Leythe Blade

By Jaye McKenna

Sasha is a healer forced to take on the role of a warrior when his clan is attacked. Trapped in his caravan, the only weapon he can lay hands on is Ryka, the legendary sword that has been in his family for generations. To Sasha’s horror, the blade takes control of his body and turns him into a ruthless killer. Worse, Ryka sets in motion an irreversible process that will bind them together for life — if Sasha can survive the bonding.

Jace is a mercenary soldier, charged with protecting his commander’s brother, Eredwyn, on a journey through the Middle Kingdoms. When Eredwyn’s sometimes-prophetic visions lead them to the dying Sasha, Eredwyn insists that they must save him.

As Sasha struggles to come to terms with Ryka and his need to avenge his clan, Jace finds himself torn between his orders to protect Eredwyn and his growing feelings for Sasha. Can Jace walk the fine line between duty and desire, or will Sasha’s plans for vengeance lead all three men to their deaths?

Note: Leythe Blade is a stand-alone, M/M fantasy/romance novel of ~77,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye McKenna
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310977121

Jaye McKenna

Jaye McKenna was born a Brit and was dragged, kicking and screaming, across the Pond at an age when such vehement protest was doomed to be misinterpreted as a paddy. She grew up near a sumac forest in Minnesota and spent most of her teen years torturing her parents with her electric guitar and her dark poetry. She was punk before it was cool and a grown-up long before she was ready. Jaye writes fantasy and science fiction stories about hot guys who have the hots for each other. She enjoys making them work darn hard for their happy endings, which might explain why she never gets invited to their parties.

Book preview

Leythe Blade

by

Jaye McKenna

Published by Mythe Weaver Press

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright © 2015 Jaye McKenna

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art by Chinchbug

Copyright © 2015

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or shared with other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Words of Caution

This story contains sexually explicit material and describes sexual relations between men. It is intended for adult readers.

Leythe Blade

by

Jaye McKenna

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Other Work

Coming Soon

Acknowledgments

Author Bio

Contact Info

Book Description

Chapter One

Sasha pulled up a handful of roots and examined the scattering of tiny pink flowers he’d disturbed. The patch of flowers was small enough that if he took any more of the root from this plant, it might not recover. He shook off most of the dirt and stuffed it into the small cloth bag at his side, then rose to his feet and scanned the forest floor in search of more coldroot flowers.

This would be his task for the next few afternoons. Fall would be coming soon, and coldroot’s sedative properties were at their strongest if the root was gathered while the plant was flowering.

Men’s voices raised in laughter caught his attention. Sasha slipped through the forest, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch the end of Uncle Enzi’s daily training session.

At the edge of the clearing, he lurked in the shadows of the thick underbrush and watched the men of the Vayana clan at sword practice. They’d finished going through the basic forms and had paired off to spar using wooden practice blades. Uncle Enzi walked among the younger ones, pausing occasionally to correct stance or grip, or to demonstrate a move.

Sasha’s gaze traveled over the group of shirtless, sweating bodies, fixing on the only one that didn’t belong to a member of his own clan. Fiery red hair flying in the breeze made Toma easy to pick out from Sasha’s black-haired brothers and cousins. Half a head taller than Aladar, the tallest of Sasha’s brothers, Toma was a giant.

His eyes roamed over the strong lines of Toma’s body, the bulging muscles cording his arms, and the rippling stomach. What would Toma would be like in the furs? Gentle and deferential, like he was whenever he spoke with the women of the clan? Or all fire and power like he was during sword practice?

Both extremes were enough to send all the blood in Sasha’s brain rushing south. He shifted uncomfortably, glad of the loose-fitting breeches he’d worn for the dirty work of gathering roots in the forest.

