Focus

Orin had not been the most willing recipient of Aenuk blood – even his mother’s – but relented under the onslaught of Orinia’s pleas backed up by Braph’s assertion it was necessary. The needle hurt and the blood was gross, but his parents won out.

“Wow! I feel like I could take over the world!” Orin leaped up and flexed, trying to make himself appear big and powerful, hindered by the simple fact he was a child.

“Focus.” Braph infused his tone with impatience and frustration rather than the gnawing anxiety that had driven them to this situation, which he was reluctant to explain to Orin.

He walked around the Ajnai, once again marveling at its newfound healing ability. They had riddled it with holes the night before, and now they were all gone, leaving a near clean slate to drill again. Shallow divots remained where holes had been the previous evening. Interesting. It had closed the first holes much more cleanly. But that had only been tens of holes, not the hundred plus they had drilled as a family the night before. Perhaps it lacked access to all the power in the world. It was still young and relatively small, nothing like the tree that had stood in Turhmos for a thousand years or more. What mattered the most when it came to raw power? Having an Immortal buried among its roots, or forming ancient connections?

Orin shadow-boxed some invisible opponent.

“Focus,” Braph repeated. “You’re meant to be helping me with an experiment.”

Orinia watched on anxiously. “Does he need more?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

Orin continued to bounce around, swinging his arms, then he slumped. “Oh.” He scowled. “It’s gone. I want that again. Ma, please?” He clasped his hands in front of him and threw a pleading look at his mother.

Orinia obliged drawing a syringeful from herself, pressed a hand to the Ajnai to replace the blood given to Orin, and returned to press the precious liquid into his veins. He was a much more enthusiastic recipient this second time.

“Now, before you get too excited—” Braph turned his attention back to his son. “—take a moment for some internal reflection. Think of when you’ve been sick in the past and how much you wanted to feel better.”

“Okay, but why? Phwoar . This is amazing!” Orin lit up again, jogged on the spot a few strides before swinging his arms and run up the path.

“Hmm.” Once again, Braph ran calculations with imperfect data to draw conclusions from. He’d only needed the one syringe of Orinia’s blood administered at the first sign of weakness when he’d risked infecting himself. Orin had shown no signs of weakness, only an increased appetite. That made some sense, his being Immortal rather than Karan – his healing ability required feeding. Probably just the one syringe was enough to halt the infection in Orin, too. But Braph was an adult, able to direct the magic with a little meditation. Orin had so far failed to demonstrate any such capability.

Braph couldn’t deny some jealousy over what his son was likely experiencing, too. He’d suspected Jonas’s Syakaran acquaintance with Syaenuk blood to be more intense than Braph’s own. What would it be like to receive Syaenuk blood as an Immortal? Not just an Immortal, either. An Immortal who had drained the power of another. He could only imagine, and his imagination was not on his own side.

As far as ensuring Orin’s health, there was nothing more Braph could do. For his own endeavors, a thick putty awaited his experimentation. Orin’s help with the process would be appreciated, although, his not interrupting was nearly as good.

He went to the pot and pulled up a small handful of the thick putty and rolled it around in his hand, savoring the sense of wellbeing that washed over him. There was definitely magic there, but how could he best access it? He’d thought of amber beads, but the way the sap crystallized around the edges of the pot didn’t speak to amber in the future, not from heating alone. Perhaps this sap lacked the chemistry to turn to amber.

He suspected the oil that coated his skin when he balled a handful held a magic, if not the magic he could make use of. Would it be possible to separate—?

“Can I have some more, ma? Please?” Orin’s plea jolted Braph from his thoughts.

He and Orinia shared a look. Braph wondered what sort of monster they were creating, and didn’t dare consider Orinia might be thinking the same. She simply smiled.

“Like father like son, huh?”

Braph glanced at the crystal fitted to the device on his arm. Well, she wasn’t wrong.

“If you’re happy to continue to supply him, I don’t see the harm.” Much better to keep an Immortal on one’s side. It would be useful if the child could put his newfound energy to use, but then, it may only increase the chance of breaking Braph’s tools. Braph returned his focus to the putty in his hand. How best to make use of you?

