Of the Abyss (7 page)

No one who knew Hansa could believe this nonsense about sorcery. He could ask to speak to one of the Sisters of Napthol, and tell them what the spawn had said about healing him only to keep him from becoming dangerous. The Sisters studied the Others; they probably knew about the spawn, and would be able to understand and explain why one of them would have helped him without his delving into black magic.

He had joined the 126 because he believed in the laws and the system that enforced them. He had to trust them now.

 

CHAPTER 9

M
aybe I should move in,
Cadmia thought, as she entered the Quinacridone Compound for the third time in two days.

She remembered the young guard who had come to fetch her to speak to Baryte, which meant she was simultaneously one of the strongest witnesses in his defense, and against him.

Hansa had arrested Baryte, and therefore had been closest when the bone knife that later showed up in the Numenmancer's home had disappeared. He had also been closest when Baryte had died, obviously destroyed by Abyssi even with the brand on his skin that should have blocked the Other's power.

Hansa had for some reason been on point when they made the Numenmancer's arrest, though witnesses who stayed behind said that before they left the compound, Captain Feldgrau had said Hansa should not be spoken to in case the mancer was watching him.

No one could ask Captain Feldgrau, because Hansa Viridian was the only survivor of the group that had gone to arrest Dioxazine.

On the other hand, Hansa had crossed the threshold of the Cobalt Hall, which supposedly no mancer could do. That was a strong point in his favor, but not a definitive one; no one understood how the Cobalt Hall protected itself, so it wasn't impossible that a mancer could find a way to bypass the magical defense, just as many of them learned to hide from guards with the sight. It was also possible that Hansa was a sympathizer, working with the mancers somehow but not one himself.

Finally, he might have been framed. Cadmia had spoken to several of his surviving peers; they loved him, and were horrified by his supposed betrayal, and terrified by the idea that a man in line for captainship in the 126 could have been a sorcerer all this time. What better way to unbalance that illustrious group, than turning them against each other?

“The black Abyssi,” as Baryte had called it, had injured him enough that he was caught, had instructed him to throw away the knife, and had probably killed him.

If one of the Abyssi had gained the ability to plot directly against the 126, Kavet had far more frightening problems than one turncoat soldier.

She heard the shouting as she approached the cells—­a woman's voice, raised high. “You bastard!” she shrieked. “How long have you known? How long have you and Xaz been playing with me? With Jenkins?”

“Ruby!”

Cadmia hurried her steps toward the sound of a scuffle, and found two guards watching a petite woman rail at the occupant of the visitation cell in front of her. One of the guards had a bloody lip, but had obviously decided he would rather stand back than manhandle the distressed woman.

“I saw it with my own eyes!”
she shouted. “I saw wounds down your back that should have killed you. I was still covered in your blood when the healer arrived, but you
weren't
any more. I forgot at first what I had seen, but I couldn't understand where the blood came from so I asked one of the guards with the sight to tell me and—­
it killed eleven ­people
, Hansa! It killed
Jenkins
! How could you—­”

“Ma'am!” Another guard had rushed into the room, and shot a cold look at the two who seemed reluctant to touch her as he stepped forward, cutting between her and the bars.

Hansa's voice came from within. “Ruby, I swear to you, I—­”

“I don't want to hear it,” she whispered. “Take me out of here,” she pleaded, of the last guard who had come in.

She leaned on him, and seemed oblivious to Cadmia's presence as they exited together.

“I'm sorry,” one of the guards said, to Hansa. “When she asked to come in, she didn't seem . . . I didn't think she—­”

“Soldiers are not permitted to speak with prisoners suspected of sorcery,” Hansa interrupted, his voice cold and bitter. “Such prisoners are also not allowed personal visitors. Maybe for all our sakes you should consider enforcing those rules.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. As he saw Cadmia, he added, “Do you still want counsel from the Napthol?”

“Is she here?” He came forward to the bars, and then backed away and sat at the table at the far end of the room without being told. “Please, send her in.”

Still an officer, even in here,
Cadmia thought. Even with such a pile of evidence against him, the other soldiers were unwilling to completely turn against him. If he
was
a mancer, they were all in trouble.

“The prisoner has a right to privacy,” she told the two guards after they locked her into the cell with Hansa. They obligingly moved down the hall, far enough that they would hear her only if she shouted.

She sat across from Hansa, who looked as pale and drawn as any man she had ever faced in such a position. Was he responsible for the deaths of nearly a dozen men, or was he an innocent victim? How many times had Cadmia sat at a table like this one and wondered that?

