Soulsworn (7 page)

T
he Taker

W
hen Aidah finally got up and left the wagon, Terestere and her retinue were packing. She drew her cloak closed as she walked, ice-flecked grass crunching underfoot. Mist rose from her mouth with each breath, and any gust of wind felt as if it were a cold knife cutting to the bone. The campfires were dead things, doused so long ago that no hint of smoke rose from them. Mandrigal peeked above the hills to the east, swathing the sky in orange hues that bled color into wispy clouds. Although they had not yet left, she knew she would miss the sense of protection the queen’s men had brought.

Her nightmare preoccupied her mind during breakfast. It had felt so real, and yet she’d never visited the western kingdoms, Casda Esdan, or seen any of its peoples. She’d once read of some of their races, but her dream had been too vivid. She kept looking at Clara who ate and laughed with Nerisse as if nothing had happened.

Dark shadows showed under Nerisse’s eyes, and she too said she had disturbing dreams. Hers involved a fair-haired man she had not seen before but had a sense of wrongness about him.

“The taker,” Clara said.

“Who?” Aidah asked.

“The man Nerisse sees … he’s the taker in my dreams.”

“Why do you call him that?”

Clara stared off across the field. “Because he always takes me. He leads me to tall stone things like big tree trunks. Lightning is all around them. He says they will help me, that I will be with Papa and Gaston when I go into the light. Mama.” Clara looked at her, eyes watery. “All I want is to see their smiles again.”

“Me too, pumpkin, me too.” Aidah sighed. That all three of them suffered nightmares was bad enough. That Nerisse and Clara dreamt of the same man was disturbing, an ill omen Aidah could do without, but at least the girl hadn’t mentioned Ainslen and a box.

Soon after breakfast they were preparing to return to the Empire Road when Terestere arrived at Aidah’s wagon on horseback. “Good morn,” the queen said. “I just came to say goodbye to you and the children and to tell you to be strong in all of this. The Dominion shines on you.”

“Thank you,” Aidah said. “May they light your path also.”

A wrinkle formed on the queen’s brow. “You look tired. Trouble sleeping?”

“Yes, I had a terrible nightmare.”

“I can relate. All I do is dream of my husband’s death and imagine my hand around Ainslen’s throat.”

“Such dreams would’ve been pleasing,” Aidah said. “Mine are usually of Clara’s death as we tried to flee from Ainslen’s reach in Kasinia. Or of her going mad, destroying a village, killing innocents. This last one contained Ainslen and a box of remains.” She quickly skipped over that bit. “There was also the Caradorii, Berendali, and Casda Esdan. It all seemed so real as if I know the place and its people. Nerisse and Clara suffer from nightmares also, but theirs are of the same man, a man who takes Clara.” Aidah was frowning now as she contemplated the reason behind the similarities. “Is it possible that Clara melded in her sleep, forced what she saw on Nerisse?”

“A melder cannot use their skill while asleep. At least that’s what the Blades claim.”

“Then why am I seeing a place and people I’ve never visited? Why are my daughters sharing a dream?”

“Perhaps you read of them somewhere? As for Nerisse and Clara, who had the dream first?”

“Clara.”

Terestere smiled. “The explanation for them is similarly simple. Clara hides nothing from her sister. Most likely she told Nerisse about this man. Think of the stories you heard in your life, particularly when you were young. Didn’t they make you imagine you were there or that you knew the people?”

“They did.” Aidah nodded. “Still, seeing Clara suffer so.” She shuddered.

“Did you see her actual death? My mother always said that was the only time to worry, when a person died in the dream.”

“I saw her die in all the ones where we fled Ainslen throughout Kasinia.”

Terestere’s brow furrowed. “And the dreams of the western kingdoms.”

“She was sick, perhaps dying.”

“But she wasn’t dead.”

“No.”

“I would take that one as a sign,” Terestere said.

The drum of a horse’s hooves caught Aidah’s attention before she managed a reply. A man galloped down the hill toward the queen’s camp, hair and cloak flying behind him.

“One of my rear guard,” Terestere said.

