Soul Catcher (2 page)

Asylinth House

3

Father Giloth was surprised Aleco had kept up the charade as long as he had. When the Nature Priest examined the wound, he saw the oily residue seep from the cut and drip down Aleco’s burning flesh as it fell. If Aleco arrived any later, he would be dead. Father Giloth was impressed that Aleco found a supplement to slow the poison. That also may have saved his life. He wanted to ask what Aleco had done to deserve such a nasty cut, but didn’t question him. He already suspected what had happened, and knew Aleco would never confide in him.

The Nature Priest worked for many hours trying to vanquish the deadly liquid circulating in Aleco’s body while ignoring Aleco’s cries of pain. Eventually, Aleco passed out when the poison reached his heart. Father Giloth increased his pace as he tried to heal him, and asked the other Naturalists to assist. Finally, the poison was counteracted by combining with a remedy grown in their forest to form a chemical harmless to the body.

Aleco woke up after the worst was over. The wound had coagulated and turned to a faint pink, looking like an ordinary stab mark. “This is a very nasty cut, Aleco,” Father Giloth said as he examined it. “It looks quite painful.”

“Aren’t you smart?” Aleco said.

Father Giloth inserted orange leaves into the cut and packed it under the skin, ensuring there would be no further infection. He showed no indication of being offended by Aleco’s attitude. Suddenly, Aleco winced in pain. “I’m sorry, my boy.” Father Giloth smiled. He wrapped Aleco’s bare chest with a clean linen wrap. “It should heal within a week,” he said as he stowed his supplies away. “And you’ll be as good as new.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re very welcome,” he said.

Aleco redressed himself while Father Golith locked his supplies in the cabinet. Aleco rubbed his shoulder and was grateful for the absence of any pain. He realized he had to uphold his end of the ridiculous bargain. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Where must I go?”

“You will travel to Morkarh,” Father Giloth said.

Aleco clinched his fists at his sides. Of all the cities on the Continent, he despised the city of Morkarh the most. The city was isolated, plagued by dangerous wind tornados that could toss a large ox connected to a loaded trailer into the sky. Water was scarce and the Steward of the city, Josiah Mar, abused this position to control his people. Those who defied him were prohibited from water rations, and even those who behaved were given a miniscule amount. Josiah had complete power over the city and he never let his citizens forget it. The citizens could not flee without an adequate water supply to complete the journey, and they couldn’t revolt because they feared their water rations would be eliminated altogether. They were slaves in all but their name.

Aleco knew, though the people of the city were unaware, that the Steward possessed a large water fountain behind his palace walls. It released thousands of gallons of the precious liquid every day. Steward Josiah did not share this coveted fluid with his fellow citizens but let it seep into the dusty sand, wasted. How Aleco knew this, he would never admit.

“Of course,” Aleco spat. He didn’t hide his disdain of the city. It was the worst province he had ever visited. “Where is she located? How will I recognize her?”

Father Giloth removed the thin, silver necklace he wore and offered it to Aleco. “She will have the matching twin of this chain,” he said. “That is how you will know it is her.” Aleco examined the necklace and the charm it held. It was a small, unremarkable, brown ball. “You must wear this, Aleco,” he said. “After she recognizes it, she will trust you and allow you to rescue her.” Aleco placed the chain around his neck and secured it beneath his cloak. The old man continued. “You will find her in the Prisoner’s Circle—if she is still alive.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I am risking my life for someone who may already be dead.”

“She is worth the risk,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter if she is,” Aleco said. “I am bound by our deal. It’s the only reason I’m bothering to do this.”

Father Giloth smiled. “Thank you, Aleco. She is very dear to me.”

“It wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t,” he said.

Father Golith secretly escorted Aleco to the end of his realm. Aleco’s food and water provisions were restocked and he was given a small supply of useful herbs—a gift from Father Giloth himself. “You know the uses of all these remedies I have given you, with the exception of this one.” Father Giloth indicated the very small container in his palm.

Aleco took the bottle and examined the mixture, noting the color and texture. A small smile crept upon his lips. “Garlic and salt?” He laughed.

