Soulkeeper Read online

  The sound of a door opening traveled down the stairwell. Footsteps echoed from above, followed by the growing light of a torch. Jacaranda put her back to Marigold and drew her daggers. Devin heard and readied his pistol.

  “The crowd’s ready for the girl, Belford,” Tye the White said as he rounded the steps. The moment he saw Devin and Jacaranda he froze. A smile creased his lips.

  “Oh, how delightful.”

  Devin fired, but he misjudged the mercenary’s reaction. He didn’t flee up the stairs for help. Instead he rolled deeper into the underground prison. His legs were pumping the moment his feet touched the floor. Jacaranda pushed Marigold into one of the cells as Devin prepared to intercept.

  “Stay inside,” she told her. “Just until he’s dead.”

  Outnumbering Tye two-to-one should have given them a significant advantage, but the slender gap between the cells wasn’t wide enough to allow them to fight side by side. Their only hope was to get on opposite sides of the mercenary and trap him, but he was far too ruthless to allow them such an opportunity. Devin took the initial brunt of his attack, his larger blade clumsy and awkward in the confined spaces. Tye’s curved sword was far better suited to the environment, and he weaved side to side, almost daring Jacaranda to slip past.

  Jacaranda watched the battle with her every muscle locked tight. If only she could find an opening. If only the space between the cells wasn’t so damn tight. Devin and Tye traded blows, testing the other’s speed and strength. It was beautiful to behold, even amid such dire circumstances and surroundings. Both men were among the best in the world at what they did, and they feinted and pivoted in ways that less-skilled observers would not even notice. Tye never let the intensity increase no matter how hard Devin tried, for the moment he closed in, Tye’s superior mobility would prove too dangerous. Their swords weaved, danced, and retreated, but Devin would not relent. He might not have had Tye’s mobility, but he did have the greater strength, and he needed only a single opportunity to take advantage.

  Devin finally caught Tye flatfooted, and he swung with a strong chop the mercenary had no choice but to block. Their swords crossed, and the Soulkeeper flung his weight against Tye’s to close the distance between them. His heel looped around Tye’s, they turned, and at last Devin managed to position himself on the opposite side of the mercenary. Jacaranda twirled her daggers, eager to have a go at the infuriating man.

  “Oh dear,” Tye said. “You have me trapped at last. What shall I do?”

  Even now he mocked them. He wasn’t afraid they could utilize the advantage. He wouldn’t let them. A cornered rabid animal could not match this unrelenting rage. Tye’s fighting style, which had been maddeningly fluid, became as blunt and brutal as a spiked hammer. Punches, elbows, and kicks accompanied his powerful downward slashes. He bounced between the two of them without any obvious tactic and reason; it was as if he were merely bored with one and turned his attention to another.

  Instead of pressing their advantage, they each were on their heels, defending with desperation to match his insanity. The hilt of his sword split her lip open. One of his punches blacked out her eye. Every time she tried to counter he was gone, this tornado in white now enveloping Devin. How did someone learn to fight like this? What kind of training must he have undergone to develop instincts so finely honed? Jacaranda had but one hope, and that was that Tye exhausted himself with such a display. Surely he could not go on for long. The hottest of fires always burned out the quickest, after all.

  Time, however, was not on their side. Heavy footfalls were their only warning that someone else had finally noticed the commotion from the underground cells.

  “What’s going on down—oh shit.”

  A man in padded leather armor exited the stairwell looking shocked and confused. He drew his slender sword, and suddenly it was Devin and Jacaranda trapped with an enemy on either side. Devin broke to face the new threat. Jacaranda couldn’t decide if she should be flattered or horrified that he thought her capable of handling Tye on her own.

  “Get her out!” Devin shouted as he blocked a heavy chop of the guard’s sword.

  Jacaranda was trying, but Tye had long surmised their goal. Protecting Marigold had forced her to remain within the hallway, allowing him to slide past her and position himself directly before the open tunnel door. At least this kept him in one location, and she tried to use that to her advantage as she launched into another series of attacks. Her daggers clanged and twisted off steel as his sword batted and twisted with expertise born of a thousand hours of practice.