“Is that good or bad?” The guardsman headed to an ebony-skinned Thelusian who was easily twice the size of any other Blade.

“Bad, and most likely a reason for us to leave.” The queen flapped her reins and sent her mount trotting toward her men.

“Lomin,” Aidah shouted as she watched the animated conversation between the Blades. The new arrival pointed south. Lomin arrived moments later. “The queen says it’s time for us to go.”

“Packed and ready.” Lomin nodded in the direction of the queen and her two men. “Looks like trouble.”

“Where are the children?”

“Inside the wagon.”

Aidah glanced over her shoulder. She could just make out Nerisse’s face peering through the canvas opening. Two of the new guards were on their mounts next to the wagon. In the queen’s camp the Thelusian Blade captain was shouting orders. Men scrambled atop their mounts and followed the first soldier back the way from which he’d come.

The queen returned, amber eyes grim. “There’s a squad of King’s Blades and Farlanders headed this way, riding hard from Garangal.” Aidah’s gut clenched. “They will be on us within the next hour or two. My men have already ensured that no one sent word north, and I have Blades in every town from here to Melanil, keeping the ways safe, so stay on the Empire Road.”

“Your Majesty,” Lomin said, “why does it sound as if you don’t intend to head to safety?”

Terestere smiled. It was a thing of genuine pleasure. The woman was mad if she intended to stay. “There’s no safer place than with my Blades, Lomin. Besides, these Farlanders defeated Jemare’s men, didn’t they? Or so the rumors say. My Blades are a little … rusty. It’s as good a time as any for them to find a proper whetstone.”

“But—” Lomin began.

“I will be fine.” Terestere waved off his protest. “Worry about the task before you. Your life belongs to Lady Rostlin until Danalyn. See her there safely. Now, I must speak to Aidah alone.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed stiffly to the queen and then turned to Aidah. “M’lady, I’ll be at the wagon when you’re ready.”

Aidah acknowledged him with a nod. She watched him walk away. “I often wonder if all men are like that.” She recalled Kesta being similarly protective, a trait she’d admired.

“Most are,” the queen said, “even when the woman is a stranger. Sometimes their concern can be flattering, but at others it can be burdensome. But it’s not limited to men. I count it as a natural trait among warriors: the belief in physical strength first and foremost.”

“With what might be coming I could use some of that strength,” Aidah said. Terestere’s men were mounted and ready, horses stamping impatiently, mist rising from their mouths. “I’m worried that neither myself nor the children will survive. Frightened, really.” The admission made her quiver.

The queen brought her horse closer. “Look at me.”

Unwavering amber eyes stared at Aidah. A depth existed within them that made Aidah feel as if she would lose herself.

“I will be fine,” the queen said. “Say it with me. I will be fine.”

“I will be fine.”

“My children will be fine.”

Aidah repeated the words, voice low.

“Say them with conviction,” the queen urged. “Don’t just speak them,
believe
them. I will be
fine
; my children will be
fine
; the Dominion will watch over us.”

The intensity of Terestere’s words stirred something in Aidah’s chest. Aidah said each sentence again and again. With each repetition the force of her speech grew until she was staring past the queen but not actually seeing the woman, her words soft but yet filled with determination. Belief became a pillar that made her straighten her back, clench her fists. “And I will have revenge on those who made my family suffer.”

“Good,” Terestere said, “now you know how I feel. Your family needs you. Go to them.”

“Thank you so much.” Aidah bowed to the queen, turned on her heels, and strode toward the wagon, her steps light, the wind no longer seeming to cut through her garb.

W
eight of Blame

T
hunder cracked again. Aidah started whenever the sound rolled through the air. With each angry rumble Aidah swore she felt the wagon heave unevenly, and on one occasion several boulders fell away from a rock-strewn incline. The first time the rumble came she looked to the heavens, expecting to see storm clouds and lightning. Instead, the sky was clear and blue. Lomin said Blades caused the sounds when they unleashed their melds. Flashes lit the hilltops behind them. The full-throated cries of warriors in combat were a muted roar, waves crashing on a distant shore.