At a shouted command from Uncle Enzi, the men disengaged and gathered in a wide circle for a demonstration. Enzi and Toma faced one another, practice blades raised. The deadly dance stole Sasha’s breath away, the play of muscle under dark gold, sweat-slicked skin whisking his thoughts back into the realm of fantasy. He licked his lips, eyes drifting shut as he imagined how Toma’s broad, strong back and lean hips might feel under his hands—

"Hai, little brother." A light punch on his shoulder jolted him out of his daydream, and his eyes flew open.

Aladar grinned down at him. Practice was over, and Sasha had been so lost in his fantasies, he hadn’t noticed. Now it was too late to melt back into the forest before anyone saw him.

A-Aladar… he stammered, mind racing to come up with an excuse for being here. He could hardly claim he’d wandered over by accident. Aladar knew quite well that Sasha avoided the practice circle unless his skills as a healer were required.

Daydreaming about being a real man again?

Had it been anyone but Aladar making the comment, Sasha would have been furious. Rather than the contempt or condescension he’d get from the others, though, Aladar’s voice held a note of good-natured teasing.

Sasha tore his gaze away from Toma long enough to shoot his brother a mock glare. Someday, when you’re the chief and you get yourself sliced up in battle, you’ll be glad the clan has a healer, he retorted, rubbing his arm. Aladar punched hard, even when he was playing around.

Ah, Sasha. Aladar ruffled his brother’s hair, a gentle, affectionate gesture. I know it’s hard to be forbidden to touch a blade, but you’re not missing anything, really. And you’re so skinny, you’d get hurt. Uncle Enzi never pulls his blows, you know, not even for Niko. You wouldn’t believe how sore we all are after practice. I’d much rather spend my afternoons sitting in An’ma’s caravan learning healing lore.

The corners of Sasha’s mouth tried to twitch their way into a grin that he fought to hide. You’re a terrible liar, Aladar, but thanks for saying so.

Well, if one of us has to be the healer, I’m glad it’s you. You’ve more sense than all of them put together. Aladar waved his hand toward the rest of the men of the family, most of whom were still milling about the practice circle, laughing and teasing one another.

Sasha’s cheeks heated at the compliment. He dared not enlighten his brother regarding his true feelings. Unlike the rest of his brothers and cousins, Sasha had lived in dread of the daily lessons that would begin at age fourteen and eventually culminate in his earning the right to wear a sword.

When his healing ability had manifested, just before his fourteenth birthday, Sasha had shed tears of joy. And if his family had thought they were tears of disappointment, well, Sasha wasn’t about to say otherwise.

Like the rest of the clan, Aladar assumed that Sasha avoided the practice circle out of resentment at not being allowed to learn to defend his clan. Among the Ajhani clans, it was a rite of passage, the thing that separated the men from the boys. It was also the one thing that clan law forbade Sasha.

Skilled healers were rare among the clans and were not allowed to risk themselves in battle. Healers were to be protected, along with those who could not defend themselves: the women, the children, and the elders.

At twenty, Sasha had been a man by clan law for four full years. Most of his brothers and cousins, however, took every opportunity to point out to him that he hadn’t exactly earned his place.

Although he was relieved not to have to take that place, the teasing he’d endured ever since hadn’t made it easy. The ribbing had become decidedly worse since midsummer, when little Niko, his youngest brother, had turned fourteen and been allowed to join the daily combat lessons.

Aladar touched Sasha’s shoulder lightly, and when Sasha turned to look at him, his brother’s grin had been replaced by a slight frown. Sasha… don’t even think about going after Toma. Not even for a quick fuck. He’ll be chief to Ashkala one day, and you know he has to marry a woman.

The sudden rush of heat to his cheeks had Sasha nearly squirming. How long had Aladar been watching him before he’d made his presence known?

"I just don’t want to see you get hurt, skasha. And Toma doesn’t need the distraction."

Sasha scowled at the nickname. Usually reserved for children, it meant little one and served only to remind him that Aladar still didn’t consider him a man, no matter what he said.

I know how it is, he muttered. I’ll steer clear.

