Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (12 page)

“Who are
you?” Ro asked, addressing Traken. The sorcerer's smile grew knifelike, and I
quickly intervened.

“We're
traveling together at the moment. Excuse his manners, please, he has none.” I
started to turn, pushing Traken with me. “We have to get going now, I'm afraid.
Thank you again.”   

Ro held up a
hand. “I... I have a little time before the next show,” he said, an uneasy
quiver in his voice. “I could show you around the festival.”

My mouth went
dry, and an excited beat started in my chest. This was a sign, a calling. I had
seen enough of them in my life to know. Things that looked like the most
intense coincidences were usually a point in the right direction. A dog, an
interest... it was all too easy to be wrong. Suddenly lips were near my ear.

“He wants to
do more dancing with you, dear
Fox
... the private kind, that is.”
Traken's voice, loud enough for everyone to hear, was an intimate waft that
snapped me back to reality. Ro's face turned red, jaw clenching, and I decided
that for now the best thing to do would be to end the conversation.

“I appreciate
your generous offer,” I told him, “but my fickle friend here has me on a tight
leash.”

“Oh, that
sounds very dirty,” Traken said with a large grin. I pushed him again, and sent
a wave to both Ro and the older man.

“Please
ignore him,” I told them. “I certainly do.”

The older man
waved back merrily, and Ro stared after us with the blank expression of someone
overcome. I felt that look tug at me as I turned, like a warning bell tolling.
The Angelblood's words were in my head again, but I kept walking and didn't
look back.

“My, Traken,”
I said when we were far enough away to not be heard, “that was quite a display
of nastiness. Where did it come from?”

“He thinks he
has found his soul mate,” the sorcerer mocked, glancing behind us. “He feels
like he is just letting you walk away.”

“Soul mate?”
I was shiny with sweat, and the air still felt warm and alive. I opted to use
my borrowed robe to mop my skin rather than put it on. Thankfully Traken didn’t
notice. “I've always wondered if those really exist.”

“Would you
have found yours tonight if they did?” he asked, and his tone was light, though
perhaps a little too so. A laugh escaped my lips.

“Long lives
have the tendency of stealing the excitement of such things away, don't you
think? Those who seek me usually have ulterior reasons, anyways.”

“I can find
none in him,” Traken said, voice low and tempestuous. “It's suspicious.”  

I rolled my
eyes toward him and found he was staring intensely at his feet while he walked.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “I thought the irresponsible side of you
would enjoy hunting me down.”

“You say that
as if you did it for my benefit.”

“It was a
deed of many rewards.”

He let out a
quick, agitated breath. “It wasn't hard to find you once you got up on that
stage... a hundred minds lit up with just you. But that man's mind disturbed
me. He was consumed by you. Every smell, every look, every touch was there, and
now it is clawing at the back of my mind like a disease.” His eyes shifted
towards me. “This is your fault.”

Suddenly I
was laughing. “You were pushing your powers where they shouldn't go anyway, and
now you're blaming me? How irrational.”

“It is my job
to find you,” he said, “and there are too many people to use a regular tracking
spell. Don't get the wrong idea, though—this isn't about you, princess.
Sentiments are a weakness. They are the irrational things here, not I. I don't
want even a phantom of them inside me.”

“Traken,
there is no escaping that,” I said, sidestepping as a large man in a bright
purple robe hurried past us. “You hate feeling things, it seems, but hate and
anger are just as much emotions as love and joy, and you feel them whether you
would like to or not. Even love.” My own voice seemed to drift away from me.
“Everyone needs something to love. It is in us from the moment we take our
first breath, and we either have to use it or be consumed by it.”

“Even if that
were true, to gift such a thing to any human being would be a mistake. People,”
he said, teeth tightly together, “will always fail you.”

“I have found
nothing to prove you wrong yet,” I said, patting the swords on my back. “It has
always been these two that stand by me.”

“At least we
see one thing eye-to-eye,” Traken said, smile wilting as voices grew loud
behind us. Without warning he shoved my shoulder and sent me reeling into a
side alley, then followed me through.

