The Soulless

by Kate Martin

  “And you,” she said. “They hunt you. You know that, don’t you?”

  The witch’s eyes focused solely on Bri, boring all the way down into his soul. Bri pressed himself closer to Alec, reaching up to grab hold of the arm wrapped around him. Just breathing took all of his concentration as a strange power pressed against him, seeking to get inside. He had nothing to spare to answer the old woman.

  But she didn’t seem to want an answer.

  She pulled the cork top from the bottle in her hand and thrust it towards his mouth. “Drink this.”

  “Dorothea,” Alec warned.

  “You shut up,” the woman snapped, her gaze darting away from Bri for just a moment before returning. “He must drink it.”

  When she attempted to press the bottle to his lips, Alec moved his hand in between. “What is it?”

  “Bah. We don’t have time. The storm is worse. It’s the same as before, hunting. Hunting him.”

  “Carma charged me with his well-being. I won’t let you force some unknown substance down his throat.”

  Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. Bri was relieved she wasn’t looking at him. “Don’t trust me, boy?”

  Alec didn’t back down. “I simply want answers.”

  Thunder roared again. Dorothea went still, then her gaze darted everywhere before landing back on Bri, then Alec. “It will make him invisible to their search. Your touch helps, but the hunter is determined. This,” she shook the bottle once, “will make them lose their search. Make them give up.”

  “It won’t harm him?”

  “No. And we have no more time. See how he breathes? They are close.”

  That convinced him. Alec relaxed his hold on Bri just a bit. He lowered the hand he had used to block Dorothea’s access to Bri’s mouth. “It’s your decision, Bri. I won’t force you.”

  With Alec’s touch, and with the myst gone, all Bri could feel was that awful pull. It reached for him—hard to resist. Something about it made him want to simply give in. Things would be easier if he did. Or at least, that’s what the alien feeling told him. It insisted that if he continued to resist, he would die. Already his face had begun tingling from lack of air.

  But he trusted Alec more than he trusted disembodied feelings that stalked him. He took the bottle and swallowed the blue liquid in one gulp.

  For a moment nothing happened. Then the thunder and lightning crashed together outside, and the pull was wrenched away so violently Bri’s knees gave out. Alec caught him, held him up, calling his name. Bri couldn’t bring himself to reach for those supporting arms.

  The feeling wasn’t completely gone, but it had lost its hold on him. Bri could still feel it, just outside his body, searching, prodding for what it had once had, but it was as if the presence had gone blind. It couldn’t find him, and as such, couldn’t touch him.

  He could breathe again.

  Alec carried Bri to the nearest comfortable piece of furniture, a small sofa, big enough for two people to sit side by side, pulled close to the fireplace. He sat Bri there and knelt before him, gently slapping his face a few times as the boy slipped in and out of consciousness. Bri’s head lolled and his eyelids fluttered, but he never truly seemed to fade completely.

  “What did you do, Dorothea?”

  “I hid him. And saved us all. You could be more grateful.”

  “Look at him!”

  “It will pass. Give him a moment.”

  He caught Bri’s head as it heavily fell to one side, and with that touch, the boy seemed to wake. “Bri?”

  “I’m all right.” Bri raised one hand to grip Alec’s wrist.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Ah…” He seemed to think about it a moment. “Yes. I just…what did she do to me?”

  “She won’t tell me exactly, but you’re safe for now.”

  Dorothea returned to her habit of running from one task to the next without completing any of them. “I made him invisible.”

  “That is not an explanation.” Even after living with her for nearly a thousand years, Alec still couldn’t stand how she always spoke in riddles, avoiding a straight answer for everything. It was a constant frustration and an un-winnable battle.

  Dorothea made her way around the dwelling, and Alec marveled at it despite his preoccupation with Bri. Most of the items shelved on the walls were outdated by at least a hundred years. The structure itself seemed older. In fact, most of the furniture varied in age and style, as though it had been collected through the centuries.

