Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) (42 page)

“The stranger was the baal of the Sixth Circle, wasn't he?” Jaren guessed.

“After a fashion,” Eldrid said. “He had seized the old baal’s domain as a spoil of war.”

Jaren's blood ran cold. “Eldrid, which Circle did the beggar lord rule?”

“The Eighth,” she said.

Nakvin rose early on her first morning in Avalon. Eager for a respite from the claustrophobic ship, she went out and stood on the hillside. Like the Fourth Circle, the Sixth also lacked a visible sun. Yet morning dawned in the east, banding the sky with breathtaking colors and stirring up a sweet, warm breeze.
I could get used to this,
she thought.

Returning to the infirmary, Nakvin found Elena already awake.”Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

Elena sat up on her hospital bed and nodded.

Nakvin entered the quarantine room. To her surprise, the sharp scent of ether was gone. A brief examination showed Elena’s ivory skin unmarred by any wound. The empty sockets in her back bore not a scratch. Their metal rims gleamed purple-white.

“There’s no reason for it,” Nakvin said, “but your wounds have completely healed.”

“Good.”

Nakvin hesitated, but she finally asked the question that haunted her. “Elena, do you know why Sulaiman attacked you?”

Elena turned to Nakvin. The girl’s expression mingled sorrow and shame. “I think he knew my father’s plan.”

“Sulaiman almost killed you to stop us from trading with other Strata?” Nakvin asked.

Elena looked away. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

Nakvin kissed the top of Elena’s head and said, “It’s alright. You’re free to go.”

“What should I do?”

“It's going to be a gorgeous day,” Nakvin said. “Go outside and enjoy it.”

Elena gave Nakvin a quizzical look. “What's out there?”

“Hills, trees, grass—stuff you've probably never seen before.”

“I'm not sure I want to.”

Nakvin draped an arm around the girl. “You won't know unless you go and see for yourself,” she said.

Elena started to rise from the bed, but Nakvin held her back. “Just a minute,” she said. “You can’t walk around naked.” She left Elena’s bedside and retrieved a small pair of shorts and a black short-sleeved shirt bearing the ship’s serpent-fish emblem in red.

“Take care of these,” Nakvin said. “They’re the last clothes on board that’ll fit you.”

Elena walked a short distance downhill and seated herself on the downy grass. The surrounding hills looked like green waves, their crests limned in gold by the dawn light. Though she’d never before seen such beauty, the looming presence of the
Exodus
banished all joy.

She heard Teg’s steel-shod footsteps ringing from behind her but chose not to act on that knowledge. Teg considered himself stealthy, and she didn’t want to aggravate his already wounded pride.

“Hey there, kid,” he said. “How's it going?”

Elena turned her head at just the right speed and widened her eyes just enough to maintain the illusion of surprise.

Teg raised his gauntleted hands when he saw her pistol. “Sorry if I startled you,” he said, his sapphire eyes smiling.

Elena absently removed and reattaching the gun’s slide with effortless motions of her right hand. “That's all right.”

Teg took a seat next to her. “What do you think of all this natural splendor?” he asked.

“The other Circles are overflowing with Teth. That makes sense. We're very close to the Void.” Elena’s eyes narrowed. “This place doesn't fit. It's too
alive
.”

Teg nodded. “You could say it's the garden spot of hell.”

“It's full of prana. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble.” A deep silence fell in the wake of Elena's words. She proceeded to field strip and reassemble the gun, never taking her eyes from the lush panorama.

Minutes passed before Teg broke the silence again. “How old are you?”

“That question has more than one answer.”

“Give me all of them,” said Teg.

“This body was fashioned one hundred and fifty years ago. It stopped aging at sixteen, when it was transessed into a vessel for the aggregate soul.”

Teg kept his eyes on the horizon. His expression said that he didn't understand her answer and was starting to regret asking.

“My soul contains fragments from nine others of varying ages. The oldest donor was thirty at the time of extraction. Now he's one hundred and forty-five. The youngest…” Elena’s throat felt suddenly tight, and her voice broke.

Teg gave Elena’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” he said. “I don’t need your life story. You’re wise beyond your years, is all I meant.”

“I'm going back inside.” Elena rose and walked back toward the ship’s dark ramparts, leaving Teg with the scattered pieces of the gun.

At midmorning, Jaren called a meeting in the captain's mess. Elena, Vaun, and Eldrid accompanied the senior crew.

Jaren had a specific agenda: using the
Exodus
against the Guild. To do that, he needed to get the ship home, and doing
that
meant fixing the engines. Everyone with a modicum of technical knowledge had examined the Ship’s power plant. All had gone away scratching their heads. Even Nakvin, whose experience rivaled Jaren's, had halfheartedly suggested asking Elena. The captain now acted on that advice.

“Do you know how to fix the engines?” he asked the girl who'd spent most of the voyage plugged into them.

Elena paused for a moment; then shook her head.

Jaren disliked the young woman's hesitation. “Are you sure?” he pressed, tempering urgency with tact. “You said before that disconnecting the cables was a bad idea. It's hard to believe you don’t know
something
.”

Elena played with a strand of her ginger-brown hair. “Nothing that will help you.”

“Try me,” Jaren said.

Elena stared at the black tabletop. “Creation is a rotting corpse. We're worms feeding on its flesh.”

“Very wise, my sister,” said Vaun.

Deim’s sunken eyes widened. “Sister?” he repeated.

Jaren rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “
We’ll
be feeding worms if we don’t make the delivery,” he said.

