Sooner The Better

Back at the glowing Ajnai garden, the syrup had cooled to a thin putty. Still hot, but well off the boil, and when Braph scooped some in a ladle he could press a finger into it without scolding, so he palmed some and rolled it around. Not as easily transported as a crystal, but rather pleasant to handle. As he flattened and rolled it, it left a light sheen on his skin, and after only a few manipulations he became aware of a growing sense of well-being. Huh. Enough to do targeted magic? Unlikely just yet. He kept rolling it around, squeezing it in his fist, balling it and squeezing again.

Orin leaned over the edge of the bucket and sniffed. “Yum!” He reached into the depths. “Ow!” He shook out his hand and reached down again, soon coming up with his own handful. He swapped it into his other hand, shaking out the groper, then he put it to his lips, testing the temperature before unleashing his tongue.

“Orin!”

The boy flinched at his mother’s alarm and pulled the malleable sap from his face, which twisted in preparation for unleashing a whine.

“The Syaenuk mother of an Immortal child and still so protective. I’m quite sure he would be fine, love, even if he was mundane.” Braph considered demonstrating but had no interest in dealing with the stuff sticking to his teeth. Besides, when an alternative test subject volunteered it seemed sensible to allow them to provide their services.

Orinia conceded with tight lips and Orin immediately took that as a go-ahead, biting into his soft ball and tugging. And tugging, his hand a foot from his face, attached via the thick sap. He laughed and brought his other hand up to wrangle it, delighted by the exercise.

No, not something Braph wanted to do. Certainly not with an audience. He was quite content, for now, to mold and re-mold his handful. Maura had procured an amber necklace for Orin during his infancy, meant to aid with teething pain. It seemed Ajnai oils crossed the skin much as those in amber were theorized to. Fascinating.

Eventually Orin manipulated a break in the taffy and, while his hands toiled to keep it from dragging in the dirt, he worked his jaw hard to part his teeth and attempt to move his mouthful about, but it was well stuck. Once he had the stuff gathered in his hands, he dumped it over the side of the pot, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Braph, but he could only keep his eyes closed on his spike of anger at the contamination briefly, as curious as he was in his son’s actions. Orin poked a finger into his mouth, trying to peel the sap from his teeth. Interesting how it rolled around a hand so easily, and yet in the mouth it was quick to stick.

Braph slowly released his breath and fury. He had to boil the syrup another hour or more yet anyway, whatever contamination his son had introduced would likely be dealt with in that process.

“Please tell me you intend for us to return to the hotel tonight,” Orinia said. “Syaenuk I may be, but I still value a comfortable sleep.”

“Of course, love.” Braph draped an arm across her shoulders, drew her to him. “I understand the difference between surviving and truly living. And I shan’t subject the love of my life to sleeping beneath settling dew.” He beamed at her as she raised her head to meet his eye, smiling. Ah, what a prize she was.

Orin made a sickly, hacking noise causing both his parents turn to him, but he has making commentary on their flirtation, not choking on the gooey sweet, which he had now collected on the end of an index finger. Disgusting. And yet priceless. Still disgusting.

Braph rolled his own handful back into the large pot. As much as he wished to take it with him, he could only see it collecting lint and dust on its travels. He would collect more fresh sap and experiment with further simmering the next day. For now, though, he had to admit his own need for sleep.

“Don’t return that to the pot. Eat it or— Just eat it.” Braph couldn’t bring himself to be okay with the sap being left in the dirt, not doubt to be stood on and stuck to a shoe. “Eat it, and you can give me a full report on how it made you feel in the morning.” He rubbed Orinia’s shoulder. She was starting to shiver in the evening’s cold. “Let’s retire to our hotel rooms. I believe I have a date with the most beguiling woman in history.”

Orin stuffed the sap into his mouth and his fingers into his ears and attempted to say “La la la”, but it just came out in strange slurps and clicks. And then he coughed on his own spit and Orinia extracted herself from Braph to thump the child’s back and catch his mouthful, and Braph turned away before he lost his appetite.

***

Cold!

Still half asleep, Jonas reached for the blanket, but it was nowhere within the reach of his hand. Growling to himself, he grudgingly shook off the last comforts of sleep, opened his eyes and sat, only to find Llew standing beside the bed holding the blanket up. Behind her, murmurs and taps and furniture scrapes said the rest of the household was also awake. It was still dark.

Llew opened her mouth.

“No.” Jonas lay back and rolled slightly onto his stomach, trying to curl in on what heat was left in the mattress.

“I see why Quaver revered you above all others.”

“I ain’t that man no more.” Llew’s tone had been light and Jonas’s intent was to mirror it, but he couldn’t. Not when it came to that.

Llew let the blanket fall and sat, reached out and rubbed his back. “No. But that’s exactly why we have to get you up and outside. How are you feeling?”

“Cold.”

“Other than that.”