  Tye’s vicious pace receded back to the earlier, calm control he’d shown at the start of the battle. He wasn’t the intruder here. Reinforcements would come eventually. His every parry and thrust seemed designed to antagonize her and drive her to desperation. Worst of all were his words, which he wielded as any other weapon.

  “Abandon the job, I told you,” he said. He kicked the side of her knee, and it took both her daggers to block the nearly lethal chop for her neck. “I guess it never was a job, was it, soulless?”

  Jacaranda fought on through her panic. She’d not lifted her scarf or mask back up after exposing herself to Marigold.

  “I only follow orders,” Jacaranda said, figuring it still worth the attempt to fool him. She barely missed a thrust at his chest, his deft weave of his body allowing him an easy swing at her exposed side. It might have even been a killing blow if not for how lazily he swung it. He wasn’t done with her, she realized. He wanted more out of her. He wanted to taunt her with his knowledge.

  “Such beautiful eyes you have,” Tye said. He snickered at her glare. “I believe Gerag had a soulless of his own with violet eyes. Oh, how he lamented her mysterious disappearance when he first hired me to be her replacement.”

  Jacaranda forced strength into her limbs. She hacked and slashed at the damn mercenary with every shred of her skill, but it was like trying to attack her own shadow. No matter her predictions, no matter her speed, it just seemed like he was never where she expected.

  “Her complete replacement,” Tye added. His foot collided with her stomach, and she gasped in pain. She’d barely even registered the movement of his leg, he’d snap-kicked her so quickly. “Not just in keeping him protected, mind you, but also in training the new recruits. You know about that, don’t you, Jacaranda?”

  She did know about that. She knew about the clinical sex sessions, sometimes three or four soulless given orders of how to please Gerag as he lay on his bed and critiqued their performance. In all her years, Gerag had never shared a soulless prior to sale. Perhaps he’d been more upset about her departure than she anticipated. Perhaps he thought that it’d be necessary to keep the mercenary loyal. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going back. Tye would die. They’d all die.

  Desperation pushed her to act, but not in the way Tye expected. She turned and dashed for the opposing wall, kicked off it, and turned into a sudden, full-on sprint despite the cramped conditions. She leaned forward, her daggers pulled back for a dual thrust. Tye fell back accordingly, his sword low and ready to parry. But Jacaranda wasn’t trying for a lethal stab, and Tye realized far too late to react. She leapt feet first without slowing her momentum. Her heels collided with his ribs. His sword tried to curl in from its parry but only smacked ineffectually against her hip with the flat edge. They both collapsed, her atop Belford’s corpse, him rolling through the door to the tunnel. She didn’t dare wait to see how badly he was hurt. Jacaranda staggered to her feet, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut. Her shaking fingers swiped at the lock until it turned.

  The door shook as Tye slammed into it from the other side, but it held firm. The mercenary peered at her through the still-open window. Their gazes met. He didn’t say anything, not a word, only grinned at her with the amused look of a hunting wolf momentarily separated from its prey. The chase is not over yet, said that smile.

  And then he dashed into the tunnel and vanished amid the dark. Jacaranda slammed th
e little wooden window shut all the same.

  “Our time’s up,” Devin said. She turned to see him pulling his sword out of the chest of the guard who’d come down the stairs. “We need to get out, and we need to get out five minutes ago.”

  Jacaranda returned to the cell Marigold hid within and offered her hand.

  “Come,” she said. “We have no choice but to run.”

  She led Marigold to the stairwell and paused beside Devin. The Soulkeeper had just finished reloading his pistol and cocked the hammer all the way back.

  “What are we looking at for upstairs?” he asked.

  “We’ll come up in Gerag’s bedroom,” she said. “You’ll turn right at the hallway, go to the end, and then left. That’ll get us to the front door. Auctions are held on the fifth floor. If we’re lucky, their guards will be with them or eating a buffet on the fourth. That means a straight shot to the front door.”

  “And the six guards waiting outside.”

  “Do you want to risk the tunnel with Tye potentially waiting outside?”