“Hey,” I
objected. The space was only two or three feet wide, and completely dark.
Traken motioned for silence, and I watched over his shoulder as a thick crowd
careened by. They were waving red flags, old and young alike, and craning their
necks as if searching for someone. They didn't stop.

“Looking to
congratulate you, I think,” Traken said when they were completely gone. He did
not seem happy about that, but I felt pleased enough for the both of us. The
music running through the town like blood in veins still held me in its
rapture. I relaxed back, one eye on the bright red moon that spied on us through
the small space between the roofs of the alley. In its sea of twinkling,
radiant stars, it called to me. It was the heart of all this feeling, if
anything.

“Being up on
that stage was exhilarating,” I said, whispered voice lacing through the ambient
sound. “It felt like flying must. Did it look good? The performance?”

“You
attracted too much attention,” Traken said, perfectly and stubbornly grounded.
“I am not the only one who is being chased, remember.”

“I have never
stayed in one place long enough to be known. Those after me barely know what I
look like,” I said. “I've survived this long without your nitpicking; you could
at least trust me a bit.”

“Trust? That
is a strong word, kitten.”

It was, and I
felt it all the more because of the choice that had just been at my feet. I,
who had that very morning championed choices to Traken, felt dazed and unsure
in its wake.

“You are
slipping away,” he commented. The beads around his wrist clacked as he waved a
hand in front of my face.

“Traken, who
do you trust?” I asked, blinking the shadows from my eyes. His hand jerked
down, and that sharp gaze studied me in the dark.

“Myself,” he
said.

“No one
outside of that? Not even your lord?”

“Especially
not him.” His laughter echoed against the bricks. “No one.”

“What would
you do if you had to put your life in someone's hands?”

“I wouldn't,”
he said. “If I couldn't survive by myself, then I would die.”

“Hmm.” I
tapped my own chin thoughtfully. “I feel confident in myself as well, but if
what that man said is true, I may not have a choice.” I didn't realize I had
said it aloud until Traken reacted.

“Who said
what? The dancer?” His words came quick, and the air seemed to crackle after.
This sudden sincerity was amusing, and emerald green took my eyes.

“No, not Ro,”
I assured him. The tension in his words grew subtly keener.

“You are
speaking of death. Who made a threat?”

“No one,” I
said lightly, puckishly backing away. “There have been no threats, and there
are always threats.”

“You are
hiding something from me.” His voice was more warning than fact, but the
concern, despite being possibly contrived for his own welfare, still warmed me.
The corners of my eyes crinkled.

“Don't worry,
Dogboy. I'm not going anywhere.”  

His
expression melted along with my words in the dim light, growing suddenly
desolate. I must have been tired, because I felt reality start to mingle with
the shallow lines on his face and the rise and fall of his shoulders under the
red moon. Those dark eyes swallowed me, and when I could no longer stand the
pressure, I attempted to push past him out of the alley. He let me by, but
leaned down as I went and his nose almost brushed my head.

“What was
that?” I asked, stopping and quirking a brow. “Did you just sniff me?”

He crinkled
his nose. “I was wondering what the smell was. Sweat.”

“That is what
happens when one actually does something instead of standing around being
snide,” I said, prepared to be grumpy until I noticed the tell-tale shade of
red on his cheeks. I aimed for his shoulder, and the hit sent him tumbling back
into the alley.

“That's for
blushing again,” I called, joining the festive crowds. Traken quickly caught
up.

“I would not
so much as sneeze at your crazy babbling,” he said, smoothing his sleeve, “and
I have been known to set people on fire for far less than a punch.”

“It's too bad
your master wants me alive, isn't it? Oh, how the mighty fall.”

“Keep pushing
and you'll see how far that protection gets you.” We both stopped as drums
started up somewhere nearby. They weren't from the stage we had left, but I
felt them pull at me again.

“There is the
most intense kind of freedom in that sound,” I said. “You and I have to dance
sometime, Traken. It would be thrilling.”

There was a
long pause, in which I thought maybe what I had said had been taken the wrong
way. He was a bit behind me, but his dry, humorless voice did eventually make
it to my ears.

“If we were
to dance, one of us would probably die.”