“Just a tiny pinch can change a meal into a mouthwatering feast,” the Nature Priest said with a smile. “I have something to tell you that concerns that charm,” he said as his eyes glanced down to the chain around Aleco’s neck. “Within the capsule is an extremely rare herbal remedy. So rare, in fact, that I have only been able to grow it three times in my life.” Aleco reached within his shirt and withdrew the capsule, rubbing it between his fingers as he listened to Father Giloth’s words. “It has the incredible ability to heal you from any injury or illness, despite the severity, and can restore any man to his original unscathed form. You can understand just how valuable this herb really is,” the elderly man said.

Aleco’s mind was racing. He had a way to cheat death—again. “This is how she knows to trust me,” Aleco realized. “You would never give this to someone who could be an enemy.” Aleco was amazed that Father Giloth would impart such a gift, considering his old age and fragility. If Aleco had one remedy, the mysterious woman had another, then Father Giloth had only one mixture left. Or did he?

“Exactly,” he said. “And if you find yourself in a critical circumstance, please do not hesitate to use it. I would rather see you return without it than not return at all.”

With a slight nod, they said their goodbyes then Aleco disappeared into the forest, becoming one with the darkness. Father Giloth lingered at the edge of the trees, whispering prayers as his son moved further into the forest, knowing he may never return.

Morkarh

4

Aleco approached Morkarh, the City of Sand, from the south. He sprinted across the desert, stopping only when forced to retreat from the sandstorms, until he was finally within sight of the stone city. The journey had taken a day and a half, and in none of that time did he catch a moment of sleep. But sleep was negligible to Aleco. He found it to be more disturbing than relaxing anyway.

Aleco could not simply walk through the gates to the city, especially in the darkness of night. He would raise suspicion among the guards, which could be deadly since he was already a wanted man. Entering through the main entrance was not an option available to him so he would have to go around the city.

Steward Josiah had a secret gate to his palace located on the outside of the city, used only to import illegal slaves, courtesans, and useful criminals. Aleco knew this passage and intended to use it.

He spotted two guards as he advanced to the secret entrance and they were both aware of his fast approach. They withdrew their swords from the scabbards and locked their gaze on the cloaked intruder. Aleco raised his empty hands in peace. “I was called upon by the Steward,” he lied. “I mean you no harm.”

Both men gripped their swords. “Name?” the first soldier asked.

“Damien.”

“Damien—the Steward is expecting no such visitor,” the second soldier said. They tightened their grasp on their blades and stepped towards Aleco. “But nice try,” he said.

“Well, at least I made the attempt,” Aleco said with a sigh. “I was hoping to avoid this. I’ve already killed too many men.”

Aleco threw his triple-bladed short sword directly into the throat of the first soldier and he fell to the floor—dead. The second soldier did not hesitate at the fall of his comrade and sprinted toward Aleco. He crashed to the dirt with an arrow pierced through the vein in his neck. He was dead before his body fell. Aleco tore the arrow from the man’s neck, wiped the blood on the soldier’s cloak, and returned it to his quiver. “Don’t blame me,” he said to the corpses. “I wanted to avoid this.”

He dashed through the gate and disappeared into the shadows of the dark city, camouflaged by the night. It took several minutes for the other soldiers to find their dead comrades, and by then it was too late. There were no clues, no blood trail, and no witnesses—they had no way to catch the culprit.

The dirt streets were deserted, with the exception of a few nighttime lurkers who avoided the ominous, hooded stranger as he ran by. Seeing the sharp daggers, gleaming swords, and deadly bow he carried, they understood Aleco was not one to be trifled with. They sprinted to their homes and bolted their doors behind them.

Aleco paid them no mind. He continued on his way to the Prisoner’s Circle, a towering fortress of citizen captivity where prisoners were subjected to regular beatings, torture, rape, and manual labor. He had many memories of that place and all of them were disturbing. He rubbed his wrist and recalled the day it had been broken. Aleco could not walk into the fortress and take down all the guardsmen; he would have to go unnoticed.

Aleco approached the door and tried the handle but it was locked, just as he suspected. He took a deep breath before he raised his hand to the surface of the wood, knowing he would have to take another life in a moment.

There was a knock on the door.  Keeper Amaral’s concentration was shattered by the intrusion. He was reading an important document and couldn’t afford any distractions. He looked up from the scroll and glared at the guard.

“Well,” he yelled. “Are you going to answer that,
Angus?”

