In All of Infinity (15 page)

“I am going to heal you, Otis, but what I do
should never leave this room. Do you understand?”

“Are you going to…” He moved his hands down
his legs, and Windrew knew what he was trying to say. “Are you
going to heal all of me?”

Windrew nodded. He lifted his hands above
the other man and closed his eyes. He began moving slowly, sweat
forming first on his brow. When he reached the place where the
organ had been severed, he began sweating profusely. He would need
to rest afterwards, which was why they had stopped. He always
needed to rest after growing something, although such hadn’t always
been the case. When he was younger, he could heal and go without a
problem. Despite this, most of his powers weren’t fully functional
until he turned forty.

When he at last opened his eyes, he saw that
the man’s member was back. Since he found it awkward to smile at
his handiwork, he didn’t and instead gestured towards the
closet.

“Get dressed.”

“Where are you going?”

“Bed,” Windrew said and walked out. “Don’t
plan on leaving here, though. I have to deal with taking you back
to Ms. Ojala. She wants to see you.”

“I won’t leave,” he said and bounded off the
bed. He walked towards the closet then looked towards the wizard.
“Thanks for everything. I mean, for doing what you did…”

Windrew’s answer was a nod. He didn’t really
feel like speaking, and knew the younger man wouldn’t mind his
silence. After all, wasn’t it all in a healer’s work to actually
repair someone? He didn’t care to answer the question because he
was too tired to think and stumbled out the door and into the next
bedroom.

***

When Reverie stopped bleeding at last, Isaac
sat down in a chair beside her bed. He sighed as he watched her,
wondering how long until Windrew would return. There was only so
much Isaac could do, and, since he didn’t know how to use his
abilities, he didn’t want to try them only to have them backfire.
He wished he knew more about Nadia, but the only known books that
contained her had been burnt years ago. The wizards he spoke to
said it was because saying her name could cause her to appear,
which they didn’t want to happen. Isaac often wondered how they
would react if he told them of the magic he thought he possessed.
He merely knew he had powers, just as he could detect Reverie had
them. How could he sense them but not know what they were?

He sat in the ladder-back chair, watching
her as she lay on the bed, her head sunk into the pillows. She
looked more mature than the girl he remembered, in more ways than
how she was dressed and how her face was made up. The line of her
jaw made her appear strict; the slenderness of her neck made her
seem more fragile; and the curves of her body were fuller than he
remembered. He didn’t want to watch the steady rise of her bust,
but he couldn’t help it and finally found his eyes settling there.
When she had asked him what his intentions were, he had only been
sure that he wanted to be with her. Why? Was there more to it than
he’d assumed?

Isaac felt an urge to kiss her, so he sat on
the snug bedspread and sunk slightly into the feather mattress. He
looked at her and moved closer, putting one hand on the opposite
side of her waist. He began lowering himself slowly, then pulled
away and jumped off the bed as if he’d been shocked. As he ran his
hands through his hair, he passed back and forward in front of the
window, cursing himself in a whisper. There she was, asleep,
waiting for him to wake her, but yet she wasn’t there. The body was
hers but that was all.

He looked out the window, wondered where
Windrew was, and had mixed feelings for the occupant of the room.
If he stayed, would she awake and be Ediniah or would she be
Reverie? If Ediniah, he knew she would attempt seduction, but what
had that playful display been earlier? Was that Ediniah or Reverie?
If Reverie awoke instead, and he was gone, she would be forced to
roam a world she was unfamiliar with and eventually be seen as an
insane person. He couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t. He had to stay
and wait it out, even if it meant his surrender.

The doorknob began turning, causing him to
jump, and he dashed under the bed. As he lay there, he felt as if
he was still standing beside the door. He never thought he could
move so fast.

“Ediniah, are you awake?”

