Ravenous (Taint of the Gods #1)

42. RHYDIAN

42

RHYDIAN

N imble fingers moved their way up my aching muscles, the sensation cool as the Organic mended the parts of my body my taint hadn’t yet tended to, the crackling hearth behind me reflected in the metal of the collar around his neck.

A teapot hissed on a stove to the right, a high-pitched whistle calling to the occupant of the tent. The Organic shifted as the tapping of hard-bottomed boots sounded on the stone floor, their heart rate spiking.

The fact my senses were still heightened meant there were no traps in the room. The chaffing of the shackles on my wrists however was enough to know my taint was limited. I could exhibit control over my own body, just not anyone else’s.

The occupant of the tent crossed over to the stove, retrieving the teapot. Hot steam filled the air as he poured the boiling water into the two cups that sat on the bench.

With his head hung low, the Organic rose, my body finally rid of the exhaustion I’d incurred upon it, and he turned towards the occupant. “It is done, sir. Is there anything else you require of me?”

“You may leave Medic.” The occupant’s voice was heady, a politeness in his accent that couldn’t be taught. This wasn’t just a Venerable Navy Captain. This was a trueborn Naven.

As the Organic left, the lieutenant, who until this point had stood guard over me whilst his captain prepared tea, stepped forward as if to speak. But he too was excused from the tent.

“Sir, I really must insist that someone be here with you. It is a Hemopath.”

The captain turned from the stove, the teacups in his hands. “That will be all Lieutenant Rozal.”

I know I must hide my amusement in the captain’s presence, but the expression on the officer’s young face was just too hard to resist. At his obvious dismissal, he snapped his heels together, fisted his chest in salute and turned from the tent.

Aside from the obvious propaganda elements, the overbearing golden griffin statue representing the Republic of Kensilla and a "The Core Sees All" poster, for a garrison tent, the room was oddly homey. A portrait of a Kensillan Vice Admiral donned one of the walls, books in rows and stacked in towers took up residence on the pristinely kept wooden furniture that filled the space. Several photographic displays depicting a raven-haired young woman made the space feel loved. Someone had even folded my jacket and placed it on a table by the tent flap. Not the kind of accommodations I expected to find myself in when I let myself get captured.

It had been intentional obviously. Since I was a military capture, any attempt to collar me would be wrought with paperwork, which needed to follow specific protocols before the nanotech of the collars would be allowed anywhere near me. A long and arduous process that would require someone to then escort me to a Re-education Compound—the nearest being the one we had just raided. Which would mean their only choice would be to take me to the Aredyn Processing Centre, and that would take a few days travel. So, all in all, I had about a week to escape.

I have done it in less.

Dark eyes inspected me from over the porcelain rim of the teacup. A square jaw on a face that looked younger than he was. Even at a distance, I sensed his age was close to forty, the lines of war and wear creased by his eyes. A dark blue jacket hanging on a stand by the bookshelf confirmed his rank was indeed captain. The gold pin over the right breast signalled his Naven status, and the medals on his left spoke to his decorated rank within the Kensillan Navy. This was not a man to be trifled with.

Casually, as if we were friends, he strode over, closing the distance between us and offered me the second cup. When I didn’t take it, he sipped his own and said, “It’s tarima, calms the nerves.”

“Do I seem nervous to you, sir?” The shackles prohibited large movement, so I was forced to take the cup with both hands. It did indeed smell like the Kensillan tealeaf he spoke of. I brought the rim to my lips waiting for his reply.

There was only one place to sit in the room. A large soft leather armchair, high backed and timber framed. An unsettling sign. Company was rare, and unwelcome. The captain took the seat, sipped the tea and replied. “You are enigmatic.”

As relaxed as he sounded, the captain sat quite straight in his chair. A kind of regality to his posture. Something I had only seen on true-born Naven who had displeased the Core and wound up on the rail. They rarely lasted a week.

I sipped my own before responding, my throat burning in that satisfactory way a hot beverage ought to. The man may be Kensillan, but he made a good cup of tea. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t.”

My cup stilled on the way to my lips, and I met his gaze over the rim.

