Soulbinder (Book 3) (6 page)

The woman said nothing. She continued to stare at him.

He looked down at his hands again. “I usually wake up after seeing the blood.”

“You are dreaming,” she said suddenly, “but I am real.”

Her voice sent a shiver down Kendril’s back, as if it was penetrating to his very soul. “Who are you?” he managed to say.

“I am a messenger.” She continued to gaze at him, her body motionless. “It has begun, Kendril.”

He fell forward, catching himself on the ground with his hands. His whole body felt weak. His arms shook uncontrollably. “What has?”

The woman’s eyes filled with a sudden tenderness. “You have much before you, Kendril. Much pain, and much struggle.” She straightened, but the compassion in her eyes remained. “You must not waver. Hold fast, and Despair will not triumph.”

It took a moment for Kendril to speak “I—I don’t understand…”

She looked at him again, pity in her eyes. “Darkness is coming, and fire, and death. Night will fall over Zanthora, and the sun will be long in its rising. Do not falter.”

Kendril tried to speak, but no words came out.

The woman bent down, and touched him lightly on the shoulder with a pale white hand. “You are not alone,” she whispered.

Kendril woke up.

Above him was the blackness of the snow-covered tree-branches. Around him the camp was deathly quiet.

He sat up, the blanket falling off him. Snow was falling gently all around, the white flakes drifting silently to the ground.

The dream had seemed so real, it was still burned into his mind.

Kendril reached a shaking hand up to his face, feeling cold sweat. Gritting his teeth, he wiped his sleeve across his forehead.

The dream of the garden he had had many times in the past.

But the woman with the blue hair…he had never seen her before.

Kendril turned his head, feeling the cold air against his sweat-covered body. The campfire was almost out, nothing more than a few glowing embers. He stared at it for a second, his mind still shaking off the last vestiges of the dream.

And then it hit him.

He leapt up from the ground, one hand already on his sword. He stumbled through the sleeping forms of his friends, staring wildly around. A moment later he gave one of the huddled forms a kick.

There was a muffled curse, and then Maklavir’s head emerged from the depths of the blanket. “What in Eru’s name do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re on watch,” snarled Kendril. “What are
you
doing?”

“Galla took over,” said Maklavir. He pulled the blanket back over his head. “He volunteered, so I let him. Now will you please let me get some sleep?”

Kara sat up from where she lay a few feet away, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Maklavir fell asleep during his watch,” said Kendril.

Maklavir’s head re-emerged again. “I told you, Kendril, Galla’s on watch.”

“Take a look,” said Kendril. He gave a nearby blanket a nudge with his boot. “Galla’s gone.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Joseph said slowly. “Where would he have gone? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t know.” Kendril scowled and threw Galla’s blanket down on the ground. “But whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good.”

Kara came up to them out of the dark, her red hair covered with specks of falling snow. “He took his donkey,” she said. “And a lantern. That’s about it.”

“This is just insane,” said Maklavir, shaking his head miserably. “He said he wanted to do his fair share, help with the watch a little. I never thought in a million years he would run off!”

“Well he did,” snapped Kendril. “We’re lucky he didn’t kill us all in our sleep.”

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that.” He shook the snow off his hat, then pulled it on over his head. “Hopefully he’ll be back before morning. We can ask him then what happened.”

“No,” said Kendril suddenly. “I’m going after him right now.”

Kara gave the Ghostwalker a startled look. “Why?”

“Because I don’t trust him.” Kendril moved around the fire. “And I want some answers.”

Maklavir groaned as he sank back onto his blanket. “So much for getting any sleep.”

Joseph sighed, then glanced up at the falling snow. “His tracks will be disappearing fast. You could use my help.”

Kendril pulled his rifle off of Simon’s back, causing the mule to give a startled bray. “Thanks. Let’s get going.”

“Hold on,” said Kara as she shouldered her arrow quiver. “You’re not leaving me behind.” She threw her hood up over her head. “As crazy as this is.”

“Crazy doesn’t begin to explain it.” Maklavir batted a snowflake away from his face. “I don’t see what the point of this is at all. Did anyone here ever think that Galla just needed some time to himself?”