“You asked for me?” she asked.

He nodded. “I'm innocent,” he said. “I might be a coward for running away, but I'm not a mancer.”

“What happened?”

“I took point because we knew she would come to the door for me,” Hansa explained, his voice calm and even, as if he had given these words much thought and knew perfectly well that this was the one chance he had to defend himself. “I think they must have been wrong about what kind of mancer she was. Jenkins had mixed the poison for a Numenmancer, but it didn't work. She stabbed Bole with that damn bone knife, and summoned what had to be an Abyssi.”

“What did it look like?” Cadmia asked. Hansa Viridian did not have the sight, and the Other powers were invisible to anyone without it.

He paled, his skin going ashen gray at the memory. “I couldn't see it until it took a swipe at me, and then . . .” He trailed off, his gaze distant, lost in traumatic memory. “There was so much blood, and I didn't know what to do but run away. I tried to help one of the others, but I think the creature got him, too. Then it hit me.”

“And you survived.”

“The mancer must have called it back.”

He must not have known that the evidence at Dioxazine's house made it very clear that she worked with the Numen powers. An altar hidden in the closet had been covered with white silk embroidered with gold and silver thread. Small silver vessels holding honey and what was probably rainwater had also been found. Those were not the tools of an Abyssumancer.

“You say the Abyssi hurt you before it disappeared?” she asked, returning to that point.

“Yes,” Hansa said, tightly. “I know that's why I look so guilty.”
That's the least of it,
Cadmia thought, but she let him continue. “I thought I was dying. There was someone there, and I think maybe whatever let me see the Abyssi let me realize he was different, too. He was looking at the bodies, and then he came up to me and told Ruby to leave. She just walked away. The man said that, if I survived, the taint from the Abyssi might make me dangerous, so he healed me. I guess he expected exactly what happened, that I would be arrested, and so assumed I would never be able to track him down later.” He drew a deep breath, and added, “Rose, the woman who was in the cell with me when I woke up, says he was probably one of the . . . the spawn?” He said the last word as if he was not entirely certain of its meaning, but repeating something he had heard. “She says they are powerful enough to do that.”

The spawn had been vaguely referenced in Cadmia's study, but never in detail. Most members of the Order of the Napthol believed they were a myth, something of a cautionary tale for mancers.

“Can you describe this man?”

“He had blue eyes,” Hansa answered. “That's all I really remember. They seemed to glow. Have you ever heard of the spawn? Do you believe me?”

“Hansa . . .” She sighed. “Guards have searched Dioxazine's home, and the tools they found make it clear she is a Numenmancer. How could she get an Abyssumancer's blade, or for that matter, summon an Abyssi?”

“You are more qualified to answer that than I am.” Hansa's expression closed off, becoming more withdrawn. “Surely there is
some
possible explanation?” She shook her head. “Sister,
please.
I'm not a sorcerer!”

He seemed so sincere, so desperate, but there was no rational explanation for events that did not involve his having power. He said the spawn healed him to keep him from becoming dangerous, but if that were the case, why hadn't it let Hansa die, or helped him along, to eliminate the threat in the simplest way?

“I will meditate on your words,” she said, rising to go.

“Sister . . .” He trailed off, looking defeated. “This is impossible.”

All she could offer was one last assurance. “They will brand you before they execute you. If you are innocent as you say, you can at least have the comfort of knowing your name will be cleared at that time.”

“Small comfort,” he replied. “Have you seen what the brand does to a man without power? I have.”

She had never seen it, but she had heard of the case a few years before where a sorcerer woke and managed to turn the brand around on the guard who held it. One of the other guards who had been there had come to the Cobalt Hall afterward for counseling. His description of the event had been graphic.

“I'm sorry.”

She was, really. Hansa seemed like a good man. Then again, so many of them did, once it was too late for it to make any difference.

After she made her report to the remaining captains and left the Quinacridone Compound, though, she stared at the Cobalt Hall and couldn't stomach returning to it. She went in only long enough to exchange her official violet robes for simpler dress, and walked down to the docks.

Unsurprisingly, she found Cinnabar first, leaning back against the outside wall of the King's Ransom. He had his arms crossed and was shaking his head to a sailor who was obviously trying to buy his time.

Normally, Cadmia would have walked by without bothering him, but Cinnabar noticed her and waved, extracting himself from his would-­be-­client with a smile.