“Yes, but
don't hold it against me,” I said, then stumbled as he cuffed my shoulder.

“So sure of
yourself.” He was finally laughing again. “One round and I think I could beat
some of that out of you.”

“Beat?” I
asked with a
tsk
, turning and wagging my finger at him. “Doesn't that
lack finesse? I thought it was clean kills and nothing else.”

His eyes
filled with dark glee. “Oh, no, sometimes beating is still necessary.
Information retrieval is my specialty, you know.”

“Is anything
not your specialty?”

“Dancing for
the amusement of the insignificant masses.”

It sounded
like an insult, but I laughed anyway; my spirits were too high to be put down.
Suddenly a stall caught my eye, and I stopped. It was set up with little
trinkets shaped like tiny kites, each floating on delicate chains in the
windless air. I made a line towards them.

“I believe I
am now supposed to be bringing you back to the inn,” I heard Traken say. I
grinned over my shoulder.

“Just one stall.
It won't hurt.”

Hours passed
under that bright, blood-red moon.

“Ready to
sleep yet?” Traken asked for the third time. I could sense a hint of awe. The
festivities had almost all died away, except for a small section of the town
where a few stands were still selling drink and food, and a little street
performance was being held. Most of the people left standing were drunk and shouting
helpful remarks at the two worse-off jugglers balancing red balls on their
noses. We stood slightly apart from the crowd, watching from afar.

“If you’re
tired, then go ahead,” I said. “I know where the inn is.”

“That would
be irresponsible.”

“Then don't
complain.”

His eyes
sharpened. “Why won’t you sleep?”

A juggler
wobbled. “Ooh, that one's going to fall,” I said.

Traken tilted
his head, and a smile touched his lips like a hunter who had caught the scent
of something good. “You're scared,” he said. “Your eyes are yellow again, but
there is no doubt you're tired. What is the great Blood Fox afraid of? Me?”

“Not likely,”
I said. He sighed in a loud, condescending fashion.

“You should
know by now not to keep secrets from me, Santo. I can't
not
know, and I
have ways of getting the information if you force me.” He sounded like he
really, really wanted me to force him.

“Do your
worst,” I said, and instantly regretted it. To taunt a sorcerer who was drunk
on the effects of some magic moon when I was very near exhaustion was sheer
recklessness, and I felt the consequences of it the moment the words left my
lips. The air shivered, and the aura of the energy that no one else could feel
peeled off his body and sent tingles down my skin.

“Oh, no you
don't,” I growled, sure I knew what he had in mind. That heartless smile
widened. “No. You don't know what you're doing.”

“I would if
you told me,” he said, but did not give me the ability to respond. Something
warm and intangible wrapped itself around me like a blanket, stealing the words
from my lips and the will to argue at all.
It
rose beneath the surface,
rearing its head exultantly, ready and willing to take me into its claws. The
Dream was dragging me under, but not without help. 

Definitely
the wrong dog,
I
thought, those words the only vivid and simple truth in the comfortable cocoon
being cast. My eyes turned a deadening gray as I blinked once, then twice. On
the third blink they didn't open again.

Sleeping death surrounded me.
The blackness, the rotten smell of blood and cold flesh. Even after I entered
the boat it burned my nostrils, nostalgic, welcoming me back. The weary slap of
the water was just as bad.

“You have strange dreams,”
something said, words hollow and distorted. The shock of such an interruption was
enough for me to drop the oars and stand straight up. I felt the hair prickling
on my arms as a body materialized across from me in the faithfully moving boat.
What had happened outside the Dream came back to me as I met Traken’s stare. He
was splayed back with a leering look in his eyes.

“A bit warm in here,” he said,
fanning himself with a hand. “It's pretty realistic.”

“It always is,” I said,
settling back down. I should have felt shaken, and possibly exposed and angry,
but the dreamlands had a way of fogging up feelings. “You shouldn't be here.”

“Oh. You are aware.” His face
seemed to brighten. “This must be a repeating dream then. A nightmare? Sitting
on a boat in the middle of the ocean is what has you scared?”