  An old ruin that acts as a time capsule of sorts. But whose is it? The site had fallen out of use—that was evident by the state of the maze outside. Someone had built it for a purpose, and it hadn’t been Dorothea. She had a few centuries on him, but not enough for this. She rummaged through stacks of papers, then flipped through a couple of books, before returning to the pot she had neglected moments earlier. “A labrynth hunts him. I made him impossible to find. It will not last long, but it should keep long enough to make the worker of the labrynth give up. For now.” She ladled some stew into a bowl and slapped Alec’s hands away so she could give it to Bri. “Eat. It will help.”

  “Dorothea—”

  “Do not let go of him.” She pulled back Bri’s sleeve, then grabbed Alec’s hand and set it against Bri’s bare arm. “We do not want the myst finding him while that potion is in effect.”

  A string of thoughts and curses rose uncompleted in his head. Alec sat beside Bri, keeping one hand on his arm, doing his best not to compromise Bri’s ability to eat the stew—which, remarkably, had not been burned. He would never understand how Dorothea managed to cook, and cook well, when she never focused on any one thing for longer than a heartbeat. Nothing, aside from labrynths, of course.

  “Dorothea,” he began again, “we came here for a reason.”

  “Of course you did. Who goes anywhere for no reason?” She was busying herself with a pile of bones on the far table.

  “Carma sent me.”

  “Well, yes, now that she has returned—as I told you—you won’t do much of anything that isn’t her bidding, will you?”

  He chose to let that go. “We were attacked by seraph. The old manor burned to the ground. And there were sniffers.”

  She had moved on to a large, unpolished crystal. “Of course there were.”

  “You seem to already know that Bri can see into the myst, but he doesn’t know how to control it.”

  “Well, no. He wouldn’t, would he? Who would have taught him?” Discarding the crystal, she returned to her shelf of bottles.

  “That’s the point. Carma wants you to teach him.”

  That got her attention. “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  Stepping over a million different things along the floor—she certainly had made herself at home in the short time she had been there—she once again placed herself face-to-face with Bri. The boy froze, his spoon flopped between his lips. Dorothea said nothing, did nothing. But for the concentration in her eyes, Alec might have wondered if she lived and breathed at all. Bri didn’t seem willing to move much himself. He didn’t so much as twitch.

  Then all the life returned to the witch. “How far are you willing to go to learn to control this?”

  Bri plucked the spoon from his mouth and dropped it into the bowl in his lap. “I…I guess…” He looked up at Alec, then studied the bowl. “I would like to control it. I don’t think I can live much longer the way I have been.”

  “It will not be easy.”

  Bri nodded.

  “It will hurt.”

  Another nod.

  Dorothea slipped a finger under his chin and drew his face up, examining him again. Alec couldn’t begin to fathom what she was thinking. Her eyes had lost the focus that had graced them. “A mirror.”

  Bri went still.

  “Clever girl,” Dorothea said.

  Alec grabbed her hand to get her attention. “You said that once before. What do you mean?”


  She blinked rapidly, and slowly turned to look at him. He knew before she even spoke that he would get no answer. Her mind was busy with other things. “Tomorrow.” Drawing away, she stoked the fire, then grabbed a blanket from the back of a nearby armchair and tossed it at them. “Sleep now. We will start tomorrow when the storm has passed.” She passed her fingers over the bare wood of a wall and a door appeared. Without so much as a creek, it opened when she lifted the latch and disappeared again once she had stepped through.

  This place is old magic. There is no way she built this herself in such a short time. Alec took the bowl from Bri and set it aside before offering him the blanket. They were both still damp, though the warmth of the fire had dried them some. Bri settled in, sleeping almost instantly, his hand clutching tightly to Alec’s.

  A glint of firelight reflecting in the far corner caught Alec’s eye, and he shifted on the sofa in order to see it better.

  His heart slammed hard against his chest. Shadows. Shadows playing tricks on my mind. Hanging on a nail that looked to have been hastily driven into the wall, illuminated by the fire as it hissed and popped, was a tarnished silver locket. The pattern was difficult to discern in the inconstant light, but Alec instinctively knew what it looked like. A water lily, a few petals fallen loose.

  He knew whose pictures lay within.

  Ariadne. Marc.

