Soul Seeking

by R. Michael Card

  He was away.

  He needed to find his aunt and uncle, but a part of him stayed back with Caerwyn. He wished he’d have been able to fight beside her once more.

  He put that thought aside as the horse drew near to the forest, then plunged into the leafy shadows.

  16

  Alnia watched Jais go, then turned back to help the drahksani woman. Jais had been right in saying that the woman and her companion had only helped the village and deserved something in return. Well Alnia’s help may not be much, but she’d lend it now. She was tired of being a woman fought over by men. She was going to do something to help.

  Caerwyn was handling herself well despite being nearly surrounded by large, angry men. She had already dropped two of them, Alnia was uncertain whether they were dead or unconscious. They weren’t moving.

  The remaining five men seemed to be pressing hard, all attacking at once. No one seemed to be that concerned that Alnia was around. That would be their mistake. She snuck around the fight to one of the prone men, sticking her little knife in the ground next to him and taking his blade. It was heavy, and she had to hold it with two hands to swing it, but now at least she wouldn’t have to get right up next to someone to hit them.

  And she knew exactly who she wanted to hit. Both Danz and Erid had come with this group. She hated her brother at the moment. He’d changed, turned into someone she didn’t know, over the course of one day. She still couldn’t believe that he’d grabbed her like he had, shaken her, yelled at her, his own sister!

  He’d even been the one to suggest she be restrained. There was something vastly different in his eyes, a hatred she’d never seen before. Yet with all that, she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. He was still her brother, and as nasty as he’d become she wouldn’t turn into a person like him, hurting his own kin. She had no such qualms however about hurting Erid. The man was a brute, and she had not liked one bit the way he’d looked at her when telling Jais she had to stay behind. It made her skin crawl. He’d been a friend, sure enough, but he’d always looked at her just a little too greedily, as if he owned her. Well he’d stop looking at her like that after today.

  She snuck up behind the big man and with a yell, partially to release her pent up anger and frustration, partly just to help her lift the sword, she swung at him.

  He half turned at the last moment. Her blade bounced off his left shoulder in an awkward blow. She lost control of the weapon as the shock of the strike paralyzed her arms. It fell to the ground.

  Erid screamed and turned on her.

  Terror froze her. She wanted to run, wanted her feet to be moving, but was stuck, wide-eyed as he faced her.

  He raised his own weapon high, but paused for the barest of moment as he seemed to actually see who it was who had hit him.

  “Alnia?”

  His eyes went wide then, and he grunted, falling forward, a spear in his back. He landed on his hands and knees

  Caerwyn ducked through a hole in the battle created by Erid’s absence, and slid out to Alnia. “What are you still doing here? Get away, before you get hurt.”

  Alnia nodded, but her feet still didn’t want to move, at least not quickly.

  “Die, demon!” Erid it seemed wasn’t out of the fight. Despite being on all fours, he swung up and back with his blade. It took Caerwyn in the stomach, in a long slash across her abdomen.

  The warrior woman brought the handle of her sword down hard on Erid’s neck, and he pitched forward with a rather sickening crack of bones. But after that Caerwyn dropped her sword and clutched at her stomach, lurching forward toward Alnia.

  “Davlas,” Caerwyn said through clenched teeth, and her spear appeared in her hand. She used it as a crutch for a moment to stagger a little farther from the other men.

  “Go!” she hissed at Alnia, but the most Alnia could manage was a stiff legged step or two backward. She must be blanched pale. All this blood and death and the noises of battle were getting to her and she felt sick.

  Why had she thought she could help?

  She fell back on her rump, also holding her stomach, but for a different reason.

  The three remaining men came after Caerwyn. One of them was Damick, Erid’s father. He looked furious.

  Caerwyn seemed to know they were coming, despite that they were all behind her. She got an intense, determined look on her face and forced herself to stand from her bent position. With a quick turn she threw her spear and one of the men went down.

