The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (27 page)

He went into his bedroom, closing the door
behind him. After a second thought, he uttered the word to seal it as well.
It wouldn’t do for them to be interrupted. Facing the bed, he found Brigid
sitting on the side, spooning something from a small bowl into her mouth.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt to move anymore,” she
replied, “but my head feels delicate. No pain, but I’m being careful with it.”

Tyrion nodded, “You won’t need to do
anything today but listen, watch, and remember.”

Brigid set the bowl aside, giving him her
full attention. Her face was clear today, empty of the strong emotions he had
witnessed the day before. It was unsettling to see her looking at him with
such an earnest expression, as if her true feelings were not so dark.

He pushed those thoughts aside and began,
“We are going to tattoo your arms with symbols similar to these. I call them
‘runes’, and it will probably take us two or three days to finish. While we
work on that, I will explain what they do and how they work.” Moving to one
side of the room, he opened a small box he kept in a drawer there. Inside it
were several small bottles. They contained alcohol, water, and pigments, along
with a small bowl to mix them in.

There was no needle, that part was
performed more precisely with his aythar. “The magic you have used until now,
is what I think of as ‘natural’ magic. It is raw, unrefined, unrestricted, but
it also lacks permanence and strength. I’ve shown you how to use lines and
circles drawn in the dirt to improve your shields, and how words can improve
your results as well. This is an extension of that.

“Using runes you can create effects that
last much longer and with greater potency, but you must understand the meaning
of each symbol for it to work properly.” Using his finger he drew a line of
blue fire in the air, creating a triangle with a wavy line inside of it. “This
is the rune for water.”

He began showing her runes one after
another in careful succession until at one point she held up her hand. “Where
did the runes come from?” she asked.

“I made them up.”

“What, just like that? You just decided,
‘this is water’, ‘this is air’? Why do they work then?”

“Because I’ve ingrained the symbol and the
concept with one another in my mind. Just like words, the meaning your mind
assigns to a symbol is what is important.”

“Why do they all have triangles then?”
asked Brigid.

He smiled, “I made each within a triangle
so that I can fit them together easily when drawing. You’ll understand that
part better when I explain enchanting.”

“This isn’t enchanting?”

“No, this is just runes. An enchantment
is built from them, but if they aren’t balanced against each other with proper geometric
precision, they won’t last. You wind up with something that’s just a very
strong, long lasting spell, something I call a ‘ward’, but if they are fitted
properly, they become permanent, and much more powerful. That’s an
enchantment,” he explained.

She thought about his statement for a
minute, her eyes taking in the tattoos on his arms. “So those are wards then,
since they aren’t permanent?”

He shook his head, “Not exactly. These
are incomplete enchantments. Since I don’t want to be stuck with force blades
permanently around my arms and hands, or shields around my entire body, I kept
them unfinished. I activate them by creating the final symbols just like I
drew this one in the air. I can turn them off by removing the final rune when
I no longer want them to be active.”

The dark haired girl’s eyes showed
uncommon understanding. He could almost see her mind working as she sorted
through the concepts he was explaining. It made him proud, but he kept that
thought to himself.

“It doesn’t have to be on your skin does
it?” she wondered aloud.

“No, it could be on an object, like I’ve
done with the stones in this house, or the doors. In those cases you can
usually make it complete and permanent,” he answered.

“Then why not put your shield enchantment
on your armor, or your blade enchantment on the sword?” she asked.

Tyrion nodded, “I would, but when I made
these I was a normal slave, as you are. The She’Har don’t allow anything into
the arena but your body, no weapons, no possessions, nothing external to
yourself.”

Brigid thought about it for a moment
before pointing at his lower left leg, “So what’s that one do then?”

He frowned, “Those are just part of the
shield enchantment that covers my body.”

She shook her head, “No, not the ones on
the skin, the ones inside, on the bone.”

Tyrion struggled to mask his surprise. He
hadn’t expected her to look so deeply. The runes engraved on his shin bone
were inactive and difficult to see unless one was looking for them
deliberately. He kept his voice calm, “An experiment. Something I never
used. Why were you looking beneath the skin?”

Brigid’s face was smooth as she answered
honestly, “Don’t you study your enemies? That’s what you taught us. ‘Study
your foe, examine them completely in order to find their weaknesses or hidden
strengths’.”