“Are you coming or not?” asked Kendril impatiently. He checked the flintlock on his rifle, then snapped it back.

“What? Stay here by myself and get eaten by wolves?” The diplomat scratched the back of his neck, a weary look on his face. “No, no. I’m coming, of course.”

Kendril grunted. “Then let’s go.”

Even with the falling flakes, the path was easy enough to follow. Galla’s tracks stood out plainly in the white snow, leading off into the darkness of the woods.

Joseph led the way, a shuttered lantern in one hand. Behind him came Kendril, his rifle at the ready, then Kara, an arrow notched to her bow. Maklavir took up the rear, a look of pained resignation on his face. They traveled through the cold and darkness for almost an hour, the spectral shapes of trees just visible in the dim light thrown out from Joseph’s lantern.

Suddenly the scout stopped, and raised a hand.

Kendril crunched softly through the snow up beside him, his rifle pointed at the blackness before them. “Do you see him?” he whispered.

Joseph didn’t answer, but merely pointed his hand straight ahead.

Kendril strained to see through the trees before them.

There, not more than thirty yards away, was the dim glow of a lantern. It seemed to be coming out of a rock face, covered with thorn bushes and creepers. Tree roots overhung the top, twisting down like malevolent hands.

“A cave?” Kendril ventured, genuinely puzzled.

Joseph shook, his eyes flitting back and forth. “No. It’s a building. Look.”

Kendril peered forward through the dark. Slowly he began to make out the shape of some kind of stone structure, covered over with dirt, tangled bushes, stones, and even tree roots.

It looked incredibly old.

There was a sudden loud thump from inside the structure, as if a large rock had fallen. A half-second later there was a shouted curse that echoed out into the night.

“That’s Galla, all right,” said Kara as she stepped up beside them. “What in the Halls of Pelos is he doing in there?”

“Starting another church?” said Kendril sardonically. He set down his rifle, and pulled out a pistol. “Why don’t we go ask him?”

“Kendril—” Joseph started, but the Ghostwalker was already past him, moving smoothly through the snow towards the lantern glow.

Kara gave one quick glance at Joseph, shrugged, then headed after Kendril.

Maklavir came up, shaking some loose snow off his cap. “Well,” he said cheerfully, “here we go again.”

Joseph clenched his teeth, then headed up towards the stone building as well.

He was half-way there when an unearthly shriek came from inside. Joseph leapt into a run, quickly reaching the half-collapsed doorway.

It was cleverly hidden. Joseph considered himself to be fairly observant, but he had to admit that if it hadn’t been for the telltale lantern glow, he would never have seen it in the dark. Even during the day he probably would have walked right by it. The entrance was covered with vines and creepers, and twisted at an odd angle. He saw all this in the briefest of moments, but another scream from inside the building caused him to plunge inside.

It was a temple. Joseph recognized the telltale signs as soon as he entered. Towards the rear was a raised dais and an alcove that undoubtedly had once held some kind of statue. Crumbled pillars lined both sides of the room.

Everything smelled of mold and animal dung. A lantern sat on the floor, bathing the walls with a yellow gleam that provided the only light. On the floor just behind the dais was some kind of round, flat stone, almost like a piece of pavement.

And there, flattened against the wall by the empty alcove, was Galla, Kendril’s pistol held just inches away from his face.

“Please,” the priest gasped, squirming against the rock wall, “please I beg of you, I beg—”

“Shut up,” snarled Kendril. He moved the barrel of the pistol even closer to Galla’s face. “What were you doing in here?”

The priest hesitated, a look of terror in his eyes.

“Talk!” shouted Kendril. “Or do you want me to blow your brains out?”

“Oh, yes,” said Maklavir as he stepped into the temple beside Joseph, “that would solve everything, wouldn’t it?”

“Please—” stammered Galla again, as if his mouth were stuck on the word.

“Kendril,” said Joseph softly. “Let him go.”

The Ghostwalker glared over at his friend for a moment, the pistol still pointed at Galla’s head. He gave the priest one last glance, then stepped back and pulled his pistol away.

Joseph took a step forward, and slowly drew his rapier. He held the weapon loosely in his hand. The sharp tip hovered just a few inches above the floor.

Galla stared, his eyes dancing back and forth between Joseph and Kendril.