  She said something, and the spear returned to her again just in time to block a great overhand swing from Damick. She tilted the haft of the weapon, so his sword fell off beside her, then flicked out with the tip of her spear and a red line appeared across Damick’s throat. He gurgled and fell to his knees, eyes wide with the realization of his own death.

  The last man swung at Caerwyn’s unprotected side, or what he thought was unprotected. Caerwyn moved her hand from her stomach, catching the flat of the blade with the side of her hand as it descended, knocking it away enough to miss her. Then her spear was in the man’s chest, and he too went down.

  Alnia had been too shocked and stunned at what Caerwyn was able to do while mortally wounded to remember her own discomfort for a moment. Then Caerwyn fell next to her, bleeding and exhausted, her stomach wound belching blood.

  Alnia turned away and was sick.

  It took a torturous few moments for her stomach to empty, her throat raw, a vile taste on her tongue. She spat a few times to try to clean her mouth out as best she could before daring to look back at Caerwyn.

  The woman was still conscious, but there was a sheen of sweat on her face, and her breathing was shallow. “Get me something to put on this, as clean as possible,” Caerwyn hissed through clenched teeth.

  Alnia nodded and, trembling, rose to her feet, looking for anything to help. She looked around for a long moment not finding anything clean. Everything the men had been wearing was either soaked with sweat or blood or covered in dirt. Oddly, it was her own dress which was mostly clean. She ripped off a sleeve and knelt next to Caerwyn. But she couldn’t bring herself to touch the wound.

  Caerwyn nodded and took the cloth, pressing it to the long gash. The white material immediately blossomed with red, soaking through quickly.

  “Now go. See if you can get into that house. Under the bed furthest from the door there’s a metal box, I hope. Get it.” That seemed to take up a lot of the woman’s strength as the tension seemed to drain from her after this, her eyes closing.

  Alnia didn’t know how much longer Caerwyn would survive, but if she needed that box, Alnia would find it. She sprang up again, glad for the distraction, and ran around to the front of the house. The door was half-caved in and blocked, but there was a small window which seemed intact. Alnia glanced inside to see the two beds with the roof collapsed at the foot of them. There was still a fire burning at the other end of the house, but it wasn’t burning quickly, just smoldering with licks of flame. She’d be fine if she got in and out quickly. This side of the house seemed to be mostly intact, other than the caved in roof, thankfully. She climbed in through the window, tearing her dress, but caring little. She needed to help Caerwyn. The woman wouldn’t have been wounded if she hadn’t have been trying to help Alnia. She owed her.

  The roof was close, slanted down with several beams broken and blocking the way. She clambered around them and over the first bed. Then ducked down looking under the second bed, but could see little in the dimness. She reached her arms under, moving them around until she crashed her fingers into something hard and cold. She found the box and pulled it out.

  In her haste to leave this place and get back to Caerwyn, she tried to rise from her knees… forgetting the roof had fallen in. She bumped her head on a roof beam. Stunned, she staggered to one side, falling on one of the beds, tears in her eyes.

  Whether from her hitting the beam or pure coincidence, part of the roof behind her collapsed even more, in a shower of wood chips and thatch
. She let out a scream even though none of the debris landed near her.

  For a moment she lay very still, in near darkness, as the dust settled.

  She tried to calm herself, but her heart was racing. She didn’t know if she’d be able to get out.

  After a moment of silence, glad to still be alive at least, she tried to look around. To her surprise she could still see, if only barely. The way she had come in was blocked, but there was light coming from somewhere, if not much.

  She looked the other way and found thin beams of light, filled with dancing dust, coming from between the slats of a shuttered window on the far side of the cottage. She hefted the box, though it was quite heavy. She slid it over the top of the bed and climbed over herself. She left the box there and opened the window, throwing the shutters wide.

  It was a much smaller window than the first. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to fit through. She returned to the box, grunting as she lifted it, then took it to the window and, hoping there wasn’t anything too breakable in it, dropped it out the other side. It didn’t fall far. She looked to see a small pile of wood below the window. That would make it easy getting out the other side at least.