The words sent a faint shiver down his
spine. She studied him to kill him. He gazed at the beautiful girl,
there’s
no denying she’s my daughter.

“Let’s get back to the topic at hand,” he
insisted. “We need to start the tattooing. I’ll explain the other runes as we
go.”

She nodded.

“I can block the nerve in your shoulder to
stop the pain…”

“No,” she answered, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The pain is my own,” she replied. “It
will help remind me of everything you are owed.”

The tattoos took two and a half days.
Despite her resolve, Brigid still hissed at the pain as they worked and
occasionally let out a yell. She swore and said things that he knew wouldn’t
have been allowed if she were still at home, but in Albamarl he couldn’t see
any reason to censor her language.

Why bother trying to make her talk like a
lady when she was being trained to be a killer?

Brigid’s strength returned as they worked,
but he knew she still wouldn’t be fully recovered by the time the arena day had
arrived. He hoped the arm blades would be enough, for they didn’t have nearly
enough time to do the shield tattoos.

They developed a semblance of closeness
while he worked on her arms, a bond born of pain and shared time together.
Once or twice he saw her smile again, in between grimaces, as she made light of
her own gasps and occasional yelps. It was as if she sometimes forgot to be
angry.

The smiles were the worst, for they
reminded him of the happy girl she had once been.

At one point she caught herself laughing
at some dark joke he had made. Bright eyes and a flash of white teeth
complimented the light sound of her laughter, but she stopped abruptly, closing
her mouth and looking down, as though she had forgotten something.

“You don’t have to do that,” he told her.
“It won’t hurt you to relax a little. You can think about the dark stuff when
the time comes.”

“I don’t understand you,” she said without
preamble.

He nodded sympathetically.

“When I came here, you were everything she
said you were. Everything you did fit perfectly with her description, but you
seem different now,” she declared.

“Whose description?”

“Mother’s.”

Brenda Sayer, it made perfect sense now.
Brenda
‘Tolburn’,
he mentally corrected himself. He could only imagine what she
had told her daughter about the circumstances of her conception and birth.

“She said you were disturbed, violent, and
bloodthirsty,” added the dark haired girl.

“That’s certainly true,” he agreed.

“None of the others know what to think.
Some of them never learned anything about what you did from their parents.
They kept it hidden from them like some dark mystery. Some of their mothers
lied, like Emma and Abby’s mothers. They told them they were born from secret romances,
but Mother told me the truth.” Brigid spoke as if she were reciting something
from a story, something she had repeated to herself many times.

“Go ahead,” he told her. “Say it.”

“You hurt her, beat her until she let you
have what you wanted. Didn’t you?”

The words were more painful than he had
expected. It was ironic that she had told Brigid that, since Brenda was the
one woman he
hadn’t
raped. He supposed the lie was an easy one for her,
almost necessary, to keep her daughter’s respect. Brenda was dead now, though.

What would she do if I told
her the truth?
he wondered. He doubted she would
believe him. She couldn’t; the thought would undermine everything else she
believed, and if she did, she might no longer have what it would take to kill
Haley.
Better to let her have the lie,
he thought.
No one should
hate their own mother.

He nodded, accepting her words.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

The memory of those days flooded his mind,
Brenda’s coercion, his weakness, and eventually her extortion. He could still
see the look on Kate’s face when he had been forced to tell her he didn’t
really love her. The guilt, the sickness of it, and later the anger, they all
were bound together and unbidden tears sprang from his eyes. “Because I
could,” he said simply.

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” she said,
confused by his sudden sadness. “If you’re really that selfish, that evil, why
are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked.

“I thought you wanted to kill me, but you
didn’t, instead you kept me alive…”

“Only so you can kill Haley for me,” he
corrected.

“To protect the others,” she added. “None
of it makes sense. Why would you agree to let me kill you?”

He finished the last rune, ignoring the
sudden intake of breath as he pierced the skin more deeply than was strictly
necessary. “Perhaps I’m remorseful now. I’m older, and the guilt of my crimes
weighs heavily on me. Or perhaps I’m too selfish. My life has become nothing
but suffering, but I’m too proud to let the products of my labors be ruined one
by one.
You,
and your brothers and sisters, are my legacy to the
world.”

Brigid watched his face, as though trying
to see behind the mask. She shook her head in disbelief.

“Does it matter?” he added. “You’re
getting what you wanted.”

