Soulkeeper Read online

  “You best walk away, young man,” she said. “The keeper seems mighty upset.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Sena pleaded. The lamplighter didn’t turn her way. She was too busy staring down Janus.

  “Is that so?” Janus asked. His gait didn’t slow in the slightest. The lamplighter pointed her dagger angrily.

  “You take one step closer and I’m going to carve my name into your skinny white chest.”

  Janus paused. The way he looked at the woman gave Sena shivers. As if deciding whether to murder her were a casual thing. He took one long, single step, halting mere inches beyond the weapon’s reach. His mad smile spread.

  “Try.”

  The lamplighter lunged with her dagger. Janus reacted with unnatural speed, stepping in closer and latching onto the lamplighter’s wrist. He smiled as the lamplighter struggled to break free.

  “I’m going to give you a gift for your bravery,” Janus said. “I will make you a beauty all of Londheim shall remember.”

  The lamplighter’s body stiffened, and her mouth opened in silent shock. The dagger dropped from her hand. Gold spread outward from Janus’s touch. Not covering skin and hair, no, not that. Changing it. Becoming it.

  “But do you know what humankind does to beauty?” the strange man asked. “They will rip and tear it apart. Greed destroys decency, respect, and everything good the Sisters tried shoving into your weak little shells. They will remember you, but they will still break you to pieces.”

  Janus forced the lamplighter to her knees. The gold swarmed over her, her movements turning rigid. Sena watched in horror as Janus rapidly shifted and changed the positions of the lamplighter’s arms and legs with his free hand. He twisted fingers, bent an elbow, and turned wrists so they rose up in supplication. He pulled back the head, extended the jaw, and adjusted strands of hair. Janus molded her like a potter with a mound of clay. In that moment, Sena did not exist. There was only the artist and his craft.

  A lifetime of horror passed in a handful of heartbeats. Janus stepped back and observed the solid gold statue of the lamplighter on her knees, a permanent expression of terror on her face as she cried to the stars.

  “Did I not keep my word?” Janus asked, turning his attention to Sena. “Is she not beautiful?”

  “You’re a monster,” Sena said. Only her fear kept her tears in check.

  “We’re all monsters to you. If we don’t fall to our knees and proclaim your superiority you view us with horror and disgust.” Janus smirked. “You hate us for committing the sin of being different. Well, Faithkeeper, I’ve some bad news for you. I don’t care what you think of me. Your disgust is as meaningful to me as the rage of an ant dying beneath my heel. Perhaps less, for the ant has done nothing to earn my ire. But you? Your kind?”

  The fingers of his right hand curled. His fingernails extended while everything from his wrist down smoothed into polished steel. His left hand changed similarly, but instead of shining metal his skin and flesh hardened into bark. Thorns encircled two of the fingers. Crimson flowers blossomed from his knuckles.

  “I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “The natural touch of the wild, or the heartless steel of humanity. Which shall it be?”

  “Neither,” she said. “I’ll never be your art.”

  Janus tilted his head to the side. Not upset, just mildly confused.

  “You ran. People died. Why run again? Do you want a grand escort of souls to accompany you to the heavens?”

  Sena fled. She had endured a thousand trials throughout her life, and she’d defeated each and every one with raw determination. She wouldn’t give up, not when she had breath in her lungs.

  Janus, it seemed, had had enough. The ground splintered to her right and then curled around ahead of her. Thin metal rods burst upward, trapping her behind a chin-high fence. Spikes adorned their tops, each one curling slightly and colored to resemble a flower bud almost ready to bloom. When she flung her weight against the bars they did not even budge.

  There was only one direction she could go, and Sena ran while knowing in her gut there would be no escape. Janus was guiding her. Trapping her. The small gap between the two buildings she entered ended at the back of a third. Nowhere to flee. Nowhere to escape. Sena tried anyway, spinning in search of a window she could enter or perhaps a way to scale to the rooftop. She found none.

