Soulkeeper Page 27

  “You need somewhere to put your things, after all,” Tommy said.

  “My things,” Jacaranda said. She spoke as if the words were dancing on her tongue.

  Devin scratched the stubble growing on the side of his face and pondered. Jacaranda had only the clothes on her back and the daggers strapped to her legs and waist. At bare minimum she needed a few more outfits than the ragtag assortment she’d collected from the dead loggers.

  “We’ll go to the market tomorrow and pick you out an assortment of clothes,” he told Jacaranda.

  “I think… I think I’d like that,” she said.

  Everyone settled down, preparations ready. Puffy flickered and flared his body out, increasing the warmth of the fire. They chatted merrily, and Devin’s stress slowly drifted away. After half an hour the door opened, drawing their attention. Adria stepped inside and removed her mask. The smile that had been forming on her face immediately retreated into caution when she noticed Jacaranda’s presence.

  “You have a guest,” she said.

  Devin lurched to his feet and crossed the small room to embrace her warmly.

  “Thanks for coming, sis,” he said.

  “Who’s the woman?” she whispered.

  Devin wasn’t sure the best way to explain everything. He barely knew where to begin.

  “Jacaranda, I’d like you to meet my sister, Adria,” he said, figuring that was a good start. Jacaranda shyly waved.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Adria said. “Might I ask how you met my brother?”

  “We traveled to Oakenwall together.”

  Adria frowned as she pulled off her gloves and put them into hidden pockets. He could sense her unspoken question, and so did Jacaranda. Without any other explanation, Jacaranda took her scarf and slowly unwrapped it from around her neck. The dark chains shook from her nervous swallow.

  “You’re Gerag’s soulless,” Adria said, now even more confused.

  “Was,” Jacaranda snapped. “He doesn’t own me. He never did.”

  Such a reaction was impossible for a soulless. Adria’s mouth dropped open, and she struggled to find words.

  “This… this can’t be, Devin. The implications of a widespread awakening is… it’s unfathomable. Are you certain this isn’t an act Gerag taught her?”

  Jacaranda looked ready to strike.

  “I’m awake,” she said. “I’m here, and you want to dismiss my existence as an act?”

  Devin slid closer to Jacaranda and positioned his arm and shoulder between her and his sister.

  “I was there,” he told Adria. “I saw the soul enter her body during the reaping hour.”

  Adria gave him a tired, bewildered smile.

  “And I thought I was the one with surprising news,” she said. “I… Devin. What is that?”

  The Soulkeeper couldn’t help but laugh when he turned his shoulders. There in the window, looking almost ashamed with her arms crossed behind her back, hovered Tesmarie.

  “That’s a friend,” Devin said. He opened the door, and the faery quickly darted inside. She kept beside his shoulder, quiet and nervous. Adria gaped in shock, but Tommy’s reaction was far more welcoming.

  “Is… is that a faery? Goddesses above, you’re so pretty. Are those diamond eyes of yours real?”

  “Of course they’re real, they’re my eyes,” Tesmarie said, giving Tommy a strange look.

  “Don’t mind him,” Devin said. “I’m surprised to find you here in Londheim. I didn’t think you would follow.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to, but then… I don’t…” She looked away. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, and you did offer, after all, and-I’m-sorry-and-this-is-embarrassing-but-but…”

  She abruptly fell silent. Devin thought of how he’d first found her, crying alone behind a tree, and he knew he would not leave her to dwell alone in sorrow. Whatever the reason she chose to come with him, he’d accept silently until Tesmarie broached the issue herself. His offer had been genuine, but first, he had one last thing to check.

  “Do firekin get along with faeries?” he asked the fireplace. A ring of smoke puffed up in answer. “Then there’s no decision at all. Tesmarie, consider yourself welcome in my home.”

