Soul Hosts Page 14

  Chapter 14

  A Lovely Couple

  If you can't retreat from the flames, you must enter into them. -Nadra

  --

 

  Alaina leapt over the Guardian field to the outer ring. A crackle of amber energy snakes sizzled against the heels of her deerskin boots. The escaping figure, wrapped in a brown cloak, ran through a corridor that Alaina could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. She hesitated at the open door leading to a slanted descending passage. The Connection Spell pulled at her, emanating from up ahead. It felt different from the Splasher’s pull. Something was off, but forward she went, into the darkness. A Skydaughter shows no fear.

  The beating sound grew louder as she descended deeper into the ever darkening tunnels. She felt her neck frills bristle.

  "I won't be afraid," Alaina thought.

  "Then you're a fool,” Nadra said, “Everything about this spells trap."

  Alaina whispered a puff of flame to light her way. She had to be careful. Too much and she could burn up her own air supply. She let a tiny tendril of flame curl from her mouth. The flame spiraled through the air, illuminating the corridor for a moment. Then she closed her mouth and took a step.

  “You're inching your way into a death trap," Nadra said. "You frog-skinned fool.”

  Fifteen years being inside a part-Mantu hadn't made Nadra any less prejudiced to them, and the derogatory term made Alaina's stomach twist. But while the insult bristled, there was a truth behind the crudeness of Nadra’s words. Danger loomed ahead. She’d heard tales of the dark things that lived and died beneath the Fist.

  Bravery was one thing, but this was just foolishness. A warrior had to pick the best path into battle. Even if the Connection did belong to the slave boy, was it worth the risk to stop his escape? Why should she care if her father lost a slave? In fact, she probably ought to be glad of it. She’d been trained and drilled for battle by Desha and others, but she’d learned wisdom from Laeko.

  Alaina turned around, retracing her steps to the main chamber. The doorway had vanished. Her skin crawled. She let out another puff of flame. There was no trace of the door she’d entered through.

  Heart pounding louder than the distant thumping, she searched for a way out. A knob, a lever, a crevice, a button, but she felt only cold stone. Had she descended into her own grave?

  “If you can't retreat from the flames, you must enter them," Nadra said.

  Alaina chewed her lip, wracking her brain for how to dig herself out of this dilemma. If she caught the slave boy, or whomever the Connection belonged to, she could force him to locate and open the hidden door. She whispered another tendril of fire into the air.

  Wherever she was had plenty of air. It must be large. The Weaver's World, the legendary underground lair, stretched for endless leagues if the histories told it accurately. If you enter the Weaver's World you will never leave, the legend went. She wasn't afraid. She only trembled because of the cold and damp, she told herself.

  Fire welled in her mouth, swirling around her tongue. She moved forward again, inching forward. The beating sound intensified, matching the thumping of her heart.

  "Keep your eyes open," Nadra said. "Someone might be lurking ahead ready to bash your skull in."

  Alaina let out another breath, but it came out as a couple of sparks. Her fire magic was dwindling. The corridor widened and twisted as she descended. The darkness made the going slow. She rested, meditating for a moment, to let the Source regenerate inside her. When she could feel the Source energy tingling upon her tongue again, she released a large flare, flaming tendrils illuminating noting more than a cavern with stalagmites and a stream trickling across it.

  She would show no fear. She was a Fire-Whisperer. She was Alaina Skydaughter. Around the next corner, hints of amber light shone against the wall. Was it Centuron and her Guardian Knights? She turned the bend, and stopped in her tracks at a bizarre sight.

  In the center of the room, a six-foot wide stone heart expanded and contracted. The stone stretched like flesh, glowing as if heated in a blacksmith's furnace. Metal tendrils spiraled out from it, writhing like a kraken's tentacles. At the ends of the tendrils, Guardian energy attached itself to a clear energy sphere, which held a milk-white woman. Her blank eyes, her hair, even her gown, were white, but around her feet stirred a puddle of darkness.

  The ceiling above the sphere held a second Guardian Field. Judging from a circle painted on the ceiling, that matched one on the inner ring of the temple, Alaina guessed she was standing directly beneath it, and this was the Heart Stone that produced the eerie beating sound.