“Do not tease me, Traken. You
have already caused me a great agony by sending me here. Go.”

“And miss out on this secret?”
he asked. “I have wanted to see what true fear looks like in your eyes for so
long. I need to know what it's from.”

His jovial tone struck me the
wrong way. It was bad enough having someone here to witness the terror that had
held me for more than a century, much less endure them laughing at it. I had
never thought about whether my eyes changed color in the Dream or not, but
right then I could feel the fire ripple through them as I met his gaze. I
refused to provide him with anymore amusements, so we stared at each other in
silence as the black waves lapped the boat.

It was the telling roar that
pierced through the air and broke our standstill. Traken jerked at the intrusive
sound, and I stood reluctantly. The sky lightened, and the large form waiting
on the rocks became visible.

Those fierce red eyes stared
me down as I climbed out, but then traveled past me to Traken. The fool
sorcerer was leaning against the back of the boat, arms folded behind his head.

“You’ve brought someone with
you,” the demon said. The furious embers of the eyes returned to me. “Do you
think this puny human can do anything to me?”

“If he can do nothing,” I
said, “then there is no reason for you to be worried.”

The eyes narrowed. “Insolence
will not change your fate. As you have come again, I must ask again… are you
ready to die?”

I was silent for longer than
usual. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I was starting to
become flustered. I wished Traken would leave so that I didn't have to show him
this fight. It felt too much like revealing something shameful and dark.

“No, not ready yet,” I finally
said. “I'm still having a bit of fun, you know?”

“I do not care. Your blood
will be mine again tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said,
and twisted away as he suddenly lunged forward. His sword raked the rocks,
sparking across their surface. I did what I always did; I dodged, fled, tried
to find a way to attack him and found nothing. Wherever I was, he was always
facing me. Every breath that echoed out of my lungs in this airless world came
back in my ears. We were the only sounds, the breathing and the sharp metal,
and I was all the more aware of it because of our silent audience.

Just as my muscles were
beginning to grow sluggish, Traken stepped out of the boat and strolled over.
“Why don’t you just dream up a weapon?” he asked as I fell to my knees to avoid
a swipe at my head.

“There will be no
interfering,” the demonic creature growled. Traken granted it only a
disinterested glance.

“Why are you wasting your time
on this?” he asked again. I shook my head, hands on my knees as I labored to
catch my breath.

“This is not a dream.”

“It is. We are in the
dreamlands now. Have you no control?”

“There will be no more
interruptions,” the thing snarled. It flew forward and pulled back its sword
arm, aiming for Traken. Dogboy did not seem to think the threat warranted
attention, much less dodging. I, however, felt differently.

“Move,” I yelled, lunging for
him. I didn't know what would happen if the sword connected, but it was not
something I wanted to test. Steel cut through my side as I grabbed Traken and
threw him with all I had. He tottered backwards, blood speckling his face and
robe.

The painless wound throbbed
with its emptiness, life essence escaping out onto the rocks and leaving my
body numb and cold. I fell, dreading the familiarity, and rolled my eyes back
to see Traken touching his arms gingerly. 

That's right, I thought. Real
blood. Blood he could smell and feel, still warm from my body. There was an
understanding in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

I couldn’t move anymore, and a
heavy thickness rose in my throat. Its purpose completed, the demon paid no
more attention to Traken and instead came to tower over me. It reached its
clawed hands down and plunged them into my chest; I felt my sluggish heart torn
from violently from its spot, and the sound of veins stretching and bones
crunching harassed my ears. The demon raised the organ above its head and let
the frantic blood drip down, down, into a waiting mouth full of sharp teeth. I
had never before seen this part, and I wished I could close my eyes to it but
they seemed frozen open.

Why wasn't it ending?

The monster looked down at me,
red-stained teeth bared as it crushed the organ between thick fingers. By now
the sky was bright, and I could see Traken in my peripheral. He was now a
quiet, enraptured audience, staring silently at my shameful death. I wanted to
get up, to brush it all away like it was just a part in a play. I wanted to but
I couldn't, because here I was dead. I was cold and gone, and there was no
coming back from that.

 Then the pain came.