  Tommy looked pleased as could be, but Adria froze in place as if seeing a ghost. Devin had to stifle a laugh. He’d forgotten that his sister hadn’t been around various magical creatures as much as he had. As the faery zipped to the fire to introduce herself, Adria slid closer and lowered her voice.

  “I assume you have a story to tell?” she asked stiffly.

  “That I do,” Devin said. “But not quite yet.”

  Devin ducked into his kitchen, found the nearly empty bottle of raspberry wine Tommy and Jacaranda had shared, and then carried it out with him to his chair. He plopped down with a satisfied sigh and looked around at the bizarre assortment of people and creatures he’d collected over the past few days.

  “To new friends,” he toasted, only somewhat sarcastically. “May we not be at each other’s throats by the end of the week.”

  Devin threw his head back, closed his eyes, and drained the last of the wine.

  “All right,” he said, putting the bottle down. “Now where in Anwyn’s blessed name do I even start?”

  INTERLUDE

  The Aeryal lifted one by one from the ground, forming an enormous circle encompassing the sleeping city of Londheim. Their heads bore two opposing faces. One looked upon the city while the other gazed to the wilderness. Their perfect stone bodies moved in unison, as did their thoughts. Their arms rose skyward in careful reverence. Unspoken messages flowed between them like a peaceful river. They stood on four muscled legs, each one facing a different cardinal direction. Stable. Noble. Unchanging like the thousands of words carved upon every inch of their bare arms and chest.

  They were the keepers of the divine, the tongue of the Goddesses, and every single word was spread among the hundred.

  “Protect the divine,” they spoke in unison. “Preserve the divine.”

  One swayed to the left before returning straight. There was nothing special about that particular Aeryal, only that it was the first. The next in line did the same, followed by the next, and the next. That motion traveled the circle until it reached the original first, who then swayed to the right. Magic swelled within their carved words, and with each tilt of their bodies it flared. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The Aeryal closed their four eyes. Low rumbles escaped the throat of their rear faces, so deep only a few rare animals could truly hear them. The faces watching Londheim opened their mouths, and spoke their mantra with ever growing power.

  “The divine is eternal. Let there be no barriers. Let there be no walls. All as one, one shared among all.”

  The speed of their swaying rapidly increased until none remained still. The infinitesimally small words carved upon their bodies shimmered. Crafted by Gloam and blessed by the Goddesses, the Aeryal wielded tremendous power, but with that power came a singular focus, incorruptible and ever-lasting. Together they began to speak, each one’s words unique. One word per second. One hundred Aeryal. Six thousand each minute. For half an hour they swayed beneath the stars and bathed Londheim with their words.

  At last their mantra came to an end. Their four legs sank into the earth. The twin faces closed their eyes, their minds already searching for their next destination. With their recent awakening they had found the world to be a massive, seeping wound. Words shared meanings. Local accents, once a tiny flourish of style, had grown like cancer so men and women could hardly understand one another. Foreign tongues bred mistrust and fear. These were deep cuts to the divine, irreparable if centuries more were allowed to pass.

  The Aeryal would bandage the wound. They would clean up this mess of blood and verbs.

  When the humans woke the next morning they would notice nothing different. The words inside their minds had been tweaked and bent with the skill of expert thieves. Their mangled divine was now pure
. Their speech was perfect truth, as had always been, as would ever be. Memories would mold to fit the new accents. Those who once could not understand one another now would, and they would not remember a time when they could not. Only a select few might feel that something was amiss, the poets and writers who dedicated their lives to understanding hidden linguistic flows. They’d feel it like an old pair of shoes suddenly not fitting quite right. Some would adjust. Some would be driven insane.

  A meager price to the Aeryal. Protect the divine. Preserve the divine. They knew nothing else.

  The sun rose, and the Aeryal vanished beneath the grass. Miles and miles to the west, Soulkeeper Devin Eveson led his refugees toward the city of Londheim, the crawling mountain not far behind.

  CHAPTER 25

  Faithkeeper Sena stood in the doorway of the Creshan mansion, as she had for the past two minutes, trying to say good-bye.

