CORRUPTED SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 2)

by Amanda Twigg

  She’d struggled, fought, and barely survived for so long, alternative thoughts wouldn’t come. Realization that she’d completed the Run permeated her awareness gradually, but it couldn’t diminish her weeping. The road here had been too hard and had cost too much. She thought of Jex and wished he could see her now. Victory was empty without his smiling face. She closed her eyes, bereft that she’d not captured his aura. Thank you, friend.

  Landra closed the final distance to the weapons, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Maybe this achievement would go some way to make up for earlier failures and mend connections with loved ones. Thisk and Father weren’t here, nor was Dannet.

  Her heart lurched, but much as she wanted them to witness her success, the absences didn’t sting like she’d expected. She could see her family later.

  Later. The notion shuddered her body. Hard as she’d tried to survive, it had never seemed possible. Fate had seemed determined to destroy her world. Now she was here, alive and absolved of her crimes. Her legs weakened as she accepted this new reality. I have time. I have a life.

  The Collector made itself known by resonating magic through her aura in familiar patterns. It was on the display, but she turned from its touch. Her target was the ceremonial sword today. It glinted at her side, looking impractical with its notched, old-metal blade and ornately carved grip. She touched a faceted purple gem on the hilt, absorbing all that success meant, and the sword came into her hands with ease. She ignored the shiver of magic coursing through her frame and used her remaining strength to raise it from its plinth.

  “For Jethran,” the Warrior horde said.

  She hoisted the blade high above her head. “For Jethran.”

  Landra hid from the wrongs of her life, set her problems aside for later, and soaked in the experience. No one had worked harder or sacrificed more for survival. Before she could replace the weapon, it weighed heavy in her hands. Brutal injuries vied for her attention, and her senses dimmed. In that glorious, unprecedented moment, Landra sank to her knees and puked. The sword clanked on wood, but she couldn’t think about that. Her head swirled, and sticky blood felt warm on her back.

  Consciousness edged away, but she took the truth into oblivion—she was back.

  Chapter 59

  Languishing in the Warrior Hall infirmary didn’t come easy. Landra’s body was healing quicker than her heart. Jex had wanted her to live, but she gripped his pin, still feeling guilt over his death.

  Warriors filled most of the beds, compounding that guilt. She’d put most of them here, so it wasn’t surprising when they wouldn’t converse. Their presence evoked images of the soldiers she’d left in the swamp. She couldn’t forgive her own brutality, so why should they?

  Bexter’s silence was hardest to bear. He occupied the bed opposite, his aura calling to her like a passionate beacon. Rich azure shades formed a backdrop to his longing, but none of the emotion found a way into his manner. Silent as the other Warriors and more reserved than most, he acted like she didn’t exist.

  Did he know he reached with his Soul? The absence of pink running through his aura made it unlikely. She had to be fooling herself and reliving the turbulent longings of a teenage crush. Meeting the young Warrior in dreams made her emotions feel current. She had to stop that. She had to stop relying on his image for comfort. If he did talk, if he touched her… Too much had happened for a relationship to thrive now. All she wanted was a friend, but embarrassment cramped her approaches. And guilt, but less so with you. Bexter’s injury had come at her hands, but he’d struck first with his sword. She could only hope time would make things better. Time. The concept felt abstract. She had a future now and a chance to reclaim her life.

  Bexter was the last Warrior to leave the infirmary, and his discharge came as a relief. One day, he rose from his bed, donned his trainee’s uniform, and left without speaking. His departure left Landra the sole patient in the infirmary. She stared at his rucked blankets, with only ghost whispers for company.

  Her bracelet staff had been confiscated, but magic-laden instruments filled the ward’s cupboards. Their power aided her connection with deceased patients’ Souls, in a vague, non-descript way. Was Baylem one of the pink strands dancing across the ceiling? Not likely. The girl’s Soul had frittered to nothing. Landra reached inward to find her friend’s captured thread. Laughter, joy, innocence. Gossip. Oh, Baylem, what would you make of all this? Don’t think you’d like my magic. Not to mention my murders.

