Of the Abyss (14 page)

 

CHAPTER 17

H
ansa found the chattering of birds, mixed only with the sound of the horses' hooves, a remarkably peaceful experience, especially when compared to the events of recent days. It also felt good to see Pearl safely home.

It wasn't until they were nearly back at his apartment that it occurred to him to ask Umber,
Why did you need me for this?
Though the silent communication was not his favorite form of speech, he didn't want to risk words that could be overheard by passersby. As the sun rose, so did the ­people of Kavet.
You certainly didn't have any trouble handling that Abyssi.

The denizens of the Abyss are simple-­minded and easily dealt with,
Umber demurred.
Even Numini are not much of a threat, since they have no interest in one of my kind. Mancers, on the other hand, are dangerous. You were safe in the temple, because it was made by mancers for ­people with power; they can't be held or hurt within that sphere of magic. My kind on the other hand . . . if I run afoul of an Abyssumancer, especially somewhere like the temple where my powers to defend myself are limited, I'm little more than meat.

And Pearl?
Hansa asked.
Why would the mancers want her? I didn't . . . see . . . any power on her.

It felt strange to say that, but that was the best he could put it. With the borrowed magic from Umber, Hansa could once again see the glow to the half-­Abyssi's eyes, and the veil of power wrapped around him. The Abyssi by the temple had seeped energy, which crackled like heat lightning. Pearl was just a girl. She had barely been visible amidst the magic of the temple.

You wouldn't,
Umber answered as they reached Hansa's front door. Aloud, he added, “Ready?”

“Never,” Hansa replied, letting them both in. He would have preferred a brief “goodbye” and maybe a firm handshake—­though he could do without even that—­but Umber had made it clear the power Hansa had borrowed would be visible to sighted guards and wouldn't naturally fade fast enough for him to just ignore it.

The process by which Umber had infused Hansa with enough power for him to impersonate a mancer had been terrifying and disgusting, but short and simple. Umber had greeted Hansa at Hansa's home. He had confirmed that there was no one else in the house, and then had grabbed Hansa's hand, and slit his forearm open from his wrist to his elbow.

While Hansa had been shouting obscenities, convinced the crossbreed had gone mad and was trying to kill him, Umber had matter-­of-­factly drawn his knife across his own palm, and then grabbed Hansa's hand again in order to let his own Abyssal blood drip into Hansa's.

Hansa couldn't remember passing out—­did one ever?—­but when he woke, he had been shocked again to find himself alive, not covered with blood, and unmarked where Umber had cut him. Once he had finished cursing at Umber, the half-­Abyssi had said only, “There's a horse waiting for you at the stables at the edge of the city.”

Hansa hoped returning the power would be less . . .

Titillating?
Umber suggested.

“Have I mentioned how much I despise the fact that you can read my mind?” Hansa groused.

“You would hardly need to
mention
it, now would you?” Umber said. “Your fiancée would be pleased to realize how constantly you think of her. You don't even notice it most of the time; you're thinking about something completely different, and then suddenly it's—­”

—­Ruby
. . .

“It's kind of nauseating. Oh,” he added, as if in afterthought, “and, returning the power? Not nearly so easy, unless I'm willing to kill you, since just ripping the power out of you would certainly make you combust.”

“You couldn't have mentioned this sooner?” Hansa sighed as he unlocked his front door.

“I could have,” he said, “but then you would have wanted details, and once I gave them to you, you would have chickened out. Take off your shirt, will you?”

“Excuse me?”

“No use getting blood on it needlessly.” Umber's words made Hansa freeze just inside the front door. Umber, ignoring his hesitation, slipped past Hansa and added, “Oh, and lock the door. We don't want unexpected company.”

Though he followed the suggestion about the door, Hansa was still fully dressed when he followed the half-­breed into the kitchen to find Umber prodding at the coals at the bottom of the hearth.

