Chapter Nineteen

From the Vein

Rhydian wove a thin ribbon of flame through his fingers as he sat with his back resting against Tanuzet’s neck, contemplating their new predicament. Eventually, he’d have to explain to the Talhavar Elders how he’d lost yet another wyvern. Not to death or injury, but to a bond forged with an outsider. A vampire, no less.

She was dangerous enough as it was and with a wyvern at her back . . .

“They’ll be back shortly,” Ayduin said, appearing back over the ridge.

“Are they getting along down there?” He asked, directing the flame down his index finger and into the waiting tinder of their campfire.

The dry wood hissed and crackled as the fire burst to life.

“So far as I can tell,” she replied, “at the very least, they haven’t torn one another apart.”

“A small victory, then. How are you feeling?”

She rubbed her temple a moment, “Good. Still a bit light headed, but nothing too detrimental. It’s been a while since I’ve moved that much water at one time. Seems I’m going soft.”

He sat forward, tenting one leg while he rested his elbow upon his knee.

“I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Your Black Ice Technique is coming along nicely. And that has more utility than moving lakes about and plucking wyverns from the sky.”

She moved for her saddle, retrieving one of the packs. “Fair enough.”

“Which isn’t to say what you did wasn’t impressive,” Rhydian assured.

“I haven’t practiced that move since our emergency drills back at the academy,” she hummed, “and that was what, six years ago now?”

“Something like that.”

She hopped down from Vaelor’s shoulder and tossed her wrapped bedroll beside the fire. Settling upon it, she rifled through her pack and tossed him one of the opalescent apples from the Sages’ garden. He caught it in one hand, admiring the pearly skin.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“You’ll need to keep your strength if you plan on feeding little Red until we can find her something more suitable. Sage’s orders.”

He frowned, turning the fruit in his hand. The pure essence inside was palpable, the apple gently vibrating against his palm. By the look of it, the Sage had given her more than a few. He raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“Some are for her,” she explained, then produced a small pouch. “Sorisana asked me to give you these as well. Says to take one every morning until we find another blood source.”

Rhydian grimaced, but opened the small, silken pouch. Inside was a small collection of fingernail-sized red tablets. They were gemlike in appearance and cast a dim glow. He didn’t need to probe them to know what they were. Blood essence.

Having read his expression, she added, “These should help your body replace the blood you lose.”

“I appreciate the concern. I’ll be sure to thank her when we return.”

“Following her instruction would be thanks enough. Sorisana may appear as gentle as they come, but I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. Nor should you.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen how fleshweaving knits people back together. Can’t be difficult to take them apart just as easily.”

Rhydian did his best not to shiver at the thought.

“You may have a point.”

She glanced in the direction of the river. “Might want to get on with it before she comes back and catches you bleeding yourself.”

With an air of resignation, he rose and retrieved a mug from his saddlebags. Tanuzet watched him, her disapproval evident in the emotional nudge she gave him. He patted her side and offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll be fine.”

She offered a low growl to the contrary, but rested her head back along the grass while he set the mug on one of the flatter stones he’d found nearby. He drew one of the prepared needles from the provisions Sorisana had given him, studying it a moment in the glow of the firelight. Then, he pulled up his sleeve and grimaced as he inserted it into his inner arm. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to stab himself, so finding the vein had been relatively easy. Blood began to flow almost immediately and he quickly placed the open end of the attached tube into the mug.

Bothersome as it was, the needle had been a welcomed alternative to his blade. He wasn’t keen on slicing himself open each time he needed to draw blood, even if his body healed minor wounds within a few hours. And this way, there was less waste.

While he waited for the cup to fill, he took a few bites of the essence rich apple. The power within sparkled over his tongue like a sweetened mineral water. He was no stranger to higher quality foods, but he had to admit there was a potency to what was produced by the Kresian Sages. He suspected the apples were as much for Inerys’ benefit as they were his. He found he didn’t mind quite so much as he’d anticipated. The thought of being used as a living blood bag was more than a little disturbing, but if it helped Inerys heal, it would be worth it.

