Always Hungry

Braph poured watery sap from the small collecting bowl into the large pot that already sat bubbling away over a blue gas flame. There were certainly challenges ahead, what with no guarantee he could access the tree’s power through sap crystals, and the sugar and mineral makeup of the sap contaminating whatever magic might be in it, but his tendency to push through unknowns had served him in the past. He wasn’t about to let doubt stop him now.

“That smells so good,” Orin leaned over the pot, then pulled back as the hot steam engulfed his face. “Ooh, hot. But it just smells so good. It’s making me hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Braph said, assessing the boil and dialing down the gas. He’d calculated he’d get a couple of pints of syrup from the full pot after several hours of boiling. He didn’t want syrup, though. More than likely, he was going to end up with something resembling hard toffee. He didn’t want that, either, despite what Orin might say. The final trick would be in attaining something the same size and shape as his blood crystals to fit his device. It wouldn’t be simple, he knew that. He’d spent years learning how blood behaved under various heat and pressure conditions. He had little doubt tree sap would behave quite differently. But what was the point in sticking with what he knew? Science advanced through trial and error, accidents and miscalculations. With tools to hand, a tree that could heal itself between drillings, and an Immortal son still willing to provide blood, Braph was under little time pressure. Yes, Llewella and his brother had their own intentions for the tree, but they were many, many miles away and Braph would be surprised if Jonas survived long enough to make it to the tree. As always, he found himself surprised by the slight weight that settled in his throat and chest at that thought. He wouldn’t miss Jonas when he was gone. He didn’t miss Jonas now. Why did the thought of Jonas dying affect him so? Such thoughts wouldn’t help him with the sap questions, so he shrugged them off. What he needed to figure out was how far to boil the syrup down in the large pot. If he allowed it to simmer right down to the crystalline state, he could imagine how difficult it would be to scrape out of the bottom. He was going to have to come up with some intermediary steps. Tipping it into a smaller ves—

“When can we have dinner? Can we go back to that place we had lunch? That smell makes me want more ice cream. That was so good. Can we go back there, dad?”

Braph gritted his teeth, about snarled at the boy to shut up, but caught himself just in time. It wouldn’t do to scare off the child while Braph still relied on his blood, especially now the boy had his strength and speed coming in. Hmm. If Braph wanted a ticking clock for making progress with the sap, that was it. He’d never been one for appeasing people. He really didn’t want to have to start now, but he supposed he had to. And, well, if he wanted Orin’s blood, then Orin had to eat.

“Fine. Yes, we will go for dinner.” Braph turned the gas off and invited Orinia to loop her hand through his elbow. “But it’s Orinia’s choice where we eat.”

***

While most of the farm’s occupants settled into the evening hours with card games, or reading by candlelight, or an early night, Llew and Jonas returned to blood transfers after dinner. Llew had to sit in a backed chair now, no longer able to lean into a tree with her shirt bunched up. Rowan had hooked up slings of leather for each of her wrists, one for the hand touching the tree and one for the arm connected to the Gravinator. For the first several minutes, she’d struggled to shake memories of leather straps buckled tight and holding her down in a chair at Braph’s whim. But she was not buckled in, only held in place by her own desire to be available for Jonas’s needs. This was different.

With a few deep breaths, and experimentally lifting her wrists from the slings several times, Llew relaxed as much as she could into the process and Rowan inserted the Gravinator’s needle.

While the single prick was preferable to many repeated ones, sitting so still for so long was its own challenge and Llew grew fidgety. Jonas, too, struggled with the boredom, as they’d spent such a quiet afternoon and he wasn’t especially drained, but they wanted to ensure he would make it through the night.

“Happy?” Rowan asked, taking a step back to assess his work.

Llew gave him a wry smirk. “Good enough. We’ll be fine without a supervisor, anyway.”

Rowan acknowledged that with a nod. “Right. Well, I’ll be—” He gestured at the house.

“Sure.”