  “I really must be going,” Sena said. “The hour is already late.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Mr. Creshan said. He shook her hand once more, a pleased smile on his mustached face. “It is good to know our money goes to a fine cause.”

  “That is what’s important,” Mrs. Creshan said, hovering beside her husband in a dress a little too tight and far too expensive. “With so many suffering we are thrilled to help the church serve the people.”

  “Please, let us know if there is anything else we can do to help,” Mr. Creshan added.

  Of course there was plenty, but Sena knew they weren’t interested. Their large home could foster a dozen people with ease, but the two times she’d carefully floated the idea it’d been soundly ignored. Money they could hand over; they had plenty of that to spare. Inconveniencing themselves? A whole different matter entirely.

  “I will keep you in my thoughts,” she said instead. “Pleasant nights to the both of you.”

  Sena stepped out the door, their good-byes trailing behind her. She breathed out a long, exasperated sigh through her nose. She’d hoped to be back at the church before dark, but the Creshans had insisted she stay for dinner. Sena cursed her weakness. Since the refugees arrived, skipping meals had become a regular habit for her. The idea of a full-course meal had won over her beleaguered stomach. Dinner led to dessert, and dessert led to a friendly drink of wine. She’d have skipped out far sooner, but the Creshans were long-standing friends of the church. Insulting them was not an option.

  The sun hid behind the walls of the city, the sky a red smear fading into black. Sena dug her hands into her pockets and walked at a brisk pace. Quiet District was a good mile and a half from Low Dock. She glanced nervously at the sky. Rumors of the great owl Adria killed had spread like wildfire, and the city guard found bloody pools all throughout Londheim suggesting there were more than the one. Even more concerning for Sena were the three different keepers of the church found dead and mutilated over the past week, all by the hand of the monster known as Janus. He was targeting them and leaving grotesque messages behind, and no one had a clue as to why. Goddesses above, given the states of the corpses, no one even knew how.

  Sena whispered a prayer to the Sisters and hurried on. The temperature plunged with the receding sun, and she shivered beneath her jacket.

  “Evening, Faithkeeper.”

  Sena held back her startled cry with well-trained poise. The streets were uncharacteristically empty lately, but not everyone could afford to hide in their homes. A lamplighter stood at the corner of an intersection beneath a tall black iron lantern. She wore brown trousers and a thick wool sweater, the unofficial uniform for the lamplighter guild. In her left hand she guided a long pole with a lit flame to the lantern’s wick, lighting it without even looking.

  “Good evening, lamplighter,” Sena said.

  “Sorry if I scared you,” the woman said. She pulled the pole back, rotated it around, and used a hard metal hook to close the lantern. “People say the night ain’t safe for soulful and soulless alike. You take care now.”

  “Frightened people say many things,” she said. “Do you not fear the rumors?”

  “Of giant owls and tunneling goblins?” The lamplighter laughed. “Mayhap I am, but people need light, and I need my wages.” She tapped a dagger tucked into her belt. “I’ll be fine. Save your prayers for more important women than I.”

  Sena bid her good-bye and continued down the street, her arms crossed over her chest. The clack of her boots upon the stone were like little alarms in the quiet night. It stunned her how quickly the city had changed. Men and women should have been traveling to taverns to eat and drink the night away. Gamblers should have been standing at the occasional alleyway, trying their luck with the card slingers. Even the night women were out of sight, and Sena wondered if their clients would start arriving sooner and sooner in the day so they might return home before dark.

  The Faithkeeper passed a gloomy tavern, the six patrons inside looking like they huddled in anticipation of a storm. She debated joining them. In there she could rent a room, pay for a meal, and wait out the night. Only the many refugees under her care kept her walking. They’d be worried at her absence, and rightfully so. Her responsibility was to her church, her own fear be damned.