  Janus stepped into the entry. His long coat fluttered. His jade hair glowed in the moonlight.

  “I must thank you for the sport,” he said. “It’s been centuries since I walked among your kind. How I missed it terribly.”

  Sena put her back to the wall. Her knees weakened, then buckled. Her hands clasped in prayer. The 17th Devotion was her favorite for its simplicity. She’d whispered it to herself as a child after the death of her parents. She’d repeated it as a mantra after her foster father came into her room to touch her when he was drunk. It’d been a long, long time since she poured her heart into those words, but she did now, for the next time she spoke them she might be in the presence of the Goddesses.

  “I am blind, but Lyra gives me sight. I see darkness, but Lyra gives me light. The light I see dwells in me, and it is blinding. I am blind, but Lyra gives me sight.”

  Sena watched Janus approach, an easy smile on his face and a relaxed swing to his hips. She wiped away her tears. She would not give him the pleasure. She continued the devotion, an endless loop sweeping away the last of her horror. Her insides hollowed. Her fear of death crumbled to acceptance. Janus leered down at her. His right hand had returned to flesh, but the gnarled, twisted bark of his left had only grown.

  “The light I see dwells in me,” she whispered as he pulled back for the lethal swing. “And it is blinding.”

  A brilliant sun erupted from Sena’s chest. All its power, all its wrath, shone into Janus’s face. He let out a pained cry and violently lurched his body away from the light.

  “Fuck!” he shouted. He flung his arm to his eyes and staggered sideways.

  The sun vanished mere moments after. The dark returned to the alley. Sena didn’t think. She didn’t question it. She jumped to her feet and ran right past Janus. He swung wildly for her, missing entirely. Once back in the street she sprinted for the Creshan mansion. She dared not look behind her. She dared not see if Janus chased.

  “Is something the matter?” Mr. Creshan asked when he opened the door to his mansion after her fifth time slamming her fists against it.

  “Please, can I stay the night here?” she asked.

  “Of course. You’re always welcome.”

  The wealthy man had servants bring her a change of clothes and direct her to the guest bedroom. He didn’t ask what had happened, and for that, she was thankful.

  Once settled into her room, Sena took the small chair before the vanity, moved it beside the window, and sat. Her forehead rested against the cold pane. From her second-story room she could see the entire front lawn and much of the street.

  I understand now, Adria, she thought. This power. This fear. It’s like holding fire.

  Sena watched for any sign of Janus, watched for hours as the night crawled on, watched until her eyes closed and she did not have the strength to open them again.

  CHAPTER 26

  I’m not sure you’re ready for this,” Devin told her as the store owner set the bowl down between them. Jacaranda’s eyes widened.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” she said. She grabbed a slice of her apple bread and swirled it through the thick sweet cream that overflowed the bowl. Once it was fully enveloped she stuffed it all into her mouth. The taste hit her immediately. Her insides quivered. Her upper body turned to jelly.

  “Goddesses above,” she said through her mouthful. “How do you not eat this every day?”

  Devin laughed as he dipped his own piece of bread into the cream.

  “Because that would be expensive,” he said. “Besides, treats stop being treats if you eat them too often.”

  The two sat opposite eac
h other at a table inside the confectionery’s store. Devin had offered to accompany Jacaranda throughout the city and she’d jumped at the chance. There were dozens of things she wished to try, and it helped having Devin’s guidance, as well as his coin. So far they’d watched the crossroad oak flourish alive with color and song, toured the courtyard of cherries located within his church’s grand cathedral grounds, and diced away a few dozen copper pennies at a streetside den that Devin refused to say whether or not it was legal.

  “That sounds like a lie you tell children,” she said, licking cream off her fingers. She ripped another piece of bread off and slammed it through the cream as if attempting murder. It wasn’t like she was used to poor food. Her meals at Gerag’s estate had been well prepared and varied, for she usually ate what Master—

  Shit, shit, no, what Gerag ate, not Master. She winced at the simple mistake. It was still too easy to slip back into her older mind-set.

