Soulkeeper Page 25

  Jacaranda tipped her hat to him, and she smiled at his “truth.”

  “That she did,” she said. “Good luck, Soulkeeper. May we both succeed with our lies.”

  Jacaranda traveled ahead while Devin waited with the horses. A strange sensation slowly settled over her as the distance grew between them, strange enough that she focused upon it. Alone… she was alone. She’d been alone before while soulless, of course, but now she was keenly aware of it. She stopped in place. There was no one to make her continue. There was no one to make her stay. If she so desired, she could return to Devin and refuse to enter Londheim. She could vanish and never see the Soulkeeper again. By the void, she could strip naked and run for the hills.

  The more she dwelled on the matter, the heavier her feet became. No, there were far more options than that. She could twirl and sing. She could dig a grave with her hands. She could slit her wrists and bleed out, wasting the gift given to her. Whatever her mind could conceive, she could enact. Even the simplest act of breathing was a decision to be made. Faster, shallower, held for thirty seconds, blasted out in wheezy gusts. She’d been so focused on the larger decisions, things Gerag would give orders over, she’d overlooked the nature of the life she now lived. Everything was a decision. How wonderful, this overwhelming paralysis.

  Jacaranda took a step toward Londheim, and did so because she wanted to find Devin’s home. She breathed in and out with steady breaths, for she wished to remain alive. No, more than that. She found living suddenly wildly invigorating. The next minute she ran, pushing her legs to their limits. After that she ripped up some grass and inhaled its scent. To think she’d found joy in picking out her clothes and yet overlooked the complete control she had over every single second of her existence.

  Her elation had mostly settled down by the time she neared Londheim’s gated entrance. That unwelcome sensation of nervousness replaced it. She found herself repeating her new name and home over and over in her mind. Anthea from Ostenbrook. She was afraid of the changing world. Once inside, go to Seven-Five Sermon Lane. Anthea from Ostenbrook. Changing world. Seven-Five Sermon Lane.

  The soldiers at the entrance had separated traffic into two lanes, with those entering the city forming a line on the left half. A bespectacled man with an enormous book and a stick of charcoal interviewed them before entry. Jacaranda tightened her scarf and took her place at the back of the line. Her insides squirmed, and with a mixture of fascination and horror she realized her breathing had become rapid and shallow. Jacaranda forced herself to breathe regularly. Perhaps not everything was reliant on her decisions. The beat of her heart, for example, or the tingling in her fingers as her line steadily moved forward. So strange to control one’s body but also have it behave autonomously.

  When it was her turn she stepped up to the two bored soldiers and the man with the book.

  “Name?” the older of the two soldiers asked.

  “Anthea.”

  The man with the book started scribbling, and after a pause, he glared at her. Jacaranda froze. What did he want? Was something wrong with her name? The soldiers looked annoyed with her, too.

  “Full name, woman,” the soldier added. “None of us have all day.”

  Piss. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “Anthea Flowers,” she said, going with the first thing to pop in her head.

  Anthea Flowers? Do you know how absurd that sounds?

  She put a hand on her scarf, the chain tattoo beneath burning her skin. Upon realizing what she was doing she quickly dropped it back to her side.

  “Anthea… Flowers,” the man with the book said. The tone in his voice revealed his disbelief. “Search her bag.”

  She handed her pack over, which the younger soldier opened carelessly. There wasn’t much left inside, just a change of clothes, tools to sharpen her daggers, and a bit of food. Nothing inside to directly link her to Gerag.

  But of course, she forgot about the pack itself.

  “This is nice leather,” said the older soldier. “Very nice.”

  “Where are you from, Anthea?” the book man asked.

  “Ostenbrook,” she said.

  He squinted at her.

  “And where did a woman such as yourself obtain such a nice pack? Did you steal it?”

  Think, think, think. Her current clothes were a mishmash of what she’d found at the logger’s camp. They wouldn’t believe her wealthy enough to buy such a well-made pack. She could claim she was a servant to one of the noble houses. She’d memorized their various names and symbols while under Gerag’s control, but there was always the tiny chance the soldiers would look into that connection, especially after she’d made a fool of herself multiple times.