Cadmia kept her face as politely blank as she could as Cinnabar hurried toward her, but he must have read something in her expression, because he took a look at her and laughed. “What have they done to you up there, Caddy?” he asked dramatically. “Such a scowl over a perfectly legitimate business transaction.”

“Odd,” she remarked, “it looked like an utterly illegal business transaction to me.”

“Not if we go back to his ship,” Cinnabar answered. “Tamari ships adhere to Tamari laws.”

“You wouldn't—­”

“I didn't, obviously,” he pointed out, his tone softening in response to her alarm. “I'm not stupid enough to put myself on a Tamari ship. They turn slaver as often as the sun sets, and they know Kavet officials would never object to one less child of A'hknet. Speaking of, Rose is in jail again.”

“I know,” Cadmia sighed. Rose had traveled the opposite path as Cadmia had, becoming a full Sister of the Napthol before giving up that life and turning to A'hknet. She had refused to cease her studies, but she was well enough respected from her time in the Cobalt Hall that the Quin tended to arrest her, keep her a few days, fine her, and then release her. Hansa had mentioned her, but Cadmia's focus had been on Hansa himself. “I'll check on her the next time I am up there.”
And talk to her about giving ideas for excuses to suspected mancers.

“In the meantime, what brings you down here disguised as a lowly monger?” Cinnabar asked, with a gesture toward her casual clothes.

Maybe the same thing that drives Rose to the Quin jails time and again,
Cadmia thought. “I decided you were right—­it's been too long since I visited.”

Followers of the Quinacridone and the Napthol were not supposed to question much. They certainly were not supposed to hear enough evidence to convince anyone of guilt, and then look at a condemned prisoner and be gut-­certain that he was innocent.

She couldn't start doubting her mind and logic and everything she knew now.

 

CHAPTER 10

A
fter the guards took him back to his own cell from the meeting room where he had spoken to Cadmia, Hansa found himself for a long time unable to form words or do anything but stare at the cell door. The soldiers outside had moved a greater distance away, and had not tried to talk to him since his return.

Rose spoke his name at least twice before he turned toward her.

“She doesn't believe me.” That much had been clear before Cadmia left. “They say the mancer we went to arrest was a Numenmancer. She couldn't have summoned an Abyssi, so they think I must have done it.” Rose did not say,
I told you so,
but the words were visible on her face. “You know about these things!” he pleaded. “There must be some kind of explanation. I'm not a sorcerer.”

“Then you'll die an innocent man,” Rose said. “At least you'll have the comfort of knowing that the Numen takes those who died righ­teously.”

He shook his head, remembering the look Ruby had given him before she left. She also thought he was guilty. How would she feel when they told her he had died screaming, innocent, under the brand?

He tried to squash the instant of satisfaction he felt as he pictured those who had condemned him when they realized they had been wrong, so wrong.

“I don't think I'm a righ­teous man,” he admitted. His parents, his friends, and Ruby would all be devastated when they realized what had happened. How could he even for a moment have felt . . .

“There may still be time to ask the spawn for help,” Rose said, softly, with a glance toward the guards who were standing well away down the hall. They didn't want to be near him.

“Why would he be mad enough to come here so I could ask him anything?” Hansa asked. Was he really contemplating dealing with a demon, practicing black magic, in order to convince everyone he was innocent of dealing with demons and practicing black magic?

Could two wrongs make a right?

“You can summon him,” she explained. “His power will force him to come to your call, as quickly as he can.”

“How?”

His only other choice was to sit here and rot until his friends conquered their squeamishness and took him to the branding chamber. Until his friends, unaware until it was too late, murdered him.

“When Umber helped you, did you get any sense of feathers, or fur? A tail, scales, horns, wings, anything?”

Hansa closed his eyes, trying to remember. “All I can recall is how blue his eyes were. They seemed to glow.”

“Half-­Abyssi, then,” Rose said, nodding sagely. “That's good.”

“Good
?”
Hansa whispered. “Aren't the Abyssi the nasty vicious ones that tear ­people to pieces? Isn't an Abyssi what—­”

“Yes, yes, what nearly killed you. But this is a crossbreed, and bonded to you now from the first boon. He can't hurt you.”

He had no choice. He had decided to go for this mad plan, so he had to trust her now. “Okay, half-­Abyssi. What does that mean?”

“It means, you shed blood, and you say his name, and he will appear.”

Blood. Why did it have to be blood? He wiped at his face, unable to forget the sensation of Jenkins's blood raining down on him.