The apples provided more supplemental essence than his body reasonably needed in his current condition, so any excess could be suffused into his blood. Between the fruit and the blood, there would be plenty of essence to keep her physical core busy throughout the day. And with luck, sate her cravings. He’d seen the way the woman eyed Ayduin on occasion. The hunger shadowed behind her eyes was as old as it was deep.

For the time being, it seemed she kept it on a tight leash and for that, he was thankful.

Ayduin suddenly glanced toward the ridge.

“They’re coming,” she whispered.

He deftly slid the needle from his arm and tucked it away after pulling down his sleeve. Not a heartbeat later, Inerys stepped into sight, fluffing her damp hair with a bare hand. The glowing fractals lacing her skin still turned his stomach whenever he saw them and he quickly focused on Ephaxus instead. The wyvern’s horned head flanked her, ever mindful of the forest around them. The loose strings of lakeweed that had draped his back and head had been removed, likely by Inerys, and it appeared as though the vampire hadn’t been the only one to take advantage of the river.

“You’re looking better,” Ayduin said with an approving eye.

“Feeling better,” Inerys said, “I smell less like a drowned rat, thanks to your soap. I can’t place the smell, but it's lovely.”

Ayduin grinned, “It’s sweet orange from the south, with a touch of ginger.”

“Are those some sort of fruit?” she wondered.

“They are. They don’t have them in the human lands?”

She shook her head. “None that I’ve ever seen or heard off.”

“Mmm, we’ll have to change that. I’ll have to take you to my homeland some day. The oranges the Council imports aren’t the same. Wouldn’t want your first experience to be sub par.”

“I . . . look forward to it,” Inerys said, more out of politeness than actual intrigue, Rhydian was sure.

He took a moment to stretch his legs and retrieved her dried cloak and boots, courtesy of Tanuzet. Draping the garment over one arm, he stooped down to grab the mug, made warm by the fire. He hoped she wouldn’t question the temperature and if she did, perhaps assume it was the fire’s doing, rather than realize how fresh it was from the vein.

“You should find these more suitable now,” he said, “here’s something to take the edge off, as well.”

Inerys accepted the mug with a certain amount of intrigue, only half paying attention to her garments. She laid the cloak upon the grass near the fire, though he noted how she’d angled away from the flames when she sat. He could have sworn he heard a small, pleased purr escape her.

“Thank you,” she said, granting him a small, appreciative smile.

Her fangs gleamed, narrow and white. Not two pairs, but four. One set for each jaw. Dead gods, she could tear his throat out with them if she truly wanted to. He swallowed his discomfort and returned her smile with one of his own. The kind spark to her eye made it all too easy to forget what she was and were it not for those fangs, perhaps he would have.

“Of course,” he said. “How is your cycling coming along?”

“Well enough, I think,” she said.

“Do you think you can guide your essence while you eat?”

She tapped the side of the mug with one finger, one black claw clinking against the polished, treated wood.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t tried before, but I don’t see the harm in it.”

He returned to his place at Tanuzet’s side, taking another bite of his apple. “It's best to actively cycle while eating especially essence-rich foods. It helps your physical core distribute it evenly throughout the body and right now, you need all the excess essence you can manage.”

She was staring intently into the mug, but was listening. “Cycle as I drink. It can’t be too difficult.”

“My advice would be not to overthink it. Take sips as you inhale,” Ayduin offered. “Start with five, then rest for a minute or two to let your channels filter it through your core.”

She nodded and with a deep breath, took her first sip. Her lips lingered, her fingers trembling with the effort it took to restrain herself. She managed, though and lowered the mug as she closed her eyes. He sensed her essence shift, but without inspecting her Soul directly, couldn’t accurately follow its path. The basic cycling technique she was using would do for now, but she would certainly benefit from something more sophisticated. One meant for healing and recovery, perhaps, rather than for power. Once her channels were mended, they could move on to one with another utility.