The voice was female, but he wasn’t familiar
with the owner of it. He listened as her dress rustled, then heard
the door close. For a moment, he assumed she had disappeared, but
then he saw a shadow to his left and knew she was there. He
recalled seeing some of the servants earlier, but none of them had
taken note of him. Was Ediniah so indecent that they never said
anything about her male escorts? He hoped such wasn’t the case, but
he couldn’t stop thinking it was.

“Oh, you are so beautiful. I cannot believe
that you’re a virgin. I know this will make it double the pleasure
for me,” the girl whispered.

His eyes widened. If Ediniah was a
completely different person from Reverie, wouldn’t that mean she
was lewd? He didn’t recall Reverie ever being inappropriate. Had
there been something he’d missed? Was Windrew wrong again? Isaac
had a feeling that the wizard wasn’t wrong on either account. He
knew it had to do with the powers Reverie possessed.

Just as the girl dropped her dress, the door
opened again, and words immediately followed: “What are you doing
in here, you licentious wench?”

“Nothing, sire,” she whispered as she
gathered her dress. Isaac listened to the sound of her dress as she
moved away. “I didn’t know you were planning on returning this
evening for the banquet.”

The man slapped her and she whimpered. The
paid no heed to the fact Reverie lay unconscious on the bed. Isaac
found this awkward, almost as if they knew she was under a spell of
sorts. Or did she usually sleep deeply?

“I am the duke! Of course I’m present for
the banquet!” Isaac heard fabric tear and the girl began sobbing.
“You will not be there, though, I will assure you of that. Stealing
my daughter’s clothes! I should have you hanged!”

“I didn’t—”

He slapped her again. “Get out. Let my
daughter sleep.”

Isaac listened as they both departed, and
then found that he was blinking. He couldn’t explain what had been
going on, but he tried to process it. When at last his thoughts
concluded, he simply wanted to leave Peniolea and take Reverie with
him. He knew that he had been inhaling the evil that lingered in
the air, which made him think cruel thoughts and come close to
committing them. He had to literally pull himself back from taking
advantage of Reverie only moments ago, and the girl, whoever she’d
been, was obviously the same. If the man of the house hadn’t come
when he did, Reverie would have been violated, either by a man or a
woman. Isaac didn’t understand it and he didn’t want to. He wanted
to get as far from Peniolea as he possible, or else he would do
something he’d regret.

Just as he was attempting to leave, two
hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him from under the bed. His jaw
collided with the foot of the bed and he bit his tongue, making him
taste blood in his mouth. His attacker was a tall, barrel-sized man
with facial hair and dark feral eyes. He smiled as he reached down,
began squeezing Isaac’s throat as if it were putty.

“I heard you killed my brother,” he said
with a smile. “Try me on for size!”

He slammed his head into Isaac’s face,
causing his victim’s eyes to cross as he struggled to stay awake.
Isaac pulled his sword from his hilt, blood pouring down his nose,
but the man threw him against the wall and he dropped his
weapon.

Isaac groaned as he tried pulling himself to
his feet, but the man advanced and kicked him in the groin. Isaac
fell over, groping and moaning, feeling as if the man’s foot had
been a bat while his manhood had been the baseball. He attempted to
reach over and grab his sword, but came short in succeeding.

“I bet you don’t have the balls to use that
sword now, eh?” the man laughed, again grabbing him by his throat
with both hands. He smiled as Isaac’s face began turning red, while
blood still gushed from his broken nose. Isaac continued fighting
but knew he was no match for his opponent.

“Speak of evil; speak of naught,” the voice
came from the bed. Isaac glanced over, furrowed his brow, and
realized Reverie was talking to his attacker. “Speak of bone; speak
of rot.”

The man dropped Isaac, seeing that his hands
were now only bone. He rushed towards the bed, began crawling
towards Reverie, his eyes filled with sadness. He wanted to be
forgiven. He wanted to live. Isaac stared at Reverie, knowing she
was feeling with the man, even if he wanted to kill. He began
wondering how long she’d known about her powers, if she was using
them to kill for a first time or if she had killed someone before.
As he rubbed his neck, Isaac realized that he didn’t know. He
turned from the sadness in her eyes and stared at the door.