Much as Hansa didn't like the idea of listening to an Abyssi, he trusted it no less than he trusted Umber. “The Abyssi said something about other options, which didn't involve, well, bleeding. To do this.”

“Nice to hear you two had a fun little chat,” Umber said dryly. “Yes, there are options, if that's your preference.”

“My preference is not to have to see the sharp end of that knife you wear ever again, if that's all right with you,” Hansa sighed, relieved. “What is it with you ­people and
blood
?”

“Coin of the Abyss,” Umber said vaguely. “Blood, pain, fire—­”

As he imagined all the other ways this could go, Hansa added hastily, “My preference for ‘no blood' does not extend into a preference for pain and fire instead.”

“We'll work something out.” Umber chuckled. “Fire's no good for this kind of work anyway. Fire's for destruction. Yes, I could burn away your flesh and the power would come back to me, but given our current bond, that wouldn't end well for me either. I'm building up the fire because it's cold in here,” he continued. “Nothing likes the cold but the Numini and the righ­teous dead. Since we are neither divine nor deceased . . .” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the coals caught, as did the new log he had added. They burned merrily, as if perfectly kindled.

Only then did Umber address the actual concern. “No blood, no fire, no pain. Do you actually expect a solution here that suits you?”

Hansa collapsed into one of the chairs in front of the fire as his hopes fell—­though not too far. The demon's word had never been enough to lift them high.

“So, the Abyssi was lying. Probably just trying to make trouble,” he said.

“Oh, no,” Umber answered, as he moved from the fire to lounge against the counter. “Abyssi and Numini have a few things in common, one of those being that they can't lie. Not outright at least. Occasionally they will present their own misconceptions as the truth, but they cannot deliberately lie.”

“So it was wrong then,” Hansa said. He didn't care much about the semantics, beyond the fact that the Abyssi had not spoken any information that happened to be helpful in this circumstance.

“No,” Umber replied, infuriatingly, “it was right. There
are
ways to transfer power that don't involve blood. They would actually be safer for you. They do, however, take longer, and would require more effort on your part.”

“I'm willing to put forth a little effort to avoid having you slice me open. What would I need to do?”

He realized a moment later that, with a little thought, he probably could have predicted the half-­breed's response. Umber responded by leaning down over Hansa's chair, putting his hands over Hansa's to hold them in place, and kissing him.

Unlike the angry warning Umber had delivered through a kiss in the jail cell, this was soft and fluttering, as if Umber was trying to ask with his body,
Isn't this less frightening than blood and blade?
It spoke to how long and terrifying the last few days had been that, even momentarily, Hansa considered it.

As if he hadn't already betrayed Ruby—­and Jenkins, and all his coworkers, and his family, and anyone else who trusted him to stay honest and on the right side of the law—­enough. He didn't like the idea of letting Umber cut him again, but there was one line Hansa could still refuse to cross.

He turned his head to the side and drew a breath to say something intelligible. Instead of desisting, Umber nibbled his way down Hansa's neck with light nips, each of which made Hansa gasp. When he reached the edge of Hansa's shirt, he lifted his head again.

“As I was saying,” he murmured at Hansa's ear, “the four coins of the Abyss are blood, pain, fire—­and flesh. If you prefer this way, I am happy to oblige.”

Speaking broke the spell. Hansa wrenched his hands out from under Umber's and pushed the other man back. “You've made your point! We'll do it the other way.”

Umber pulled away with a chuckle. “I'm not quite sure
which
point I've made, but I'll leave you to tackle those thoughts on your own.” He turned, and as Hansa tried to shake off the fatalistic madness that had briefly snared him, Umber began to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.

He had to clear his throat twice before he managed to ask, “What are you looking for?”

“Something stronger than cider to drink,” Umber said.

“It worries me when
you
go searching for a drink.”

“Almost anything I say or do worries you,” Umber observed. “If it makes you feel better, it's for you, not me.”