Llew closed her eyes as Rowan walked away, focused on her breathing, and tried to doze. Her palm pressed to the Ajnai began to tingle. She lifted her wrist from the sling, wondering if she was cutting off proper circulation to her hand. Of course, when she broke contact with the tree the tingle ceased. She laughed at herself. Simply through transferring ghi such tingling was normal. It just felt different through her hand rather than the broader contact with her back. Luckily with the Gravinator already attached, there was no risk of anyone else suffering from Llew’s overreaction. The device was already proving its benefits.

Llew took a couple of deep breaths, centering herself, and relaxed back into position, reconnecting with the tree. The vibration resumed, definitely more intense than when she leaned her back into the tree, but she knew why and would become accustomed soon.

The soft thump of footsteps around the homestead and the occasional voice reached them even out here. Beside her, Jonas sighed. He sat on the ground, lightly cushioned with a blanket they could spare, the Gravinator connected to his arm, and his eyes closed, his features calm and maybe even blissful.

“As dull as it is tryin’ to sit still, this almost feels good.”

“Like the first time?”

His expression hardened, a frown creasing the bridge of his nose. “Not … Not that good.”

“You always seem so uncomfortable when it comes up.”

Jonas glanced at her and away. “It feels weird— wrong to want that again, knowin’ what you have to do for me to get it.”

“It’d be better than this, though.” The vibrations through her palm became a distinct thrum, with the occasional knocking, reminding her of a couple of days earlier when an image of Braph had filled her mind; a message from the Taither tree. Just thinking of Braph made her want to shimmy away the chills, but she couldn’t afford such a movement with the Gravinator’s needle inserted.

“But it wouldn’t be a need. If I was Syakaran again, I hope I wouldn’t ask that of you. But I— I have … thoughts that scare me. A hunger to feel that again and what I might do – to you – to get it. I don’t want to, but I do want . It’s simple for now. This don’t feel anythin’ near like what I got that first time. Even if it did, I can’t do anythin’ about it. But, if we succeed somehow …”

The thrum became distinct beats beneath Llew’s hand and her vision clouded. A part of her wanted to disconnect from the tree, end this before a clearer message came through – she already knew she wouldn’t like it – but, of course, Jonas surviving the night was vital, her comfort less so.

A mess of colors filled her head. Confusion. Distress. Her mother’s face – as Llew had seen her beneath the Duffirk palace, though healthier, less gaunt – anxious. What was Braph doing to her? A boy. Joelin? No, surely too old. Joelin would only be a year or eighteen months old. Braph’s so— Oh . Llew’s half-brother, his expression as evil as his father’s, which soon followed. And the pain. It somehow bypassed her hand, didn’t seem to travel at all, just filled her head. A brutal ache. Still, she kept her palm to the tree as the blood flowed from her other arm.

“… if I became Syakaran again, I don’t know. I worry that hunger, that want will be too strong.”

“I trust you,” Llew pressed through clenched teeth, though her tone remained as light as she could manage.

“You shouldn’t. I ain’t no bastion of self-control.”

“I trust you.”

“And I want to be worthy of it— Are you alright?”

“No.” Llew blew a breath through her teeth, sucked in another. Her body now ached all over, like she was being stabbed, hot points of pain in her belly, legs, arms, chest, head. Head. Hip. New throbs. New aches. Still, colors filled her head, blooming, shimmering, pulsing.

She clenched her eyes against it all. There was no escape.

The needle was ripped from her arm – a pain all its own, as her skin had healed around it. A final healing buzz passed through her as that damage closed, but the colors and thrumming alarm still raged up her arm from her contact with the tree. Spots of pain still pummeled her like a horse prancing over her.

Arms wrapped around her, breaking her contact with the tree and pulling her from her chair and onto Jonas as he fell back onto the ground, maintaining his embrace. His stumped thigh came up, curling her legs, pushing her into a fetal curl on top of him. She wriggled, but he held firm.

“Shh.”

She didn’t fight – not wanting to cost him more energy – and relaxed into him. Her shoulder must have been digging into him, but when she tried to shift he pulled her tighter, shushed her again.