He’s seen you watching him, Aladar said quietly. He asked me about you. I think, if circumstances were different…

But they’re not, are they? Sometimes I think the Dragon Mother hates me. She’s done everything possible to make me different. She marked me as her own —he lifted his thick, silver-blond braid and dropped it again in disgust— and she sends me nightmares that—

Aladar raised a dark eyebrow, and Sasha bit off the words. Admitting that the nightmares that sometimes had him waking up screaming were actually visions of a future that might-yet-be was not something he was prepared to do.

That pale hair and those pretty violet eyes make you exotic and interesting, Aladar offered. You never lack dance partners at the Dragon Festival.

Sasha knew his brother was trying to help, but he couldn’t quite suppress a bark of bitter laughter. Interesting enough for a tumble in the furs, maybe, but not much else.

The Dragon Mother doesn’t hate you, Sasha. Aladar gave his shoulder an awkward pat. An’ma says she has plans for you. Maybe if you—

"Hai, Aladar! their cousin Hanzi called as he walked by. You coming to the stream for a wash?"

I have to go, Sasha said quickly. An’ma’s waiting for me. He turned and headed off into the woods before the rest of his brothers caught sight of him and the ribbing began anew.

* * *

Sasha dreamed of blood and steel.

He woke with a start, gasping for breath and fighting to untangle himself from the sweaty furs.

Are you all right, child? An’ma’s voice came from the narrow bunk next to the caravan wall.

He dragged in a deep, shuddering breath and pushed damp, tangled hair from his face. A dream, An’ma. I’m all right.

A dream? Or a vision?

Sasha blinked as the caravan’s cozy interior was washed in golden light. He turned his head to see his father’s mother holding a small ball of leythe-light in her hand. The black eyes that fixed upon him were soft with concern.

I’m still not sure how to tell the difference, Sasha said as he pushed himself up to sitting on the narrow pallet that covered most of the caravan’s floor space. "It felt a lot more real than a dream."

The old woman nodded sagely. A vision, then.

Sasha clenched his jaw to keep from asking why. He understood the underlying principles of it. When he slept, his aura drifted deeper into the leythe than most people’s, sometimes deep enough to touch the energy matrix itself. The patterns of the matrix would impress themselves upon his sleeping mind, influencing his dreams and sometimes giving him visions of the future.

He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms about them as he tried to stop shivering. Had his brothers and cousins been anywhere near to see, he would never have sat like that. They would have taunted him for being afraid of a dream.

"It was horrible. I… I had a sword. There was blood everywhere. I saw Niko and Toma and Aladar… they were dead. Everyone was dead. His eyes sought his an’ma’s and he swallowed hard. Do you think it was real, An’ma?"

Not the way you mean it, child. An’ma didn’t seem the least bit perturbed, and while Sasha appreciated her calm demeanor, he thought he might have preferred a bit of panic. He’d just seen his entire clan dead by his own hand, after all, and An’ma had admitted that it sounded more like a vision than a harmless dream.

Sasha started to speak, but An’ma held up her hand and said, Interpreting visions is a tricky business. The matrix impresses a pattern, yes, but what you see is your dreaming mind’s interpretation of that pattern. Death in a vision doesn’t necessarily mean an end to life. It might mean a rebirth or a change in which one thing ends, but another begins. Or it could mean something else entirely.

He squeezed his eyes shut. If it had been a vision, the message was quite clear to him. He’d felt the sword in his hands strike bone as it bit into flesh and sliced muscle. He’d smelled blood and the sweat of fear, heard men screaming in rage and pain. The images of slaughter and carnage seared into his mind were so vivid, he wouldn’t soon forget them.

I hate it, he whispered. I wish I didn’t have the visions.

"I wish it, too, skasha, since they disturb you so, but it is the Dragon Mother’s will. She made you the way you are for a reason."

What reason? Sasha blinked back helpless tears of frustration. What purpose can it possibly serve her to show me that I’m destined to kill my own family?

