Raven's Shadow 01 - Blood Song

“Focus on it,” Vaelin told him. “Keep it small.”

 

 

He held him there, talking to him, fixing his eyes whilst Aspect Elera worked on his wound. The young man whimpered and his eyes flickered away, but Vaelin always brought them back until there was the dull clatter of metal falling into a pan and Aspect Elera said, “Needle and cat gut please, Sister Sherin.”

 

“Master Sollis teaches you well.”

 

They were in Aspect Elera’s chamber, a room even more crammed with books and paper than Aspect Arlyn’s. But where the room of the Aspect of the Sixth Order had a certain chaotic quality this one was tightly ordered and meticulously tidy. The walls were adorned with overlapping diagrams and pictures, graphic, almost obscene depictions of bodies shorn of skin or muscle. He found his eye continually drawn to the image on the wall behind her desk, a man shown spread eagled and split from crotch to neck, the flaps of the wound drawn back to reveal his organs, each expertly rendered with absolute clarity.

 

“Aspect?” he said, tearing his gaze away.

 

“The pain control technique you used,” the Aspect explained. “Sollis was always my most adept pupil.”

 

“Pupil, Aspect?”

 

“Yes. We served together on the north eastern border, years ago. On quiet days I would teach the brothers of the Sixth relaxation and pain control techniques. It was a way to pass the time. Brother Sollis was always the most attentive.”

 

They knew each other, they served together. The idea of them even conversing felt incredible but an Aspect would never lie. “I am grateful for Master Sollis’s wisdom, Aspect.” It seemed the safest reply.

 

His eyes flicked to the drawing again, and she glanced at it over her shoulder. “A remarkable work don’t you think? A gift from Master Benril Lenial of the Third Order. He spent a week here drawing the sick and the recently expired, he said he wished to paint a picture that would capture the suffering of the soul. Preparatory work for his fresco commemorating the Red Hand. Of course we were happy to allow access and when he was done he gifted his sketches to our Order. I use them to teach the novice brothers and sisters the secrets of the body. The illustrations in our older books lack the same clarity.”

 

She turned back. “You did well this morning. I feel the other brothers and sisters learned much from your example. The sight of blood didn’t concern you? Make you feel ill or faint?”

 

Was she joking? “I am accustomed to the sight of blood, Aspect.”

 

Her gaze clouded for a second before her customary smile returned. “I cannot tell you how much it gladdens my heart to see how strong you’ve grown and that compassion is not absent from your soul. But I must know, why have you come here?”

 

He couldn’t lie, not to her. “I thought you might provide answers to my questions.”

 

“And what questions are these?”

 

There seemed little point in vagary. “When did my father sire a bastard? Why was I sent to the Sixth Order? Why did assassins seek my death during the Test of the Run?”

 

She closed her eyes, her face impassive, breathing regular and even. She stayed that way for several minutes and Vaelin wondered if she was going to speak again. Then he saw it, a single tear snaking down her cheek. Pain control techniques, he thought.

 

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “I regret I cannot answer your questions, Vaelin. Be assured that your service here is welcome. I believe you will learn much. Please report to Sister Sherin in the west wing.”

 

Sister Sherin was the young woman who had assisted the Aspect in the tiled room. He found her wrapping bandages around the waist of the wounded man in a room off the west wing corridor. The man’s skin had an unhealthy grey pallor and a sheen of sweat covered his flesh but his breathing seemed regular and he didn’t appear to be in any pain.

 

“Will he live?” Vaelin asked her.

 

“I expect so.” Sister Sherin secured the bandage in place with a clasp and washed her hands in a water basin. “Although, service in this Order teaches us that death can often deny our expectations. Take those.” She nodded at a pile of bloodstained clothes lying in the corner. “They need to be cleaned. He’ll need something to wear when he leaves here. The laundry is in the south wing.”

 

“Laundry?”