“So are you,” she replied, “that’s what
bothers me.” Her aythar flickered with suppressed emotion, a not quite
slumbering fury.

If Tyrion could have seen himself, he
would have realized that her aythar almost perfectly reflected his own. In his
inner core he still saw visions of burning trees, forests ablaze with the
flames of vengeance. What he really wanted, as much, or possibly more than
protecting his children, was revenge on the She’Har for what they had done to
him, what they had done to all mankind. He would be giving that up in exchange
for Haley’s death, for a short term reprieve, to save some of his children.

“I’m not getting everything I want,” he
told her. “Content yourself with that.”

***

Two days had passed, and it was time once
more to leave for the arena. Kate, Layla, and those of his children who were
required to go, waited in the front yard, except for Brigid, who had yet to
emerge.

Tyrion turned to Byovar, “I have a favor
to ask.”

“Name it,” said the lore-warden.

“Will you restore Layla’s collar? I can’t
take her to the arena like this.”

Byovar frowned, “What happened to it?”

“I took it off,” said Tyrion flatly.

Surprise showed in the Illeniel She’Har’s
face, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “If I put the collar on her she
will belong to me.”

Tyrion answered frankly, “I’ll just remove
it when Lyralliantha returns and have her put a new one on then.”

Byovar sighed, but said nothing more as he
began the task. Brigid chose that moment to walk out and join the others.

She had recovered most of her strength,
but not all. He would have preferred for her to have another week to be
certain, but as with most things in life, there was no mercy or leniency to be
had with the She’Har.

When Tyrion stepped back out, it was with
Brigid close beside him, uncommonly close. Kate watched the two of them with
interest. She knew that of all the youths gathered there, Brigid was the one who
hated him the most. Ian was a close second and more verbal about it, but her
dark haired sister harbored a quiet hatred that eclipsed even his. Of the
other teens, she doubted any of them truly hated him anymore.

So why is she standing so
close to him?
wondered Kate. Brigid looked
almost happy to be next to her father.
They must have talked a lot over the
past few days, but I can’t imagine she would change her opinion so completely.

That didn’t make sense either. Daniel was
terrible with words. After two days alone together almost anyone would want to
kill him. She still hadn’t quite forgiven him for her own last conversation
with him.

“It’s time,” said Tyrion, leading the way.

Brigid remained close, even going so far
as to put her hand on his arm, resting it close to the elbow. She walked
beside him as though he were escorting her to a dance. Tyrion, for his part,
looked uncomfortable with the familiarity, but he held his tongue, keeping his
features a study in practiced indifference.

Kate caught up to them, giving her younger
sister a strange look, “What are you doing?”

Brigid glanced at her casually, “Father is
giving me a present today. I’m just showing my gratitude.” Something akin to
madness hid behind her smile.

Tyrion merely nodded, and they both
continued to walk.

Kate let them draw ahead, falling back to
walk next to Layla.
Father? She’s never called him that before. What’s
going on here?
She looked at the female warden, “Doesn’t that seem strange
to you?”

Layla nodded, “In Ellentrea no one has
family, but it turns my stomach to see them touching like that. She’s his
daughter.
Isn’t that wrong among your people?”

Kate frowned, “Isn’t what wrong?”

“For fathers and daughters, or mothers and
sons, to trade
favors
,” elaborated the warden.

Kate shook her head. Just when she
thought she couldn’t be surprised anymore, Layla said something so obviously
ridiculous that it amazed her. She knew the meaning the wardens had for the
word ‘favors’. “That’s not it, Layla. There’s something strange here, but it
isn’t
that.
Our people often hold hands, especially parents and
children, as a sign of caring, not of sexual intimacy.”

Layla’s brows went up, “Oh. It still
seems unnatural, though. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your customs.
People shouldn’t touch, unless they’re about to trade favors.”

“What is strange is that she would walk
arm in arm with him,” said Kate. “I don’t really understand why, but she hates
him more than any of the others.”

“He is a very strange man,” agreed Layla,
not really understanding at all. “After we had sex, he tried to lay with his
arms around me.” The tall woman shuddered slightly at the memory.

Kate didn’t say anything in response to
that. The thought of the two of them together that day still irritated her,
but she didn’t expect Layla to understand. The statement also made her feel a
little sad for him. She already knew for herself how standoffish the female
warden could be once her physical needs were met. Daniel had been among these
people for over fifteen years now.

How long has it been since
someone held him?