I’ve told you, child, the visions are not meant to be taken literally. An’ma’s voice was quiet and soothing. "And the patterns of the future are always shifting and changing. Every choice made by every living thing, no matter how small and insignificant, can set everything spinning in an entirely new direction. The visions only show you what may happen if this moment is projected into the future."

But they never show me how to change it.

"Because everything is interconnected through the leythe. It is rarely only your choices that influence an event. The old woman shrugged, her narrow shoulders hunching in the soft shadows cast by the leythe-light. I don’t presume to know the will of the Dragon Mother, and I cannot guess at her purpose in showing you such a thing. She reached across the space between them to lift a section of Sasha’s long, silver-blond hair. But she’s marked you as her own, that much is clear. If it was a vision she intends you to act upon, I imagine that will be made clear to you in time."

I don’t want any part of a future like that.

"That is not your choice to make."

"Nothing is ever my choice," he muttered.

An’ma regarded him thoughtfully. I wonder what Ryka would make of you.

Sasha shivered at the mention of his ancestor Tadika’s legendary sword. He had no desire to hold a sword of any kind, especially not one that was reputed to have opinions of its own.

"Ryka is a woman’s blade," he said. Bad enough that Sasha was marked by the Dragon Mother and cursed with nightmare visions. To be chosen by the sword as its next wielder would finish the job of setting him apart. His brothers had enough reason to tease him, without that.

Yes, so the stories say, An’ma said, though there’s so much disagreement among the various tales that I wonder sometimes how much of what we think we know about Tadika is really true.

The stories that had been handed down about Tadika and her sword were vague enough that her descendants often argued about what the truth must have been. Some thought she’d been the daughter of one of the great lords of the Tovashi Domains far to the east. Others said she was a low-born servant girl. The only thing that was generally agreed upon was that Ryka had somehow come into the hands of an untrained girl, and that the sword had given her the skills she’d needed to slay a nobleman.

Depending on which story one believed, she’d either escaped or been exiled. She’d crossed the Dragon’s Spine Mountains alone and wandered the Middle Kingdoms until she’d come upon the camp of the Vayana clan and fallen in love with Steffin Vayana, son of the clan chief.

The boys of the clan scoffed at the stories of Tadika’s prowess with the blade, claiming they were wild exaggerations. The girls, however, believed it and teased the boys mercilessly for feeling threatened by the thought of a woman besting them with a blade. Sasha was inclined to side with the boys on that particular subject.

"I can’t imagine what makes you think Ryka would care about me," Sasha said.

Stirrings in the leythe. You’re the first since Tadika to have visions, you know.

"I don’t have visions, An’ma. I have horrible dreams that don’t tell me anything helpful. You can do far more with the leythe than I. If it’s a leythari the sword is interested in, you’d think it would have chosen you when it was offered to you."

Perhaps it’s looking for a particular kind of ability, An’ma suggested.

And perhaps it’s just a pretty blade with an old fairy story attached to it, Sasha retorted.

It’s not just a pretty blade. An’ma’s voice was low and reverent. There’s power there. It has its own aura in the leythe, and it feels almost as if it were sleeping. You mark my words, that sword is waiting for someone.

Well, it’s not waiting for me, Sasha said firmly. The last thing I need is the whole clan laughing at me for carrying a woman’s blade.

There was a long silence. Sasha held his breath, afraid that he’d said too much, perhaps angered or hurt her. The leythe-light brightened, and he looked up to see her watching him, eyes dark with compassion.

"I’m sorry, skasha. I know that your path has not been easy."

It’s not the work, An’ma. I enjoy working with you.

It was true now, but he hadn’t liked it at all, at first. There had been so much to learn, and he’d hated all the studying. The only good thing had been that it kept him away from the daily combat lessons. It was only as he’d grown more skilled that he found he enjoyed the work of a healer. It was deeply satisfying to feel broken bones and torn muscles mend themselves under his hands, or to sink his awareness into the body of a sick child and know what was wrong and how to untangle the threads of the illness that clung to the child’s aura. It’s what they say about me. My own brothers say I’m not a man because I’m forbidden to defend the clan like a man is expected to.

