Soul Seeking

by R. Michael Card

  She did. It was infuriating.

  He gritted his teeth, knowing better than to ask why he couldn’t go. The response, as it always was, would be a vague reminder that they were somehow different from everyone else down in the village.

  The door opened. Jais heard his uncle’s gruff voice behind him. “More kroll tracks through the forest. I’m thinking there’ll be another attack soon, perhaps tonight.”

  Jais spun in his chair. “We should warn the village!”

  His uncle nodded, shaggy hair and unkempt beard crowding his face. “Run down as quick as you can. Perhaps they’ll call off the revels. We don’t need that nonsense anyway.”

  Jais was up in a flash. “I will.” He bolted around his uncle and out the door.

  Even as he ran he heard his uncle shouting behind him, “Hurry back. I’ve got two bucks here to clean and skin, and there’s still wood to chop.”

  Jais wasn’t the fastest man in the village, but could run for miles before tiring, his strong, sturdy legs made for endurance, if not speed. So he was only a little winded when he burst through the door of the tavern. The drunken crowd was still here, despite the sun being well on its way to the western horizon.

  He shouted as loud as he could, trying to make his voice boom over the cacophony of the crowd.

  “Krolls near the village!”

  It took him three times before the crowd fell silent. When they did a dread hush fell over the entire common room. Jais felt compelled to say more.

  “My uncle found tracks in the forest. He thinks there may be an attack soon, maybe tonight.”

  A large man easily pushed his way forward. Jais grimaced. The man was Damick the smith, Erid’s father, and he was the same size as his son with a similar temperament.

  “Has he seen the beasts themselves or just tracks?”

  “Just tracks, but—”

  “Then how can he be so certain there’ll be an attack today? Maybe they were heading up to Ostin Vale or down to Eresford.” There were grumbles around the room. No one wanted to leave their celebration to risk fighting one of the beasts. It didn’t help that Damick was the head of the town’s militia and should have been the one marshalling them.

  “Are you willing to take that risk? Are you willing to put all of your families, your children, at risk?” Jais’ tone was hard. He knew these people toiled for long hours during the year and deserved a celebration, but they were also always afraid of a fight. He should have brought his bow or an axe with him, then he could have seen if they would follow him. But he knew the answer to that clear enough. He was the ‘strange-healer-woman’s boy,’ and there were few in this town who seemed to see past that.

  No one moved or spoke. No one stepped forward.

  “Fine,” he said disgusted. “If you all want to have a great party and die when an attack comes, that’s your choice.” He threw the door to the tavern closed and stalked off.

  He was half-way to the edge of the village down the main road when he heard soft, running footfalls behind him. “Jais, wait.” It was Alnia.

  For her, probably only for her, he’d stop. He tried to suppress his bitter brooding.

  “They’re just scared,” she said as she reached him, a hand on his back. “I don’t know how you can be so fearless. You’re out there on your own.”

  “We wouldn’t be if this town—” He bit off the rest of his harsh words. He hadn’t turned to her yet. He didn’t want her to see his anger.

  “They’re fools to not see how helpful your aunt is. How… strong… you are.” Her breath was warm on the back of his neck. He felt her expectant hesitation.

  When he turned to her, she was biting her lip, still flushed with drink, and breathing a little hard from her run, or perhaps for other reasons.

  “How certain is your uncle?” The voice from behind Alnia startled him, and he drew his eyes away from her to the speaker. It was Samuar Miller, Alnia’s father.

  “Of seeing tracks? He’d never mistake such a thing. There’s nothing in the forest like a kroll. He didn’t say exactly where they were heading, but he seemed fairly certain there would be an attack soon.”

  The miller grimaced. He too was rosy-cheeked with drink, but he seemed to be keeping a level head. After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll make sure we have some men on watch tonight, and—” His gaze flicked from Jais to his daughter with a faint smile. “I’ll cancel the revels. There will be many other nights for such things.” As the miller he was an influential man in the town and would be able to sway the others.

  Good.

  “Thank you.” He need not have thanked the man, he was doing nothing for Jais directly, but he had listened and that was a lot.

  “Now come along ‘Nia,” Samuar said gruffly.

  “I’ll be along in a moment, father.”

  The man grunted, dissatisfied, and threw a stern look at Jais before leaving. The message was clear: ‘she’s not for you’.

  As soon as her father’s back was turned, Alnia was next to Jais again, her lips on his, this kiss much longer and deeper than the last. By the time they separated even Jais was feeling flushed and a little drunk.

  Alnia whispered, close to his ear, “I hope that will last you until the revels, whenever they’ll be.” Then she was off after her father, and Jais was left standing in the street a little overwhelmed.

  The sun had set by the time he’d returned to the cabin near the woods, but there would still be light for a while, and he still had chores to do. His uncle was nearly done with the cleaning and skinning of his catch so Jais went to work on the wood. He could split a log with a single blow, and it didn’t take him long to finish. Every few days he or his uncle would fell a tree and chop it up in segments, smaller and smaller until it was adequately sized for their hearths. This was the last of a tree felled several days ago.