They would never have left a suspected Abyssumancer with any kind of cutting tool, but Hansa had gone in and out of this cell often enough to know there was a sharp burr on one of the metal bars. He had nicked himself on it accidentally more than once. Trying not to think too much, he slid his hand down the bar now, quickly, feeling the bite of the metal as it sliced across the meat of his thumb, deeply enough that the cut bled freely.

“Umber . . .” As the crimson drops fell to the ground, Hansa wondered what the guards outside would do, if one glanced in now and saw him. No, he didn't need to wonder; they would kill him on sight. “Umber, come to me now.”

As soon as he uttered the words, Hansa had a sensation of force, pressure, pushing against him from all sides, as if he were deep under the ocean where only strange, eyeless fish dwelled. He struggled to draw breath, and felt Rose trying to help him back to his feet. He managed to make it back to his cot to sit, but the sensation did not abate.

“He feels it, too,” Rose said. “He will come.”

Hansa shut his eyes and focused on breathing, not thinking, not feeling, just breathing. Not passing out. Not wondering if the first person to come would be the half-­demon, or the executioner.

He heard a conversation down the hall, but was unable to focus on it enough to know who it was. The impossible thickness in the air did not clear until the moment someone dragged him to his feet.

“I'm quite certain I told you
never
to call to me again,” the spawn snarled. The cell door was open, and there was no sign of the guards down the hall, who otherwise would have come running in response to the ringing impact of Hansa's shoulders hitting the metal bars as Umber shoved him into them. “And yet suddenly I hear my name, and I feel the pull of blood. Do you have a death wish, Quin?”

“No,” Hansa squeaked out. Healed of the Abyssi's wounds, he could no longer see the demon inside this man, but he knew it was there—­and even if Umber had been just a man, the fury in those eyes would have frightened him.

“He called you to demand a second boon,” Rose said.

Umber hissed at her, a feral expression that no pure human could accurately mimic, and then looked back at Hansa. His face only inches away, he asked, “So the witch has been giving you ideas. Has she warned you of the consequences?”

“There are no consequences to a second boon,” Rose insisted.

“Every time power is used, there is a price,” Umber returned.

“For you,” Rose said. “The first two boons only bind
you.
” To Hansa, she added, “The second boon will force him to protect you, since harm to you will be harm to him.”

“And vice versa, of course,” Umber added. “It goes both ways.”

“Not much can hurt one of the spawn,” Rose pointed out.

As they argued, Hansa tried to pull away, only to have Umber shove him back against the wall and then take another step forward, so his body was flush against Hansa's, pinning him against the bars. The spawn's lips hovered just above Hansa's as he whispered his warnings.

“I granted the first boon because you had been so infected by the Abyss that your survival would have made you a mancer, and the last thing Kavet needs is for one of those bastards to have an elite position in the One-­Twenty-­Six. The first boon leaves a connection, but it dissolves quickly. The second boon binds two souls tighter, and longer.” Umber continued, his breath warm, and his voice a gentle whisper. “And in case you find this to be a convenient way to correct your problems, you should know that the third boon creates a permanent bond, one that can take many shapes.” He ran a hand up Hansa's chest, slowly sliding skin against skin. “The submissive party—­and that would be
you,
pretty man, since you have no power of your own with which to make it otherwise—­may find himself losing all he is, his every thought, every breath, devoted only to his master. It's called a soul-­bond. Sometimes the bond takes a less intense form, a gentle ache when the master is away, one that can be ignored and lived with, but often it is an all-­consuming passion.

“Know this, boy: I do not want you as my slave. But if you force me, I assure you, I
will
enjoy you.”

At that, he kissed him.

A punch to the jaw might have been expected. He would have known how to respond to
that
. Strong fingers twining in his disheveled hair, holding his head in place, were not. Umber's body was almost fever-­hot, hard against his, and his mouth was unapologetic, demanding, challenging.

Hansa hesitated, off-­balance, unable at first to process the bewildering move so he could respond appropriately. For a wild moment, he could only think,
If Ruby kissed this way—­
He managed to jerk his head to the side only when Umber bit him, drawing blood from his lip, and then licking it away.

“Guh!” He shoved at Umber with all his strength. The move only pushed the spawn back a ­couple feet, but at least it was
something.
“Don't you
ever
do that again!” he shouted. “Ever!”

“He's trying to scare you,” Rose said.

“It's working,” Hansa grumbled. He scrubbed at his tingling lips with the back of his hand.