  “I’m surprised you’ve never had anything like this before,” Devin said. “Given how Gerag’s a fat slob, I’d assume this was a daily offering.”

  “It makes no sense giving desserts to soulless,” she said. “Besides, eating sweets like this might have ruined my… figure.”

  Devin performed admirably at keeping his sudden anger concealed behind a pleasant smile.

  “Fuck him,” he said. “Your figure is just fine.”

  “I’m glad you approve of my figure.”

  His neck started to turn a faint shade of red. Jacaranda was both pleased and alarmed at how much joy it gave her to see that reaction. She winked at him and then resumed eating. The ratio of bread to cream on each bite shifted further and further toward the cream side until she gave up and began lifting the cream directly from the bowl with her fingers.

  “Careful now,” Devin said. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “How so?” Jacaranda asked. “I’m still hungry, and each bite tastes as fantastic as the first. Are you saying both my mind and stomach are fools?”

  “Yes,” Devin said. “I am.”

  In response she sucked cream off her finger hard enough to make it pop when she pulled it free.

  “Then I guess I will just have to get sick.”

  Once the bowl was licked clean (quite literally, for Jacaranda was determined not to waste a single scrap of it) Devin leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his lap.

  “So where to now?” he asked. “Is there a place you’ve always wished to go but couldn’t?”

  “Not particularly,” Jacaranda said. “I never… wanted things. I never experienced boredom or curiosity. I obeyed orders, and if I had no orders, I just quietly existed until I did.”

  “Would you like me to offer suggestions?”

  “Sure,” she said. “So long as it remains my choice.”

  “Well, assuming they haven’t been canceled, there will be some horse races at the Sinegard farmstead in about an hour. It’s about a mile east of the city, so we could easily make it in time. There’s also the gunsmith tourneys. One should be taking place all day not too far from here.”

  “A shooting contest?” Jacaranda asked. “Would you participate?”

  Devin laughed.

  “We’re forbidden,” he said. “Gamblers always bet on Soulkeepers, and the tourney organizers hate that we’re too honest to bribe.”

  That killed what little interest Jacaranda had.

  “What else?”

  “If you’d prefer something less respectable, Low Dock has a knuckle-box ring; winner stays champion until they finally go down. It gets real heated once the workday ends.”

  “Everything you recommend is competitive. Have you nothing beautiful or playful to recommend?”

  “By all means,” Devin said. “Feel free to chip in for ideas. Perhaps if we swing through the market we might find a mummer or some singing troupes. It’s anybody’s guess if they’ll be any good, though.”

  Jacaranda ran memories through her mind, trying to isolate things and places that would have meant nothing to her soulless self, or even better, things that would have completely baffled her.

  “A garden,” she suddenly blurted. “There’s one off Sable street, just shy of where it connects to Hemwick Lane. Do you know of it?”

  “I do.”

  “I’d like to go there,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Devin asked. “It’s in Quiet District.”

  Which meant it was in the same district as Gerag’s mansion. There was a chance they might stumble upon one another, ending her hopes of a normal life inside Londheim.

  “I’m not letting Gerag dictate what I can and cannot do,” she said. “I did enough of that when I was his soulless.”

  The two exited the store and out into the bright sunlight. Jacaranda pulled her hat lower over her head to hide her vibrant hair and then secured the scarf about her neck. She hated having to constantly check, but one slipup might be all it took for someone to notice. A Soulkeeper escorting a disguised soulless could cause rumors, rumors they could not afford.

  Upon Devin’s insistence they took a detour on the way to Quiet District.

  “You said you wanted to see something beautiful,” was all that he’d tell her as way of explanation. He took her down a quiet street full of stores advertising the more splendid wares someone living in the nearby Quiet District might prefer: jewels, necklaces, fine chairs and desks, glassware, and the like. Devin stopped them before one in particular. Jacaranda punched his arm upon seeing the name of the store. Multav’s Mirrors.

