Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) (44 page)

Astlin’s fiery composition meant that the shiver down her spine had nothing to do with the temperature. But all of Neriad’s change and horror didn’t extinguish Astlin’s yearning for her family.

“We’re taking this ship back to Keth. Come home with me.”

“Nadia’s dead.”

The suddenness of the statement, more than its content, left Astlin dumbstruck.

“I was never much help looking after her,” Neriad admitted. “The fever took her soon after Spiral took you.”

Memories flooded Astlin’s mind. Walking Nadia to school and carrying her home, working late to buy her new shoes, singing to comfort her when she cried for their mother.

Astlin didn’t hide the tremor in her voice. “Neriad was selfish…weak. But she wasn’t cruel.” The air around her rippled with heat. “You’re not my sister.”

The eyeless face lost all expression. “Neriad. Fallon. The Will of Shaiel. ‘Tis all one to me. Yet your charge of cruelty rings false. I merely give warning that all flesh sees corruption, though it be young and blameless.”

“Can Shaiel give my sisters back?” Astlin meant to sound defiant, but her voice held the hint of a plea. “Can he give back the life that was taken from me?”

“You would ask the Lord of Death to give life?” Shaiel’s Will shook Neriad’s head. “He offers nothing so cheap. Let us fly on the Night Gen ship to Cadrys, where they who adore Shaiel receive cords of gold that perish not. When Zadok’s silver thread weaves her soul once more, Nadia shall join us there.”

“And end up like you?” Astlin searched for some trace of Neriad’s mind but met a barrier like a frozen wall of coal. “No one could want that for someone she cares about.”

The Will of Shaiel chuckled. “The cutting of the silver cord is the end of love—and all virtue. Yet ‘tis better by far than oblivion. The Void runs over, and Shaiel’s favorites only shall endure.”

“Love saved me from the kind of hell you’re building,” said Astlin. “I’d rather have nothing—
be
nothing—than lose it again.”

Neriad’s empty eyes seemed to grow even blacker—a sort of negative gleam. “Do you love your friends? This ship’s officers and yeomen and their kin? Ferry us to Cadrys, or I will slay them all. Yea, all that dwell upon this sphere. Mithgar shall be unpeopled, save for we two, when the Night Gen take possession.”

“We stopped the Night Gen,” Astlin said, if only to quell her own doubt. “Thurif seized the
Kerioth
, and Zan shot their other ship down.”

Laughter roared from Neriad’s throat like a collapsing icefall. “Lord! Can you truly be so dim? Think you that the Night Gen’s ships numbered but two?
Kerioth
and
Ashlam
were lowly scouts—an advance on the full payment. Beyond the light of the stars, ship upon ship and fleet upon fleet wait to inherit this world. And
you
, my sister, were the asking price!”

Astlin’s heart sank, but it struck bedrock and kindled new resolve. “Ask Hazeroth what’ll happen if you even touch one person on this ship.”

“Ah yes, the late prince—a soul yet more stubborn than yours. You’ve my thanks for ridding me of so poor a servant.”

“If that’s how Shaiel treats his friends,” said Astlin, “I’m glad to be his enemy.”

“My lord calls you neither friend nor foe. Do you still not understand? Shaiel names you his kin. Your worth to him is more precious than worlds!”

“Well he’s not worth a damn to me.”

Astlin knew from primary school that mundane matter was composed of four elements derived from raw prana. In one instant, she extracted all the elemental fire from the air surrounding Neriad’s body. Deck plates buckled under the heat, and Astlin had to shield her eyes from the flash.

The fire’s radiance dimmed. Astlin watched sickly golden light swallow the flame like a bull eating the sun in old myths. Heat-warped deck plates froze and cracked.

“The Void triumphs over the Well,” Neriad’s voice called from the light’s frozen heart. “And your Fire is but prana’s shadow.”

The sickly glow faded, but Shaiel’s invincible Will remained. Neriad’s dress wasn’t even singed.

“A final time I pray you fly to your lord and brother. He and I are the family you crave. Your lot has been bitter. It needn’t be more so.”

The hangar seemed to spin around Astlin.
There has to be something I can do!
She cast about for any means of saving the ship—and herself—from this monster with Neriad’s face. There was only the
Kerioth
, rows of stacked cargo containers…

…And something moving at Neriad’s feet.

