by Amanda Twigg
Where am I going to train?
She chose a spot on the temple side, claiming a bunk near the sole window. The curved walls reminded her of Warrior Hall, but these had tighter arcs due to their proximity to the hub. Fitting four beds in the small space made it oppressively cramped.
Landra settled down and peered out. Quite a view.
The main temple forest stretched before her, bathed in pink and wreaking of magic.
She controlled her breathing to search for the platform where she’d met Oakham. Spotting it through the branches proved impossible, but its position was clear because the ramp leading to Gramps’s plaque was visible. I walked through that place in another life, before everything changed.
She shook her head, as if to dislodge the memory, and focused on the huge world clock mechanism. It still hung from chains in the branches and churned its progress, one cog at a time. The displayed homeworld year of 33085 gave her no perspective of base time.
How long since my abduction? I should have asked Thisk.
“Any room?” Jex asked, jutting his head around the doorframe. Without stubble, he looked even younger.
Before a reply left her lips, he claimed a bed.
“You want to share with me?”
He bounced his bottom on a mattress. “Sure. Isn’t this wonderful?”
No.
Landra frowned her puzzlement. She expected auras to match an owner’s character, but Jex’s ordered, blue shades contradicted his desires. Logical tendencies didn’t usually sit well with spiritual mysticism, but the childlike grin on his newly shaven face spoke of joy. Either you’re deceiving yourself or I’ve broken my Soul.
“You have to admit, this is better than sleeping on a rock,” he said.
“I’ll give you that.”
“In here,” a voice said from the corridor. Landra recognized the Templer tones as Gertha’s.
A young girl stumbled in. Haunted eyes sat in her gaunt face, and spindly limbs made her look like a child. A splash of ginger hair covered an old citizen insignia, and her robe pooled around her frame. The Templer pushed her toward an empty bed, and she scrambled under the covers.
“D’you think she’s all right?” Jex asked.
Landra grimaced. “If she is, I’m betting she’s the only one.”
The girl’s covers pulled higher over her head and shook in time with her sobs.
The next face to appear in the doorframe belonged to Dennark.
Fantastic. Thought I’d escaped your snarking for a while. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“To train as a Templer.”
“I mean in this room,” Landra said. “There are plenty of other beds.”
“Not where I can keep my eye on you. And why should you get to choose for me. Huxes don’t get special treatment here.”
Like that’s news.
The old man slumped down on the last bunk, looking like for all the mist he’d die before morning.
She stemmed her surge of hope. Unworthy. I’m just tired and… I’m scared. It felt true. Beneath the killer she really was and the dangerous rogue others believed her to be, Landra was just a frightened girl.
A white-robed youth popped his head through the door. “Anyone want pies and drinks?” He shared them out and moved to leave. “Shower room’s open now for personal needs.” With that, he was gone.
The new recruits devoured the food, even the young girl, who hid beneath her covers to eat. Landra hadn’t starved in the underlevel, but she appreciated the warmth of hot food in her belly.
The lights faded to nothing, but a pink glow spilled in from the temple. Landra stared out of her window rather than watch Jex drop his robe and climb into bed. For a mercy, Dennark rolled under his covers fully clothed. She followed in kind to ponder the corruption of her Soul. She’d never wanted her magic and blamed Preston for all this.
Jex spoke into the darkness. “Lan?”
“What?”
The engineer’s breath whistled before he spoke. “Did you really kill people?”
She left the silence too long. “Yes.”
Her admission deepened the silence and even stemmed the girl’s sobs.
A trick from the underlevel to hide from danger. Landra knew it well.
The new peace didn’t mean anyone slept. Bunking with a murderer was bound to arouse fear, and she saw darting lines of dread spread through her roommates’ auras. How had her life come to this?
She stared through the window all night, gazing at the path she’d trodden with Thisk and listening to the despairing screams that broke the peace. She’d meant to give the temple a go, but she was already sure it wouldn’t work. As Landra lay there, her thoughts turned to escape.
