Hunger

Part I - Chapter 21 - Momma

Back in her chambers, Hir’at stood intently staring into the tureen, the swirling pearlescent liquid cascaded flickering dull shadows about the room. 

“Reveal to me the Vagrant Gentlemen,” Hir’at whispered as she drew the dagger across her forearm adding a thin cut next to a multitude of scars—the price of blood magic, she mused.

Splashing drops of blood recently energized by the life force of Seventeen into the tureen, Hir’at gasped as the liquid blazed an incandescent red and the shadows about the room began to take on humanoid shapes.  Through her spell, she could see the vague outline of a stronghold nestled surreptitiously between two small hills.  Never before had Hir’at had such success with her tracking spells imbued in the ruby coins, especially where the Vagrant Gentlemen had been concerned.

“Clever Gentlemen,” Hir’at cackled as she realized how the Gentlemen had evaded her spells—those glorified thieves had kept all the ruby coins out of the stronghold and buried the faction’s wealth in a barren location nearby.  Hir’at began to sketch the image before her.  She was unable to determine the exact location of the Gentlemen’s stronghold, but Rourk had traveled the four providences and may be of some help.  What good was a purveyor of information if he couldn’t gather just that?

Finishing her sketch, Hir’at dismissed her summoned mirage with a wave of the dagger through the fluid just as the last vestiges of sand ran out of her timer.  Hustling to the labyrinth of glass vials and distilling pipes, she moved a thick maroon solution off the flame and set it aside.  Hir’at drew out the glowing talisman that hung about her neck, bathing her face in a menacing light.  The presence of the necklace seemed to evoke a response from the solution, as if the vial of liquid called to the souls sequestered within. 

 “Soon, lovelies,” Hir’at purred at the talisman. She lovingly caressed the small stone encased in ornate filigree, and traced along the delicate wings spread to either side.  Faint whispers echoed about her chambers as she hummed softly, communing with the fragmented shreds of the souls.  Souls that used to belong to living men and women—her subjects. 

After Hir’at had removed the life force from the subject’s body and drew it into herself, it was divided into three portions.   The largest part of the life force Hir’at absorbed into herself, allowing her to use the life force for her own devices.  But those devices were not without limit, and generally required a sacrifice—a blood sacrifice.  When the life force Hir’at had acquired from a subject was used up, she would have to replenish herself with another to continue to work her magic. 

A significantly smaller part of the life force she gave back to the subject with a sliver of her own—just enough to keep the subject alive and on task with whatever ambition she appointed.  Thus far, Hir’at had learned that most subjects, those without innate Koryphii-like gifts, required very little of herself to maintain control.  Seventeen, however, had required significantly more of her own life force to keep him under her control.

The last part, the heart of the life force, the essence of what made up the subject’s sense of identity—of self—was cloistered away in the talisman, which she had affectionately began calling her Myriad.

The heart of the life force, the subject’s soul, rarely survived the exchange intact. 

Hir’at’s best guess was that separating the subject’s life force from his or her body was not what broke the soul, as she was able to draw the subject’s life force from the subject’s body in order to interrogate the subject.  The crux of the matter was separating the subject’s soul from the life force—it was akin to death, and what man, woman, or child could survive death, literally or figuratively, without changing?  Without a life force, the soul was rendered to little more than a fraction of the subject’s former self.