Some part of her wanted to share her rage at how hard it was to receive such messages through the tree, but the words weren’t there, and he wanted her to calm, so she did. A little, anyway.

Jonas released one arm and brushed her hair from her face.

“We promised,” Llew whispered.

Jonas didn’t detectably respond.

“It’s going to be hard.”

Still no response.

“But we promised. I have to let you be prepared to die. You have to let me hurt.”

“Not tonight,” he murmured. “Give me tonight.”

***

Despite Orin’s grizzles, Orinia had expressed a desire to walk in Braph’s company for several city blocks, and so they ate some distance from the garden. Braph trusted the space to remain unexplored, so he walked light of heart and a little heady with love, Orinia by his side, Orin a few steps behind, scuffing his shoes loudly across the stone surface ensuring his parents couldn’t forget about him even for a moment of lovers’ bliss.

They enjoyed their preferred meat selections accompanied by lightly dressed spring rocket, lettuce, and early spinach leaves. Braph had a gravy-drizzled lamb tenderloin – an early arrival from the current year’s flock – while Orinia ate a pan-fried chicken breast and Orin discovered lamb’s fry, though not their origin.

Braph leaned back in his chair, one ankle resting over the other, tempted to doze in the pleasant surroundings while Orin dug into a bowl of ice cream.

The restaurant door swung open, permitting entry to a uniformed Karan of a deep skin tone, impressive height, and an even more impressive array of badges pinned to his chest. Behind him, two equally well presented Quaven soldiers entered and placed themselves neatly behind and to each side of their superior, hands behind waist – though one held a purse of some sort – and heads pointing straight and level. It was an impressive display, and set Braph to feeling both honored and suspicious.

“Mister Vastergaard.” The superior officer – Braph had never bothered to familiarize himself with the specifics of military ranks – stood before him, hands neatly behind his waist, but in no way submissive.

“Sounds like you’re addressing my father. Or my little brother. Call me Braph. I am a mere Karan after all.”

“No nation values the Kara as highly as Quaver.”

“And only the Syakaran more.”

The officer stilled even more so, measuring Braph. Braph also remained unmoved. A contest of stoicism, by all accounts.

“Speaking of; have you heard from your brother recently?”

Braph smirked. The officer didn’t seem to like that. His expression darkened.

“Jonas and I are not on the best of terms.”

“Understood.” The officer took a few breaths before making his next move. He gestured to the soldier with the purse, who stepped forward and upended it over the space recently vacated by Braph’s plate. Fine glass fragments and metal pieces spilled onto the table. The soldier obediently returned to his place by his peer.

Again, Braph schooled himself to appear unmoved despite the warring disappointment and the sense he’d been caught in some scandal which, he supposed, he had.

“One of yours?” The officer pushed.

“It’s nice to have one’s art recognized, I must say.”

“Your art is decimating the Karan population.”

“In the name of peace, you understand. After what Aris did to Turhmos’s Aenuks, there were some concerns over the balance of power. A balance needed to keep the peace.”

“We had no intention of drawing Turhmos into a fight any time soon.”

“Perhaps not, but it seems to only take a little math to convince some in power of the value of a fight. And Quaver’s powers-that-be have not changed in over a decade. I’m well aware of their history.”

“It is not your place to direct Quaven foreign affairs.”

“Neither yours, as I understand it.”

“Direct, no; maintain, yes. Your … art has now killed several Kara and weakened dozens to the point they can’t get out of bed. It’s killing children . What is the cure?”

Orinia listened, watching the soldiers warily; now she turned her attention to Braph. She was such a soft heart. The kind of mother he should have had, and did, in those earliest years. This officer was rattling her, but Braph trusted her to draw the line between loved children and children of a state. She had, after all, handed over her own flesh and blood with nary a whimper nor a farewell sob. Such a child had grown in her womb, but was not hers.