Lomin’s whip cracked as he urged the byagas on, the beasts braying as they ran. Clara huddled in Nerisse’s arms, gaze transfixed on the hard-packed road behind them. They trundled past the winding road that led to Torens, a few of the town’s rooftops showing above a small forest. The guards rode beside each wagon, beating off the occasional traveler who tried to grab on or chased after them, crying out for a ride. Driving the wagon directly behind, Aran flapped his reins, face a mask of concentration.

Out of habit, Aidah prayed to the Dominion. She expected victory for Terestere’s men, but the little doubt she harbored was more than enough for concern. She lost track of how long the battle raged, but as the din from the clash of soul magic dwindled, so did the fearful jolts. Her focus remained on the road and land behind, seeking any riders other than those who were obviously refugees. When none became evident she let out a long exhale, closed her eyes, and relished the feel of the sun bathing her face, its warmth in counterpoint to the cold gusts that stirred her hair.

Afterward, to help ease any lingering anxiety, she prepared a meal of dried rabbit, fruits, and water for herself and the children. They ate in silence, bodies rocking to match the wagon’s movements, the byaga’s brays and Lomin’s shouts a constant reminder of their flight. Aidah barely tasted or smelled the food as she contemplated the journey ahead.

“There’s something I must tell you both.” Aidah glanced from one girl to the next. Not so long ago they had both been innocent children with bright futures. Uncertainty now clouded much of that. “Ainslen has set a bounty on our heads. Although I thought Melanil would be a place where we could find safety, we might have to go farther still.”

“How far?” Nerisse popped the last bit of rabbit into her mouth.

“I haven’t made a final decision yet, but the journey would be to Berendal in the western kingdoms,” Aidah said with a resigned breath. “To a city called Casda Esdan.”

Nerisse stopped chewing. “What? That’s on the other side of the world.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Mother, we don’t know anyone there. No family or friends of ours reside in those lands. Kasinians aren’t allowed within the western kingdoms.”

“The first two are true. The last less so,” Aidah said, “but those are the exact reasons for us to go. Those kingdoms might offer our best chance at a life where we won’t need to look over our shoulders every day, or worry about a knife in the dark, or the Blades showing up to drag us off to the gibbets.” Clara giggled and then leaned down to whisper to one of her dolls. “And it’s the best chance to save your sister, perhaps the only chance.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Clara,” Nerisse said defiantly, but her tremulous voice made a liar of her words.

“It’s time we both faced the truth.” Aidah smiled a gentle smile, but her heart was heavy. Clara was still talking to her dolls. “Your sister has been different for some time now, but since the night at the estate it has only grown worse … the dreams, the dolls. She’s losing her senses, and before her ailment becomes any worse we must do something to help.”

“It’s all my fault,” Nerisse blurted. She burst into sobs. “It’s all my fault.”

Clara looked up at her sister, frowning. She stood and hugged Nerisse. “Don’t cry, Neri. Don’t cry.”

“I’m so sorry, sis. I should’ve tried to stop him. I should’ve told Father.”

“Stop who? What do you mean?” Aidah asked.

“Ainslen, Mother,” Nerisse said between sobs. “I was there when he induced Clara. Oh Gods, I’m so, so sorry.” She squeezed her sister tight.

Slack-jawed, Aidah covered her mouth. She repeated Nerisse’s words. They could not be true. Nerisse was mistaken. She made to ask if Nerisse was certain but the question fled her. The pain in Nerisse’s expression as she clung to Clara spoke on its own.

“When,” Aidah began, voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “How did this happen?”

Red-faced, Nerisse wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. Clara resumed her playful banter with the dolls. “Ainslen had come to our home to see Father,” Nerisse said between sniffles. “The servants brought him into the sitting room to wait while Father had another meeting. Clara and I were there, reading. Ainslen asked to see my progress with soul magic. I was happy to show him the skills Father taught me.