  She spied a short blue-haired boy, turned so she could only see his back. He was dressed in gold and black linens. He ladled wax from a cauldron into a plaster mold. Scores of life-size wax figures, partially covered by linens, littered the room. They were all of various half animals: a wolf man, a bird man, a lizard man, a bear man, a horse man…

  “Who are you?” Alaina asked.

  The boy didn't turn and said nothing, just continued to work on the statue.

  Stones grated just to Alaina’s right, and a wall slid open. Three figures emerged, all of whom had woven strips of linen wrapped tightly around their legs, torsos, and chests. The mummy-like wrappings stopped at their necks.

  Their faces were normal enough, a mixture of races. The first was a half-Ozac male, wearing a dark cloak over his linen wraps. He had long silver hair and red eyes, but his skin was light grey and he was far smaller than Skarak. The second was a full Mantu female, and the last a dark-skinned young woman with long black braids. The young woman was the one Alaina felt the connection towards. Not the slave boy after all. Why do I feel the same pull towards this girl as to the slave boy? Why do I feel a connection to either of them?

  Alaina made a move to run, but the half-Ozac lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. She tried to buck free, but he pulled in tightly, pulling her back against his chest. His eyes pierced right through Alaina like knives of fire.

  Alaina tried to keep her voice calm, though her heart beat like the wings of a wolf. "Who are you? What do you want?"

  The Ozac said, "The Weaver has a message for you, girl."

  The blue-haired boy turned around. His face was half flesh, half skeleton.

  --

  Wayden and Rif were eating porridge with the other orphans, when Rory came in from the yard. "A Fire-Whisperer and a Dragon Knight be heading this way with a mass of Flickers."

  Crag looked worried. “Rory, did you-”

  “It weren’t me. I didn’t be saying peep,” Rory said.

  Were they here to arrest Rif, Wayden wondered. It wasn’t Rif’s fault he had Arth in his mind.

  Crag donned his hat, a sign of respect in Vilanos. In Wayden’s home town it was the opposite, one took their hat off. Rif had told Wayden Tulkarians didn’t trust anyone wearing a hat at all. But even in Vilanos, Crag’s hat stood out like an Ozac at a ballroom dance.

  Rory held the door open. The infamous Royal Companion Jereth Thunderstone entered first. Sunlight glinted off the dragon knight’s serpentine helm. The man’s features seemed to have been caught in a permanent sneer.

  A Flicker thumped the base of his spear onto the hardwood floor and bellowed, “Make way for Fire-Whisperer Ko, grandson of Borleat, son of Neruk.”

  “May your ember glow in the darkest of nights,” Crag said, falling to his knees.

  The other orphans followed his example. Fire-Whisperer Ko entered. He was a tall, lean man. His eyes were two different colors, one pale green, and the other milky gray. Ko had a burn mark on his left cheek.

  “That’s the mark of a Purist,” Kolram said. “They burn their left cheek to cleanse sinful thoughts from their heads.”

  “What are the Purists?”

  “The Purists belong to the Temple of the Sun. They want to exile all non-humans from Helos. I can’t say much good of Dracon Niar, but at least he’s no Purist. He belongs to the Temple
of the Third Moon.”

  Ko peered down at Crag, who was still on his knees. "Stand. You’re wasting time."

  Crag’s face was red and flustered as he struggled to pull himself off the floor.

  Ko shoved a parchment into Crag's hand, stamped with the Dracon's wax seal. "I'm here due to a violation of The Use of Unauthorized Magic Act."

  Ko stared at Crag intently.

  Crag paled and trembled. "I didn’t mean to. I just want to be a Fire-whisperer. Is that so bad?"

  "We aren't here for you, though thank you for bringing that to my attention," Ko said. "I'll make mention of that to the Dracon. By the order of His Royal Highness I’ve been authorized to take into custody the two orphans who used magic illegally in the Dracon’s fields.”

  Wayden's stomach knotted. It was as bizarre as it was unfair. Rif had possibly killed Big Darius, but they were arresting them because they used magic in self-defense. They mustn’t have known about the incident with Big D, or surely that would at least be mentioned. They wouldn't learn about it from Wayden.

  “No need to tell the Dracon, is there?” Crag pleaded. “About me?"

  "We'll see how cooperative you are."

