Soul Hosts

Soul Hosts

  Joseph Isaacs

  Chapter 1

  The Gray Man

  The City of Vilanos in the Drakindom of Helos

  Let us see what game the gray man plays –Kolram

  --

  Wayden forked right at the blacksmith’s shop, his soft-soled shoes shuffling against the cobblestones. Glancing behind him, he spotted the black-hooded stranger, sword hanging from his belt, jostling through a crowd of market-goers.

  A tightness clasped Wayden’s chest.

  “Why would someone be after a fifteen-year old orphan?” Wayden asked the wizard who resided in his mind.

  Wayden’s head itched, a signal that Kolram was preparing to respond. "He must be after the bounty on unauthorized use of magic, but how could he be aware of my presence?”

  “I haven’t told anyone,” Wayden replied, increasing his speed. The menacing footsteps accelerated behind him, matching his pace.

  He dared another glance. A shaft of light fell upon his pursuer’s face, illuminating gray skin. Wayden tensed. Could he be the same…no, this one was smaller, six feet approximately- a good foot shorter than the other.

  Wayden scanned the street. He saw a familiar face, an acolyte from the temple the orphans attended heading towards an alleyway. “Maybe he can help me."

  “Wait―” Wayden mentally pushed Grandmaster Kolram’s thoughts aside. He raced past a wagon, darted in front of a stalled rickshaw and past a bulky male fishmonger who was shouting about fresh wall-eyed trout from his stall.

  “― now we may be trapped in a deserted back alley with no one to help us but a weakly acolyte,” Kolram managed to finish his warning.

  Wayden chanced a look behind him, and from across the street he could see his stalker glaring at him. Red eyes burned beneath his darkened cowl. Wayden’s stomach churned.

  His pursuer stepped forward, but a merchant stepped in front of him. “Fresh fish, Sir? A very good price for you.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “How much you want to pay for it? I’ll give it to you for three copper dragons.”

  Wayden’s pursuer hood fell back, revealing long silver hair and light-gray wrinkled skin mottled with green moles ― an Ozac.

  The image of the first Ozac he’d ever seen invaded his mind- his huge booted foot, breaking through their front door, sending their rickety barricade toppling. His mother and brother screaming. And Nanny―

  “Focus, Wayden,” Kolram said. “You need to be in the moment.”

  Wayden forced himself to breathe, fighting off panic. This wasn't the same monster. This one's skin was a lighter shade. He was thinner. A half-Ozac, most likely. But this one’s eyes appeared cunning, calculating. It was hard to say which frightened him more. Luckily, the fish monger was less scared. “Ah you’re an Ozac. I do a lot of business in Alatia. I have many Ozac friends. For you I’ll give you a steal of a price. Two copper.”

  Wayden turned to see the acolyte turning left into an adjoining alleyway. Wayden followed, making his way past stacked kegs and timber. A trickle of foul water oozed through the cracked ground. The acolyte turned a corner and again Wayden followed…and… found himself facing a wall of muscle…

  A broad-shouldered man, with a viper tattoo etched across his face, seized Wayden’s arm with a gloved hand. “Where you ne thinkin’ you be goin’?”

  “Oh! Sorry, wrong turn.”

  Wayden tried to pull away, but big man’s hold was too tight.

  Behind Viper-tattoo, Wayden saw the acolyte handing a coin to a short man, with a huge mole on his nose. Mole-nose gestured tracing circles in the air with flexed fingers and whispered words with a piercing cadence.

  A mist emerged from the acolyte’s mouth, dangling from his lips. The acolyte’s face grew pale and his eyes bulged, veins protruding from his sweat-slick forehead. Wayden thought for a moment he might be witnessing a murder, until Mole-nose suddenly ceased his chanting.

  The acolyte murmured, “More. Please, more.” The mist slipped back into the acolyte’s mouth. “No….don’t stop….please.”

  "A spell used as a narcotic,” Wayden thought.

  “No time for that now,” Kolram responded. “Find a way to escape."

  But how? Viper-tattoo’s grip remained solid.

  “Boss, look what I be findin’,” Viper-tattoo said to Mole-nose.

  The acolyte stared at Wayden and cursed. He darted out a narrow side passage, half-hidden behind stacked barrels.

  Mole-nose sauntered forward, his eyes narrowed. He wore a tan robe filigreed with silver trim. His voice was as sharp as the curved dagger hanging upon his belt. "Who sent you here, boy?"

  “No one sent me,” Wayden said.

  “Just like exploring back alleyways, eh?” Mole-nose asked.

  “Ah, son, there you are!” The Ozac emerged from around the corner. “What are you doing back here?” His voice sounded friendly, but anger smoldered beneath those red eyes.

  Mole-nose nodded at Viper-tattoo, who released Wayden’s arm. The Ozac’s grip replaced it.

  Wayden’s stomach twisted. The question of the day seemed to not be whether or not he’d be eaten, but which beast would consume him. It was all so unfair. Wayden had never asked to host Kolram. The stupid Grandmaster’s soul mist had entered him when he was a newborn. Why couldn’t they all leave him alone?

  "Please pardon my son.” The Ozac smiled apologetically. “He's a bit short on brains. Can't I leave you for a moment without you getting yourself lost?"

  Viper-tattoo laughed. "Your father be an Ozac? No wonder you be so dumb."

  Wayden eyed the gray arm wrapped around his shoulder.

  Mole-nose ran his eyes up and down the Ozac, and snorted. "You’re telling me that’s your son? You take me for a fool?"

  "I take you for a man to be honored and respected," the Ozac said. "I'm his stepfather. I am most sorry to have troubled and disrupted you. Please take this coin as a token of my sincere regret.” With his left hand he passed the money. “Come along, son. We're going to be late."