“A time came when he peered over at Clara and started, as if he’d seen a spirit. He muttered something about not seeing Clara’s soul, like Father would say sometimes. He called Clara over and touched her head with soul. I-I didn’t give it much thought until the estate when Lomin mentioned induction. Ever since then I’ve had nightmares about it, but what happened was real. Thinking back to that day, I know now what I saw. Father began teaching Clara how to meld a few days after Ainslen touched her.”

Fire blazed within Aidah, red, scalding, blinding. Quivering under its spell, she watched Clara talking to her dolls, recalled her precious little daughter’s nightmares, and the flames grew. She did not yet know how, but she would make Ainslen pay.

T
he Forever Princess

T
his is all Ainslen’s fault. All of it. All this pain and suffering.
Aidah looked at Clara where she lay under the blankets. The thoughts rekindled a simmering rage and brought hot tears.

Two weeks on the road, traveling from dawn until well into the night to stay ahead of any pursuit, had not lessened her feelings. They’d reached Monere, a little over three quarters of the way to Melanil, and still she heard Nerisse’s story as if the girl just told it. Lomin had wanted to continue on, but dwindling supplies worked against them. This time they chose to go to the town together.

Aidah was glad for the stop. She felt the children needed some semblance of normalcy, even if it was just for a day. She could certainly use it. Since Garangal they’d spent every night sleeping outdoors, and to once more have a roof over her head and the comfort of an inn and a feather bed felt like heaven. Besides, the vast majority of people they saw on the road had been refugees like themselves. The occasional soldier had taken little notice of their caravan.

Sighing, she lay back on her pillow, staring at the wooden ceiling, and nursing her wrath. Vengeance had filled her thoughts since Nerisse’s revelation. Clara’s deteriorating condition made her crave it. The girl had taken to dancing with her imaginary father and brother, her dolls never far from her side. She sang with them all each night on the road until she fell asleep. On many occasions Aidah had found herself watching Clara slumber, ready to comfort her from the rampant nightmares.

When sleep would eventually take Aidah, dreams assaulted her. They were of Clara’s death, her madness at some small village or town within the Empire, or of Ainslen and the box. Most were of the western kingdoms where Clara grew more ill by the day. She woke each morning, often in cold sweats, reliving the things she saw: Clara on her deathbed, colorful lights swathing the sky like those reflected from a crystal, and the woman, the unnaturally beautiful woman with silver hair, dressed in blue who seemed so familiar. The woman would point and mouth some words, but no sound followed.

Nerisse had spent most days in a black mood as she carried the weight of blame. Aidah had tried, but neither words nor actions comforted her daughter. Nerisse had taken to practicing the sword and melding with Lomin again, which Aidah supposed was a good thing, a way to work off the girl’s dispirited condition.

She felt so helpless. Melanil should’ve been their place of safety, a new life, but now they might have to go farther still, beyond the Chanting City into lands unknown. And Clara’s sanity, possibly her life, hung in the balance.

A week,
Aidah thought,
a week until I petition the Patriarch, and another month and a half to reach Danalyn. And there’s still the distance to Casda Esdan, with Clara growing worse all the while.
She had begun to harbor doubts due to her dreams, but Clara’s condition made the situation seem hopeless. If her rate of deterioration continued, Clara would be completely insane or dead before Danalyn, much less Casda Esdan. To compound matters was this growing need to see Ainslen suffer.

I’ve always been faithful to you, Oh Gods, why do you now test me in such a way? Why have you turned your back on me? Or is this a part of your plan? Are you already showing me the way?
Her brow wrinkled at her question. She considered her next destination: Melanil, home of the Grand Chantry and the Order of the Dominion, the most pious of places and people.

She shook her head, wondering how she had not seen it before. This
was
the Dominion’s intention all along. Not to avoid the wisemen, but to bring Clara to them. The wisemen were blessed. They would have the cure she sought. At the same time she would be able to put her riches to use under their protection, plot Ainslen’s demise. For the first time in months Aidah fell asleep with a smile.