After the fifth, she asked, “How long are we planning on being out here?”

“As long as it takes to find you what you need and enough of it to carry you through your next Ascension,” he replied.

“How are you planning on storing what we gather?” She asked, her brow scrunching a moment as her cycle stalled, then resumed with a bit of coaxing on her part.

“In specially sealed jars we were able to acquire from the Sage,” he said.

Ayduin added, “We’ll store them in Rhydian’s Pocket. Wouldn’t want any of the jars to shatter during transit.”

Inerys blinked in confusion. “In his pocket?”

“Pocket dimension,” Ayduin clarified, but the vampire appeared just as lost.

His partner pursed her lips.

“Pocket dimensions are essentially stabilized voids in reality. The sizes vary, but their utility is practically the same. They’re portable storage spaces that don’t take up any physical room,” Rhydian explained.

“I . . .see,” the young woman trailed. “How do you access them, then?”

“More often than not, by activating a sigil,” he said, “mine is tattooed on the back of my neck. If I direct my mental essence to it and imbue it with my Intent, it opens the space.”

To demonstrate, he activated his primary Pocket. Beside him, a tear opened in the world revealing a borderless archway leading into a largely empty room lit by glowing glass spheres suspended in the air. Inerys’ eyes went wide and she made to stand, only for Ayduin to snap her fingers and point to her place in the grass.

“Five more, Red, then you can ask your questions.”

The woman was about ready to argue, but evidently decided against it and planted herself back down on her cloak with a sigh. She repeated the process from before, her breaths measured, then opened her eyes once more to investigate the portal. Given her reaction to most everything, he imagined the human lands were far more alien than he’d once thought. Bland, even, if they truly lacked so much.

“And you can just . . . step inside?”

“Like you would in any other room,” he said, closing the Pocket.

It vanished without a trace, save for the slight magical distortion left behind. It wasn’t visible, but if one reached out with their Awareness, they’d likely sense the slight fold in reality. It would dissipate with time, of course.

“That’s incredible,” she breathed.

“If you think his is impressive, you should see some of the mansions the Council members or Elders carry around with them,” Ayduin said.

“And you carry them around on your skin?” Inerys asked.

“Not all the time. Really, you can turn anything you like into the key. A necklace, an embroidery in your cloak-”

“A key,” Ayduin added.

He sighed. “Yes. If you want to be original.”

“I’d argue creatively bankrupt, but to each their own,” she hummed, pulling her long, inky braid over her shoulder.

Inerys grinned, initiating her third cycle.

“Regardless, they’re rather versatile. Some of the Talhavar Elders have access to Pockets the size of small cities. They usually use them as training facilities, climate controlled farms or camps. The sky is the limit, really. If you can afford it. We mainly use ours for storage. And you’ll find mine has more available space than Ayduin’s.”

“Oh?”

“She carries more soaps and toiletries than she knows what to do with,” he said. “Blankets too.”

Ayduin cast him a withering glare. “I do not.”

“The last time you opened it, three cases of Haedrillian soap spilled out all over the aviary floor.”

She raised her chin. “Some of us like to smell nice.”

“Three cases doesn’t sound that excessive,” Inerys said.

“Would you like me to tell her how many cases you have in total?” Rhydian teased.

Ayduin grumbled. “No.”

“How many?” Inerys wondered.

“Twelve,” he said, crossing his arms, as well as his legs at the ankles as he leaned back into Tanuzet, “and mind you, each case holds about six dozen of those soaps.”

“Six dozen?”

Ayduin threw her hands up. “I like variety. If I can’t enjoy the right scent for the occasion, then what’s the point? Some of us get tired of smelling like wyvern and leather all day. Not to mention the cold. The north is miserable.”

Rhydian only laughed, earning a small chuckle from the vampire as well.

“Needless to say, she has just about any grooming supply, perfume or other feminine provision you might need. If you ask nicely.”

“See if I’ll ever share with you again,” the woman muttered.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Inerys grinned.