Casually, he rested the cup on his crossed knee. “Unlike my men, I am aware of just how devious members of The Quarry can be. And as Lieutenant Rozal tells it, you appeared out of nowhere, slaughtered one of my men, and then ran off and slaughtered two more. And instead of fighting for your freedom, you turned yourself in. So, there are only two conclusions to be made. You’ve seen the value in serving The Republic and have chosen to fulfil the purpose The Core intended for you, or—” He paused. “You were trying to protect something.”

I willed my face to remain motionless. Emotionless. I took another sip of the tea, finding the taste had become bitter. “And why would you assume that, sir?” The title felt vile on my tongue.

He took another long drink of his tea before he answered. “Because your kind are pack animals.” I might not have the senses of a Brute, but even I could feel the reek of disdain this man had for me and my kind.

His empty cup rang as it made contact with the glass-topped table in front of him.

“Have you considered that I might have sought you out to offer my services?” My comment amused him. A guttural laugh filled the tent, the sound echoing off the fabric as if it were a cave.

“Plausible. Your kind do manage to find us the best Thralls.” The captain leaned forward, a puzzled expression emerging on his handsome, weathered features. “I’m curious. How does a Lycoan come to speak Kensillan?”

I forced my pulse to remain steady, picking at the dirt under my nails. “I lived in the Armistice Zone for some time.”

A single dark brow rose. “You learned our language there?”

“We are an intelligent species, we pack animals.”

The captain’s eyes remained fixed on me as he spoke. “It would certainly seem so.” His soft-spoken tone made me uneasy. Oddly enough, he reminded me of my grandfather.

“I don’t come across a lot of your particular breed.” He emphasised the last word, to make clear I knew what he thought of me no doubt.

“The one time I did, I discovered something quite remarkable.” My gut churned with every word he spoke. “You have the uncanny ability to witness memories.”

I frowned and played the ignorant fool, brushing my hair behind my ear. Some time since I’d arrived, they had removed my pin from my hair. “It’s crazy what lies people will say to improve their chances at survival.”

He relaxed back into his chair, that regal demeanour vanishing, replaced with something more casual. Something that held the ease of one of the train’s strays, contemplating how best to play with their dinner. The weight on the shackles felt heavier quite suddenly.

Ignoring my comment, he added, “And quite miraculously allows others to witness them.”

I relayed nothing. My face didn’t falter, my expression didn’t waver. I gave nothing away and yet—

“Walk over to me.”

My body obeyed him. My body. Not me.

“Stop.”

Again, my body obeyed his order. It came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of the tent, where he stared at me in wild fascination.

The teacup loomed in his hand, a fraudulent gift. The bastard had laced my tea.

We thought they were just rumours. But they’d fucking done it. The Kensillans had synthesised a control variant for Charmer toxin. Two parties ingest it but only one is able to exhibit control.

The captain must have noticed that I’d come to that conclusion because he then confirmed it as he stood and walked over to me. “The Medics have been doing wonders with Toxicant chemicals,” he said retrieving my cup from my fingers, and turning it under his gaze as though he were attempting to read the leaves. “This one in particular was taken from a farm near The Black Sea. Distilled from Charmers who produce the most potent compulsions.”

He carefully walked over to the table and placed my cup down before moving out of my field of vision. I attempted to will my body to move, to flee regardless of my shackles but it was of no use. I was utterly immobile.

The irony of the situation was not lost on me. Puppet master becomes the puppet.

Steel glinted under the Kindling lights of the tent. The captain had returned with my pin, flipping it over in his hand as he approached me. “I witnessed this only the once, so you’ll have to understand if I’m a little too eager.”

I opened my mouth to comment a vulgar phrase, which would have likely gotten me another punch to the stomach. But he cut me off. “Be silent. I don’t need your screams agitating the Thralls outside.”

He closed the space between us, his gaze examining me like prying fingers. “I understand of all Quarry, yours is the only one with self-regenerative properties.” I opened my mouth again to speak.

“No no,” he said without looking me in the eye, his focus on my body instead. “You’re not required to respond. Just stand there and don’t move.”

A wave rushed over me, a tensing of muscles as my body fell in line with his orders. My jaw clamped shut.

“Raise your arms for me.”