The dreams came as they always did of late. She traveled across Carador into Berendal. After a stop at Casda Esdan, the world shifted. Lush rolling plains, small forests, rivers, and lakes in the kingdom of Aladel swept across her vision. Cities dotted the landscape, towers in brick, silver, or bronze, glinting in the sunlight, spearing the heavens. It was as if she were a great bird, swooping over the land, warm winds ruffling her hair as they would feathers. She basked in the feel of it, smiled in wonderment at the beauty of the orchid laden plains, the colors like paint splashed across a canvas.

And then the plains ended.

No gradual lessening of forests into copses and then into single trees. No shrubs and grass becoming brown and faded. One moment the vegetation was vibrant, dancing in the breeze, its wildlife thriving, the scent of flowers carried on the wind, and the next it was gone, all of it, replaced by barren, stony ground, shale, and sand.

Black clouds swarmed sections of the sky, swirling this way and that before diving in a long, dark stream. Similar masses rose into the air like a pall of black smoke. An incessant, repetitive dissonance carried to Aidah, a sound she could not place. She caught a whiff of something foul, something so repugnant that she retched.

Sweat rolled down her forehead despite the cold fingers inching down her spine. She wanted to flee, but she had no control over her movement. Drifting a few feet above the ground she moved inexorably forward.

Bones bleached by Mandrigal’s rays formed a carpet that stretched for miles. Some were human. Others not. Skeletal fingers clutched old, rusted weapons, some sticking out of chest cavities, through skulls. Several sets of white pillars, at least fifty feet tall, sprouted from the ground. She frowned. Not pillars. More bones. Ribcages. She could not fathom what beast could be so large. Some of the bones rose in mounds that made her crane her neck to glimpse the summit.

Beyond the bone graveyard was a stretch of open land. A glittering road cut across it, broad enough to fit a dozen wagons across, and then disappeared over a hill. Peeking above the hill were the tops of two structures of metal or stone. She decided on metal from the way the sun glinted off them.

Another gust brought the smell again, worse this time, causing bile to rise in her throat. She recognized it. Once, her cousin Lumin had not been heard from for weeks. When she visited his house she found him dead, decaying. This was that stench multiplied a thousand fold.

With the wind came the repetitive, discordant tones. Louder. Recognizable. Ravens, crows, vultures. The combination of scent and sound made her shiver.

Aidah topped the rise and vomited. Below her, the expanse of sun-bleached bones changed. Desiccated and rotted corpses, marred by terrible wounds, replaced them. They spanned as far as she could see to her left and right. Weapons lay where they had fallen or jutted from the dead. Up ahead, the bodies abruptly stopped.

Carrion birds feasted. Furred animals with hanging jowls and long snouts slunk among them, not partaking of the dead, but trying to snag a bird, some with success. The ravens and their counterparts swarmed into the air then, a wave of dark feathers and wings.

People picked their way through the battlefield, dressed in black, hooded robes. They were tall, spindly, movements lethargic. As Aidah watched, they dragged the dead to add to mounds of corpses. Smoke did rise in the air here, greasy and black and carrying the reek of burnt flesh. None of the people noticed her.

Beyond the corpses the glassy road continued on between a colonnade. On each side were statues that looked eerily similar to those of the Dominion. At the end of the columns rose the two structures, pillars a hundred feet high and half that apart. Lightning streaks danced between them, not vertically, but horizontally.

In flowing, pale blue garments, a lone figure stood before the pillars. When the person turned, Aidah gasped. The silver-haired woman beckoned to her and pointed at the space between the pillars where the lightning resonated. She mouthed one word this time. A word Aidah recognized.

Clara.

Aidah woke with a start. Dawn’s faded light streamed through the window. She took a deep breath and tried to clear the dream from her mind. The children’s laughter drew her attention. Nerisse and Clara were at the table playing in the midst of breakfast.

“I see you two are feeling better,” Aidah said, banishing her dream to her mind’s recesses.

“Mama,” Clara exclaimed. She leaped from her chair, ran to the bed, and climbed into Aidah’s arms.

“No dreams last night?” Aidah asked.