“Forgive—” the man started. He exploded into
dust, which scattered all about the bed then settled there, the
remnants of a man never to exist again.

“I cannot explain myself to you,” she said
at last. “Please don’t ask me to try.”

Isaac looked at her, realized how sincere
she was. He had no doubt in his mind that Ediniah had returned, but
there was a part of the expression she wore that belonged to
Reverie. He wanted to delve deeper into her, pull his childhood
sweetheart from whatever recess she was placed. As soon as he
thought this, Ediniah bounded off the bed and adjusted her dress,
acting as if nothing terrible had happened.

“I’ll have a maid clean that mess up. You
better fix up that nose of yours if you’re planning to come to the
banquet tonight. Are you planning to come? I’ll have my father’s
tailor fix you right up. Where are your friends? Surely they should
be back by now?”

Reverie didn’t wait for
him to respond. She walked over the torn dress in the middle of the
floor and towards the door. Before she exited, she looked over her
shoulder and stared at him, lost. He knew he would have to stay,
but doubted he would ever be able to see
his
Reverie again.

***

As the sun began setting, Thomas felt
himself being pulled away from all the social gatherings in
Peniolea. He claimed that he didn’t want anything to do with
anyone, but that was a lie. Luella wanted him to stay indoors, sit
around with his aged advisors, eat zuelcha, drink xatari, and do
her bidding. The food was always awful whenever there wasn’t any
meat, which made zuelcha no exception. It always tasted grainy and
bland, and his glass of xatari, though often refreshing, smelled
like sour milk and merely added to his mood by being bitter.

After they ate dinner, they sat around
giving him updates about one battle here, one battle there; a
victory here, a victory there. When they informed him about
something his brother did, Thomas felt himself envying Windrew. He
surely wasn’t in a room somewhere, being bored by hearing the same
old news. He was probably preparing for his next step, determined
to fight the good fight even when it was a losing one. Still, there
was excitement in his life, and that was something Thomas’s very
existence was lacking.

Thomas stared at the four advisors seated at
the black marble table that was so low that it was almost on the
floor. He knew most of them would struggle to stand back up from
their cushions, and complain about age and its debilitating effects
on them. Mortals were predictable in a way that, once they got old,
they were all pretty much the same. He grew bored of being able to
predict anything.

When darkness settled in at last, they stood
and grumbled just as he predicted. He watched them go, sipping his
xatari, and hid his smile behind the dark liquid. He couldn’t
understand how the other rulers could deal with old advisors or
counselors. In Magaren, Draven Ovile seemed content with the
elderly who worked for him. Of course, that was probably because he
still had control of Frost, who, he often claimed, was fantastic in
bed. Thomas didn’t have anyone who interested him, except for
Reverie, and he couldn’t have her.

“You called for me, sire?”

He looked past the well lit table and into
the darkness. He knew that the servant girl he requested was
standing there. With a wave of his hand, a roaring flame alighted
in the fireplace near the door. Thomas smiled when she jumped, then
he gestured for her to approach.

“Please sit,” he said and pat one of the
cushions. He began pouring her a drink. “I don’t bite. Much. What’s
your name, fair child?”

“Deona,” she answered, sitting.

He handed her the drink stared at her,
observing the brilliance of her eyes and let his own drift down to
her marvelous flesh. He looked into her eyes once more, saw that
she was afraid. He liked them afraid.

“Do you know why I summoned you?” he asked.
“Please, sip the zuelcha. I don’t want for its flavor to evaporate
before you can try it, Deona.”

He watched her drink, admiring her profile
as he did. When a single drop dribbled off her chin, he reached
over and caught it before it touched her flesh. Deona looked at
him, startled. He lifted his finger to his lips and licked it, then
examined its tip.