  Instead of settling her Soul, the connection aroused awareness of a gaping hole where Jex’s thread should be stored. She put her lingering aches down to his absence. With her Soul in torment, her body rebelled. Just look at me, Jex. I did it. Are you proud? The responding silence sent her into a slump.

  Medic Sturton still ran the infirmary. After keeping her isolated for several weeks, he finally allowed visitors in the hope of cheering her up. Dannet came several times, and their conversations spun in inconsequential circles. She didn’t burden him with the sacrifice she’d made for him or ask about his chief elect role, and he didn’t talk of their argument and her running away.

  Do you know the truth? She wasn’t sure that he did. He gripped her hand often and assumed Baylem’s gossiping role. Landra put the last part of her recovery down to the light relief his nonsense tales brought.

  Once she was feeling well, Lister, the long-boned and pale-haired historian, paid an unexpected call. “I’ve recorded witness statements from your Run. Onlookers and Warrior Hall staff have shared what they saw, but the history tome won’t be complete without your side of the story.”

  Sharing with a stranger didn’t feel appropriate. She relented after his third request and a written order from Thisk. The telling helped her put events into order and accept the truth. She didn’t give him her life story—only the events after she’d climbed the shaft for the Run, and she omitted any facts that were too painful to bear. A poor telling for a history text. Lister scribbled her words down beneath the title, The Runner Who Conquered.

  Very storybook and grand. Don’t suppose they’ll worry if I leave out the blood and death.

  Thisk visited as soon as Sturton would allow him in. He appeared in the door, wearing his Third’s insignia like a burden rather than a reward. Without preamble, he sat down by her bed and shuffled in the chair. “Tell me everything.”

  There it was, the excuse she needed to unload. Thisk was the person she could report to in full. The ranger knew her story, right up to the point when he’d abandoned her in the ranger hut. A lot had happened since then. The relating didn’t come with enough clarity to satisfy his needs, but she gave it all to him, complete with magic and deaths. To her limited view, his dark face didn’t twist in distaste and his aura didn’t pulse with judgment. Questions over the Templer plot lasted hours, despite her having no more information to offer. Sturton interrupted several times and finally threw Thisk out.

  On his second visit, the ranger surprised her by offering his report. He spoke of logistical events and the routing of the Templer traitors. A new treaty had been signed, hostilities had ceased, base-wide power had resumed, and all was well with her world. His most shocking revelation was that Turgeth had been caught. She didn’t ask what they’d done with him. She didn’t want to know.

  It was satisfying to think of Chanda on an exile pod, but she hoped friendly old Harp hadn’t shared the same fate. Still, his version of events didn’t ring true. Too neat, as if it glosses over facts. Did they think her too weak to hear the truth? Or was she considered a threat? Neither option seemed unreasonable, and who was she to question the Warrior Third?

  Eventually, Sturton allowed her up and ordered her to wander through Warrior Hall.

  “Without security?”

  “Why would you need that?”

  Landra could think of many reasons. She dressed in the non-descript pants and tunic that were supplied and started her trek.

  “And a good haircut will do you a world of good,�
�� Sturton shouted as she left.

  A smile. She couldn’t help it. He’d said those words before her chief elect ceremony. The last time she’d travelled these corridors had been on the run of her life, so a leisurely walk to the barber’s felt unnerving. Most people overlooked her presence, but a few Warriors sneaked glances her way. She ignored everyone and joined the queue in the barbers to wait for her turn.

  The stylist wasn’t the same one she’d visited before. This girl was slender, silent, and efficient. As if history was determined to repeat, the Warriors nodded for Landra to go first. She sat in the chair and viewed her reflection. Shelk. Any resemblance to the fresh-faced chief elect she’d been was gone. Her sprouting hair glinted with Hux-shaded flecks, but her stress-lined features betrayed damage and wear. The aura cloud around her hands was loose, turbulent, and spotted red. I’m not the same person. Can I really reclaim my life?

  “Soldier pin?” the barber asked.

  “I don’t have one.”

