Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos Cameron Hopkin (read a book txt) 📖

at the spot with the flat of his hand. He was surprised when his fingers encountered a small waxen globe no larger than a marble attached to the spot. He ripped it off his skin, rising to his feet. “What is this? What did you do?” The wax ball was hollow and open where it had been attached, a thin rim of his blood edging the tiny cup shape. Renna faced him with a satisfied smirk and said nothing.

Then he felt it – a worming under his skin, a sense of wrongness travelling from the base of his neck and deep into the flesh of his torso. The pain was so shocking and severe that his knees buckled. His breath came in gasps. He commanded his body to calm, and it did not respond. His systems were unaccustomed to such invasion, and all his koda training could not master it. Unable to stop himself, he flailed uselessly at his own neck and back, where the burrowing sensation pierced deeper and deeper. The pain doubled, and he slumped to the floor, face pressed against the floorboards. He tried to rise, but his hands and feet merely twitched spasmodically. His breath hissed against the wood in harsh, ragged beats, and spittle hung from his lips. Renna crouched next to him. All he could see were bony shins and soft, shiny boots.

“Let’s approach this from a different perspective,” she suggested in a cheery tone. “That’s a Pacari bloodthorn seedling burrowing its way into your chest. From the look of things, it may have brushed your spinal cord on its way past. It’s a danger I have yet to breed out of this strain. You wouldn’t believe some of the plants they have down south; they almost seem like animals. I suppose it would have been safer to attach it to your hand or your stomach, but when things are moving quickly, you do what you can and then clean up afterward, am I right? You seem like a man who understands these things.” She patted him on the shoulder, then grunted unhappily as she wiped her fingers on her own breeches.

“What did you do?” Nira sounded horrified.

“You were told to call me Mistress, girl,” said the Weaver Hand sharply. “Just because we’re starting to figure out your little tricks doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate disrespect.”

“You horrible bitch!” cried the girl. “He’s important; you’ve seen it! Do you just kill everyone who doesn’t do exactly what you say?”

“I just might,” snapped the older woman, “and you should remember it. Now sit over there and shut up. I haven’t killed him; I know what I’m doing.” She faced Gamarron again. He couldn’t see her face, but the shift in her legs and feet showed that she was considering him again. His mind was racing, but even so, he took note of the girl’s words. Why keep up the pretense of visions? This can’t be part of their con.

“So: the bloodthorn seedling. The pain will stop soon, and you should be back on your feet in just a few minutes. Once it reaches your heart, it stops moving and stays there. It likes it there. It takes nutrients from your blood and sends out little shoots to anchor itself. Within a week, it will have sent its runners through every chamber of your heart. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt, and it won’t block your blood flow. It could stay there the rest of your life and you’d never know it.”

She knelt lower, bringing her face into view. “Except for one little thing. It’s not actually a bloodthorn inside you.” She brought her hand into view. Between her thumb and forefinger, she held a wax sphere identical to the one he’d pulled off his neck. “It’s half a bloodthorn.” She twirled the ball back and forth, showing it off. “My own idea. You can cut these seeds in half and they retain awareness of the other half; they even respond together. So if I crush or burn this little ball that holds the other half…” she placed the ball between two palms and mimed crushing it flat. “The piece inside you will spasm and thrash and quite literally rip your heart to shreds.”

She pulled the ball out of his vision and looked him right in the eyes. “So maybe you should listen to me from now on. It would really be best for everyone.”

Gamarron felt cold in his bones. The pain was waning, just as she had predicted. I am saddled with a madwoman. No, worse – she’s not mad at all. She’s just clever, determined, and totally ruthless. His hands buzzed with sensation, and when he tried to move, they responded feebly. He was recovering.

“And let’s clear something up, since you’ve made your opinion so obvious,” she continued, sounding annoyed. “I am not trying to take your money or fool you in some way. The farthest thing from it. We really did see you in visions. I won’t tolerate being called a liar. I am here to advise you and help you accomplish your tasks. You are meant to bring down this demon, and you need assistance. I am dedicated and capable; you would be wise to keep me close and put me to use. Doubly so, now, wouldn’t you say?”

Gamarron would have laughed if his body were able. She holds my very flesh hostage and demands to help me. What insanity. He wanted to rage, to accuse her of all the wickedness he’d ever heard the Hands of Gaia to be responsible for. Useless, and he knew it. They both persist in their stories of visions. Could there be something to it? Impossible. A smaller, wiser part of himself responded, who are you to know what is possible and what is not?

Finally, he was able to get his hands underneath himself and push up into a sitting position. He felt as weak as a newborn koira pup, and his movements were clumsy and slow. In contrast,