The noise I
heard when I awoke was my own screaming, but I did not recognize it as such at
first. It was not shrieking, and it was not overly loud, but it was an
anguished sound. I writhed and jerked, and even though my screams eventually
dwindled to whimpers, the pain was still just as constant and intense. Nothing
I had felt in my lifetime compared to it; it was everything and everywhere.

As my blurred
vision cleared, a face came into view. Traken had my head in his lap; I could
feel it as he shifted, and my mind burned with the added shame. Here I was,
helpless and in pain before him, just as he had always wanted. I tried to move
but couldn't as his hands took hold of the sides of my face. They were large
and warm, and I felt a part of myself instantly drawn to them... until he
started shaking my head so hard that my chin bobbed against my chest. I
realized he was saying something.

“Santo.
Santo, can you hear me? Are you there?”

I was, wasn't
I? Where else could I be? I blinked, very slowly and deliberately, and the
thrashing stopped.

“Can you
move? Say something.”

I couldn't
figure out how to. Where had my hands gone? My feet? There was no memory of how
they worked. Traken's hands moved over me, and I saw that brilliant golden aura
light up around them. No cool relief came, though. There were no wounds to
heal.

“Your eyes
are so black,” he said, and I knew I was imagining the soft nuances in his
voice. “That means pain, doesn't it? You're hurt.” Suddenly his lips were at my
ear, and I heard a soothing, gentle voice whisper, “You're a weakling if that's
all it takes to bring you down.”

I didn't
remember how to move, I just instinctively popped my head forward and clubbed
him in the face with it. He reeled backwards and my head smacked painfully
against his lap again. Suddenly each tense muscle began to soften in my arms
and legs, one by one, and with it the pain slipped into the background. I felt
my fingers uncurl and my legs relax. I tried my mouth.

“You...
you're the weakling. If I can... find the strength to sit up, I'm going to
wring your ridiculous neck.”

The words
were weak and hoarse, but they were there, and that relieved me. Traken righted
himself, a large red stain on his cheek. I thought he would throw me off, but
his eyes were dancing.

“It doesn't
do to make threats before you can actually carry them out.”

I took in a
long, shaky breath. I was starting to realize where I was in relation to the
rest of the world. The Marlduk, on the purple-quilted bed. The extravagant pink
silk swayed above my head and sunlight filtered through it from somewhere,
probably a window. My dagger buckles were still snug on my arms and legs, but
the swords weren't on my back. I looked up at Traken. His smile, which had been
there a moment before, was gone. His hair and face were sticky with sweat.

“You do that
every night?” he asked.

“Every time I
go to sleep,” I corrected, mustering a glare. “I have learned a special form of
meditation to rest in between sleeping periods, though it is apparently an
impossible thing to practice with a meddler like you around. The Dream came
hand-in-hand with my long life. Every time I sleep, I die.”

“An insanity
curse,” he said with a thoughtful look. “That’s what it has to be, though I
have never seen the kind. Somehow, a spell has warped your mind once it enters
the dreamlands. The beast probably is the spell. It asks you whether you want
to live, and when you say you do, it kills you anyway. Have you ever tried
saying you want to die?”

“No,” I said.
“I have spent a long time searching for information and advice, Traken. No one
knows the exact cause of the Dream, but if it follows the course of other
insanity spells, it is meant to kill. If I say yes in the Dream, I truly die.”

“And if you
keep insisting on living, it slowly drives you mad by ripping you apart in your
sleep. As I said before, curses lack finesse.” He shook his head. “You didn’t
tell me this part earlier.”

“No, but it
isn't something that's easy to share. Why don’t you tell me your deepest,
darkest fear, Traken?”

“This sort of
curse is not meant to be survived long. How are you still alive?” he asked instead.
My lips twitched weakly.

“Don't ask
me. I have not always been as you see me now. There were years, way before we
met, that the Dream held me in true madness. I cannot even tell you the things
I did then, because I can't remember. I lived in forests, wild, soulless and
aimless.” I felt the muscles in my shoulders and back come to life, and
immediately sat up and pushed myself away from Traken. The bed groaned
underneath me.