“Not better.” Hansa pushed Umber out of the way, and quickly retrieved a bottle of the same kind of full-­bodied red wine that could be found in almost every home in Mars. Heated with honey and spices, it was what kept most of the population from freezing during those frigid Kavet winter nights.

Umber sniffed. “That's it?”

“I don't drink much.” Hansa shrugged. He resisted an impulse to try to hustle Umber along; his previous attempts to assert any control over the situation had only made matters worse.

Umber considered the bottle of wine, then filled a coffee mug. After a little more thought, he poured a second cup, which he set in front of Hansa.

“Is this necessary?” Hansa asked. The wine was meant for mulling. It was pretty foul on its own.

Even more foul when cold,
was Umber's response, as he opened a window and set the mug out on the sill before carefully closing the window again.
But you'll need it. You don't realize how hot the power you're carrying burns when you're saturated in it, but once it's gone, you'll need something to slow you down and cool you down.

“I'll try to stop asking stupid questions if you'll get on with it,” Hansa offered.

“Excellent,” Umber said. “Now take off your shirt.”

Hansa started to undo buttons, but despite his resolve to stop asking questions, he asked, “Would you at least warn me this time before you slit my throat or any other major arteries?”

“I need to cut your chest, right over your heart,” Umber explained. “It won't be a deep cut.”

Hansa wasn't naïve enough to hope that was the worst part. “And then?”

“Then I drink, to help me form a link back to my own power, so I can control how fast it flows out of you. Too fast, and you'll burn out. It may be a . . . strange . . . sensation, but it shouldn't hurt. If you relax and don't fight me, it will be over in moments.”

Hansa stared at the mug of wine, considering it now.

Shaking his head, he folded his shirt and set it next to the full mug of wine. “Okay then. Let's do this before I lose my nerve. Should I stand up or something?” He focused on the practical details, since that was less disturbing than actually concentrating on what he was doing.

“You should probably sit or lie on the sofa,” Umber suggested, with a nod toward the sitting room.

Hansa sat, reminding himself there was no point to stupid questions because they not only made this take longer, there was nothing he needed to know. He didn't
need
to understand this because he never wanted to think of it again. Umber waited a few seconds, as if to see if Hansa was going to protest again, and then drew his dagger.

“You might prefer to close your eyes,” Umber suggested.

Hansa did so. In his head, he started to recite an old Tamari nursery rhyme his mother used to say to him when he was a child. It was better than focusing on the knife and the half-­demon leaning over him.

The sails are white, the deck is brown, the sky above is—­

Ouch.
There was the slice. Umber leaned across Hansa's lap, one hand on the arm of the couch to stabilize himself as he caressed Hansa's cheek then eased his head to the side.

Where was he? Tamari sailors often raised their children on ships. His grandfather had been raised that way before meeting his grandmother and settling in Kavet. If Hansa could just keep his mind in inanities like family songs and stories, he could get through this.

The sky above is blue. And there's a word we use to name the ocean's hundred hues.
Then the chorus, which always confused him as a young boy because it had words in some old Tamari language. What was it? The ocean's colors had a name, but he couldn't remember it.

When Umber started laughing, Hansa opened his eyes. “What?”

“Ayalee,” Umber provided. Once again, he was far too close for comfort. “Tamari sailors call the ocean Ayalee. I don't know the song, though.”

“Az Ayalee,” Hansa returned, with a near-­hysterical giggle, before squeezing his eyes shut again as Umber leaned down.
Keep you safe az Ayalee.

Sailing ships. Think of ships on the water, not of the demon who was leaning against him, whose warm mouth had just touched the new cut on Hansa's chest.

Where was he?
The summer sun is hot and gold, the storm clouds cool and gray . . . red hat, gray mountains. . .

The words of the poem scrambled in his memory as his head swam. He pushed against Umber, worried he was going to be ill. “What—­”

Don't fight it,
Umber said.
Relax. Remember you don'
t want this power.