My body obeyed, allowing him to then pull the sleeves of my shirt up. Then with the precision of a Hunter, the captain sliced into the flesh of my forearm. My taint’s reaction was instantaneous.

The wound stopped bleeding. My blood clotted and my skin knitted itself back together again.

The captain’s eyes went wide, the corner of his mouth rising. He placed the pin dagger back on my arm, which I could not move, and he sliced through it again.

I’d seen the look he possessed before. On the faces of scientists from Prea researching rare plants and animals, or historical excavations of Pre-God-Fall sites, who had suddenly discovered something that could change their world.

For this man, that discovery was me.

“The breakthrough your body would provide to the Procurement Division would be irreplaceable,” he mumbled to himself eagerly. “To the farms as well. They’ve never had Hemopath stock.”

Standing this close, even under his control, my taint remained my own. It spoke to me of the darkness that hummed in the man’s blood, remnants of a sickness long since healed. He was close enough to touch and yet my body refused my will.

He caught my gaze and glanced down at my chest. The cords of my shirt lay unfastened, but he still slid the pin dagger beneath them and pulled, using the tip to untie them further, nicking my skin with each attempt. One by one the cuts healed.

This was why he had an Organic look over me. He wanted me in peak condition for his experiment.

He sliced into me, repeatedly. Curious to see if the result was the same on every part of my body, each cut deeper than the last. My screams ground against my teeth. By the sixty-fifth cut, my throat was raw, my body quivering.

“Now let’s see if this works.” He sliced the dagger across my chest again, but instead of wiping it on the cloth he’d been using to clean the blade, he dug the tip in.

“What were you protecting on the road?”

The thought was involuntary. Impossible to curb when the topic was brought up. The captain quickly withdrew the dagger tip and placed it on his tongue. His eyes went wide, his pupils dilating as what I knew to be a memory flashed within his vision. The expression vanished and he looked at me with a new sense of clarity.

A maniacal expression took its place. “You stole supplies, from where?”

He dug the dagger into my arm, this time not even bothering to move my shirt. He just stabbed right through it then licked the blade clean.

His breath caught as the memory rushed behind his eyes. “You raided one of our Thrall compounds.” Fury turned his eyes to hollow pits.

The flowery scent of tarima struck me as he exhaled into my face, a surreal contrast to the carefully controlled man before me. Violence screamed in his blood. “Where do you come from? Show me everything!”

No!

He took my hand, held it over the teacup and slit my wrist.

I’d failed them. I’d gotten myself captured and it had all been for nothing. He would learn the truth and they would kill us all.

When his sight had returned to him, my blood giving him everything he needed to destroy the resistance, the captain rushed to the tent door. “You girl, get in here. I need you to take a message for me.” He turned back into the tent, his gaze fixed on the desk in the corner. Soft-soled shoes entered the tent, heavy breathing with it. The captain scrawled something on a piece of parchment as the Thrall appeared to my left. Unable to move, all I saw was the edge of a blue smock. Eagar and fast he quickly returned to the Thrall.

“Take this to the communication tent and have them get word straight away to…” He grunted.

The captain’s pulse suddenly spiked.

Behind me, I heard him stumble, the sound of his boots skidding in the dirt beyond the rug on the tent floor. Another grunt, his pulse quickening followed by a heavy thud as his body hit the ground.

A moment later the Thrall in the blue smock appeared before me. With a head of white hair.

“Rhydian!” Pale blue eyes spread wide as they took in the sight of blood that stained my shirt, their search frantic as they tried to find the source. “Are you harmed, are you injured?” she asked, her hands gentle as they cradled my arms where my white sleeves had turned scarlet.

My body moved to her desire, pliable, willing. And I didn’t care. She was here, alive.

“Rieka what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I don’t like being told what to do,” she said, gazing down at my shackles.

“I’m well aware of that. But why are you here and not on the train?”

“I’m saving your ass. Now tell me why the fuck you were letting him cut you up?”

“It’s a kink.”

Her face contorted in annoyance at my response. “Blood humour. Real charming. Next, you’ll tell me you write poetry in your own blood.”

My expression must have shown my amusement at the comment because it earned me a growl. “Steady. He spiked my tea!”

