Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) (38 page)

Other heat sources prowled before Astlin’s eyes—dozens more.
We’re surrounded,
she silently warned her friends.

As if answering a hidden signal, the wolves’ bodies bent and grew until four men in crude hides stood in their place.

Anger fed Astlin’s fire. “
Isnashi
!”

The tattooed man’s hazel eyes held her burning gaze unflinching. “We defile neither our Mother nor ourselves—unlike you, souldancer.”

The force of the condemnation drove Astlin back a step. “How do you know so much about us?”

The tattooed man looked to Astlin’s friends, his eyes lingering on each of them as if he could read their hearts.

“We are charged to watch over Mithgar our Mother. We found you in the desert and followed you through the Tower Graves.” His gaze landed on her once again. “And we have watched
you
since the world’s rebirth.”

Astlin suddenly wished that the ground would swallow her. “Who are you?”

“I am Jarsaal Malisar, Chosen of Faerda; priest of the Dawn Tribe.”

Cook’s eyes widened. “He’s a Gen.”

Jarsaal gave a solemn nod. “My name and honors are known. As for my purpose…” He swept his arm around the clearing’s edge, where more tattooed Gen in wolf pelts were emerging from the trees. “I convene this holy circle for judgment.”

Szodrin observed the captain’s quarters through the ether’s misty veil. Ruthven’s furnishings had given way to banks of medical machinery encircling a slab-like table. The new equipment still appeared hazy, except for a slim blade that gleamed like a white mirror.

Two life cords found their ends nearby. One had a dark oily sheen. The other was mottled like tarnished silver. The oil slick cord reached its terminus somewhere among the clustered machines. The mottled cord ran straight to the table’s head.

Szodrin approached the table and reached for the mirrored blade. His hand would have passed through any other object in the room, but he easily gripped the smooth ether metal. He admired the blade’s fine edge and mused over his changed reflection, which was tinted lavender except for his piercing yellow eyes.

The mottled cord resisted Szodrin’s grasp, but he soon took its pulsing life force in hand. He emerged from the ether to find that the room had two other occupants—a ghoulish hybrid of flesh and clockworks and a pale figure in a black robe who lay upon the table.

The robed man’s misplaced eyes were impassive as he studied the one standing over him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Such was my design,” Szodrin said. “You were to be an invisible eye, whose vision would reveal me to myself.”

Understanding lit the mangled face. “It’s later than I thought.”

Szodrin tightened his grip on the mottled cord he could no longer see. “Your own machinations hastened the day.”

“Poetic justice, I suppose.”

“This is justice.” Szodrin set the knife to the cord, which yielded in three firm sawing motions. A rattling breath escaped Thurif’s body. Severed from the White Well, his soul rejoined the Nexus.

Curious,
Szodrin thought as the sum of his being absorbed Thurif’s knowledge and experience.
He understood that I embody the Nexus, but he failed to accept his role as a facet of it until the last.

The clockwork creature poked the body and scowled at Szodrin. “Did you do this?”

“I killed him.”

“’Ruined my masterpiece,’ you mean.”

“What would this master work have been?” Szodrin asked.

Ambition burned in the creature’s cog-shaped eyes. “Making a god.”

“A lofty aim—some would say blasphemous. How did you hope to reach it?”

The creature pointed a tendril made of gears at the knife. “Cut through the soul into another Stratum. Restore the excised portion to cement the bond; then infuse with prana, resulting in theosis.”

Szodrin turned the knife over in his hand. “Which of my children did you mean to kill?”

“Kill?”

“Prana may divinize a mortal, but so can Void. In either case, a god is the only sufficient source.”

A rueful hiss escaped the creature’s beak. Its gears bristled and clicked like a nest of angry insects.

“Calm yourself. You needn’t commit deicide to resume your work.”

The hybrid’s clockwork eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“A question first—can you choose where the soul incision will lead?”

“Do rats eat their own young?”

“Then I volunteer to replace your lost subject,” said Szodrin, “on the condition that you merge my soul with the Nexus.”

“Tell me your reasons.”

Szodrin stared at the lifeless aberration on the slab with equal disgust and respect. “This heathen would have bent the world to his will. I shall ascend and judge all things.”