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she said.

  “I have my moments.”

  While Londheim might not be famous for its mirrors (that was Nicus by the sea, with its abundant access to sand) there were still a few craftsmen who had learned the style and brought it west. A burly man stood beside the store’s door, his hairy arms crossed over his chest. He glanced over the two as they approached, and he nodded upon seeing that Devin was a Soulkeeper.

  “Welcome,” the man said, and he opened the door for them.

  The store was long and slender, its walls painted white. Seven mirrors hung upon the wall, their craftsmanship clearly of the highest quality. The largest was nearly three feet tall and shaped into an oval. Silver leaf decorated its sides, shaped and curled to look like vines. The top of the oval bore diamonds arranged like the petals of a flower. Not even Gerag could afford a mirror of such fine quality. Jacaranda twirled before it, mesmerized by her reflection. She’d seen herself only rarely in pools of water, but now she scanned her face with a clinical examination: the paleness of her skin, the fire of her red hair poking out from underneath her hat, the allure of her violet eyes.

  Jacaranda knew she was beautiful, for she had been told it often as a soulless, but it had been a simple fact processed and remembered in case she was asked. It’d borne no meaning, no understanding. Now she saw it, and it made her vaguely uncomfortable. She compared herself to the many women they’d passed walking the streets, and she realized she stood out among them, from the perfect angle of her cheeks to the slender point of her nose to the statuesque curvature of her chin. Of course, why wouldn’t she be of startling beauty? She was Gerag’s perfect little flower, after all. His most prized possession.

  “Obviously I can’t afford anything like that,” Devin said after giving her a lengthy time to look. “The little hand ones on the counter were more of what I was thinking.”

  Jacaranda glanced at the twelve or so tiny mirrors laid into bone and ivory handles.

  “No,” she said. “I think I’m fine without. May we please go?”

  “Of course.” Devin politely nodded to the shopkeeper who’d patiently waited off to the side in case they had questions. “Are you all right?” he asked once they were back out on the street.

  “Just my stomach,” she said, not entirely a lie.

  “I warned you.”

  “And I say it was still worth it.” She did her best to re
lax. His planned gift of a small mirror was touching. It wasn’t Devin’s fault her mind was so messed up. “Now to the garden, or have you any other distractions?”

  The enormous garden was completely walled in with ivy-covered stone. The only entrance was through a gate that bore the name of the original wealthy founder and was guarded by an older man with a straggly beard more appropriate to a youth just exiting puberty.

  “Miss Valber left the gardens for the whole city to enjoy, but a donation would be most appreciated,” the man said. “In these troubled times, the arts often go unappreciated by those who need it most.”

  Devin slipped a few silver pennies into the man’s offered hand. The old man tipped his hat to them and quickly pocketed the coin.

  “Enjoy the garden, lovebirds,” he said. “Do try to behave.”

  Jacaranda grabbed Devin’s hand before he could offer a correction, and she pulled him toward the ornate gates.

  “We will,” she promised.

  “Presumptuous of him,” Devin muttered as they walked a path created by thousands of smooth, colorful stones. Much as he might complain, she noticed he had not released her hand.

  “Are you saying we’re not two heart-struck lovebirds madly dashing into a quiet garden for a wild and tempestuous affair?”

  His neck flushed, and he squinted one eye in a glare she found all the more precious.

  “I see you’ve discovered the joy of teasing,” he said, reluctantly pulling his hand from hers. “You’d have been a nightmare as a child.”

  “Why can’t I be a nightmare now?”

  He did not answer, only laughed and gestured for her to follow. The path led through dozens of bushes, most of them various colors of roses from the brightest white to reds that made her own hair look pale by comparison. Upon Devin’s insistence she leaned next to one of them and slowly inhaled their scent.

  “It’s smells… lovely,” she said. “I don’t understand. How does a scent evoke such emotion?”

  “You should ask a poet, not a Soulkeeper,” Devin said. “We tend to be terrible at flowery language.”