The soldier looked at Amaral but said nothing, fearing that a heated reply would warrant a beating. He approached the door and unlocked the bolt. Amaral returned his concentration to the directive he was reading by torchlight, instructing him to execute an inmate the following morning. Amaral was delighted with the command; he wasn’t particularly fond of that prisoner. He smiled as he continued to read.

The soldier opened the wooden door and conversed with the mysterious visitor in quiet whispers. Amaral could not see or hear the stranger who claimed his comrade’s undivided attention, and felt annoyed. “What says he?” he shouted across the room.

Angus did not respond. Amaral was promoted to the Guard of the Prisoner’s Circle not to be ignored, and did not accept any form of disrespect. Amaral’s irritation was palpable. He strode across the room, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, announcing his impatience.

When he reached the door, he saw the cloaked intruder and felt his heart constrict with fear. Before he could reach for his sword, call for help, or even blink, the stranger snapped the neck of his guardsmen, and then turned on him, severing his head from his spine with a sudden twist. Amaral was dead before he could register the attack.

Aleco dragged their bodies outside and entered the keep unnoticed. Aleco searched their bodies, stole the metal ring of keys to the prisoner cells, along with the uniform of one soldier, which he adorned immediately, and stowed his remaining clothes in his pack. He ascended the circular staircase in silence, his eyes scanning for the woman with the priceless necklace.

As he climbed the stone steps, he passed other chaperones of the fortress,
who took no notice of his inconspicuous passing. Aleco saw a group of guardsmen huddled around an open cell, watching their fellow comrade strike a helpless inmate with a thick stick, bashing his already broken bones. As he continued onward, Aleco heard the anguished cries of the prisoner fused with the laughter of the soldiers as their comrade’s uniform was sprayed with the dying man’s blood.

The helpless prisoner cried in agony as the soldier continued to break his ribs. The man screamed for mercy until his final moment, when his smashed skull caved in and he was no more. The blood drained from the infinite wounds on his body and formed a small pool on the floor. The soldiers wiped their boots clean of the red grime.

“Have the prisoners clean up this mess,” one man said as he cleaned his boot. “I’m not touching this.”

“Yea,” another agreed. “It will give them something to do.”

“Aren’t they lucky to have us?” he asked with a laugh.

The last sound Aleco heard was the laughter of the soldiers, which was disgusting, even to him. Aleco continued on—there was nothing he could have done. Even if he could have intervened, he wouldn’t have done anything to stop it; it wasn’t his problem.

Aleco glanced at the captives he passed and examined the neck of each female inmate, looking for the twin of his chain. He was near the top of the fortress when he lost hope and accepted that she had already been executed. Then, he saw a gleam of gold reflect the moonlight in the darkness.

A thin woman was chained to the wall with both arms pinned above her head as her brown
hair hung freely down her chest. Her lithe body was barely covered in rags, exemplifying her poor treatment. Aleco gazed at the bruised skin covering her arms, legs, and torso, and the many cuts on her body, some of which were still bloody. For a split second, Aleco pitied her, and just as quickly, it was gone. He had endured far more torture during his stay.

He unlocked the cage and opened the door. She did not stir at the sound. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be unconscious. Aleco preferred not to carry her, but if he had to assassinate all the soldiers with her slung over his back, then so be it—it wouldn’t be the first time.

He released her from the rusty chains, tossed her across his back and began his silent exodus down the stairs. Aleco tilted his chin to the floor as he heard footsteps approach and attempted to minimize his visage. The soldier passed him, and Aleco sighed in relief—maybe this would be easier than he thought.

“Halt,” the soldier commanded. Aleco stopped. “Guard,” he said, “what are you doing with that prisoner?”

Aleco’s mind raced as he frantically searched for a response. His hand crept to Stella, his beloved blade. “This prisoner is dead,” Aleco explained. “I am disposing the body according to standard protocol before it begins to stink up the place—more than it has already.” The watchman was silent for a moment, and Aleco held his breath.

“As you were.” The soldier dismissed him and continued his ascent up the stairway.

Aleco exhaled, and continued his descent. He silently ridiculed the idiot, knowing the guard would be executed the following morning for believing such a fallacy—they had no protocols for dumping the dead.