“Yes, but Auntie Teres was there, and you, and Neri also.” Clara leaned away, eyes searching Aidah’s face. “Auntie Teres showed me that I will be well, that I shouldn’t fear the taker. You mustn’t worry, Mama. Papa and Gaston are watching over me.” Clara smiled the sweetest smile.

“That’s great news,” Aidah said despite the heavy heart brought on by Clara’s words. “Come, let’s eat, I’m famished.” She led Clara to the table and nodded to Nerisse. “What of your dreams?”

“None for me. I slept like an old drunk,” Nerisse said. Clara stopped and gave her sister a dubious smirk. “Don’t you start.” Nerisse waggled her finger, to which Clara made a face and climbed up into her chair.

Aidah considered pursuing the matter before deciding to leave it alone. Discussions about dreams could wait. They sat and ate and talked of old times, even laughing when it came to stories of Gaston or Kesta. Aidah wished this simple moment could last for eternity.

“What’s wrong, Mama, why are you crying?” Clara asked.

Aidah dabbed at her eyes. She almost said it was nothing. “I’m crying because sometimes it takes the worst of situations for us to appreciate the little things we took for granted.”

“Oh.” Clara frowned, too young to understand what Aidah meant.

After breakfast Aidah went down to the tavern’s sitting room and searched among its book collection. She returned with
The Forever Princess
, one of the children’s favorite tales. She smiled as she pictured Kesta reading the story, his voice changing in pitch, the girls squealing in delight, and Gaston enraptured by the tale.

The story was of a Dracodar Princess, Yisenja, in the days before the Blight ravaged the world, when the Dracodar were still Mareshna’s sole rulers, and humans were little more than servants. Yisenja fell in love with a human poet, Larensen. Forced to meet in secret because neither human nor Dracodar society would accept such a coupling under normal circumstances, they were eventually discovered by Yisenja’s father, King Rahshil the First. Enraged that a member of such an inferior species would dare touch his progeny, Rahshil sentenced Larensen to the fighting pits.

Driven by the need to see his love, Larensen excelled in the pits. Before each fight he would craft a new poem about Yisenja and recite during the battle. Eventually, he did the unthinkable and claimed a spot in Far’an Senjin—the Game of Souls at that time being an actual competition among warriors in the great arenas. The prize for that year’s winner was Yisenja’s hand.

Larensen won; Rahshil tried to have him killed and failed. The two lovers eloped, chased by the king’s assassins who Larensen defeated at every turn. Rahshil disowned his daughter, but it did not matter to her. All she needed in life was Larensen. The story claimed they fled to the light at the end of the world, never to be heard from again, but forever in each other’s arms.

Remembering the tale made Aidah smile. She could picture herself as Yisenja, such was the love she felt for Kesta. Sighing, she made her way upstairs to the children.

Aidah wanted the happiness she’d discovered with the children to last as long as possible, even if the joy was just a scab over an infected wound. She had them remain in Monere for the next two days despite the protests of Aran and Lomin. They left on the morning of the third day, the children refreshed and vibrant.

Raindrops the size of pebbles pelted them a day after they left Monere. Pregnant, grey clouds marched across the sky. Aidah sat at the back of the wagon, staring out at the deluge, inhaling the fresh scents. Lomin cursed the rain, but she pointed out that it could be worse; it could’ve been a snowstorm. They were known to arrive early, sometimes an entire month before winter began. Coupled with the absence of threats since Torens and their proximity to Melanil, the rain was a blessing. Hazline was with them. Aidah leaned to the side, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Someone cried out. Thunder bellowed heartbeats later, a roar that echoed three distinct times before stretching to silence. Aidah started. A horse whinnied, and then came a splash.

Another cry. The thunder came again. A thud followed a moment later.

Aidah eased aside the canvas and squinted out into the dank gray sheet of rain. Two guards who rode with Aran’s wagon lay on the ground, one partially submerged in a puddle. The muddy water slowly grew crimson. The wagon jarred to a halt.

“Mother,” Nerisse called, voice thick with sleep “are we there?”

“No.” Lomin crouched in the opening at the front of the wagon, his body silhouetted by dim light. “We are under attack. Seems that our stop cost us.”