“Ah.” Braph sat forward, slid his finger over the table surface, creating an s-shaped path through the fragments of his tiny flying machine. Back and forth, back and forth. “Now, see? This is why we need balance. And peace.”

“ What is the cure, Mister Vastergaard?”

Braph sat up, gave the officer a narrow-eyed smirk. Thought he could rattle Braph with little irritations, did he? He gave a lazy blink and set about explaining. “What you need to do is, within hours of infection, pair the Karan up with a willing Aenuk who will supply blood to inject into the Karan, and then the Karan can use the resulting magic to defeat the micro-organism themselves. It has to be within hours, though. After that, the infection is too far spread to be reversed.”

“So all our infected Kara are condemned?” The officer glanced Orinia’s way, his gaze pausing on Orin before returning to Braph.

Braph simply held that gaze. He had, after all, already stipulated the blood donor be willing. “Balance, Captain—?”

“Lieutenant General. Kasal. I’ve worked with your brother. I’d be very interested in an update on him. Is he infected?” His professional bearing slipped, concern making itself evident.

“He was the first. He was infected before he faced some of Turhmos’s best in the stadium.” Braph studied Kasal. He saw no fear that Jonas might be dead. “And still he lives, sound the bells. But you knew that.”

“We’ve had word he lives. But that was some days ago. He does have a willing Aenuk …”

“Very good. You do listen. I like that. Indeed he does. And she keeps him alive, but he won’t be Syakaran again. Balance, Lieutenant.”

“General.”

“Indeed.”

“How many of these machines are still out there?”

“How many have you struck down?”

“Three have been reported to me.”

“I sent out six.”

“So there are three more out there?”

Two.” Braph looked at Orin who paused his scraping out the final dregs of his ice cream to look surprised by the attention, rather than guilty. “Two unaccounted for.” He turned back to Kasal. “They may very well be scrap, too.”

“Here’s hoping. This balance you speak of, surely it is achieved.”

“Well, how many Kara would you say Quaver has lost?”

“Mr Vastergaard, as far as Quaver is aware, you work for Turhmos.”

“I can assure you I don’t. I am very much my own man. It just so happens to be that my family squabbles draw international interest. Regardless, I’m sure you have your own spies down in Duffirk. Neither will Turhmos be ignorant of Quaver’s troubles.”

“Mister Vastergaa—”

“Braph.” Unfortunately, his tone betrayed a hint of his frustration. He was not his father or his brother, and in a perfect world, he would never be associated with either again.

Kasal’s smirk was barely a twitch of the corner of his lips.

“Master Magician Braph, if we must be formal.” That the Lieutenant General was having such an effect on him was just another cause for a temper flare. Braph pushed his chair back and stood. Orin and Orinia followed suit. “And with that in mind, I have my own work to get back to.”

Kasal’s bearing hardened. “Work that benefits Turhmos?”

“Work that benefits me. And my family.” Braph placed his hand lightly to Orinia’s hip, guiding her from the table, keeping her beside him. The soldiers stood between them and the restaurant door.

“M— Braph.” A concession. “Quaver has need of an Aenuk, and it seems you have an Aenuk right here, within the borders of Quaver—”

“I said you would need a willing Aenuk. Orinia is neither willing, nor is she on offer. Now, I suggest you let us pass, or I will be forced to show you what a Karan supplied with Immortal blood can do. And don’t overlook how very much I would enjoy doing that.” He moved out from the table, placed himself between the soldiers and Orinia and his arm across her shoulders, and beckoned Orin to join them. Once he had safely shuffled his family close to the door, he turned back to Kasal. “I suggest Quaver gets on good terms with Turhmos. It would lead to great things for both nations. And I hope you will be sure I get a mention in the history books. I’ve cracked the eggs. It’s time to fold that omelet.”

“That knife is Quaven property.” Kasal nodded at where Jonas’s blade hung at Braph’s hip.

“That knife is a Vastergaard family heirloom. I am the eldest son of Marnin Vastergaard. The knife is mine.”

He opened the door and guided Orinia and Orin through before following them out into the cool, dark street.