You're the one who called me here, pretty little soldier,
Umber replied, his voice an invasive ripple in Hansa's mind. He stepped forward again, placing one hand on the bars to each side of Hansa's head.
Tell me to go, and I will leave you alone. Insist on this boon, on the other hand, and you will not be rid of me for years, until the bond fades. Harm to you will mean harm to me, and since your status in the guard makes you less than popular with Abyssi and mancers, you can be assured that I will be nearby. All the time.

“You aren't asking for a third boon, Hansa,” Rose said. “Just a second. And as far as I can tell, you don't have much of a choice, so whatever he is telling you . . . it can't mean much.”

She was right, but having decided that this was the only way to save his own life did not mean he was willing to inflict this creature on his friends and family. He asked Rose, “If I do this, how do I keep him away from me after?”

Rose answered carefully. “When you speak your demands for the second boon, you can and should be very specific.”

Hansa drew a deep breath.

“Okay.”

His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to get his pounding heart out of it, and started again.

“Okay. This is what I want:

“First, I want to be cleared of all charges. Make a new, reliable witness, do whatever you have to do—­don't hurt anyone,” he added quickly, “but I want to walk out of here with a personal apology from Winsor Indathrone and an agreement that I can return to my job if I want, but that when I choose to leave it I will receive a continuing salary, for life, in order to make up for the false charges.”

“That's easy enough,” Umber sighed. “What else?”

Easy.
Any release from this cell would have been sufficient; Hansa had aimed high because he had expected to be told it was impossible, and he wanted to know the limits of the creature's power. Now he realized he had no idea what an Abyss-­spawn might be capable of. He asked, “Can you bring Jenkins back? My friend, who was killed by the Abyssi. Can you—­”

Umber started shaking his head before Hansa finished. “I know how Abyssi kill. There probably wasn't enough left of that body for even a necromancer to revive, and that's before the Quin burned the remains.”

He had to swallow twice to rid his throat of the lump that had suddenly developed there. So far, Jenkins's death seemed like an abstract thing, but he could feel the reality of that loss waiting for the moment when he was past his panic of this moment and stopped to breathe the first sigh of relief.

“Then . . . what I said before. I go free. And I want you to stay away after that. You aren't to go near Ruby, or anyone in my family. You don't talk to them, you don't make eye contact, you don't even stay in the same
room
with them.”

This time, Umber did not just accede to the terms. “Two exceptions. You have enemies, and I have enemies that could use you to get to me. Therefore, I go where I must, to protect you, should I need to, regardless who else is there. And, should one of your kin approach me, walk into the market where I am shopping or into the hall where I am dancing, I'll avoid speaking to them but I won't get up and run away just because you wish it.”

Hansa turned those words over in his mind, but they seemed reasonable. “All right.” He glanced to Rose.

“Your freedom,” she said.

“What?”

“A clause anyone who deals with the Others needs to know,” she said simply. “You want to add the condition that he must do nothing to impinge upon your freedom, beyond what is absolutely necessary in order to ensure your reasonable safety. Otherwise, he could lock you in a room somewhere without violating the agreement or endangering himself.”

Again, the thought,
What am I getting myself into?
flashed across Hansa's thoughts.

It isn't too late to change your mind,
Umber suggested.

Yes, it was.

“Finally, you are to do nothing . . .” He tried to re-­create Rose's exact wording. “Nothing that impinges upon my freedom, beyond what is absolutely necessary to ensure my reasonable safety.” He glanced to Rose again, but this time she just nodded.

“You're sure of this?” Umber asked, though by now he no longer sounded as if he expected the answer to be anything but “Yes.”

“I am.”

“The boon must be sealed in blood.”

Blood . . . of course it was blood. If this was a taste of what a mancer lived with, Hansa could understand why the Quin wanted so strongly to wipe them from the city.

“Okay,” he said, nervously. “How—­”

Umber lashed out with a small dagger, which Hansa hadn't even noticed sheathed at the creature's waist. Hansa recoiled, unsure at first if he had been cut. Then he noticed the beads of crimson, along a cut low on his stomach. It wasn't deep, but the blood welled immediately.

Umber hooked one hand over Hansa's belt, and then knelt, holding Hansa in place as he licked the blood away with leisurely laps of his tongue. Hansa looked desperately to Rose for guidance, but saw that she had blushed and averted her gaze.

Umber rose, and pulled Hansa close again, to whisper in his ear. “A taste for me—­and a taste for you. Call to me again, demand of me anything else, and it will be more than a taste.”