The shrill music of alarm klaxons led the
Serapis
crew in a martial dance. A shipwright turned from his station and yelled, “The
Exarch
just fired a warning shot. The
Ashlam
is right behind her.”

Zan looked through the ship’s senses. Two shapes, tiny compared to the big tree, were quickly gaining from behind. He recognized the grey ship as the ether-runner that had brought him and his friends to Mirai Smith’s vault. The jet black nexus-runner could have been the
Kerioth’s
twin.

“Signal our surrender!” said a nervous-looking man in a blue uniform.

The shipwright looked to the white-haired man in glasses. “You’re in command, Gid.”

“Send to the
Exarch’s
commander,” said Gid. “Tell him we’ve been hijacked.”

The shipwright sent the message. Another shot from the
Exarch
screamed across the
Serapis’
stern.

“Ruthless bastards,” Gid cursed.

The shipwright on the sending paled. “They don’t believe us. There’s no record of any other ships in the area, and port security says there’s no way anyone could’ve snuck aboard.” He frowned at Zan and Th’ix. “We’ve been ordered to land and surrender to the greycloaks.”

Gid’s face was grim. “I never thought I’d say this, but everyone to battle stations.”

“We’re technicians,” the shipwright said, “not combatants.”

“You helped fix the defensive systems,” said Gid. “Time to learn how they work.”

Another crewman gestured at Zan. “Why not drag him off the Wheel? There must be other steersmen.”

“None who’ve linked with that Wheel.” Gid turned to Zan. “You ever flown in combat, son?”

“I don’t know.”

Gid snorted. “I suppose that’s asking too much.

“Alright, we saw those Cadrys greycloaks’ concept of justice.” He looked to the blue-uniformed man. “And they were judging their own. They think we stole this ship; let’s humor them.”

Many crewmen nodded. Every face was etched with fear.

Zan kept flying. The
Serapis’
engines felt like powerful wings, but the lighter ships needed far less power to catch him. The thought made him tremble. His silver hand clattered as it gripped the rail.

Don’t fear,
Malachi’s disembodied voice whispered.
I will guide you.

What should I do?
thought Zan.

Intercept the corvette before it clears the tree. Prepare to act on my word.

A startled cry went up from the crew as Zan once more turned the
Serapis
about and urged it forward.

“What are you doing?” asked Gid. “Move us away from them!”

Pins and needles washed over Zan’s body as he raised the ship’s protective aura. As he advanced, the corvette’s hull seemed to grow like a rapidly filling, blocky balloon.

Close to within one keel-length,
said Malachi.

Zan increased speed.

Sulaiman and Jarsaal stared at each other with such stony determination that Astlin imagined them as a pair of lifelike statues. The circle of Gen stood watch over the glade with patience to match the wall of trees behind them. Their calm fed her frustration.

“You talked about judgment,” she said. “Is this some kind of trial?”

No one answered. Even the leaves were still.

Astlin took a step forward. “Where I come from, they tell you the charges.”

Several of the Gen tensed. Jarsaal’s eyes darted from Sulaiman to Astlin so suddenly that if she could’ve gasped reflexively, she would have.

“You violate the sanctity of the
Irminsul
,” Jarsaal said, “the embodiment of Faerda on Mithgar. We gather to judge your worth, who would touch that which abides no impurity.”

Tefler laughed. “Touch it? I
lived
in it.”

“Careful,” Cook said through one side of his mouth.

“Hell,” said Tefler, “I’m sure I pissed on it more than once.”

Tefler barely had time to turn his head before one of the Gen rushed up and clubbed him to the ground. Astlin did cry out; so did Cook, and a fiery sword flashed in Sulaiman’s hand.

“Enough,” Sulaiman said. “We’ll brook no more delays. Our errand is urgent.”

“Your errand is not our concern,” said Jarsaal. “The
Irminsul
must not be profaned.”

Astlin pointed upward. “There’s a madman up there trying to make himself a god!”

“That, and worse.” Jarsaal’s calm was unnerving. “Why should we let you compound the offense?”

Worse?
Astlin would have asked the question, but Tefler rose to his feet. Blood-darkened hair obscured his strange eyes as he spoke to her. “Just get in their heads already and make them let us go.”

Jarsaal raised his hand. Arrows flew from the tree line and landed at each prisoner’s feet.