“She
did
warn you,” said Teg.

“
Elena
,” Eldrid said, pronouncing the name slowly. “That's from the Gold Tribe’s tongue. Are you part Gen?”

The girl gave Eldrid a guarded look. “Among other things.”

Nakvin groaned. “This is getting us nowhere,” she said. “We don't even have the manpower to repair the damage we
know how
to fix!”

“There are many in Seele with the knowledge to help you,” Eldrid said. She shrank under the sudden stares of her table-mates.

“As I explained to your captain,” she went on, “the Gen have a long history with ether-runners. You will surely find skilled shipwrights in Seele.”

Nakvin's brow knotted. “What's
Seele
?”

“Many things,” Eldrid said. “It is the royal seat of the Light Gen—those who fled to Avalon, and so kept the light of civilization. Seele is also the great hill atop which the king's court stands. Finally, it is the banner under which the towns scattered upon the palace mount gather.”

Jaren exchanged a calculating look with Nakvin and Teg. “Who do we talk to?” he asked.

“Seek out the Smiths' Fraternity,” Eldrid said. “You'd also do well to consult the Mystery School sages. None will know better how to restore your vessel.”

“Can you get us a meeting with them?” Jaren asked, intrigued at the thought of meeting other Gen.

“I recommend sending word to the court of Seele first,” said Eldrid. “It's only proper that you announce yourselves to King Gelwin. Besides, I'm sure His Majesty will wish to take counsel with one who has lived so long among the clay tribe.”

Jaren deliberated. Staying in Avalon any longer than necessary risked calling down Mephistophilis’ curse, but the chance to learn about his people firsthand was sorely tempting. Besides, scorning protocol could make the wrong enemies at the worst possible time.

“I'll meet with Gelwin,” Jaren said. “Getting the king on our side should smooth things over with the smiths and sages.”

“I shall deliver your request for an audience,” said Eldrid.

“Nakvin, Teg; come with me,” Jaren said. “We’ll escort Eldrid to the hanger.”

Jaren and his two officers saw Eldrid to the door, but her departure proved unnecessary. Through the wide hangar door the captain saw an armed company marching toward the crashed ether-runner that far outnumbered its skeleton crew. The late morning sun glinted off polished mail, and green and gold pennants streamed from the shafts of upraised lances.

“Should I hand out guns?” asked Teg.

“Who are they?” Jaren asked Eldrid.

She clutched his arm. Her scent washed over him like early spring. “The king’s lancers.”

“What do they want?”

“They alone can tell,” said Eldrid, “but their intentions may decide your fate.”

“Never turn your back to His Majesty,” said the royal seneschal.

“And don’t sit till the king’s been seated,” Jaren said, eyeing Gelwin’s gilded chair. “I’m sure I’ll rememeber.”

The seneschal’s sharp face took on a condescending look. “Do not speak until His Majesty addresses you,” he said. The primly dressed fellow sounded as though he meant to go on, but the king’s entrance through a set of dark purple curtains prevented him.

Hailing from a society in which monarchs of any kind—let alone Gennish kings—were relics of ancient history, Jaren had based his expectations of Gelwin on folk tales. The man himself provided a surprising mix of confirmation and contradiction.

The king of Avalon stood slightly taller than most of the Gen Jaren had seen. He wore flowing green silk vestments; dyed in blending shades reminiscent of a forest canopy and perfumed to match. Jeweled brooches linked by gold chains adorned his breast. Jaren felt slightly disappointed. Besides his rich clothes and somewhat detached air, Gelwin differed little from ordinary men.

An impressive retinue strutted in behind the king like a line of exotic birds following their mother. He conferred with them for a few minutes before their conversation ended by spontaneous mutual accord. Jaren’s legs were starting to ache by the time Gelwin took his seat.

Minding his crash course in royal protocol, Jaren waited until the king was settled before taking his own chair. Contrary to what he'd always heard, it was not inappropriate to look his royal host in the eye.

And I’m glad for that,
Jaren thought. Eyes often betrayed thoughts. Gelwin's were brown and framed by a long mane of auburn hair. They glinted with pride and defiance, but they also seemed haunted.

“Captain Peregrine,” Gelwin said. “You come to us from afar. Be welcome in our house.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Jaren. “I've enjoyed your hospitality.”

“Our lancers acquitted themselves well in extending our invitation?”

Jaren thought of the armed company that had marched on the ship. They’d far outnumbered his crew, and he’d been relieved that they'd only come to summon him—
specifically
him—to speak with their sovereign.

“I gave them
my
hospitality, sir,” Jaren said.

Gelwin nodded. “Indeed. We have heard their reports. Your
Exodus
is a most worthy craft, unless our men's eyes deceive them.”

“They don't.”

“You are only half Gen,” said the king.

Jaren did his best to keep the pang of mild offense from reaching his face. He nodded.

“Your father was of the Fire Tribe?”

“So I'm told. My Stratum lost the knowledge of such things long ago.”

Gelwin shook his head. “A shame. We confess ourselves amazed at your survival among the clay tribe. We would hear how you managed such a feat.”

“Never easily,” Jaren said.

“Is it the case that you and your associates commit piracy?”

“I consider seizing the property of my people's murderers compensation; not piracy.”

Gelwin raised steeped fingers to his lips. “You may have the right of it,” he said.

Jaren was about to ask for help repairing the ship when the king rose.

“Good day, captain,” Gelwin said. His retainers likewise stood and voiced stilted pleasantries. Before Jaren could object, the royal party filed from the room.