Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [82]
“What’s wrong, Ilban?” Khenir asked.
“The oldest treatises described wings, but this has none. Oh well, it’s alive, and appears suitable otherwise. Now you must play your part again, Alec. Bring him closer.”
Alec shrank back in his corner, too weak to fight. Khenir got an arm around his shoulders and whispered close to his ear, “Do as Ilban says, please!”
“N—no!” Alec gasped. “Don’t! Why are you helping him?”
“Because he is our master,” Khenir replied, dragging him the rest of the way across the packed earth floor.
“Don’t be afraid, Alec,” Yhakobin said, drawing out the hated bodkin. “I only need a drop.” He gave Ahmol an order. The slave grabbed Alec’s clenched left hand, pried the forefinger loose, and then held it steady. Yhakobin stabbed the tip and pulled the bleeding finger down toward the white creature’s mouth.
Alec struggled harder, but it was no use. Those colorless lips closed around his finger and sucked, like an infant at the breast. It had felt just like this when Luthas had sucked on his finger for a pacifier.
The thing’s eyes opened wide, and Alec was stunned to see that they were the same dark blue as his own but empty as a doll’s. “What is it?” he gasped.
“A rhekaro, Alec. A being created through alchemy.”
The rhekaro thing released Alec’s finger and he wrenched his hand away in disgust, clutching it to his chest. The rhekaro slowly uncurled and wobbled to its feet.
It was no larger than a five-year-old child, perfectly formed in every way, except for the white skin and matted mass of white hair, and the lack of genitals between its thighs. Once on its feet, it just stood there beside its creator, without the slightest hint of animation in its expression.
“Why would you create such a thing?” Alec asked, aghast. There was something horribly familiar about that blank mask of a face.
“That is not your concern. You can take him to the bedchamber now, Khenir. See that he’s properly bathed and fed. I won’t be needing either of you tonight.”
Khenir got Alec on his feet and tried to help him limp away toward the stairs. After a few steps, however, Alec’s legs gave out under him. One of the guards carried him up the stairs.
Alec suffered the indignity, staring back over his shoulder at the strange white thing that had been fashioned from his own essences.
You shall father a child of no woman…
“No,” Alec whispered brokenly. O please, Illior, Dalna, don’t let this be the meaning! He knew why that thing’s face had looked familiar. The same visage had looked up at him from the washbasin when he was small. The thing looked like him!
They reached a landing and stopped at a door there. More stairs led up to an open door. Through it he could see the dried carcasses and bags hanging from the workshop ceiling.
Khenir took out a key and opened the door. Beyond lay a room very much like the one Alec had been kept in all these weeks, one that must be directly under some part of the workshop upstairs. This cell had a proper bed against the far wall and a small bathing tub full of steaming water.
Khenir had the guard carry Alec straight to the tub and lower him into it. “You don’t smell very good, my friend.” He handed Alec a rough cloth. “Wash yourself. I’ll go fetch your supper.”
He and the guard went out and Alec heard the key grate in the lock.
The tub wasn’t large enough to stretch out in. Huddled there with his knees under his chin, he dipped the washcloth and scrubbed weakly at his face and chest, then squeezed it over his greasy, tangled hair, longing for a sliver of soap. A little lantern on a hook by the door cast a warm glow over the room. Alec was glad of that; he couldn’t have stood being locked away in the dark.
It was no use. He didn’t have the strength to do any more. Leaning back against the side of the tub, he tucked his chin to get a look at the wound on his chest.
It was tiny, and seemed to be healing