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you from the Run. Didn’t recognize you without all that shelk. Don’t worry. I know your rank.” She started her clippers and trimmed a section over Landra’s right ear. Taking up an etching tool, she marked a trainee Warrior insignia into place.

  Amnesty and a place in Warrior Hall had felt like a faithless promise. The mark made it real. Landra tilted her head to glimpse her new mark, and her head buzzed with the thrill. Why can’t Father be here to see this? Or Thisk?

  “Just as well your Templer insignia grew out,” the barber said. “Would have been a pity to shave you clean and ink your new rank into place.”

  Landra’s mouth flapped as emotion stemmed her words.

  “Everything good?” the barber asked.

  “I… Fantastic. Thank you.” She stumbled from the chair, faced the waiting Warriors, and caught her breath. Would they consider her a fraud? She felt like one. Only a couple of Warriors glanced up, and the others barely registered her departure. She was one of them now, not worthy of special note. Being ignored felt glorious.

  Her steps back to the infirmary skipped so light she expected to float. Only seeing Winton made her stutter to a halt. If anyone might expose her as a fake and bring her dream to an end, it was him. Her performance had never satisfied the trainer, not even before she’d fallen from grace. He was bound to complain. He was bound to… Winton saluted as he marched by and then he disappeared down the hall.

  Saluted? Ridiculous.

  Then it hit her. The Warrior insignia meant she outranked him now. Truly, nothing was going to be the same. She returned to the infirmary, laid on her bed, and grinned at the ceiling.

  Notice of the Warrior acceptance ceremony arrived in advance. Landra slept badly the night before the due date, finding oblivion scant hours before Sturton shook her awake. Weariness couldn’t quell her excitement, and she jumped from the bed. A Warrior-blue uniform waited for her on a peg. She gasped at the sight and ran her hand down the fabric. It would have been treasure in the underlevel. Shelk.

  “Best dress quickly,” Sturton said. “Don’t want to be late. I’ll pack the rest of your belongings once you’ve gone. A soldier can run them up to the trainee barracks.”

  Landra had known this was coming. Still, her fingers fumbled when she pulled on the trousers and buttoned them up. She slipped the shirt over her head, fastened the jacket into place, and breathed. By the time a runner arrived, her presentation was immaculate.

  “Warrior Trainee Hux?” the boy asked. “I’m supposed to escort you to the ceremony.”

  Instead of taking her to join the other recruits, he led her to an antechamber, around the back of a stage. “You’re supposed to go in there.”

  Beyond the open door lay an empty room. It was as far from a ceremonial venue as Landra could imagine. Had the other trainees been here? She didn’t think so. Even now, she worried that her journey would end. Maybe Hurgen had changed his mind about letting her train. Taking a deep breath and without offering argument, she entered.

  Chief Warrior Griffin Hux stepped from behind the door and bolted the panel into place. “Landra.”

  Of all the obstacles she expected to face, this wasn’t one of them. Father hadn’t visited during her infirmary stay. Truth to tell, they’d shared little time together since Hux Hall. She felt disowned.

  “Chief Hux.” The words caught in her throat.

  “Well, here we are.”

  What did he expect? An apology? Or would he be the one to crush her hopes and steal her future away? Any love his aura had shown before the Run was faded now, hidden beneath bands of… What was that? Regret.

  He straightened. “A long time ago, I told you something. Saving our people was going to take something different. We had to find another way.”

  He had said that. She remembered.

  Holding her gaze, he dragged out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Landra. I hadn’t known what the different path would cost you.”

  She stilled, her thoughts as tight as her breath. Father’s emotions didn’t dislodge his locked features, but his aura churned with passion and grief. What was she supposed to make of the admission so late in the day? He should have rescued her from the cavern.

  “If…” he started.

  This was too much. She wanted the floor to open and swallow her. The apology was shocking enough, but to hear him admit her suffering was agonizing. Regretful shades flourished in his aura, and she understood the source. She’d endured tortuous events, perpetrated more, and he knew it all. Somehow, that made her ordeal worse.