“Once more only will I ask, in memory of your sister’s love.” Shaiel’s Will gestured with the hand that clutched its white mask. “Take ship with me and forsake your wretched past, or—”

A number of deck plates, seemingly buckled by the extremes of heat and cold, erupted in a cluster of tendrils. A tentacle made of spinning gears engulfed Neriad’s outstretched arm and cut her ultimatum short.

I’m not dreaming; I’m hallucinating,
Astlin thought until the tendrils formed a shifting metal mass, and Mirai Smith’s skull-like face emerged.

“Thank you for the gift!” he said to Shaiel’s Will.

Neriad’s face twisted in a sneer. The tentacle covering her arm hissed and creaked as frost spread over its chaotic surface. A blow from her other hand scattered frozen gears across the floor, but there was no trace of the mask—or Neriad’s right arm below the biceps.

There’s no blood.

Astlin was about to charge in and help Smith when the deck lurched under her feet. Air howled past, carrying bits of debris, as the hangar door opened. The ship tilted at a sharp angle, and though Astlin quickly regained her balance, Shaiel’s Will was less graceful.

Neriad slid toward the yawning door, beyond which the
Irminsul
seemed to shrink as the ship climbed. The deck plate under her remaining hand glowed, and she stopped as if the golden light anchored her to the spot.

Loud banging and the squeal of metal on metal made Astlin turn. Her heart lodged in her throat when she saw several cargo containers tumbling from their stacks and barreling toward her. She threw herself down the incline just as the world beyond the door vanished in an unbearably bright whiteout.

Astlin could feel the light’s incredible, primeval power. What Shaiel’s Will had said through Neriad came back to her.

Fire is but prana’s shadow
.

Suddenly she understood what was happening—or hoped she did. With her path blocked in front and behind, there was only one way left to go.

Calling on her dim memory of chasing Hazeroth in flight, Astlin willed herself to rise. The speed of her ascent surprised her; she almost collided with the ceiling.

Beneath her, the cargo containers rumbled by. Three struck the
Kerioth
, but its moorings held. Astlin dared a last look into the abysses of Neriad’s eyes in the split second before a cargo container plowed into Shaiel’s Will.

The container slid several yards before screeching to a halt. Astlin only saw the monstrosity that emerged from behind it as a shadow limned in sallow light. Its wings hid a third of the sky, and its roar echoed from the hangar’s far corners.

Fear and revulsion drove Astlin to act by reflex. Thousands of tons of suddenly superheated air blasted from the hangar and into the prana-lit stratosphere, carrying away several containers and the monster that had been Neriad. The white light quenched the shadow’s golden aura. A chilling shriek pierced the sky but died as the terrible shadow dissolved.

Astlin faltered as her feet touched the deck. With an effort she composed herself and looked out through the lowering door.

The light of the Well had given way to the
Irminsul
and its green valley surrounded by countless miles of brown desolation. With a sound like thunder the giant door closed, shutting out the wail of rushing air and leaving only the engines’ low hum.

Waking left Astlin disoriented. The crisp sheets and constant hum reminded her that she was in her large but utilitarian stateroom on the
Serapis
. She didn’t recall leaving the hangar, but she remembered collapsing in bed and weeping, finally, till sleep came.

How long was I out?

Astlin groped for a reason to rise and failed until a familiar yet surprising need beckoned.
I’m hungry,
she realized with growing wonder. She hadn’t eaten since getting transessed years before. The elemental body she had now—her
perfected form
as Smith called it—apparently mimicked human anatomy well enough to crave food.

Astlin rose, put on her dress, and left the room. While her vision was adjusting from heat to light, two children ran by. Their laughter filled the grey corridor and removed all of Astlin’s lingering doubts about refusing Shaiel’s Will.

Another hunger pang struck, driving Astlin to seek the galley. She might’ve searched the huge ship for hours, but a crewman gave her general directions and the scents of sanitizer and aromatic vegetables led her the rest of the way. The rapid clatter of metal on wood ceased as she entered.

“Welcome, stranger,” said Cook, standing at an oblong stainless steel island amid banks of ovens and fryers. Astlin scolded herself for wondering what he was doing there.

Cook beckoned with his knife. “Blocking the door is a fire hazard.”

Astlin crept over to stand beside him at the counter, which was heaped with vegetables arranged in two piles—whole and chopped.