  Tye’s rifle had been slung across his back that entire fight. Both of them could imagine what would happen if he drew it on them while they were trapped in the dark confines of that tunnel.

  “So be it, we fight and kill the six,” Devin said. “At least surprise will be on our side.”

  Jacaranda squeezed Marigold’s hand.

  “Are you ready?” she asked. The woman nodded. “All right. Let’s do this.”

  Devin led the way, Jacaranda following as they emerged in Gerag’s gaudy bedroom. The door leading into the mansion was disguised as an enormous wardrobe that had been bolted to the wall. The bedsheets were an ugly orange, the bedposts and nightstand layered with gold. Even in private he seemed determined to showcase his wealth, if only to reassure himself.

  They burst through the bedroom door. A confused servant startled at their arrival and dropped the tray he was holding. Devin kicked him to the wall to move him out of the way. Jacaranda slit his throat as they passed. No one is innocent here, she told herself. No one sees you leaving. The following hallway was empty, and when they turned, only a single guard stood watch at the door. He barely had time to realize they were there before Devin’s sword rammed through his gut and out his back.

  Devin paused at the front door and met Jacaranda’s gaze. He readied sword and pistol and then mouthed a countdown while she watched.

  Three. Two. One.

  He barreled through the door with his shoulder and then curled left, Jacaranda shadowing him and turning right. Devin stabbed the nearest guard through a crease in his armor, impaling him from side to lung. Jacaranda’s dagger punched into the ear of a man leaning beside the door while smoking from a long pipe. The rest cried out in surprise, and they frantically reached for their weapons. Devin’s pistol roared in the empty district, a clean shot through the skull. Jacaranda crisscrossed her blade over the next man’s throat, showering blood across the walkway. She didn’t see Devin kill his third, only heard his sudden, pained cry. Her third yanked his sword free of its scabbard and swung at her, but he was young, and he was afraid. She sidestepped it with ease, then ended his life with a stab right through his jugular. Just like that, the six were dead, with only one of them having had a chance to lift a weapon to defend himself.

  All the while, her hand never let go of Marigold’s.

  The three sprinted down the street, Marigold huddled protectively between the two of them. They fled without secrecy or hiding this time, needing only speed and distance to reach safety. The sound of gunfire would attract the rest of the various lords’ and merchants’ retinues. They’d likely give chase. Too much was at risk for their masters to allow an intruder to escape, not to mention the potential fallout of Gerag’s entire operation being exposed. The three of them didn’t slow until they passed through the archway of Quiet District. It was only then that Jacaranda let herself believe they’d finally escaped.

  “We did it,” she said as they settled into a jog. “We actually did it.”

  Gerag’s tower was but a distant spire when they heard the shot. It didn’t register to Jacaranda, not at first, and by the time she realized it, it was already too late. Marigold’s body jolted, and her legs stumbled. Jacaranda held her aloft, her eyes locked open and her mouth dropped. No. No no no no no.

  “Get down,” Devin said, grabbing both of them and pulling them off the road and into a cramped alley between two homes. The three collapsed to the ground, safely out of sight of Gerag’s distant home. Jacaranda stared at Marigold, her shaking hands flailing uselessly at her sides. Her entire mind was paralyzed. Blood seeped through Marigold’s clothing from the bullet wound that had opened up her chest.

  “This, this isn’t fair,” she said. “Devin, please, do something.”

  Marigold gasped in slow, wet breaths. She didn’t try to sit up. She barely had the strength to look at them. Devin examined the wound but only for a heartbeat.

  “Jac, I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No,” she screamed. She took Marigold’s hand and clutched it with all her strength. “Marigold, please, look at me. Look at me. You can survive this. You… you… you’re strong, you’ll hold on.”

  Words were tumbling out of her mouth. She couldn’t focus. Her rage and despair swirled together into the anathema of thought. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They’d rescued her. They’d saved her. Marigold was supposed to experience the world like Jacaranda had, make her own choices, and decide her own fate. To bleed out now, in cold, barren streets, was too cruel. She clutched Marigold’s face in her hands, and she kissed her forehead as she wept.