  Crag straightened himself up. "Right.” He pointed at Wayden and Rif. “These two used magic. My man, Rory, saw them. One summoned a wolf; the other did some spell with a cloud. I guess a weather wizard of some sort? Anyhow, they're yours."

  Wayden’s stomach churned with the injustice of it all. It didn’t even make sense. If they were going to arrest them shouldn’t it be for Big Darius’s death, not for saving him. Everything was twisted.

  “So you knew about this but failed to report it?” Ko glared at Crag who paled again.

  “We were in the process.”

  “Quite a lengthy process it would seem. As well as the two boys, I’m to take custody of Mistress Night."

  Crag’s quadruple brimmed hat had fallen to the floor, and without realizing, he took a step backwards and stood on it. "That’s my grandmother!"

  Ko handed Crag a parchment. "You were a candidate to become a Fire-Whisperer, were you not, Master Crag? I seem to vaguely recall voting on your nomination. May I assume then that you are literate?"

  “Of course, I am,” Crag said, examining the parchment. “I’ll have you know I'm nominated again for the coming Picking. You might be seeing me around the temple, you might."

  Ko raised an eyebrow. "You might have to tone your garb down a bit when you go before the Selection Tribunal. We can't have you out-brightening the volcano. Though the hat on your foot is original, I’ll grant."

  Crag followed Ko's gaze to his crushed cap. He tried to disentangle and almost tripped himself.

  "Work on your foot adornments at a later date," Ko snapped. "You're wasting my valuable time with your toe hats. Will you read the document, or do I have to read it to you?"

  Crag blushed again and squinted at the document, his lips moving as he read. "Rory, go fetch my grandma. Rif and Toast, you'll be taken to the Red Palace."

  Rory nodded and headed up the stairwell.

  "We weren’t using magic, sir,” Wayden protested. “We were just praying. The Source or the Dragonking must have sent the wolves.”

  Ko glared at Wayden. “You will not speak unless requested."

  Wayden moved towards Ko. "It's not fair-"

  Thunderstone and another grabbed Wayden, and pulled him away from Ko. Soldiers flanked Rif as well. Wayden tasted bile.

  "If we hadn't used magic, Rory and the rest would have been killed,” Wayden thought, “And now, as our reward, they’re arresting us."

  "Justice was the first victim of the Dracon's reign," Kolram said.

  Wayden tried to move towards Ko, but Thunderstone stood between them, fingering his hilt.

  "Sir, if you would just let me explain," Wayden implored.

  Ko turned his withering glare upon Wayden. "You may not address me, unless requested, then you must call me Your Holiness, not any other iteration. Do not speak. Nod once if you understand.”

  "But-" Wayden said.

  A slap sent Wayden reeling back against a Flicker’s shield.

  “I believe I requested a nod,” Ko’s voice was cold and calm.

  Rif stepped forward. "It was m-m-me that used the magic. Leave W-W-Wayden out of it."

  A shove from Ko sent Rif flying into a guard, who caught the Tulkarian against his shield.

  "One more word out of either of you, and you shall make this journey bound and gagged," Ko said. “Try to escape or disobey and there will be painful repercussions. I have orders not to kill you, but maiming has not been expressly forbidden. Escort them to the wagon."

  Flickers flanked Rif and Wayden.

  “This can’t be how it all ends for me,” Wayden thought. “It just can’t.”

  Rory came down the stairs followed by Night. Her milk-white hair was coifed into elaborate plaits. She wore a clean black robe and bonnet. Her scars were covered with henna.

  "She were already packed," Rory said, scratching his head. "Did she be knowin' about this?"

  Crag spoke loudly to Night. "Grandma. They want you to go with them to the Red Palace."

  "I'm not deaf nor stupid, just old and ugly.” Night adjusted her bonnet. “If you came up to visit your grandmother once in a while you would know that, but you were born a fool, and age has not improved you. If you knew the slightest bit about me, you would know I knew we were leaving, because I saw it in the water. Your great-great grandmother, who you've been so ashamed of, is rising again soon. All this time I've been praising her name, and you've been denying any connection with her, hoping to curry favor. We shall soon see who gets stuck in an attic when she reigns supreme."

  Crag’s face paled.

  "I like this one," Ko said to Thunderstone.

  The Dragonknight rolled his eyes and muttered. "The two of you would make a lovely couple.”