“Thanks, ma!” Orin celebrated the burst of power with more bouncing, arm swinging, and running around the garden.

Braph rotated this metallic wrist to look upon the dark crystal again. What difference would a crystal made from the blood of an Immortal infused with the blood of a Syaenuk make? Was there another level of power yet to be unlocked? Sadly, that wasn’t a question he could answer here. His blood-crystal machinery wasn’t transportable. Then again, he could fly. And the more he toyed with the sap in its taffy form, the less sure he was that he could do much with it out here on the road. Perhaps he and his family needed to return to his workshop after all. He hated to leave this tree. If he could, he would uproot it and transport it home with him, but he suspected some of its power, at least, came from what it could draw through its roots. Not that it couldn’t form new connections in a new location, assuming it survived the journey. Too risky. Although, if there was a safe time to do it, surely it was sooner than later …

His mind was getting away on him, as it often did when it came to problem solving. A solution was out there, he just needed to catch it.

Perhaps if they collected and boiled down a few more days’ worth of sap to taffy, he could carry that and his family back to Duffirk and use his machinery to finish the process. And while he did that, Orin could eat to his heart’s content and provide more blood, perhaps enhanced with Syaenuk power, for backup crystals.

“More, Ma? Please?”

Orinia sighed. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“No! I need more,” Orin’s voice contorted through rage to pitiful pleading. “Please, Ma. Please? ”

“No more until we collect and boil down sufficient sap to carry home for further experimentation, and I can’t push sap through quite so effectively when I am drilling alone. The family effort was much more efficient.”

“Home?” Orinia asked, a hint of relief in her tone.

“Yes, love. My portable tools won’t transform this sap into a usable form. I need to try it in my workshop. And … we may be pushing the limits of our welcome.”

Orinia threw herself into his arms. “Oh, thank you. I’ve had quite enough of Quaver.”

“I’m sorry, love. But you know it’s not safe for me to leave you. I will strive for you to live free. I hope a life with me is consolation enough.”

Orinia laughed. “You know it is more than enough.” She stepped back from him. “I just miss home.”

“I’ve made two holes already, dad,” Orin said, lining up his drill to start a third. “You don’t want the sap to dry out. I can’t wait to get home to Maura’s cakes! They’re so good. And Ma can sit in that chair, let the critters suck her blood. Can I wear a thing like you? A crystal is better, huh, dad? Could I feel that all day?”

“ You will sit in the chair.” Braph walked to the holes Orin had drilled, fit spiles, hooked on collection bowls – Useless child, why could he have not done this? – and pressed magic into the tree. “Maura will feed you all your favorites. If you are good, your mother may provide you blood if she wishes.” Braph held a spile up for Orin to fit to the hole he’d just drilled, before he ignorantly moved to start the next. He would appreciate if Orinia would provide blood for her son as he donated to Braph’s crystal collection. Braph could only imagine the combination being intoxicating.

“Mmm. I miss Maura’s food. She knows what I like.” Orin pushed the spile in and Braph pushed a bowl closer to him with a foot.

Orinia scraped at the taffy in the bottom of the large pot, scooped it into a large ball and placed it in one of the smaller bowls. To think, that was all that was left from a full pot. And when Braph put it through the final processes, what would be left? A single crystal? Or might he get two? Blood-collecting was definitely easier, especially as he didn’t need to expend magic to obtain it. A part of him hoped all this would be for naught and he could forget about this tree. Far simpler to stay at home and have his son voluntarily provide blood. But he would be naive to think that would last forever. Even Orinia had her limits. If this sap was worth it, the occasional flight up and back wouldn’t be too much of a sacrifice. He could imagine, also, that if he didn’t get much power from the tree this time, that might not be enough to dismiss future attempts. This tree was still young. While the Immortal child buried in its roots would grow no more, those roots would reach deeper still. Already they had made connections that made it possible for Aenuks to converse across countless miles through them. What more might open up to a patient magician in the future?