  She had to half-turn to get her shoulders through, then had one arm stuck for a moment as she was half-in and half-out, but finally managed to squeeze through onto the wood pile. This time more than just her dress was torn, she had cuts and scrapes all over her arms and legs. But she knew it wasn’t anything like what Caerwyn was going through, so she gritted her teeth, hefted the metal box, and staggered her way back over to where the other woman was.

  The thud of the metal box on the ground startled Caerwyn awake, if she had been unconscious. Her eyes opened, and she moaned.

  “Is there a curved needle and thread in there?” Caerwyn asked, breathing still shallow.

  There was no lock on the box, thankfully, Alnia opened it to find several small clay jars as well as some other odds and ends, among which was the implements Caerwyn had asked for. The thread was waxed silk, not what Alnia was used to.

  “You need to sew up my wound,” Caerwyn said.

  Alnia trembled at the thought. “I can’t. I can’t even look at it. I’m sorry.”

  “Then give it to me, I will. Is there any alcohol in there?”

  Alnia searched again and found a sturdy glass flask. The fluid inside was clear, but there was no label. She unstoppered it, and smelled the heady waft of strong alcohol. She handed that to Caerwyn too.

  “Is there anything labeled healing goo in there?”

  “Nothing is labeled, there are these little jars though.”

  “It’s worth trying. Do all of the pots look the same?”

  “No, the tops are different colors, blue, black, and white.”

  “If you open them, what’s inside?”

  Alnia lifted off a lid from each colored jar. She grimaced; apparently the lids were descriptive of the contents. “blue stuff, black stuff, and white stuff.”

  “Let me smell the blue and the black.”

  Alnia shrugged, uncertain what the other woman was looking for. She wafted the blue under Caerwyn’s nose first. The other woman shook her head. “Too pleasant. Try the black.”

  Alnia did, and Caerwyn’s nose wrinkled. “That’s it. Leave that out. Is there another jar of that?”

  “One more, yes.”

  “Take it, find your brother. He shouldn’t be too hurt. Put it on any wounds you can see.”

  “What will it do?”

  “Help him, heal him, I hope.”

  Alnia nodded and left Caerwyn to her work. She nearly dropped the small, but heavy, clay jar a moment later when an ear-piercing cry shattered the hillside around her. She glanced back then away again quickly. Caerwyn had poured the alcohol on her wound; that explained it.

  She found her brother, his wounds seemed mostly superficial except for a nasty lump on his head. She applied the dark goo anywhere she could, not certain how thick to apply it or whether to rub it in or not. She was probably using too much, half the jar seemed to be gone when she was finished. Danz didn’t wake.

  She returned to Caerwyn who was thankfully done stitching herself and was applying dark goo to her wound.

  She seemed a bit better, still sweating and breathing hard, but clearer of eye, more coherent of speech. “Is there bandage in that tin?” she asked.

  Alnia nodded and retrieved it for her.

  Caerwyn sat up gingerly, slowly, wincing often. Then wound the bandage around her midriff, using it up almost entirely. Then she lay back, gingerly, breathing hard and quick.

  “Gods this hurts.”

  “Better than being dead.” It was something her father used to say.

  Caerwyn gave a short, clipped laugh. “That’s true.” After a moment she added. “I need to find Jais.”

  “You shouldn’t be going anywhere, not now.”

  Caerwyn sighed. “I know.” And with that she closed her eyes and her breathing evened.

  Alnia sat beside her, unsure what to do.

  17

  Barami woke in a rush from some deep unconsciousness… and immediately groaned. He hurt… badly… all over. Breathing involved a stinging sharp pain in his chest, probably a broken rib. Agony radiated out through all parts of him, some dull and aching, bruises most likely, most were sharper pains, cuts or worse.

