Lynn Flewelling - Shadows Return

Alec lowered his sword at once, eyes brimming with tears. “No! I mean-Don’t make me choose!”

“It’s unnatural! For all we know, it’s dangerous, too.”

“Yhakobin said he could heal. He was making him for the Overlord, to cure his son. And he is alive, not just some-thing. He can learn. Yhakobin taught him to do simple tasks around the workshop. He understood me when I asked him to bring me things. Look, I’ll show you!” He tapped the rhekaro on the shoulder and said, “Bring me the cheese.”

It immediately went into the barn and returned with the scant remains of the cheese.

“What else does it-er, he know?” asked Seregil, surprised.

“I’m not sure, but I think if you show him something and name it, or how to do something, he remembers. You try.”

“All right. Hey you, Sebrahn, bring me the bundle.”

The rhekaro just stared at him.

Alec retrieved the bundle and put it in the rhekaro’s hands. “Bundle.” Then he carried it a few yards off and Seregil repeated the command. The rhekaro fetched it and brought it back to him, setting it at his feet.

Alec touched his chest. “Alec.” He touched Seregil’s arm. “This is Seregil. Go to Seregil, Sebrahn.”

The rhekaro stood and walked to Seregil.

“See? I told you, he has a mind. He learns.”

“So it seems. Can he speak?”

“I’ve heard him cry out in pain, but never words.”

Seregil tried again to imagine what it would be like, trying to sneak unobtrusively through a village or port with this thing in tow. “So, are you ready to tell me why you’re so attached to him?”

“The alchemist made him from me.”

“I guessed as much, when I saw you in that cellar.”

“I don’t remember you there. How often did he bring you?”

“Just once. Ilar was quite happy for me to see you like that.”

“I’ll bet. Anyway, that’s why Sebrahn can only drink my blood, I think. He needs it to live.”

Seregil reached out and cupped his hand under the rhekaro’s nose and mouth. “No breath.” He pressed his hand to its chest. “And no heartbeat, either.”

Alec felt for himself. “Well, he acts like he’s alive, so I guess he is.”

“So, how was he made?”

“Well, from parts of me-my blood, piss, hair and-Well, other things like that. Yhakobin put it all in a sheep’s stomach with some other things and buried it in that cellar.”

“What other things?”

“Salt, quicksilver…That’s all I remember.”

“And you in that cage, your blood dripping down on it,” Seregil murmured. “Is that why you look different?”

“You see it, too?” Alec touched his face self-consciously. “Yhakobin did something to me. He claimed it was some kind of purification, to get rid of my human blood. It took days, and when it was over, I looked like this.”

“It suits you. It’s just a bit startling, that’s all. I didn’t think something like that was possible.”

“I hate it!” Alec hissed angrily. “It’s like he took my father away from me.”

“No, Alec, never think that. You’ll always be his son.” Seregil grinned and kissed him. “And the one I love. No doubts there.”

“It might wear off. He had to do the purification again before he made the second rhekaro.”

“Well, then, there you go. Don’t worry about it.” He stretched out on the ground with his head in Alec’s lap. “Wake me when you get tired.”

“Then you promise not to hurt him?”

Seregil looked up at Alec. “As long as he stays as he is, then he has nothing to fear from me. But Alec, if he turns dangerous-”

“He won’t!”

Seregil caught his hand and held it firmly. “If he does, then you’re going to have to make that choice, aren’t you?”

“I will.”

“And if it comes to a choice between that, and me?”

Alec raised their joined hands and pressed his lips to the back of Seregil’s. “You. But I won’t let that happen.”

Seregil closed his eyes and was glad to feel Alec’s hand on his forehead. As he drifted off, however, he thought he felt cold silver eyes watching him, too.

IT WAS AFTERNOON when Seregil woke up to find his head pillowed on the bundle, with one of the musty cloaks draped over him. Alec sat a little way off, with his sword across his knees and the rhekaro beside him, staring over at Ilar, who was pacing at the back of the barn, trying to ignore Alec.

“Any sign of trouble?” asked Seregil.

“I’d have woken you.”

Seregil sat up and stretched. “You should have woken me anyway. Do you want to sleep some more?”

“No, I’m fine. You’d better eat. There’s not much left.”

Seregil settled for a mouthful of tepid water. “We have to find more food, and fast. Maybe we can steal you a bow somewhere tonight.”

“Do you really mean to walk all the way to the southern coast?” Ilar demanded. “It could be days, weeks even, for all you know!”

“It’s not that far, a few days at most,” Seregil told him, though he wasn’t so sure.

Alec tugged at his braid. “This has gotten me into trouble a few times already. Guess we’d better cut it off. My knife is better for the job than yours.”

Alec handed him the black-handled dagger and turned his back. Seregil gripped the braid at its base and brought the knife against it.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Alec.

Seregil lowered the blade, caught by the warm, familiar weight of the plait against his palm. “What’s the point? Long or short, that hair will give you away. You might as well just cover it up for now. Cut some cloth off that sling of yours and make a head rag for yourself.”

Alec gave him a quizzical look over one shoulder. “You’re getting sentimental.”

“Probably.” He nodded at the rhekaro, whose hair fell well below its waist. “We’ll have to cut his shorter, though. I don’t think we can hide that much.”

He turned to the rhekaro to find it staring at the knife, fear clear in those usually expressionless eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”

Alec put a protective arm around its thin shoulders. “He doesn’t like knives much. Yhakobin hurt him a lot and cut parts of him off.”

“What parts?”

“Fingers. Skin.”

Even Seregil felt a little sick at the thought. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Here, let me do it. He trusts me.”

Seregil handed him back the knife and watched the rhekaro’s normal blank expression return. “But he has all his fingers.”

“I told you, things grow back. See?” He showed Seregil Sebrahn’s right hand. Thin scars circled the base of three fingers, and there was another around its wrist. “That’s where Yhakobin cut them off and they grew back. Drinking my blood helped him heal more quickly. The first one Yhakobin made…” He broke off and Seregil saw the shadow of something horrific in Alec’s eyes. “Yhakobin butchered that one, then made me heal it, so he could do it again. He destroyed it, piece by piece, until it died.”

Seregil touched the rhekaro’s cool little hand with a bit more respect. “The bastard’s no better than a necromancer.”

“He’s worse.” Alec reached out and picked up a strand of the rhekaro’s silvery hair, telling it quietly, “I’m going to cut your hair, but it won’t hurt, I promise.”

Seregil couldn’t tell if it understood or not, but it didn’t shrink away as Alec began carefully trimming its hair short above its shoulders. Handfuls of the silky stuff pooled on the ground around it. Seregil couldn’t resist picking up a lock and running it between his fingers. It was very soft, like a real child’s. It had its eyes closed now, and was almost smiling as Alec smoothed a gentle hand over its head.