Which led to him pondering what the chances were that he could get his hands on some seeds, like those they had taken to the farm. If he planted a tree in his garden in Duffirk, might he only have to wait a few months to be able to access the power in this tree from the comfort of his own home? The potential seemed inexhaustible. Perhaps he would need to pay a visit to the farm.

“I’m glad I get to eat while giving blood, and don’t have to drain anyone, like that man. What was his name …?”

Braph opened his mouth to tell Orin to shut up, but Orin didn’t stop talking.

“Euan. That’s right. He was kind of nice, sometimes.”

Braph cringed and glanced at Orinia, who had been pouring a full collection bowl into the large pot. She froze, a scraper hovering at the mouth of the bowl while the final dribbles of sap rolled over its lip, rapidly slowing to single drips.

She turned her head to look at Braph. “Ieuan? You had Ieuan? My Ieuan?”

Braph closed his eyes, half his mind still focused on pushing magic into the tree to force the sap out, but collecting bowls would overflow soon. “Please, love. He offered himself willingly. He wanted to help …”

Orinia returned to the tree, handed the empty bowl to Orin and continued on to collect nearly full one. “I haven’t even thought about him. I thought …. Well, I didn’t. He was another life.”

One that had been much better remaining in the past. Lucky for Orin, he had decided to keep his mouth shut on further reminiscing and carried on drilling. Orinia poured the bowl into the pot, stirred its contents in.

“What happened to him?”

Braph couldn’t read her expression. “He died, I’m afraid.”

“In your care?” Orinia scraped the dregs of sap from the bowl. With her focus on the task before her, Braph still couldn’t guess at her thoughts regarding her husband. She scowled, but he thought it was simply processing, not anger. He couldn’t be entirely certain, though.

Back in the early days of their acquaintance, she had demanded news of Ieuan, and Llewella, near daily. Of course, Braph had no interest in the man and had kept no tabs on him, which had made his trail hard to pick up again years later when Braph found himself in need of Llewella’s blood. Those demands had diminished as Orinia became more comfortable in Braph’s presence and finally turned to him for affection, and had ceased soon after Orin appeared as a rounded belly. Braph couldn’t guess her connection to the man now.

“No. Llewella cut herself with a Syakaran blade, turning herself into a jin-sink. No one could survive her touch at the time and, sadly, it seems her father couldn’t resist.” Llewella had done Braph a favor in that. A dead man could hardly compete for a lover’s affection.

“Why would she do that?”

Braph shrugged. “Who can truly the know the mind of another? But I’ve always believed the world would be safer with her contained. She is incautious, doesn’t appreciate how dangerous she can be. We achieved it for a while.”

Orinia held his gaze a few moments. “Am I contained?”

“In a manner of speaking, love.” Braph smiled at her. “You are far more sensible.”

Orinia smiled in return. “ Sensible . Why do I get the impression you’re calling me old?”

“Oh, love.” Braph offered her a hug in his right arm, while his left kept the power flowing. She stepped into his embrace. “You know your appeal is ageless, and you have held me I thrall since …” He didn’t want to remind her of their earliest encounters, but feared he had already stepped too close to that edge. “Our first tentative kiss,” he finished, tuned in to her reaction. She seemed tense, but not totally closed off to him. He bent his head beside hers, inviting her to meet his mouth with her own. She did, and she relaxed in his hold as their tongues touched. He pulled her into him, pulling her slightly off balance, so she leaned on him for a moment, until their kiss ended. “Let’s fill this pot a few more times so I can get my two favorite people home.”

***

The holes no longer closed soon after the spiles were removed. That was an interesting development, but nothing to worry about unless they failed to close in the night as that would mean a loss of real estate within easy reach, especially for Orin first. That just meant they had to proceed as Braph had initially expected, since the healing had been an unexpected and new development. They would have to space the holes somewhat cautiously to avoid ringing the tree entirely. He’d seen trees killed by browsing animals simply because they ate right around it, stripping a band of bark.