Chapter 24
Find a way off this floor, head down to the temple forest, escape through the small exit where I entered with Thisk, and disappear into the midlevel. Easy.
If only it were that easy. Careful searching hadn’t uncovered any useful exits from the candidate’s floor, and bars blocked the way back to the swamper shower room. Landra hadn’t any idea how to accomplish her goal or what she would do as a pinless soldier once she reached the midlevel. Disappearing to New City seemed like the safest option. No one knew her there. Having a purpose kept her strong, but for now, she had to follow temple rules. I can pretend to fit in here. A means to an end.
The food hall opened on day one, and everyone gorged themselves beyond reason. Several swampers ate until vomiting, and the rest returned to their beds to sleep off painful bellies. Only Landra survived the sudden food availability without discomfort, but she took to her bed so as not to stand out. Once everyone trusted the certainty of their next meal, eating settled to manageable levels and the healing process began.
Medic Aven’s surgery opened on day two and remained that way until a note appeared on his door a week later. Final health evaluations for training admission, Landra read. She waited for her appointment, pondering the problem the medic posed.
“Last bugger to go in didn’t come out,” a voice said from behind—Bloom, one of the septuagenarian group who’d broken out of senior barracks. From the way the old men talked, none had expected to reach this far, and Bloom delivered his statement with more resignation than fear.
Landra couldn’t accept eviction with the same ease and jumped back when the door cracked open. Dennark hobbled out, a gap-toothed grin splitting his face. His smile slid into a smirk when he saw her face. “Hey, Hux. I’m passed and ready to train. How about you?” He raised a stringy arm into a fist punch, but the effort induced coughing.
“Very fit,” she said.
“At least I’m through. First class starts tomorrow, and you’ve not made it in yet. Looks like they don’t want you here.”
Damn you to the mist. You’re enjoying this. “I’m fitter than you, Den, and everyone knows it.” She’d gladly stake her life on beating any swamper in battle, yet Jex had passed as fit days ago and a few other swampers too. Clearance shouldn’t take four trips to Aven. So why am I back?
“Next,” the medic said.
Her belly fluttered as she entered. What if she didn’t pass? A return to the underlevel without provisions meant death. Dennark’s satisfied chuckle rang in her ears as the door swished shut.
She stood before Aven’s desk at attention—not a welcome habit here, but instinct proved hard to break. The medic stared at his papers, allowing Landra’s gaze to rove over his office. The differences between here and Gren’s surgery in Hux Hall invited pain. Magical artifacts replaced potions, glowing foliage spilled from waist-high planters, and nonsensical posters lined the walls.
Magical healing equations? What’s that about?
Then, there was the ominous locked door at the back of the room and Gertha loitering in one corner. For all his deep blue aura, his staff glowed pink. Displacement brewed a grief storm in Landra’s chest, forming a knot too tight to release.
After scribbling a note, Aven looked up from his papers. B
ell sleeves fell about his forearms in deep, red folds. For all his long face and bones, muscle stretched his sashed robe taught across his chest. If his long, brown hair hadn’t been so untidy, she could have taken it for Warrior growth, and his slow-moving aura showed no hint of magic.
A soldier’s body. A soldier’s Soul. What are you doing here, Aven?
“Lanya Bexter,” he said, rolling the words over his tongue. He trapped a wayward strand of hair behind his ear.
“Yes, sir.”
“Not ‘sir’ here, candidate.”
Yes, Templer.”
“What’s the matter, girl? You look like you swallowed a mud slug.”
Scared of going back to the underlevel. Duh! “Nothing’s the matter, Templer.”
“Ah, well. That’s for me to decide. I’ve considered your case and can’t pass you as fit.”
Landra’s heartbeat stuttered. Images of emaciated bodies filled her mind, and vomit bubbled in her stomach. “Please, Templer. You’re making a mistake. I’m strong, really, and I have to go on.”
“Why?”
Why? The question jangled oddly against her logic. Isn’t it obvious? What do you want to hear, Aven? Not that I’m afraid to die in the pit. She mustered the will to form her lie. “I want to train in magic, Templer.”