“You didn’t watch her close enough.” Tefler jabbed his thumb at Astlin. “Good luck killing a quarter ton of animate brass with arrows.”

“Did you have to mention my weight?” grumbled Astlin.

“The arrows are not for you,” Jarsaal said. “They are for any of us who fall under the souldancer’s sway.”

Cook’s face fell. “They really
were
watching.”

“Your threat testifies on our behalf.” Sulaiman extinguished his blade. “It would not stay Shaiel’s hand.”

Jarsaal shook his head. “Judging you more upright than Faerda’s usurper is faint praise.”

“We, too, seek retribution for his crimes,” Sulaiman said. “And more, we would see him and his murderous twin cast down from their stolen thrones!”

Many Dawn Gen exchanged wary looks. Some muttered to each other in their own tongue, but Jarsaal silenced them with a sharp gesture. “Your verdict is just, Sulaiman Thrice-Cursed, but the sentence is not yours to carry out.”

His gaze passed to Tefler. “Nor is it yours, faithless priest. Your gods’ unworthiness does not absolve your broken oaths.” At last, Jarsaal fixed his eyes on Astlin. “No water can cleanse your hands of blood. On my life, such as they shall never again touch the
Irminsul
.”

How dare he!?
Xander silently raged.
You have grown. You’ve changed.

Astlin hung her head. “He’s right. So what if I’ve changed. It doesn’t make up for what I’ve done.”

Cook pointed a thick finger at his own chest. “What about me?”

“You may pass,” Jarsaal said, “if you renounce your companions’ deeds and part ways from them.

“It’s okay,” Astlin said to Cook. “Go home. Find Zan. The two of you can handle Thurif.”

Cook smiled. “I think I’ll stick around.”

“Then you will remain here with them under guard,” Jarsaal said. “No harm will come to you unless you try to escape. For each attempt, we will slay one of the clay tribe. The souldancer would do well to encourage obedience, unless she wishes to spend her captivity alone.”

The thought of resuming her lonely confinement sent panic stabbing through Astlin’s heart. She risked looking just deep enough into Jarsaal’s mind to see that he wasn’t bluffing.

Archers prowled the treetops, hidden from both light and heat-based sight—even Jarsaal didn’t know where.

Astlin’s panic became existential terror. She could probably force her way out of the Dawn Tribe’s trap, but losing her friends would be far worse than imprisonment.

“Make any threats you want,” Tefler said. “Any minute now a ship is coming to airlift or translate us out of here, and you can’t do shit about it.”

Jarsaal betrayed no concern. Luckily, Astlin was still in mental contact with him as he thought,
The
Irminsul’s
purity must be preserved! We have no choice…

Astlin whipped her arms through a half-circle that ended with them crossed against her chest. The others would see only a heat haze encompassing the five people at the circle’s center, and those five would only feel a few degrees warmer.

Which was probably why Tefler, Cook, Sulaiman, and even Jarsaal gave startled cries when more than a dozen arrows disintegrated right over their heads. The spectacle looked like a miniature fireworks display.

When did you learn such control over the Fire?
Xander marveled.

Feeling his pride brought a faint smile to Astlin’s face.
I got it from Irallel when she let me in her head to fight the regulator.

Astlin lowered her heat shield. The stench of wood ash and burned metal hung in the air as she spoke.

“I’m tired. Of seeing people I love die; of killing other people’s loved ones. I think that’s just about everybody. Even Shaiel and Thera must’ve had someone who cared for them.”

She faced Jarsaal. “Your goddess means a lot to you. I don’t want to offend her. But even if it might defile the
Irminsul
, I’m going back up there. If I don’t, one evil god will give this world to the Night Gen, and someone who might be even more evil—who’s definitely crazier—will try to become a god and remake the world in his own image.”

“What would you have us do?” Jarsaal asked. “Betray our sacred oath? We sense the Night Tribe’s ambitions; their corruption by a foul presence beyond our power to cast out. The
Irminsul
weeps for her defilement. It is all we can do to keep the wound from festering.”

Astlin’s glove creaked as she made a fist. “Then let me burn out the infection.”

“This enemy is no tainted Chosen.” Jarsaal’s mouth twisted. “No
Isnashi
. A heart so heavy with sin cannot conquer a creature that will make your evil its weapon.”