“Now,” said Joseph, his voice still low and calm, “I think you’d better explain yourself, Galla.”

The priest continued to stare at him, but said nothing.

“Joseph?”

The scout turned his head slightly.

Kara stood up and held out a large tree branch. “It was wedged under this stone,” she said. “Looks like Galla was trying to lever it up.”

Joseph glanced down at the stone, looking at it closely for the first time.

It was made of solid stone, five or six inches thick and five or six feet across. Dirt still covered parts of its surface, and a spade lying nearby seemed to show that Galla had only recently uncovered it. Etched across its surface were many strange symbols and designs. Joseph couldn’t recognize any of them.

He glanced up again at Galla. “What’s going on here?”

The priest hesitated a moment. He glanced over at Kendril.

The Ghostwalker still had his gun trained on him.

Galla looked back at Joseph. “There’s no mission,” he said finally.

“
Really
?” said Kendril, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Kendril,” said Joseph again, his voice low, “let me handle this.” He turned back to Galla. “What is this?”

The priest lifted two trembling hands, and straightened out his robe. “I believe this ruin is a temple.”

Maklavir lifted an eyebrow. “Oganti?”

Galla shook his head. “No, not pagan. A temple of Eru.”

“There are no temples of Eru out here,” said Joseph slowly. “The nearest one is in Vorten.” He glanced at the crumbling stone walls. “No priests have performed sacrifices here for a long while.”

“That’s because it is over a thousand years old,” said Galla.

There was a heavy silence for a moment.

Kendril took a step forward and brought his pistol back up. “He’s lying.”

“No, I’m not,” said Galla. He looked from Kendril to Joseph, the fear evaporating from his eyes. “Not about this. I wasn’t sure this temple was real. None of my brothers from the monastery believed it existed.”

“If you really
are
from a monastery,” broke in Kendril.

“I am,” said Galla. “But I’m not a missionary. I’m a church historian. I had read about the existence of this temple, come across references to it in many diverse parchments and scrolls. But even I wasn’t sure it was real. Not until now.”

“So the map you were using yesterday was a copy,” said Joseph, his voice still quiet. “From an older one.”

“From the Balnosian Legacy,” Galla said. “Many of the details were changed. It took me three years to figure out even a simple reference point, to even know where to start looking.”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” said Maklavir, squaring his shoulders against the cold, “but isn’t the Balnosian Legacy considered a heretical work?”

“Yes,” said Kendril. “It is.”

“Heretical or not,” said Galla, “it was right.” He reached into his robe.

Kendril tensed and lifted his pistol.

The priest pulled out a scrap of paper. “I didn’t show you this. It’s a series of specific directions I cobbled from two different sources. One was written by a traveler over four hundred years ago. The other is from an inscription found in the great northern hall at Transpire. They both speak of a temple with a chamber buried deep underground, a temple that has been lost to history.” He paused, his eyes drifting towards the stone at their feet. “Those directions led me here”

“This is crazy,” said Kendril.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Galla pleaded.

Joseph grabbed the paper out of Galla’s hands, examining it in the dim light of the lantern. Finally he looked up again at the priest, and handed the paper back to Kara.

She peered at in intently for a moment, then handed it to Maklavir.

“Alright, Galla, I’m listening,” Joseph said slowly.

Kendril shot the scout a warning glance. “Joseph—”

The bearded man shook his head. “Let’s hear him out.”

Galla swallowed, relief showing on his face. He lowered his arms slowly, giving Kendril another nervous look. “Like I was saying before, this temple is over a thousand years old. I believe it dates from the time of the Second Despair, during the reign of Xenin Jovar.”

Joseph’s face flinched.

Maklavir’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.

Kendril spat on the ground. “May he burn in the Third Fire for all eternity.”

“Xenin Jovar?” said Kara in a small voice. “I’m afraid I don’t—I didn’t really have…”

“Xenin Jovar,” said Joseph, “also known as the Great Heretic. He was the chief priest of Eru in the old kingdom of Arbelos.” He paused, as if the next few words were difficult to say. “His hunger for power was insatiable. He made a pact with Regnuthu, the Great Deceiver, and ushered in the Second Despair.”