Read Online Destiny: Child Of Sky by Elizabeth Haydon - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Haydon
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where they were, and how to cope with them. That ability vanished, and with the exception of those who were also born on Serendair, I can no longer do that. I can match heartbeats with you, and Grunthor, and a handful of First Generation Cymrians. That's all."
His voice dropped even lower. "Hunting F'dor was always more difficult and rare; as you know, I've never held a real one in thrall before. It's a combination of my blood-gift, and the racial ability of the Dhracians, that may—I repeat, may—allow me to do it this time, assuming we can extract the demon's blood from these children.
'Whenever a F'dor spirit came forth from its broken vault within the Earth, it took an initial host. It had to be a fairly powerless one, like a child, or a weak man, because it can only subsume a host weaker than itself, or at best as powerful as it is, and when it is first out in the air of the world it is weak. Blood is spilled—
perhaps just a drop, but there is a bond of blood each time. It needs that blood to tie it to a living entity. That blood becomes the demon's own. Even as it grows, that blood remains its own, though it is mixed and tainted and diluted with the blood of each new host it takes on.
'The F'dor who fathered these children was a spirit from the old world. It doubtless had many hosts on Serendair. We know it has had even more since it has been here." He stopped, and they both turned their heads at the sound of giggling. A group of children, mistaking them for lovers nuzzling in a back alley, stared for a moment, then scattered at the ferocious look in Achmed's eyes, the only of his features visible. He scowled, then returned his lips to her ear.
'Given how powerful we know it is now, it has doubtless masked what might have begun as one drop of blood with the blood of hundreds, perhaps thousands of other hosts. Then it made the Rakshas. It mixed the blood of feral animals with that of its human host. The Rakshas impregnated the mothers of these children, diluting the content of the F'dor's blood even further.
'So understand—to me, the signature of the F'dor's blood in the veins of these children is like a whiff of perfume I have smelled only once before. You are asking me to find that odor in the air of this town, amid all the other scents here. And the person who wore that perfume wore it a month ago."
'Well, he probably hasn't bathed in the intervening time, if that helps,“ Rhapsody said lightly. Her green eyes sparkled, then grew solemn. "I'm sorry to put so much weight on your shoulders. What shall we do next?"
Achmed sighed and leaned away, standing upright again. “We'll head southeast, and see what we find. And if we can't find this child, or any of the others, we'll have to make do with the one or ones we can find, even if it's only the baby we know will be born in Tyrian nine weeks hence. You have the exact time, date, and place for that one. All I need is a small amount of pure demon's blood."
'And abandon the others to their damnation? To the Void?"
Achmed didn't blink. “Yes."
'You would really do that?"
'In a heartbeat, so to speak. Now, come. Our chance to find this thing grows slimmer with every moment that passes." Achmed put out his hand, gloved in a thin leather sheath, and Rhapsody took it. Together they crossed the alley and disappeared into the depths of Yarim Paar.
TILE FOUNDRY, YARIM PAAR
Omet did not like the new apprentice.
Under normal circumstances, Omet was busy enough that he would be hard pressed to have even noticed the new apprentice. As an apprentice himself in the tile foundry, two years away from his journeyman's year, work was endless and life sleepless. He didn't have time for opinions, or sentiments, or anything else that might distract him from remembering to check the temperature of the slip as it cooked, or getting up every two hours to stoke the fires of the ovens through the night with peat and coal, dung, and, sparingly, wood.
The red clay of Yarim had
His voice dropped even lower. "Hunting F'dor was always more difficult and rare; as you know, I've never held a real one in thrall before. It's a combination of my blood-gift, and the racial ability of the Dhracians, that may—I repeat, may—allow me to do it this time, assuming we can extract the demon's blood from these children.
'Whenever a F'dor spirit came forth from its broken vault within the Earth, it took an initial host. It had to be a fairly powerless one, like a child, or a weak man, because it can only subsume a host weaker than itself, or at best as powerful as it is, and when it is first out in the air of the world it is weak. Blood is spilled—
perhaps just a drop, but there is a bond of blood each time. It needs that blood to tie it to a living entity. That blood becomes the demon's own. Even as it grows, that blood remains its own, though it is mixed and tainted and diluted with the blood of each new host it takes on.
'The F'dor who fathered these children was a spirit from the old world. It doubtless had many hosts on Serendair. We know it has had even more since it has been here." He stopped, and they both turned their heads at the sound of giggling. A group of children, mistaking them for lovers nuzzling in a back alley, stared for a moment, then scattered at the ferocious look in Achmed's eyes, the only of his features visible. He scowled, then returned his lips to her ear.
'Given how powerful we know it is now, it has doubtless masked what might have begun as one drop of blood with the blood of hundreds, perhaps thousands of other hosts. Then it made the Rakshas. It mixed the blood of feral animals with that of its human host. The Rakshas impregnated the mothers of these children, diluting the content of the F'dor's blood even further.
'So understand—to me, the signature of the F'dor's blood in the veins of these children is like a whiff of perfume I have smelled only once before. You are asking me to find that odor in the air of this town, amid all the other scents here. And the person who wore that perfume wore it a month ago."
'Well, he probably hasn't bathed in the intervening time, if that helps,“ Rhapsody said lightly. Her green eyes sparkled, then grew solemn. "I'm sorry to put so much weight on your shoulders. What shall we do next?"
Achmed sighed and leaned away, standing upright again. “We'll head southeast, and see what we find. And if we can't find this child, or any of the others, we'll have to make do with the one or ones we can find, even if it's only the baby we know will be born in Tyrian nine weeks hence. You have the exact time, date, and place for that one. All I need is a small amount of pure demon's blood."
'And abandon the others to their damnation? To the Void?"
Achmed didn't blink. “Yes."
'You would really do that?"
'In a heartbeat, so to speak. Now, come. Our chance to find this thing grows slimmer with every moment that passes." Achmed put out his hand, gloved in a thin leather sheath, and Rhapsody took it. Together they crossed the alley and disappeared into the depths of Yarim Paar.
TILE FOUNDRY, YARIM PAAR
Omet did not like the new apprentice.
Under normal circumstances, Omet was busy enough that he would be hard pressed to have even noticed the new apprentice. As an apprentice himself in the tile foundry, two years away from his journeyman's year, work was endless and life sleepless. He didn't have time for opinions, or sentiments, or anything else that might distract him from remembering to check the temperature of the slip as it cooked, or getting up every two hours to stoke the fires of the ovens through the night with peat and coal, dung, and, sparingly, wood.
The red clay of Yarim had
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