  “It’s not stealing if you take it from the dead,” Jacaranda said. “Some well-to-do man and his family thought it’d be safe up north.”

  “I take it that it’s not?” asked the soldier.

  “Why do you think I came south?”

  The soldier searching her pack shrugged and handed it back over.

  “She’s got nothing,” he said.

  The book man clucked his tongue at her.

  “You should be thankful Mayor Gaunt is a man of compassion,” he said. “I’d turn you away if it were up to me.”

  Then good thing it’s not up to you, you smug bastard.

  Jacaranda bit her tongue. The temptation to voice the statement aloud was much stronger than she’d anticipated. The guard tossed the pack back to her. She slung it over her shoulder and tried to hurry away.

  “Wait,” the book man said. “Have you anywhere to stay?”

  Goddesses above, she was a terrible liar. She spun and decided to go with the truth.

  “I, yes, a friend,” she said, begging they would not inquire further. He rolled his eyes, marked something in his book, and then dismissed her as if she were an annoying insect. The motion humiliated her, but she was free, and she quickly vanished into the crowded streets of the city.

  Londheim felt overstuffed ever since the crawling mountain arrived. What had once been clearly defined sections of prosperity and poverty were heavily blurred. In such a chaotic state it was easy to blend in with the refugees and simply wander. It took her twenty minutes, but at last she arrived at Sermon Lane. It was a quiet neighborhood, just like Devin had described, formed from a single road that curled around into a broken circle before coming to a dead end. The homes started in the sixes, so it didn’t take long to find home seven-five. Satisfied that no one watched her from nearby windows, Jacaranda calmly approached as if she’d always lived there. She slid in the key, turned it, and stepped inside.

  A younger man slouched sideways in a comfy chair beside the fireplace. He wore a loose pair of white drawers and a robe hanging open from his scrawny shoulders. In one hand he held a tattered book opened to a page near the middle. In the other danced three luminescent orbs slowly changing from red to blue to yellow. The young man was so entranced he did not notice her entrance until she cleared her throat.

  “He… hello?” Jacaranda said.

  The three orbs instantaneously vanished. The man flailed as if struck, dropped the book, and with the grace of a two-legged pig toppled headfirst off the side of the chair. His feet were the only part of him she could still see, the ankles resting atop the chair’s arm.

  Something deep inside Jacaranda erupted uncontrollably. Tears swelled in her eyes. Laughter, she realized, an act she’d witnessed a thousand times before. Nothing could stop it. She clutched a fist to her mouth but it did no good. When the man’s head poked up from behind the chair, his neck as red as an apple, her laughter only worsened.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please, I… I… I’m so sorry.”

  Jacaranda could barely control herself. This laughter, it felt so good, so freeing. The only reason she wished it to stop was so she could catch her breath.

  “It’s, um, quite fine,” the man said. He glanced down at his mostly naked self and flailed at the robe until hi
s clumsy fumbling resulted in something resembling a knot. “Devin didn’t tell me we’d be having a guest over.”

  “He didn’t know he’d have one until our way back to Londheim,” she said. “It is nice to meet you…?”

  “Tomas Moore,” he said after a pause. “But most people call me Tommy.”

  “Greetings, Tommy,” she said. She tipped her head in respect while touching the center of her chest. “My name is Jacaranda. Devin has offered me a place to stay until things become more… clear.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Devin all right,” Tommy said. He scratched at his head and looked around the small, cluttered home. “Sleeping arrangements will definitely be tricky, though. I guess you can have the couch. A few pillows should do me fine on the floor.”

  “You don’t want to share the couch with me?”

  His entire body froze like a deer sensing the presence of a wolf. Giggles escaped Jacaranda’s throat. Heavens help her, this was a problem. She already felt light-headed. Any more laughing and she might pass out. Tommy realized she was teasing him and narrowed his face into a cockeyed glare.

  “How do you know Devin again?”