  “No, don’t,” Jacaranda said. “Please don’t. Don’t die.”

  Perhaps it was the blood loss. Perhaps it was the shock. Whatever the reason, Marigold lacked the rage Jacaranda felt. There was no fury at the world’s sick betrayal. No, her voice instead carried hopeless resignation wrapped in sorrow, and for some reason that made her final words so much worse.

  “Can’t die,” Marigold said. “I never lived.”

  Jacaranda cried over the still body. She wept into hands stained with blood. Distant shouts echoed through the fog, prompting Devin to gently wrap his arm around her shoulders.

  “We have to go,” he said. “They’re still in chase.”

  She sniffled and released Marigold’s hands.

  “Will her soul ascend?” she asked quietly.

  “Normally I’d say if the Sisters are kind, yes,” he whispered. “But if the Sisters were kind Marigold would still be alive, so I don’t know. I only pray it does.”

  That wasn’t good enough, but at least it was honest. Devin offered her his hand, and she took it and ran. They fled through the fog-covered streets, two thieves in the night with nothing to show for their efforts but spilled blood and a corpse cooling beneath the light of the moon.

  CHAPTER 40

  After two hours of praying over the sick and injured, Adria fled to the Grand Archive in desperate need of rest. These prayers, they took something out of her, draining a reservoir she didn’t yet understand. Much as it had during her time in seminary, drowning herself in a book revitalized her mental faculties. Though the archive was lined with enormous windows, she’d found a darker corner to settle down in and relax. Given the book she read, it only seemed appropriate.

  Keepers write of the Sisters’ perfection, and of how that perfection is mirrored in the human form; so began the opening chapter of the Book of Ravens. Yet the human form is far from perfect. It deteriorates. It sickens. It malforms. It dies. The church knows this, and so it casts the blame for these imperfections upon the void-dragon’s blood spilling across the First Soul. The truth is far simpler. Humanity is imperfect because the Sisters are imperfect. Understand this, and you will understand how the world came to be.

  Adria rubbed her temples. The Grand Archive had a single copy of the Book of Ravens, and to even read it one had to have ascended to the rank of keeper. This one wa
s exceptionally old, and she had to squint to read the tiny, faded text. She was on her third rereading of that opening chapter, and not from awe at its carelessly crafted argument. The unknown author wrote with fiery passion, true, but much could be rebutted by simple theological arguments or quotes of scripture. No, what fascinated her was the page on the opposite side, provided as evidence as the chapter continued on.

  Malformation, it was simply titled. The words of the curse that had been used on Deakon Sevold. It was a prayer similar to Lyra’s seventy-nine devotions, but instead of requesting the Goddesses’ love and warmth, it invoked wrath and destruction.

  Anwyn of the Moon, hear me! This flesh before me hides its rot. This smile belies its sickness. These bones deny the weakness within. Anwyn, hear me, Anwyn! Tear. Break. Sunder. Show me truth.

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  The inquiry was polite and soft-spoken, but it still caused Adria to jump. Realizing the identity of the inquirer only jostled her further out from her concentration.

  “You are always welcome, Thaddeus,” she told her Vikar. “I only ask that you forgive me if I’m a poor conversation partner. These past few days have been… tiring.”

  Tiring didn’t begin to describe how she felt sometimes. Though Thaddeus was an elderly man with the gray hair and a walking cane, he seemed the more lively one as he settled into a chair beside her.

  “I am not surprised,” he said. “Word of your deeds has already spread beyond Londheim, did you know that? Just this morning a couple came to the cathedral requesting directions to your church. They traveled all night from Kelyk Township in hopes of being first in line for healing.”

  “How wonderful,” Adria said. “Soon we’ll have people traveling all the way from the Kept Lands to be disappointed that I cannot pray over each and every request.”

  Thaddeus chuckled and clicked the bottom of his cane on the floor in amusement.

  “I see that this work takes much out of you. Perhaps it is a blessing my prayers cannot harness the Sisters’ power the way yours do. The novices would have to carry me home on a cart.”