Of course he’d known what she meant. He’d spoken the truth, though. The morning chill seeped through the old, loose long-sleeved singlet he slept in and was rapidly cooling the exposed bedding. And today he just wasn’t in the mood for dealing with that. Still, he took a moment to assess himself. Cold? Definitely. Tired? Not as bone-heavy fatigued as he had been but, he surmised, there was a reason the cold bothered him more than usual: he lacked the excess energy needed to tolerate the added discomfort. His body wasn’t on the verge of shutdown, but yes, he was tired. And the only way to address that was to get up and face the cold outside. Just grand. He heaved a sigh.

Llew helped him into his clothing and brought his crutches. His prosthetic proved uncomfortable while sitting receiving blood, so it could wait. They grabbed a quick breakfast of toasted sourdough and whipped butter and Jonas downed a milk-cooled coffee. He usually preferred it black, but he couldn’t afford movement while attached to the Gravinator, so he just had to drink while he could. No sitting and enjoying the occasional sip for him.

Rowan and Delwynn joined them outside to connect the Gravinator.

“You’re looking brighter this morning than yesterday,” Rowan said while he inserted the Gravinator’s needle into Jonas’s arm and strapped it firmly in place. “We must’ve got things about right yesterday.” He stood back, watching Delwynn check Llew’s connection to the contraption then turn the valve that allowed the blood to start flowing.

As always, the sense of heat struck Jonas first. It began at the point the blood entered his veins and flowed up his arm. Boring as the process was, it wasn’t passive. With no obvious injury to focus on, he had to call on all the self-control and mindfulness training he’d failed to master over the years and enter a meditative state; aware of his entire body, yet trying to direct Llew’s power to heal what was broken. And what was broken? He had no idea. He had an infection raging through his body that did nothing but leave him weakened. He could repair whatever damage it did, but he didn’t seem able to fight it.

“If you feel ready, I’d like to collect some blood to trial in the centrifuge.” Rowan turned his attention to Llew. “I don’t think I’ll need much for a test run, not a full load, anyway, especially as there’s a chance we’ll have to toss it.” He grimaced, rightfully. “You should get some time to move about the farm today.” His thin-lipped smile said everything he didn’t want to say. Jonas needed a lot of blood – and more each day – just to stay alive. The implication that Llew may find herself permanently attached to a tree and the Gravinator was a far too likely future. One Jonas wouldn’t share, if Rowan’s theory could be made reality.

“I’m ready.” Llew said it without thought and it made Rowan pause before he acknowledged with a nod.

“I’ll run a couple of empty cycles and get Karlani to put it through its paces, and let you know if today is the day.”

“Sooner the better, huh?” The tone of her voice was like the light going out of her eyes; expressionless, resigned.

Jonas burned with both guilt and sympathy. And the only way he could lessen Llew’s suffering was to tolerate it and make the most of it.

“You’re not wrong,” Rowan murmured and shared a look with Jonas. Neither of them liked seeing Llew like this. “Let’s look to the future.”

For the first few minutes after Rowan and Delwynn headed away, Llew sat staring off into the distance. Jonas had his own work to do, directing the magic from her blood, so they didn’t speak, but Jonas kept looking up to check in on her. One of those times, she had her eyes closed, her breathing had quickened, and though her face was set almost neutral, she couldn’t hide the flickers of concentration, or pain.

“We promised.” Her eyes hadn’t detectably opened, but she must’ve caught him looking.

He turned away, but that made no difference. All he could think about was that Llew was in agony and she was doing it for him. It riled him right up, stirred rage and anxiety. And what good would that do? They’d promised. She had to be prepared to accept his death and go on without him. He had to accept her pain. And being angry only used more of the precious energy her blood gave him. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. For Llew’s sake he had to center himself fully, close himself off from her, there was only her blood and his body. Occasionally a shaky breath beside him pulled him back, lanced him with secondhand agony. Llew was working hard to contain her pain, he had to accept it and shut it out. That was their deal.

He hated it.

***

The taffy had hardened in the night, but softened over a low heat. Braph rolled a small ball in his flesh hand while he developed quite the rhythm with his metal one, drilling, fitting spiles, hanging collection buckets, drilling again, tipping watery sap into the big pot over a higher heat, drilling again … Only a part of him was a true machine, but with that handful of putty leaving its sheen on his palm, the rest of him worked just as much like clockwork. His mind was clear, thoughts concise, his muscles unburdened by any of the work. One might almost accuse Braph of dancing.

Orinia and Orin had opted to take a stroll along the street, particularly as the tree’s light displays upset Orinia. Why she chose to interpret them as anything other than a dazzling exhibit, he didn’t know. It was just a tree, after all. It didn’t have feelings. Chemical reactions to having its bark broached, perhaps. Not emotional outbursts. No, that was the domain of women, children, and angry Syakara.

One of Orin’s crystals was fitted to the mechanical hand. Could Braph attempt to use the tree’s power without it? Not yet. It wasn’t enough. But was that all that was available from the sap? He hoped not, or all this work would be for naught. And what would he do when Orin refused him blood? He wasn’t an Aenuk, easily overpowered with brute force. Braph would need another plan.

The power was in there. It had to be. He just needed to work out how to access it all.