  “I accompanied him to Oakenwall,” she said, deciding that if Tommy lived with Devin, he must be worth some measure of trust. “What of you?”

  “He’s my brother-in-law.”

  “I see. How kind of him.” Jacaranda knelt down and retrieved the book Tommy had dropped. “So what is it you were reading when I interrupted?”

  The man looked ready to yank the book from her grasp, but every time his hands moved forward he pulled them back to his sides.

  “Please, please, be careful, that book is very old and very important.”

  She skimmed the pages, most of it appearing to be nonsense. It wasn’t nonsense, though, she knew that. Those three orbs shimmering in his hand were no worldly creation. Jacaranda offered him the book, waiting until he put his hand upon it to speak.

  “Is this how you summoned those orbs?”

  His fingers locked onto the leather cover.

  “I, uh, have no idea what you’re talking about. No idea. What orbs? Where did you see them? I was just sitting here reading, that’s all. Been a rough week so I decided a cozy day beside Puffy would do me well.”

  And Jacaranda thought she was a terrible liar. Tommy had her beat by miles.

  “Puffy?” she asked.

  “Did I say puffy? I meant, um, stuffy fire. Yes. Nice and warm and stuffy. Silly you, imagining things I certainly didn’t say or do.”

  What in the world was he blabbering about?

  “Sitting by a fire does sound good, though,” Jacaranda said. She removed her hat but kept her coat on, using the long leather as a sort of blanket to sit upon. Her scarf slipped a little as she sat. She quickly adjusted it and hoped Tommy had not noticed.

  “So can I get you anything?” Tommy asked. “We’re not exactly stocked with delicacies, but I could get you some water or raspberry wine.”

  “Water will be fine, thank you.”

  Tommy ducked into the next room, looking grateful to escape. Jacaranda pulled her coat tighter around her and stared into the crackling fire. She felt herself coming down from her high, a not entirely unwelcome sensation. Her awkward host returned with a large wooden cup nearly full to the brim with water. To her surprise, four chunks of ice floated in the center. She sipped the cool water as Tommy slumped back into his chair, his own tall cup of wine gently swirling in his hand.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “It is much better to talk with someone than sit in silence awaiting Devin’s return.”

  “I do try to be friendly,” Tommy said. He smiled at her. “And my sis always did say I was the life of a gathering.”

  She took a larger sip. Her ice clacked against the wooden side of the cup.

  “The ice is a nice touch,” she said. “How did you get it?”

  He winked at her slyly.

  “That is my little secret.”

  “Just like those three orbs?”

  He coughed on the wine he’d started to drink.

  “I’m sorry, Jacaranda, but I doubt you’d believe me even if I did try to explain.”

  “Try me.” Tommy shifted in his seat. She sensed he wanted to tell her, but something was holding him back. Shame? Fear? A vow of some sort? “How about this,” she said. “A secret for a secret. Does that sound fair?”

  His brow furrowed.

  “I doubt you have a secret anywhere close to as significant as mine.”

  In answer she tucked her fingers into her scarf and gently pulled it down to reveal the chain tattoos across her throat. Exposing it left her feeling far more naked than if she’d stripped off her coat and shirt. Tommy’s eyes widened upon realizing the mark’s significance.

  “That mark, that means you’re, but you don’t act like…” Tommy stopped to scratch at his head. “You’re a soulless who no longer appears to be, well, soulless. That’s a first, and not just for me, I mean, a first for the entire Cradle. Damn. You seem to be taking this change rather, uh, well.”

  “I am trying my best,” she said, quickly lifting the scarf and feeling immediately better upon doing so. “But there is my secret. Care to share yours?”

  He took in a long deep breath and braced himself as if expecting to be punched.

  “I can cast magical spells.”

  Jacaranda had assumed as much just by those floating, shimmering orbs.

  “Is that it?” she asked.

  Tommy looked dumbfounded by her nonchalant response.

  “You’re not surprised?” he asked.

  “Devin and I were nearly killed by a singing, man-eating plant. The only reason we lived was through the help of an onyx-skinned faery capable of manipulating time. Upon leaving the forest, my soul plunged from the sky into my body, awakening me. The existence of magic is not the biggest surprise of my week.”