“I figured you’d turn up sooner or later,” he said.

“How long has it been?”

“Two days.” Cook fed a peeled root into his blurring knife. Neat thin wheels emerged on the other side. “We’re due at Keth tomorrow—which is good, since a lot of supplies got blown from the hangar.”

Shaiel’s Will had left raw scars on Astlin’s mind, but one question nagged her enough to face the pain of the wound.

“The light that filled the sky—where did it come from?”

“The ship can project a field around itself,” said Cook. “Normally it disrupts Workings, but Tefler funneled prana through it.”

“I didn’t think Tefler could fly.”

“He can’t. In fact he threw up and nearly passed out. But Zan talked him through it.”

Astlin didn’t bother hiding her surprise. “
Zan
?”

“It was all his idea,” said Cook. “He doesn’t know where it came from—probably something in his past.”

I’ll have to see if I can help him remember,
thought Astlin.

“Sendings don’t seem to work on you,” Cook continued, “but luckily you caught on.”

Avoiding Cook’s gaze, Astlin fiddled with a root. “Do you wish I hadn’t?”

The chopping sounds ceased again. Cook set down his knife and sighed. “I wasn’t happy with you. But I don’t think staying mad does anyone much good—especially Xander.”

“I kept reliving it,” said Astlin, “trying to convince myself there was no other way.”

“Was there?”

Astlin’s chest felt hollow. She hung her head. “I don’t know.”

Cook’s rough hand cupped her shoulder. “People say our loved ones live on in us. It’s actually true in your case. A part of Xander will always be with you.”

Astlin gave him a demure but heartfelt smile. “Thanks, Cook. Any more words of wisdom?”

Cook drew another knife from the rack beside him and passed it to her. “I’ll tell you everything I know about cutting vegetables.”

Astlin couldn’t keep her smile from widening. “I’m useless in the kitchen.”

“Every cook needs to master water and fire, so you’re halfway there. And since your stomach’s rumbling, I’ll tell you what—help me out, and you can help yourself.”

Astlin took the knife in hand, selected a carrot, and sawed it into segments.

“Those pieces are about the right size,” said Cook. “Now let’s work on your speed.”

Astlin munched on carrot sticks during the rest of Cook’s lesson. The simple act of chewing the sweet crunchy root gave her comfort.

“Don’t hold the knife with your finger pointing down the blade. Pinch it with your thumb and forefinger; then wrap your other fingers around the handle. Keep the knife in place, rock it in a circular motion, and feed the carrot through. Make sure to tuck in your fingers.”

To Astlin’s amazement, Cook’s advice greatly improved her speed and precision. She finished three more carrots before asking, “What really happens to people after they die?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“I’m serious. We never discussed it back home, but it’s all people talk about here. Xander said that God judges everyone. Sulaiman claims he’s
been
to hell. Shaiel says there’s nothing, unless he turns us into walking corpses.”

“There used to be more answers than religions,” said Cook. “But since you asked me, I think the Atavists had it right. We’re all tiny parts of the Nexus. The silver cords cut us out of it, and when they run out we go back.”

“So Xander was cut from the same part of the Nexus as me, and I absorbed him.”

“The part of him you shared, yeah.”

“What about heaven and hell?”

Cook shrugged. “Some people doubt they exist. Others say the gods made them for their followers. A few—including the greycloaks—say their motives weren’t exactly pure.”

Astlin dropped her knife. “So we’re not separate people. We’re not real. Only the Nexus is, and we’re all just parts of it.”

“That’s a little simplistic,” said Cook, “but you’ve got the basic idea.”

“But I think I’m me,” she said, “not a fragment of something else. If I’m not real, whose pain is this?”

Cook set down his knife and cleaned his hands with a towel. “Everyone’s in pain because we’re all pieces of a bigger whole. Everybody knows it deep down, but the world convinces us we’re separate beings. That loneliness causes all the war, crime, and suffering in the world.”

Astlin raised her voice. “I’m not suffering because I want to be one with everything. It’s because the man I
need
to be with is dead.”

“Thinking you need him is part of the illusion. You won’t have peace till you let him go.”

The words struck Astlin like a knife in her heart. “Listen to me,” she said softly. “Xander was no illusion. I tried trapping him in mine, and he saved me from it. My need for him is real. The pain of losing him is real. Our loved ones hurt us, but they’re worth it.”