  Two blocks later she encountered a man in the middle of the street approaching from the opposite direction. Her stomach twisted immediately upon seeing him. A long, loose coat hung from his shoulders, the bottom almost scraping the street. His trousers were as black as his long hair, at least, the right half. The other half was the deep color of jade. He walked with his arms spread wide, as if he were greeting an old friend. His pale chest was bare. His face bore a madman’s smile.

  “Faithkeeper!” the man called. “How wonderful it is to meet you this evening.”

  Though he wielded no weapon, she knew he was dangerous. Her every instinct screamed to run.

  “And you are?” she asked. Her rational mind tried to dismiss the fear. He’d done nothing, only greeted her. Surely she was being impulsive. The night and its people had never frightened her before.

  “I have many names, though I fear most are now forgotten,” he said. “Please, call me Janus.”

  The name burned through her like a hot iron. A sudden wave of fear locked her every muscle rigid.

  “Stay away,” she said.

  “You don’t command me, little Faithkeeper,” he said. “None of your kind ever has.”

  He was close. Too close. She took another step back, feeling her paralysis finally breaking. Janus seemed to notice, too, and his wide grin shrank.

  “Don’t run,” he said. His voice had softened. His green eyes imprisoned hers. “If you run, I shall chase. Those who die in my wake shall be your fault, not mine.”

  Sena squeezed her eyes shut, and the spell finally broke. She turned to flee, but Janus was faster. He dropped to one knee and slammed his hands atop the street. Stone roiled underneath his touch. A cracking line shot straight from him to her, and her mind struggled to understand. What had been firm cobbles beneath her feet was now thick mud. She sank into it, the mud coming up above her shins. Janus stood and approached with a casual smile.

  “Remain still and you will not suffer,” he said. “I won’t even draw a single drop of blood.”

  Sena lunged onto her stomach and dug her fingers into the cobbles. Her nails cracked and bled, but she pulled herself free of the mud and staggered into a run. She glanced over her shoulder to see Janus laughing.

  “Well. I tried, Viciss. I really did.”

  She sprinted as fast as she could, with no real destination. She just had to get away. Each time she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Janus following. His body moved as if he were casually jogging, yet he easily kept pace.

  Up ahead she saw a familiar sight. The tavern. The people inside, they could protect her. Sena veered toward it and collided at nearly full speed against the door. Its lock rattled in protest. She beat it with her fists and then shifted to the window. She could see the men and women inside. They stared at her in shock
.

  “Open the door!” she screamed.

  The man nearest the door leapt out of his chair and came running. Sena stepped back, and she spotted Janus from the corner of her eye. He was close, so close. She slammed a hand on the door, panic overwhelming her every action.

  “Hurry!”

  Janus reached the corner of the building and stopped. His hand pressed against the wood, then seemed to sink into it as if it were water. Nothing rational explained what she saw next. Green veins spread in all directions from his touch, the wood itself changing and becoming something else. They slashed through the boards and rippled through the windows, converting even parts of the glass. It took less than a second for them to encompass the entire tavern, and with the door so close she could easily make out what those green veins were.

  Grass. He had turned portions of the building into grass.

  The tavern groaned and fractured from all sides. The structure’s supports were split. Its walls were segmented. Sena fled the collapsing building. She could only hope the men and women survived inside that cloud of debris. Her lips rambled random prayers. Her head ached from adrenaline and fear. The cacophony of breaking wood and shattering glass sang a mocking chorus in her ears.

  Sena ran. Janus followed.

  “Miss? Miss, are you all right? Is he bothering you?”

  Sena spun, exhaustion slowing her limbs. She’d passed the lamplighter on her route, and she was jogging toward her with a worried expression on her face. She sought to help, but this wasn’t some perverted thug or desperate cutpurse. Janus reeked of the void.

  “Run,” she shouted at her. “Just run, please!”

  The lamplighter turned to Janus, and she could tell by the drawing of her dagger she had no such intention.