  “Let. Me. Go.” Wayden tried in vain to pull free again, as the Ozac led him onto the main street.

  “Boy, let me explain—” the Ozac began.

  “—Please my friend.” The fishmonger begged. “Try a small sample.” The Ozac’s grasp loosened for a moment, and Wayden pulled free.

  “Wait!” the Ozac shouted.

  Waiting was the last thing on Wayden’s mind. Weaving through the throng of merchants and buyers prodding products, he almost tripped over a beggar child shaking a tin cans.

  A quick glance revealed no pursuer. He slowed to a brisk trot, not wanting to be overconfident of escape, but also wary of attracting attention from the Guard by running like a burglar from a guard dog.

  He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the orphanage gate. The sign hung from the iron fence read The Dracon’s Home for Unadoptable Boys, but today it might as well have read ‘Safety’.

  Rory, an orphanage worker, pressed against the bars of the gate. "Do you have it?" He was a burly man with a tangle of brown hair and a lazy eye.

  "Quick, Rory. Open. I’ll give it to you once I’m inside"

  "What's your rush? The wraiths after you?"

  "Rory, please."

  Rory pulled up the rod and swung the gate, its rusty hinges shrieking. "Did she give it to you?"

  With the clang of metal closing behind him, Wayden’s heart settled. He searched his pocket, half afraid the parchment had been lost in the chase, but it was still there.

  "Go on then, read it to me," Rory said.

  Wayden cleared his throat and read: “'Me dearest honeysuckles, you be as beautiful as a dragon's egg. I be lovin’ you something fierce. Love and kisses, Suga
r Pie.'"

  Rory smiled. "That's lovely.” He took the note from Wayden and placed it into his own pocket. Then he glanced at Wayden, and his expression grew dark. “Don't tell anyone about this, and come by later to get me response. Don’t forget, or I’ll be makin’ you sorry, Toast."

  Wayden felt his burn-marked forehead tighten at the mention of his nickname. Rory acted nice to Wayden when he wanted something, but as soon as the favor was done, so was Rory’s act.

  Wayden glanced through the bars towards the street, half fearing to see the gray man standing there, but there was no one but some farmers with a wagon of goods.

  Why had the Ozac been following him? Had Wayden seen the last of him? If it was because of Kolram, how had he known? Perhaps he had magic powers of his own.

  “Could the Ozac have been a Magic-finder?” Wayden wondered.

  “Magic-finders’ hands glow when they draw near practitioners of magic. You would know this if you paid better attention to my lectures."

  "What's that, Kolram? I fell asleep. You were lecturing."

  "If only I had been hosted by your brother."

  Wayden bristled. His mother had always compared him unfavorably to his twin-brother, Mavik, as well.

  A voice from the crowded street interrupted his reveries. “Hey there. Watch your shoving, you wraithin’ half-breed.”

  Wayden looked up and saw the silver-haired Ozac making his way through the crowd. He felt as if an ice snake had just slithered down his spine.

  “I need to talk to your master,” the Ozac said to Rory through the bars of the gate.

  No! He was so sure he’d gotten away. Now, the Ozac and Master Crag would split the reward for turning Wayden in. Crag would hand him over to the Guard, claiming to have figured out himself that Wayden hosted a mage without proper authorization.

  At that moment a soldier rode past. The Ozac saw the soldier too… but…he didn’t call to him.

  "Hmm,” Kolram said, “Perhaps he isn’t trying to collect a bounty after all."

  "Then why is he following me?"

  "I do not know what game he plays. He tried to explain something, before the innkeeper’s assault."

  The other orphans, who had been weeding the garden, stopped and gawked at the gray-skinned stranger. Most had red hair, like Wayden himself, and were his age or a year or two younger.

  “You can speak with me,” Rory said. “I’m second-in-command.”

  “I’m sure you are a man of great skill,” the Ozac said to Rory. “Unfortunately, it is to the master I must speak. Please take this as a token of my appreciation.” He stuck a hand into his purse and pulled out a coin. Rory's eyes widened as the Ozac passed the money through the gate’s bars.

  Rory pocketed it with a smile, pushed the squeaky rod up, and swung the gate open. “Why, come right in.”

  Wayden’s feet felt welded to the ground as he watched the Ozac stride forward. Beneath the Ozac’s black cloak, he wore a shirt woven of strips of gold linen coiled around his body. He smiled at Wayden, revealing fangs. He leaned close to Wayden and whispered, “Don’t look so terrified, boy. If I wanted you hurt, you’d be hurt by now.”

  The Ozac was inside the gate. Wayden froze, unsure whether he should run for it. The Ozac hadn’t called for the guard. Kolram was right. Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t the bounty. But if not that, then what?

  An open wagon rolled around the bend. A different group of soldiers shouted at the crowd, "Make way for the Guard Draconi. In the name of the Dracon, stand aside!" This time they headed to the orphanage. “Open the gates!”

  The Ozac’s eyes widened in delight, staring at something in the back of the wagon. His smile deepened, his eyes glittered.

  The driver, one of the Guard, dressed in a rusty chain hauberk and fluttering orange cloak, guided the wagon to a halt in the yard. A second dark-haired soldier climbed out of the rear. He helped a boy down and untied his bonds.

  Purple hair, dark skin… a Tulkarian boy. A wraithing Tulkarian.

  Two ghosts from the past in one day: first the Ozac, now this. Wayden’s mind was sucked back to that dreaded day. The Tulkarian Sky Raider, purple hair pulled back in a ponytail, waiting alongside his big black winged wolf, arrow nocked.

  Two of his worst nightmares right here at the orphanage. Deep down, what truly scared Wayden wasn’t the Tulkarian or the Ozac.

  It was the anger inside himself, ready to ignite.