  By the time Jais had stacked the wood near the house, it was near dark. Hot and sweating, he removed his clothes for a quick, cold, dip in the brook, cleaning himself and his sodden clothes before he went in for dinner.

  As he entered he heard his uncle saying, “—far too often. This is the fourth time in three weeks the krolls have come around. I don’t think these are isolated events.”

  “I thought krolls were solitary creatures,” Jais said. “I didn’t think they hunted in groups.”

  His uncle shrugged as he chewed a mouthful of stew.

  Jais sat at the table, accepted a steaming bowl from his aunt, and began eating.

  “No one knows much of the beasts, other than that they’re stronger than a bear and only seem out to kill and destroy. As much as they might have the rough form of a man, they are little more than animals, and savage ones at that.” His uncle took another bite of stew. “No one knows why they do what they do, and every time someone has tried to communicate with them it’s gone… badly.”

  That was the extent of what Jais knew as well. There had been three previous attacks recently with each escalating in aggression. The first time they had only raided a farmer’s barn and taken the livestock. The second time they had hit an outlying farm and the family there had been taken. The third time a farmer had seen them coming and tried to flee. In his haste, he’d lit his barn on fire by accident. The beasts had stayed away from the blaze, allowing the farmer and his family to escape. Everyone in the village thought they were safe, that the attacks wouldn’t get closer or wouldn’t come to them specifically, but it sure seemed like these beasts were intent on something in this village.

  “Should we hunt them?” Jais asked.

  His uncle nearly choked on his stew. He shot a glance toward his wife. Something significant passed between them that Jais couldn’t decipher.

  Aunt Sarelle sighed, and his uncle turned to him. “You’ve never seen a kroll, so let me enlighten you. The short ones are eight feet tall, and they have more muscles on them than you and that smith boy combined. Their skin is as tough as hardened leather armor, and they carry clubs, which might as well be sm
all trees. They’re not smart, but they’re cunning, like a wolf. They know how to hunt like any predator. You can track them easily enough, but they’ll smell you coming a mile off and be ready when you get there. I doubt our arrows would do much more than annoy them. You’d need to fill one so full of arrows it looked like a porcupine to slow it down. You can fight one, if you have to, if your life is on the line, but no sane man would go looking for that sort of trouble.”

  “Have you ever fought one?” Jais was hanging on every word, morbidly fascinated.

  “Gods no! But I’ve seen one being fought once. Three knights on horseback had one surrounded. They had lances, swords, and shields and were covered in heavy armor. They killed it, but only one of them survived.”

  “That’s not true,” his aunt said softly. Jais looked over at her. “One was as close to death as I’ve ever seen a man, but I healed him. He lived, even if he was missing an arm.”

  His uncle grumbled. “I was trying to scare some sense into the boy.”

  “I think he gets the point,” his aunt said. “Don’t you Jaistheric?” She’d used his full name. This was obviously serious.

  He nodded.

  There was little other discussion of such things for the remainder of the meal.

  When Jais went to bed that night his thoughts were crowded and too busy for him to fall asleep quickly. Part of him was caught up, lingering in that blissful moment when Alnia had kissed him, and thinking of the… pleasant things that might happen if he did make it out to the next revels. The rest of his mind was a dark mystery of lumbering shapes, with tree trunks for clubs, fighting knights. He wondered if he might be able to hunt one or even fight one. He was the strongest man in the village. How terrible could these things be?

  2

  Caerwyn waited in the dark, hunting.

  It was a warm night, and there was a humidity in the air which clung to her, making her sweat a little, even though she remained quite still.

  The north was not what she had expected. Being from the far south, desert lands, she’d been certain the north would be cold all the time, but this heat rivaled that of some days in her homeland.

  She hoped the heat wouldn’t keep the animals from coming out this night.

  Not many people could hunt with her skill in the depths of night’s dark embrace, but then not many people had mystical energies running through their veins, dragon’s blood. It had taken her some time to come to grips with the idea that she was the descendant of dragons, but in some ways, she had always known. She’d always been different, stronger than other girls to the point where she was as strong or stronger than most men. Her speed and skill in combat had come partly from years of training, but even her surrogate father had said she’d picked things up surprisingly quick, as if she had an innate talent. There were other abilities as well, her quick healing, understanding any language she heard — then instinctively knowing how to speak it back in return — and of course, her amazing senses, including… night vision.

  A wild hen came pecking at seeds and grasses in the clearing she was watching. In silence, she loaded a rounded stone into her sling, clasped the release thong, and began whipping it around. It was an inelegant weapon, but it was the first she’d learned to use. Her real father had taught it to her before he’d been killed.

  Several quick rotations, and she released the stone. It hit true. Some people were quite surprised with how accurate you could be with a sling, but she’d been practicing for over thirty years. She ran, silently, from the brush into the clearing, and drew her knife. She plucked up the small bird and removed its head, in case it had survived the blow and was only stunned. Then headed back to camp with the body. She and Barami would have a succulent feast tonight.