Of course it set him to wondering why. He linked the gained healing ability to the tree’s connection to the tree at the farm and Llewella with it. So why had it stopped? Was Llewella herself a failing vessel? Braph had witnessed the wasting Aenuks could suffer from continual, intense healing. Even Orinia had suffered somewhat under his care, and he’d tried to go easy on her, balancing his need for her power against her wellbeing. He had been more careless with Ieuan, but then Ieuan was merely an Aenuk, anyway.

“Will we stop for lunch?” Orin asked.

This child. Did he ever think of anything other than food?

“I suppose we will have to. Even your mother and I need to eat,” Braph had to concede. “Lets fill the pot once more so it can simmer while we’re away, eh?”

That inspired quick work from Orin, which Braph and Orinia simply had to keep up with, keeping spiles rotating back into Orin’s hands, emptying bowls as they filled and getting them beneath the next spile, and keeping the magic and the sap flowing. By the time the pot was nearly full again, the lunch hour was growing late. They headed for the same place they had taken breakfast to find the doors locked and the service sign turned to ‘Closed’.

The same was true for every restaurant on the main road.

“Hmm.” Braph tried to ignore his family’s reflections in the glass-paneled door of another restaurant with the ‘Closed’ sign turned out. What to do? His sap still had hours of simmering to go before it would reach its transportable taffy form, but he suspected that would go far beyond Orin’s tolerance for silently bearing hunger, and Braph’s tolerance for his whining was already past.

Braph pressed on the door, exerted minimal extra strength and the doors swung open.

“I do believe—” Braph flourished a shallow bow mostly for Orinia’s sake. “—they wish for us to help ourselves. Quite frankly, I too am over the social niceties of engaging with wait staff.”

***

Rowan sent Eirian and Ivor off to Hinden again, as they already knew the town and how to procure what they needed on Gaemil’s credit. They also took two horses to sell. They needed to reduce their herd significantly, but managing more than the carthorse plus a couple extra would be too difficult. Two by two would do. There had been discussion around inviting a horse trader to the farm, but no one, except Karlani, felt comfortable inviting that kind of risk.

Llew spent every moment she could handle strung up by an Ajnai, dribbling blood into collection vials. Karlani was well-versed in spinning them out in the modified butter churn, now, and filled her time in between doing so making sure Llew was fed and physically well.

Jonas sat with Llew because that was where she needed him, but it wasn’t easy. Whatever Braph had been doing to the Taither Ajnai, he’d either intensified or the messages were coming through faster and stronger for some other reason. Llew struggled to keep her distress contained, and Jonas both wished she would – for his sake – and she wouldn’t – for her own. Every now and then a whimper escaped her lips and he dearly wished he had the power to protect her, but if he ever hoped to again, he had to let her suffer now. It got no easier.

Jonas continued to receive injections of tiny quantities of pure Syaenuk magic morning, night, and any other time it was deemed necessary, and for the briefest of moments he would feel ‘normal’. Anything resembling his old self passed through so quickly he could barely grasp it. Still, there was some relief in sensing it still there.

Between Jonas’s infusions, magic from Llew’s blood was decanted into a jar and kept in the bunker beneath the farmhouse, cool and dark. The rest of her blood went into a vat to be converted into a fertilizer.

The rest of the farm inhabitants came and went with meal times and chores. They tried to lift the mood by the Ajnais, with outdoor eating, and attempts at jovial conversation or singing, but increasingly that only made it worse. Llew was so inundated with messages of pain and distress that was all she could focus on. She disconnected from the tree to eat and sleep, which she insisted on keeping to a minimum despite everyone else’s desire to let her rest as much as possible. Physically, she remained hearty and hale, but she grew more restless at night, regularly sobbed or moaned in her sleep. They still a blanket between them, though, the potential for Jonas’s or Llew’s own fingernails to scratch and break skin minuscule, but not impossible, and Llew refused to risk even the slimmest possibility she might heal off him in the night. All Jonas could do was wrap her in his arms.