  “Oh. Wow.” Tommy gulped down the rest of his wine and then grinned at her. “But now that you’ve teased me with that tale you’ll need to tell the whole thing. More water?”

  Jacaranda stared at Tommy’s nearly empty cup. She’d never imbibed alcohol before, only witnessed its effects on others. There never appeared a reason for its use, given its detrimental effect on sense, reason, and dexterity. Now, though, she thought of herself overcome with laughter and wondered.

  “I think I would like to try that wine after all,” she said.

  “Now that’s the spirit! No, uh, pun intended.”

  He took her cup, left the room, and quickly returned with it half full of a dark crimson liquid.

  “Have you ever had wine before?” he asked.

  Jacaranda accepted the cup and took a tiny sip. Initially she tasted sweetness, and as she let it swirl across her tongue a strong tartness crept in. She swallowed, grimacing a little at a sudden hit of bitterness.

  “No,” she said. She took another gulp, enjoying the warmth this time as it traveled down her throat. The scent of raspberries lingered in her nose. “Not once.”

  “Then let’s be smart and keep you at one cup,” he said, eyeing her warily. “It can be a bit dangerous to drink wine so… eagerly.”

  Jacaranda drained the last of it, set her cup down, and then belched. The act was a perfectly normal bodily function, but strangely this time she felt embarrassed. Color flushed in her cheeks. This feeling, it was like a desire, and keenly focused on what someone else thought of her. Would Tommy disapprove of the belch? Was that why a tiny bit of heat built in her cheeks and neck? That was ridiculous, but she apologized for it anyway.

  “Sorry,” she said, surprised that it actually made her feel a tiny bit better.

  Tommy grinned at her and shook his head, thankfully saying nothing. Jacaranda finally removed her coat, and she relaxed upon it with a satisfied groan. It felt so good to lie down and stretch her back after the hours on the road. She gazed into the fire as an airy tingle settled over her mind. The result of the win
e, she assumed.

  “Before you begin your story, I guess I should be honest,” Tommy said. He gestured to the fire. “Though I’d say the final decision’s up to you, Puffy. I think it’s safe to trust her, but I also have a history of being completely and utterly wrong about people.”

  Jacaranda wondered, not for the first time, if Tommy might be missing a few pieces in the head. Who was he talking to? She followed his gesture and stared at the fire. The strangely flowing fire. The fire that formed a head and lifted up and blinked at her with two coal-like eyes.

  Perhaps she was not as accustomed to the absurdity of the world as she believed.

  “Hello?” she told the fire.

  The head plopped back down and vanished. A long, curling strand of flame replaced it, the top spreading out to form five individual fingers. And then it waved.

  The hand vanished, and the tiny little head reemerged, the black eyes peering at her expectantly. Jacaranda’s chest warmed, and her mouth dropped open of its own volition. She reckoned her face looked similar to when she’d witnessed others playing with kittens they found in an alley or cooing over slobbery newborn babies.

  “I love it. And its name is Puffy?”

  A circle of smoke puffed up in response.

  “I’m teaching it ways to easily communicate,” Tommy explained. “A circle is yes, an X is no. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

  A fist emerged from the fire. Two of its fingers suddenly shot straight up in a recognizably rude gesture.

  “It, uh, learned that one on its own.”

  Jacaranda laughed, finding it easier and easier to do with the aid of the wine.

  “I am so happy to have met you,” she said. “The both of you.”

  Tommy smiled at her, and he lurched to his feet as if reaching a sudden conclusion.

  “Oh, piss on being smart,” he said, grabbing Jacaranda’s cup along with his own. “It’s time for a refill.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Walking the afternoon streets of Londheim felt undeniably strange to Devin. People were tense, more so than when he’d left. He passed boarded-up windows and broken statues, statues he didn’t remember being there in the first place. Twice he found himself lost at a dead end, and no matter how certain his brain insisted he’d made no wrong turns, he could not deny the crowded walls and cramped homes blocking off his passage.