"They are young and hot-headed, and they haven’t a full brain between the lot of them. The first time they’re called upon to defend the clan, and you are called upon to heal their wounds, then they’ll appreciate you. And they’ll have a much better understanding of why the clan cannot afford to lose you."

Sasha doubted that, but said dutifully, I know. It’s all right.

Is it?

Does it matter? Neither of us can change the way things are. He raised his eyes to meet his an’ma’s. I like being your apprentice. And I’m content to become the clan’s healer. I just wish they’d keep their opinions and their taunts to themselves.

Shall I have a word with—

No. Sasha didn’t even let her finish. The last thing he needed was An’ma interceding with his brothers.

Well, then. She gave his hand a pat before lifting her own hand to pass it over the leythe-light she’d called. The light faded, leaving them in darkness. We’d best try to get back to sleep. We arrive in Jakhar tomorrow, and it’ll be a busy day.

* * *

A few drops of this added to your tea first thing in the morning and then again at bedtime. Sasha handed the elderly woman at the market stall a bottle of one of An’ma’s joint pain remedies. Her aura flared with the sullen reds and blacks of pain, but Sasha dared not offer her healing as he normally would, and she did not request it.

Soon after the clan had arrived in Jakhar, Da had learned that working the leythe was now against the law in the kingdom of Tallin — unless, of course, one was doing it at the behest of the crown.

I’m afraid it won’t take the ache away entirely, but it should ease things a bit. He bit his lip, then added in a low voice, I wish I could do more for you.

I would never ask you to take that kind of risk. She dropped a few coins into his hand.

Noting the threadbare bit of cloth she had clutched about her shoulders to ward off the chill of the late summer morning, Sasha tipped the coins back into her palm and gently closed her hand over them. Shh… don’t tell. Go and buy yourself a new shawl, old mother.

The woman smiled, eyes the color of faded blue cornflowers crinkling at the corners as she patted his hand. Fiora bless you, child.

Sasha bowed his head in thanks. She meant well, even if the gods of the Middle Kingdoms had no power over his destiny. He belonged entirely to Jhara, the Dragon Mother.

You’ll be bound south next, will you, then? she asked.

Ai. With fall coming, we’ll stock up here and head to Karrakh. We skirt along the edge of the desert all the way to Akhat, and then head north to Galena, where all the clans meet up at midwinter for the Dragon Festival.

I shall look forward to seeing you next summer, then, she said. Perhaps you’ll have a pretty wife at your side by then, hmm?

Perhaps, Sasha said, nodding farewell. He didn’t bother explaining that women held little interest for him. Not that it mattered; he couldn’t imagine any woman choosing a healer when she could have a real man, one who’d earned the right to carry a sword.

We’ll all be starving, come winter, if you give away all of our wares.

Sasha jumped and twisted around at the sound of Aladar’s voice coming from behind him. He didn’t have to worry about his customer hearing his brother’s admonishment; Aladar spoke in Djhara, the native language of the Ajhani clans, rather than the Aeia that was spoken throughout the Middle Kingdoms.

He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get a word out, Aladar said, An’ma’s got the ingredients for Yergi packed. Two crates, so I’ll need your help.

Sasha turned to look at his very pregnant cousin, Piya, who was minding the bolts of brightly colored silk at the stall next to his.

Go, Piya said, giving him a weary smile. I can watch both stalls. You won’t be long, anyway.

We won’t, Sasha agreed. It’s just a few streets over.

Piya waved him off with her hand, and Sasha followed Aladar to the supply wagon. An’ma was just stuffing one last pouch full of dried coldroot down the side of a crate.

Aladar eyed the crates and grinned. How does it feel to have the labor of an entire summer reduced to the contents of a couple of crates, little brother?

You’re rather unobservant for a future clan chief. Sasha jabbed him with an elbow. We filled a lot more than two crates.

And I couldn’t have done it without Sasha,