Pink ripples of doubt ran along the edge of the medic’s blue aura. “That’s not what Dennark thinks.”
Her mouth fell open. Landra needed to stay in the training program to survive, but she longed for a soldier’s life. Her lie couldn’t have been any bigger, but how was that anybody’s business but her own? Bastard old man. Trying to have me thrown out. Should have known this was down to you. As she tried to fathom what the vindictive wretch could have said, Aven pulled a blade from his desk drawer.
Her fingers twitched, and she readied for action. Did they think she’d stand by while they did her harm? Soldiers fought; abductees fought harder. She’d take them all on and show them a true soldier’s rage. Maintaining the relaxed muscles that produced the most power, she rocked forward onto the balls of her feet in readiness to battle.
Aven chewed a fingernail, apparently unaware of the danger she posed. He settled his pink-bladed tool on the desk.
A scalpel? Made with magic-laden metal? Her breathing wouldn’t ease. The tool didn’t match the length or width of a stabbing knife, but it still promised danger. Gentle rolls of pink curled through Aven’s aura, showing a man at ease, but Gertha’s swelling aura battered her Soul with power.
“You can leave through the door at the back,” the medic said. “It leads straight to the underlevel. Or you can pick up the scalpel.”
What are you playing at? No wonder you’re a Templer medic. Less soldier in you than I thought. Don’t you know what I can do? But battling wouldn’t gain Landra temple admission, so she stalled. “What’s Dennark been moaning about? He hates me, and I don’t know why.”
“Candidate Dennark thinks you’re a Hux spy,” Aven said.
Landra licked her lips. Recognizing her family’s likeness was one thing, but she’d never given the bastard reason to suspect treachery. “That’s…” She stuttered to silence.
“Hardly a resounding denial.”
“I’m too shocked. That fuddled old man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You found me wallowing in underlevel mud already infected. Would I have been in that state if the Hux family put me there?”
“Maybe, if you’re a dedicated spy. The clothes you arrived in were hardly underdweller threads, and your body was stronger than I would expect from a swamper. It’s as if you’d had help.”
What else could Landra say? The preparations she’d made to stay safe threatened to end her now. She might be Hux, but she was no spy. Her family and friends had abandoned her to… Apparently, she’d not gushed out all her tears onto Thisk’s chest because her eyes stung.
She reached for the tool, unclear in her mind how this would play out. Despite the blade’s likeness to the Collector’s pink metal, she had no connection with the artifact and felt no Souls inside. Still, she could inflict plenty of damage with the small blade. Will you say I attacked to justify expulsion or my death? Nah. No justification needed for killing a worthless swamper. What is this about? She gripped the scalpel, preparing to fight, but without any idea of where to go once she broke free.
“Hmph!” Aven said, his forehead creasing but his aura settling. The longer she gripped the scalpel, the more he relaxed and the less pressure Gertha’s aura inflicted from behind.
“That’s fine,” the medic said. “You can set the scalpel down.”
Thanks. No.
“Now, candidate, and you can relax. You passed the test.”
She rubbed her brow, confused. “Test?” Didn’t know I was taking a test.
“Yes, candidate. If I’m going to admit you into the temple, I have to be sure of your magic, so I gave you the scalpel. Soulless soldiers find it hard to hold Templer artifacts for long. They develop twitches, so if there’s any Hux inside you, it’s buried beneath magic potential. You have a Templer’s Soul, Lanya Bexter.”
Shelk. That can’t be true. Could it? Landra had denied her magic—feared it, even. She was Hux. She had to be Hux. Her fingers quivered, so she placed the scalpel on the desk rather than show her Warrior heritage through trembling or a facial tic.
Aven stood up and moved around his desk. “Now, let me look at you. Damaged ear, infected lip.” He pulled her limbs around. “Loss of condition, scars, and a poorly healed leg injury. No sign of malnutrition. Ready to go. Welcome to the temple, Lanya Bexter. I’m declaring you fit to train.”