  The problem was, despite his eyes being open, he could see nothing. He was in the dark… somewhere, and was fairly certain he was losing blood. He couldn’t move his sword arm, but his other he could managed to feel around a bit and most places his fingers came away sticky. He was certain if he was left like this, he’d die here, wherever ‘here’ was.

  One thing was quite clear, he’d not managed to win against the horde of men who’d swarmed him. They were most likely waiting for him to die on his own so their consciences were mostly clear. Either that, or they were keeping him here until they decided to hang him or burn him, or whatever it was they did with ‘demon sympathizers’. Perhaps they were still figuring that out. If they were decent men, those deliberations would take some time. It was never easy to condemn a man to death. Better to let him die on his own… from wounds you may or may not have inflicted in a general melee.

  Which meant he probably had time.

  If he could move, that might be useful. But at the moment any advanced movement like sitting or walking was out of the question. He already knew, from the numbness he felt, that one of his legs wouldn’t work like it should.

  So what were his options?

  Stay here and die or… what?

  So he did something he didn’t usually do. He prayed.

  First he prayed to the god of his people, Noa Oki, god of the southern reaches, of heat and storm. He prayed for forgiveness that he had left his people, had left the south, left the heat. Then, after a while, when nothing had happened, he prayed to Hakan, god of the wilds and the hunt. Barami had always been a hunter, though mostly he’d hunted men in battle. But he thought it perhaps fitting to speak to the god of the hunt to give him one more chase, one more chance. When little came of that he tried speaking to Doa Nosi, god of victory and mercy. But he gave that up quickly. He had lost his fight, so he doubted he’d get far with this plea.

  Then he tried the god of healing, Juuta. Perhaps if he was healed, he could change his ways, focus more on healing than war. He had some skills, they could be nurtured. After that he turned to the god of war when no one else had answered his call. Kan Akan was a god he knew well. He’d been in many wars, many battles. If he was closest to any god, it would be Kan Akan. But in the end, he knew that such a god also knew that the outcome of war was only pain and suffering, which Barami was currently experiencing. He would get no pity, no help from that god, which is why he hadn’t prayed to him first.

  His last prayer was to Ini Moa, goddess of peace. If he couldn’t win and wasn’t going to be healed, at least he could die in peace. He lay there for some time, feeling the life and energy dr
ain out of him. Slowly his mind clouded and grew less aware, he started to care less and less about his body, it felt distant, even the pain seemed far away.

  As darkness closed in, and his mind wandered even farther from this world, a light shone around him. He smiled. He was moving on to Lokana, the silent jungle.

  But then the light coalesced into a form, a woman, kneeling next to him in the darkness.

  She looked familiar.

  Was this Ini Moa come to take him to the peaceful lands?

  Yet the glowing form had a strange, almost confused look on her face.

  “You?” She seemed confused. “I was seeking for my nephew.”

  The words swam in his mind and took a long time to make sense. It was only when he finally understood them that he saw her more clearly. This wasn’t Ini Moa, this was Jais’ aunt. Barami had only seen her a couple of times, but he was certain of it now.

  “You’re not doing so well, though, are you?” She grimaced, shaking her head. “I don’t have much strength as it is, especially in this form.” Then a sigh. “But I’ll do what I can.”

  She laid her hands on him.

  He felt… it was hard to describe. With his mind still hazy it could only really comprehend what he felt as pure life and energy flowing back into him. His mind cleared, his body — the pains returning to him — was slowly soothed, his wounds healed. Yet as this happened the woman’s light grew dimmer and dimmer. The room was returning to darkness.

  “That is all I can do.” Her voice sounded distant. “I hope it is enough.” Then she was gone, and he was returned to full darkness.

  But he felt much better.

  There was still pain, far too much for his liking, but feeling had returned to his numb leg, and there was no more stinging when he breathed. He was fairly certain he could sit, could walk. That gave him options.

  Now he just had to find a way out.

  Jais walked beside the worn out filly. He should let her return to wherever Alnia had taken her from, but something prompted him to keep the mount around. Perhaps it was that deep feeling of dread still lurking in his gut.