With every step towards the exit, Aleco glowed with more pride; the rescue had been so easy. His moment of confidence was shattered by the unwelcome sound of the woman moaning.

“So much for that,” he said.

Her feminine cry caught the attention of the nearby guardsmen, who had overheard Aleco’s previous conversation with the other guard, and realized Aleco’s true intent.

“That prisoner is not dead,” he cried as he pointed at Aleco. “He’s stealing a prisoner!” The man rang the alarm bell on the stairway. “He’s stealing a prisoner!”

Aleco grabbed a loose stone from the stairwell and threw it at the guard, hitting him directly in the head. “Oh, shut it, will you?”

Aleco sprinted to the bottom of the stone staircase with the guardsmen close behind. He could hear the woman’s moans become louder. She came into consciousness long enough to realize she was being carried. Aleco reached the bottom of the staircase, grabbed the lighted torch from the wall, and tossed it behind him. It smacked directly into the face of the closest approaching guardsmen, who screamed in distress as his clothes caught fire. The other guardsmen assisted their burning comrade by rolling his body across the ground. Neglected, Aleco slipped out of the entrance and dashed behind the closest building.

The
city was awakened by the shouts of the angry guardsmen and the ringing of the Morkarh Tower Bells. Other guards, already looking for the criminal who murdered two of their own, heard their cries and joined in the hunt for Aleco, realizing it was the same man. Groups scattered throughout the city in search of the culprit. Aleco could hear their shouts.

“It’s him again,” a guardsman yelled. “Tri-blade murdered the guards and now he is stealing a prisoner.”

“He can’t escape this time,” a guardsman replied. “Every soldier is combing the streets for him. Death will be his only escape.”

“No,” the solider said. “The Steward wants him alive. He wants to meet the man who is responsible for causing so much havoc in his realm.”

Aleco ran toward the Steward’s secret gate, sticking to the walls and blending in with the shadows as he maneuvered through the alleyways. He encountered a group of soldiers as they prowled down the street, searching the darkness for the Tri-blade murderer, a nickname Aleco was amused by. They were referring to his signature dagger, the three-bladed throwing knife he manufactured himself. The weight and center of balance of the unique steel ensured the blade always hit its mark. Aleco hid the unconscious woman behind a stack of crates, and withdrew his sword from his scabbard. He would have to make this quiet.

As the guards proceeded down the deserted walkway, Aleco leaned against the wall, out of their line of sight. When they were within reach, Aleco flung his short blade into the throat of the nearest guard, his signature tactic, and killed him.
Then, the blood bath began. Before the guards realized they were under attack, Aleco snapped the neck of the next soldier and decapitated another with his blade. There was only one man left. Shaking, he fell to his knees.

“Spare me, please,” he whispered. As the man begged for his life, his words came out as a stutter. “P-p-please. I’ll not s-s-say a word. Please.”

Aleco rolled his eyes; he didn’t have time for this. He punched him hard on the side of the head, and the guard’s body fell to the ground. As he lay unconscious in the street, Aleco grabbed the woman and continued toward the gate.

Aleco approached the entryway and spotted a handful of soldiers guarding the entrance, hindering his escape. Then, Aleco noticed something even more intriguing. A horse-drawn cart filled with bounded slaves was waiting to leave the city. Extra slaves, not sold by Steward Josiah, were delivered to the neighboring city of Mortar for a small profit. They traveled during the dark hours to avoid detection, since slavery was strictly forbidden on the Continent. Although, some of the highest officials, who publicly prohibited slavery, would turn a blind eye if it filled their pockets with gold.

Aleco grinned; he had an idea.

“Good evening,” the driver said. “I’m taking these poor souls to Mortar.” The driver nodded towards the rear of the load. “I need to leave if I plan to make it before the sun rises.”

The guard looked him over and examined his suave features and attire carefully. He proceeded to inspect the cargo in the back of the cart, where the slaves were tied and gagged, unable to escape. Initially, the guard was hesitant to let him pass. After all, there was a trained assassin killing guards in the city. What if he and this man were one and the same? Then the guard thought the better of it. Obviously, this man knew how things worked around there. He knew information the general public was completely unaware of. Besides, the assassin never revealed his face, and this man displayed it clearly. The wanted man was
rumored to be hideous and appalling, opposite of the friendly and fair man before him.