“You couldn’t think of something better to do with your time than sip tea with the enemy?” Rieka reached into the inside pocket of her smock as she spoke, retrieving what appeared to be a Bright shard.

“Hold still.” She took the shackles in one hand and applied the tip of the shard to the lock. White sparks began to spray from the connection as the shard forged its way through the lock, melting the steel and circuitry.

The shackles fell away. I caught them before they crashed into the floor, choosing to displace them on the armchair instead, not willing to risk being heard. As I returned to Rieka where she stood over the captain, I realised that my body was my own again. Lighter than it had been for hours. I glanced down and found the captain still held my dagger in his hand. I quickly retrieved it and secured it in my own boot sheath before I gave the sadistic son-of-a-bitch any more of my attention.

Blood seeped into a spot by his abdomen, a superficial wound but there was something else there. Tainting his blood. I was no longer under his control, but I could still sense the Charmer’s toxin in my system. But there was something else there too, something that was slowing his heart rate.

“He’s still alive,” I said to her.

“Did you want him dead?”

The thought had crossed my mind. It was very likely he knew everything now, about the train, the resistance, about my deal with Rieka. My only course of action was to kill him. But the death of a navy captain, especially one that occurred within his own camp would cause all sorts of complications, not to mention the shit storm that would rain down on all Devos if the Venerable Navy thought one of us had injured him.

FUCK!

We needed him alive.

“What did you give him?” I asked Rieka.

“Thatcher’s wart. But it may have been too much. Sal said it can put someone in a three-month coma. But I don’t think I was supposed to use the juice of a whole flower.”

“You poisoned him?”

“I honestly didn’t think it was going to work. I snuck in with the army-serf uniform and had only just stolen this one when he saw me. I didn’t even know you were in the tent until I smelled your blood.”

This could work. I knew what needed to be done when we got back to the train. And with the time we had left, Marian 1 st was only a few months away. It would need to be done soon. And from what I knew of thatcher’s wart, it wasn’t an easy herb to identify, especially not for Medics who don’t study archaic medicine. And if he woke up, well I could always come back and kill him. I bent down, ripped a piece off his blood stained shirt and tucked it in my pocket.

“Do you have any of the flowers left?”

She pulled a bundle of orange flowers from her uniform pocket to confirm, so I told her to empty the teapot and boil another to steep the flowers in it. We would make it look like he accidentally poisoned himself.

“What about him?” Rieka asked, staring down at the captain like she wanted to step on his face.

“Leave him to me.” So whilst Rieka did as I asked, I set about healing the bastard.

The sound of his blood rushing through his veins filled my head, like I was lying face down in a river. I was out of practice, not having healed anyone but myself since I was twelve. In all likelihood, if he lived, he’d probably suffer from pain for the rest of his life.

I could live with that.

It took me a moment to force the captain’s body to start the healing process. When I felt his blood begin to clot around the knife wound, I forced his body’s healing process into overdrive, stimulating his cells, fresh blood production and much to our benefit, a faster circulation of the poison.

By the time Rieka had poured the captain a new cup of thatcher’s wart tea, the wound in his stomach had healed, and I’d thrown his shirt into the hearth to burn. We dressed him in a new one and dragged him over to his chair to take a long nap.

Hopefully, if anyone came in, they’d think him asleep, and it would buy us more time to escape.

I glanced over at Rieka and found her peering out of the flap, daylight casting her white hair gold. “How long has it been since the patrol came?” Her face blanched at my words, her heartbeat quickening momentarily.

I took a step towards her. “Rieka how many hours?”

“It took me 10 hours to track you here,” she replied solemnly. “There are only 6 hours left on the dupes. We won't make it back to the train in time.”

The tension in my muscles vanished with her answer. “Oh Steady! Good, we have time.”

That was not the answer she was expecting to hear. Nor was the knowledge that the device on her neck would continue to dupe her location for another thirty hours. Incredulous was putting her mood mildly.

“Hang on,” I said as we prepared to leave the tent. “You fled the convoy, not knowing if you could make it back in time to reboard the train, to come rescue me?” Rieka glanced at me and then back out of the tent, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Now who’s falling for who?”

A soft indignant growl rose up her throat in response.