  It wasn’t a long walk back through the forest to where they had stopped for the night. As she emerged from the brush, she saw her tall companion start and reach for his weapon, a great hand-and-a-half sword, which some called a bastard sword, lying next to him. His hand hovered over the hilt for a moment before he pulled it away.

  “You’re far too quiet, Caer. One of these days you’ll surprise me, and I’ll lop your head off.” His tone was light, playful, which was odd for him. Barami was a stoic man, most would probably call him cold, but only those who didn’t know him. Those same people might say he was well past his prime for a warrior. But that was another misconception. He was just past his fortieth year, but he was still strong and able. He knew how to survive, how to win. Every morning he’d work through a calisthenics routine, including sword practice, so he was able to keep muscle on that tall frame of his. She’d known him for a long time. Long enough to see gray filter into the tight-curls of his receding black hair… at least before he’d shaved it all off and switched to a clean, bald head. His skin was darker than hers, a deep, solid brown in contrast to her dark bronze. His face nearly always wore a flat, unimpressed look, eyes stoic, with a tight line between his full dark lips.

  She laughed. “You’d have to hit me first, which you haven’t yet done when we’re sparring.”

  He shook his head and sighed.

  She tossed him the bird. “Clean that up, will you, and put it over the fire. This heat is starting to get to me. I’m going to wash up a little in the river.” She rummaged through her pack and pulled out a second set of clothes.

  He nodded, and she could feel his eyes on her as she left again.

  It was her turn to sigh. The poor fool. She shouldn’t have put the image of her bathing into his head.

  When would he learn she’d never feel for him as he did for her? Not that he’d ever said anything explicitly to her, but she was keen enough to pick it up. She was certain there was more to his blood oath to stay with her than the fact that she’d saved his life once… and several times since then. There was a way he gazed at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, a certain forlorn caring look. She didn’t mind, and she didn’t care. She admired Barami for his skill and strength, but she didn’t want any attachments. She was ever practical, and ‘love’ was one of the least practical things she could imagine.

  Despite the fact that she was on her way to find a mate in this remote northern land.

  But that was how she thought of it: mating, nothing more.

  She wanted a child, not a husband. She hoped that whoever she found would understand there would be no emotional involvement. In many ways Barami would make an ideal mate, except for his feelings for her. He was certainly seasoned enough as a warrior. A child with him would be strong and capable. But she was looking for something quite specific in her mating companion… dragon’s blood.

  She didn’t know a lot about the dragon-blooded, or drahksani as they were known. She only recently found out she was one. Before that, she’d read a little about them from her foster-father’s library. Little was known of how they came to be, but their name suggested they were somehow the descendants of dragons, or otherwise possessed dragon’s blood, which gave them their powers. What she had read was mostly stories of their deeds, good and ill. Some had used their powers to help the world and became heroes, but some had done quite the opposite. And it was because of those drahksani with evil intent that her kind was so rare. They’d been hunted down in something called the Great Purge. Her birth parents had died toward the end of that dark period.

  And now she felt a drive to help restore her kind.

  A little over a year ago she’d been expelled from what had been her home for nearly thirty years. She’d lost everything. She could still recall the look in her foster father’s eyes as he’d sent her away. He hadn’t wanted to, but there had been no choice. His people would not allow a drahksani in their midst. So, she’d lost a second family, as well as her position as general in her father’s armies. And so had gone her purpose and meaning in life. She’d needed a new purpose. Having been a warrior most of her life, she first thought to become a mercenary… but that held little meaning for her, fighting for money. She’d needed something that called to
her soul.

  She’d decided what she really wanted was to bring new life into this world and help to bring back her kind from the brink of extinction. That was why she sought another drahksan with which to mate. That was also why she was in the northlands now.

  She didn’t know if it was a trait of all drahksani or just her own ability — she really had no clue what other drahksani could do — but she could sense others with dragon’s blood — at least that’s what she hoped it was. She’d been following a feeling, a call to something deep within her being, for several weeks now, leading her north. She assumed it was another drahksan, that someone up here had a strong blood line that pulled her to them.

  She was close now.

  She guessed she was only a day or two away. It wasn’t as if the call was getting stronger, but she was able to pin-point the direction much more accurately than she had when she’d started.

  As she stood on the banks of the river she and Barami had been following north for some time, she looked out over the dark waters. Her target was almost directly north-east of her, given the positions of the stars. The last village they’d passed through had also told them there was a village probably around the same location called Klasten’s Green. She suspected that’s where she’d find who she sought.

  She removed her weapons, the sword at her hip and the sling in its pouch, and set her spear to lean against a tree. She wasn’t concerned about leaving her weapons on shore. The sword and sling were replaceable, and her spear… it was special. She could call it to her hand as she wished. She had a shield she used as well, but it was back at the camp with Barami.

  She undressed and washed her clothes, hoping to get out most of the sweat and odor. Then she waded into the river. The rising moon glistened off the soft rolling dark waves. The river was chilly, despite it being high summer. These waters probably came from the distant snow-capped mountains she’d seen to the north, but that was okay. The cold helped to cut the heat of the air around her.