  What had he meant to say? If he’d known the cost, he’d have done things differently? Not likely. The people would always come first. Best to pretend her sacrifices away and ignore the truth. She tried holding onto anger, but Father’s aura refused that release. He melded with her Soul in uncensored closeness, declaring his love true.

  Landra flushed and wobbled. Her heart had longed for this moment, but she’d learned to harness her hopes. She couldn’t reject it now. This flaw she’d borne, the magic she’d grown, who’d have thought it would bring salvation? Where aura readings had skipped over surface emotions before, Temple training allowed her to feel the depths of Father’s Soul now—grief, fear, love in abundance, and overwhelming sorrow—all supressed for duty’s sake. This was the burden he couldn’t share.

  Landra submitted, allowing his love to suffuse her aura. It was shocking. Marvelous. She revelled in his regard, accepted his aura-felt apology, and healed. For the first time in her life, she was whole. It didn’t matter that he didn’t welcome her into a comforting embrace. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But she knew the truth. Casting protocol aside, she let go of her pain and bawled out her heart.

  Chief Hux allowed time for her emotions before he spoke. “This will never do, Landra. You have a ceremony to attend.”

  She stemmed her tears, but her still frame tremored with emotion and stinging eyes suggested they’d turned red. Finding some composure, she accepted Father’s offered tissue and wiped snot from her face. Finally, she pulled her frame to crisp soldier attention and faced Chief Warrior Griffin Hux.

  “I’d like to come to your ceremony, Landra.”

  There was a but coming. She heard it in his voice.

  “It’s just not possible.”

  Duty—it would always be there. Father was the Chief Warrior, and she was…what? Chief elect? Bah.

  “This is something you’re going to have to do on your own,” he said. “And that goes for your training too. I can hardly show favoritism to The Runner Who Conquered.”

  Landra spluttered, shooting more snot from her nose. Her father’s features broke, showing a hint of pride and a grin. The levity relaxed her, and she settled back to the task ahead. “I understand, Chief Hux. If I’m going to become a full Warrior, I’d rather to do it on my own.” No more tears. Strong now.

  Chief Hux nodded. He mirrored her formal pose and offered a sharp enough salute to respect any officer. “Trainee Warrior H
ux, dismissed.”

  Landra left the room, still wiping her nose, and followed the runner to the stage.

  The other trainees had already gathered, each accompanied by a relative or friend. Warrior banners covered the ceiling, well-wishers stood behind a barrier, and steps led down to a cleared area where preparations were being made. She searched the crowd, looking for someone she knew—no Father, no Thisk, no Dannet. Their absences sank in when a fanfare rang through the speakers, and the first name was called.

  “Sean Tremby.”

  A young trainee stepped forward, accompanied by a Warrior in full ceremonial dress. From their matching cheek bones and long noses, they had to be related. Marching together down the steps and along the aisle, pride glowed in their auras. Music played as the trainee stood before Hurgen to accept his new pin. With the official part over, he moved off to the side and the next name was called.

  Nine more trainees followed the ceremonial route, each accompanied by a family member. It left Landra alone on the stage.

  “Warrior Trainee Landra Loni Hux.”

  Gods. This shouldn’t be a time for sadness. Hearing her new title was satisfying, but the cost had been high. She touched her collar where she’d set Jex’s pin on the inner side. There was no changing the past, but she was determined to take all that she’d learned from the engineer into her new life. It was her way to remember him and honor his life. She marched to the stairs with Warrior pride, only to feel a magical tug on her Soul.

  Soul-laden weapons filled this room, displayed on walls and sheathed on belts. Their power whispered through her aura and swirled the air. Mist threads danced through the ceiling banners and whispered calls.

  A magic connection came without asking or difficulty. Landra was healed, strong, and it didn’t require an elba band or the Collector to access power here. For all her bravado and Warrior purpose, her betraying Soul keened a summoning. Threads swirled and clumped, forming shapes that finally congealed into Gramps. After a moment’s disorientation, the great Warrior registered the setting and broke a toothy grin. His rippling form dissolved his weapon of war and morphed his uniform into ceremonial garb. They both stood to attention as Hurgen pinned Landra’s Warrior pin into place.