Chapter 25
Landra attended her first lesson, torn between her old life and survival demanding that she learn magic. Part of her hoped the education would resurrect her ability to perform the hethra. Then, at least, she could glimpse home.
The candidates entered through a newly opened door marked “Awareness” and assembled on the benches inside. The circular configuration ringed a transparent, water-filled tank. It gave her a good view of her swamper group. The four young runaway swampers sat together, as did the oldsters who’d come to die. The other candidates looked like a mixture of disaffected soldiers and criminals. Me included. She counted. Eighteen of us here.
“How you doing, Lan?” Jex asked, taking the vacant spot on her right.
“Why?” Have you heard something?
“No reason,” Jex said. “It’s just… You dreamed last night.”
With sleep hard to find, she barely believed him. “We all dream.”
“I know, but not like that.”
Her fists tightened until nails gouged her palms. “Did I talk?” Who could say which traumatic events had spilled out during her unguarded rantings? Dennark had already labelled her as a Hux spy. She didn’t need to give him more proof with sleep-talk.
“There were odd words,” Jex said. “Nothing made sense, but you moaned like seven demons of the mist were beating you up.”
“Ah, well, maybe they were. This is the temple. Weird tales come out of here all the time. I could have been under magical attack.”
The engineer’s blue aura paled enough for his ordered lines to nearly vanish.
Thought you were a patriot, Jex, not a disciple of temple superstition. “Don’t panic,” she said. “I’m joking. Everyone from the underlevel has nightmares to spare. You know that.” The engineer didn’t need to know that her dreams were worse.
“What d’you think this is about?” she asked, changing the subject. She stretched her neck to peek inside the tank.
“Beats me. Looks like someone’s going to take a bath.”
The door opened and Temple Lord Chanda entered, moving with a floating grace that any dancer would envy. He gripped his staff in his left hand and adopted an elegant pose next to the tank. Blood red skins showed off his lithe frame, and hair screwed into a low knot at his neck, pulling his beady, green eyes to thin slits.
Jex shuffled for
ward on the bench, eagerness returning the turquoise lines to his aura.
It wasn’t a reaction Landra could emulate. A temple title and ring of pink don’t fool me, Chanda. You have a soldier’s blue coloring at the core.
The door opened again, and this time Dennark appeared.
Ugh. Nineteen.
He limped in, using a crutch for support, and worked his way to the far side of the circle. He sat where he could glare at Landra over the top of the tank.
She ground her teeth, wondering how Medic Aven could have passed all these wretches as fit. Why couldn’t you have failed before now, old man? Rather than meet Den’s gaze, she settled her focus on Chanda.
“It’s time for me to teach you the source of Soul magic,” the Templer said, as if it were the most precious gift he could offer.
Everyone goggled, captivated by the Templer’s hypnotic voice—everyone except Landra. She longed to accept the joy his gift offered, but something didn’t ring true.
“Don’t think training will be easy,” Chanda said. “Even if you devote yourselves to study, magic may be beyond you. The rooms on this floor are entirely dedicated to the Awareness and Enlightenment stages of learning Soul magic. Make good use of them, but take warning: If you enter other sections of the temple before mastering Enlightenment, you will be stripped, thrown back to the underlevel, and never be allowed back.
Panicked exploded tiny splashes through the group’s collective aura.
“Never allowed back,” Jex whispered, distress edging the words.
Really? That’s your worry. Not one of us would survive in the underlevel naked.
“Your task is to reach Enlightenment before our next recruiting cycle,” Chanda said. “If you fail to manifest magic or if you cause trouble, you’ll be—”
“Thrown to the pit?” a young woman finished.
“Exactly.”
The temple lord picked up a flaccid bag and held it high for everyone to see. “Imagine this is you. Your body, or your shell, if you like. The container that houses your essence.” He dragged the bag through the water until it filled and then set it floating free to bob near the surface. “The water inside the bag represents your physical innards, like blood, muscle, and everything that makes your physical system work.” Reaching under the tank, he brought out a vial of pink liquid. “Now, imagine this is your Soul.”
