers me.” Her aythar flickered with suppressed emotion, a not quite slumbering fury.
If Tyrion could have seen himself, he would have realized that her aythar almost perfectly reflected his own. In his inner core he still saw visions of burning trees, forests ablaze with the flames of vengeance. What he really wanted, as much, or possibly more than protecting his children, was revenge on the She’Har for what they had done to him, what they had done to all mankind. He would be giving that up in exchange for Haley’s death, for a short term reprieve, to save some of his children.
“I’m not getting everything I want,” he told her. “Content yourself with that.”
***
Two days had passed, and it was time once more to leave for the arena. Kate, Layla, and those of his children who were required to go, waited in the front yard, except for Brigid, who had yet to emerge.
Tyrion turned to Byovar, “I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it,” said the lore-warden.
“Will you restore Layla’s collar? I can’t take her to the arena like this.”
Byovar frowned, “What happened to it?”
“I took it off,” said Tyrion flatly.
Surprise showed in the Illeniel She’Har’s face, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “If I put the collar on her she will belong to me.”
Tyrion answered frankly, “I’ll just remove it when Lyralliantha returns and have her put a new one on then.”
Byovar sighed, but said nothing more as he began the task. Brigid chose that moment to walk out and join the others.
She had recovered most of her strength, but not all. He would have preferred for her to have another week to be certain, but as with most things in life, there was no mercy or leniency to be had with the She’Har.
When Tyrion stepped back out, it was with Brigid close beside him, uncommonly close. Kate watched the two of them with interest. She knew that of all the youths gathered there, Brigid was the one who hated him the most. Ian was a close second and more verbal about it, but her dark haired sister harbored a quiet hatred that eclipsed even his. Of the other teens, she doubted any of them truly hated him anymore.
So why is she standing so close to him? wondered Kate. Brigid looked almost happy to be next to her father. They must have talked a lot over the past few days, but I can’t imagine she would change her opinion so completely.
That didn’t make sense either. Daniel was terrible with words. After two days alone together almost anyone would want to kill him. She still hadn’t quite forgiven him for her own last conversation with him.
“It’s time,” said Tyrion, leading the way.
Brigid remained close, even going so far as to put her hand on his arm, resting it close to the elbow. She walked beside him as though he were escorting her to a dance. Tyrion, for his part, looked uncomfortable with the familiarity, but he held his tongue, keeping his features a study in practiced indifference.
Kate caught up to them, giving her younger sister a strange look, “What are you doing?”
Brigid glanced at her casually, “Father is giving me a present today. I’m just showing my gratitude.” Something akin to madness hid behind her smile.
Tyrion merely nodded, and they both continued to walk.
Kate let them draw ahead, falling back to walk next to Layla. Father? She’s never called him that before. What’s going on here? She looked at the female warden, “Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
Layla nodded, “In Ellentrea no one has family, but it turns my stomach to see them touching like that. She’s his daughter. Isn’t that wrong among your people?”
Kate frowned, “Isn’t what wrong?”
“For fathers and daughters, or mothers and sons, to trade favors,” elaborated the warden.
Kate shook her head. Just when she thought she couldn’t be surprised anymore, Layla said something so obviously ridiculous that it amazed her. She knew the meaning the wardens had for the word ‘favors’. “That’s not it, Layla. There’s something strange here, but it isn’t that. Our people often hold hands, especially parents and children, as a sign of caring, not of sexual intimacy.”
Layla’s brows went up, “Oh. It still seems unnatural, though. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your customs. People shouldn’t touch, unless they’re about to trade favors.”
“What is strange is that she would walk arm in arm with him,” said Kate. “I don’t really understand why, but she hates him more than any of the others.”
“He is a very strange man,” agreed Layla, not really understanding at all. “After we had sex, he tried to lay with his arms around me.” The tall woman shuddered slightly at the memory.
Kate didn’t say anything in response to that. The thought of the two of them together that day still irritated her, but she didn’t expect Layla to understand. The statement also made her feel a little sad for him. She already knew for herself how standoffish the female warden could be once her physical needs were met. Daniel had been among these people for over fifteen years now.
How long has it been since someone held him?
Chapter 28
Thillmarius almost looked pleased to see him when they arrived at the arena. The Prathion lore-warden walked toward them rather than wait, and he had a faint smile on his face.
“Tyrion, Byovar,” said the Prathion, nodding in their direction.
He even said my name first, noted Tyrion. The world had grown strange and unfamiliar. In the past, he could have never expected such a thing from one of the She’Har, much less from his old tormentor.
“You seem cheerful,” observed Tyrion.
“Things have gone well for me lately, and perhaps for you also,” said Thillmarius.
Byovar frowned, “You go too far. Nothing has been decided yet.”
Tyrion looked at the Illeniel She’Har, “What hasn’t been decided?”
“We are forbidden to speak of it,” responded the Byovar impassively.
“Am I not a child of the grove now?” reminded Tyrion, deciding to push his luck.
Thillmarius put a friendly hand on his shoulder, an almost alien gesture for the She’Har. “Let it go for now, Tyrion. You will be informed once the elders are done, and personally I believe you will be pleased.”
“I would rather know now…”
“Enough,” ordered Byovar, brusquely. Normally the Illeniel lore-warden was the more gregarious of the two She’Har. Things were definitely afoot.
Tyrion closed his mouth, frustrated, but Thillmarius stepped in to fill the awkward stop in the conversation.
“Lyralliantha emerged from her meeting with the elders yesterday. I spoke with her,” informed Thillmarius.
“She did?” said Tyrion. “I have not seen her yet.”
“She
gave me a message for you, before being summoned back,” said the dark skinned lore-warden.
“Summoned back?”
“The elders still debate. She was sent to give notice to the lore-wardens before returning to them,” explained Thillmarius.
“And her message?”
“She told me to tell you to do nothing rash until she is done,” said the Prathion.
Tyrion’s heart skipped a beat, disturbing the calm he had worked hard to cultivate that day. Does she know somehow? He had told no one of his bargain with Brigid. There was no way for Lyralliantha to have any inkling of his terminal plans for the day. Unless there was a spy in Albamarl.
He quickly dismissed that notion. None of his children would know enough to give him away, even if they wanted to. It was technically possible that a Prathion might have sneaked into his home, though. What if one of them had been in his room?
They would have had to wait days, risking discovery the entire time, just to overhear that one conversation. It simply wasn’t possible, but he still stared at Thillmarius with suspicion. “Why would she say that, I wonder?”
The Prathion lore-warden almost laughed, “You have led an exciting life, Tyrion. Perhaps she knows you too well.”
Koralltis’ voice rose above the noise of the many She’Har talking in the treetop balconies that ringed the arena. The murmur of the crowd gradually disappeared, and Tyrion noticed that the number of Illeniel She’Har attending the event was even higher than usual.
When he had first begun fighting in the arena, the Illeniels never came. They hadn’t been represented since they had no slaves of their own, and their elders were philosophically opposed to the practice, but he had changed that. Over time, his unmatched record of victories slowly drew more of them to witness his battles. Now the Illeniel Grove had a much larger group of new humans entering the matches, and their interest had returned anew.