  — CHAPTER ELEVEN —

  Alec appeared distracted all morning. Ever since Dorothea had woken and assured them both that the potion had worked its way through Bri’s body, preventing whatever danger came from the myst, Bri had watched him pace. Alec kept staring at one corner, his gaze darting there as though he expected something to jump out and bite him. Nothing ever did.

  Without Alec’s constant touch, the myst had returned. It floated at the edge of Bri’s vision, as it always did, but now it hovered from the ceiling and on the far walls. Normally the myst hugged every living thing, touched as much as it could. Here, it was as if nothing of interest resided. Alec was beyond the myst, and while Bri could touch it and see it, the myst never told him anything about himself. And Dorothea…she had touched him multiple times last night and he had seen nothing.

  It was all very confusing, although also a huge relief.

  Finishing the bowl of stew Dorothea and Alec had insisted he eat, Bri went to the washbasin to clean up. Over the slosh of the water, he heard Alec and Dorothea arguing about the horses. Apparently the old witch had taken them out of the storm and tended to them. But she blamed Alec for being unhelpful because she had ordered him to remain with Bri.

  “Thank you,” Alec said. “Is that what you want to hear? Thank you. I appreciate you dealing with the horses last night.”

  Dorothea scoffed. “No, that is not what I want to hear.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want you not to be a nuisance to me.”

  The strangled sound that came from Alec sounded like disbelief, anger, and all the curses of the world at once. He held his hands up in surrender, then shoved them into his pockets. By the time he reached Bri’s side, Bri could see the tension in his arms.

  “Don’t ever get involved with a witch,” Alec said.

  “I thought she was your friend.”

  Alec leaned back against the wall with a sigh, hands still in his pockets as though he was afraid of what he would do if he took them out. “Friend is a complicated word in this case. But she’s mad, and frustrating. When she was younger, she had more moments of clarity, but not many more.”

  Drying his hands, Bri looked over his shoulder at the witch. She was hovering over a table, a pile of bones spread out in front of her. She moved them this way and that, with no sign of the previous argument left in her body. “She seems to have forgotten all about it already.”

  Alec flopped down onto the crooked sofa. “She has.”

  Watching Dorothea work, watching her move about the room collecting bottles and chalks and vials, made Bri wonder what was in store for him. “Will she really be able to teach me how to control the myst?”

  “If anyone can, it’s her.”

  “Should I…What do I do?”

  “Do what she tells you. I’ll step in if I think she’s going too far.” Bri sat down beside Alec. “Do you promise?”

  “Yes.”

  Worry Bri hadn’t acknowledged before slipped away. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what was to come. He reminded himself that he had faced far more frightening things before.

  Despite those efforts, he was not prepared when Dorothea suddenly left her bones, walked straight at him, and grabbed him by the wrist. “Come. We start now.”

  She pulled him after her, then turned on her heel and stuck a finger in Alec’s face. “You stay here.”

  Bri felt a zing of panic at the thought of leaving Alec behind.

  “Oh no,” Alec said, “You’re not leaving me out of this.”

  Dorothea slapped Alec’s hand away when he reached for Bri. “No. You will disrupt the flow of energies, and we cannot have that. I will not break the boy, nor will I harm him. You want him safe? You let me teach him my way.”

  With another sharp tug, Bri stumbled after her. He watched her play her fingers along one bare wall and saw a small door appear as though it had always been there. He looked over his shoulder at Alec, who looked unhappy, but remained where he was.

  “It’s okay, Bri. Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

  That knowledge comforted him for only a moment. Dorothea dragged him through the door, and as soon as it shut, it was gone.

  Bri stared at that smooth wall. All the fear he had managed to quell before was rising back up, starting at his toes, and ending with a sick twist in his stomach. Firelight flickered around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the room. All he could see was that wall that should have had a door in it. Even the caravan wagons had doors, and the ritual sites had long stretches of land he could imagine running across…

  “Come here,” the old woman ordered from somewhere beyond. “Sit.”

  No escape.

  Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. He hoped the words would take hold.

  “Sit.” The command was sharper this time.

  Bri felt his feet walk him backwards of their own accord, away from the wall—and further from Alec.

  They had been sitting in silence. Without windows or a turning glass, Bri had no idea for how long. Yet, he was certain that either numerous turns had passed, or the grains of sand in all the turning glasses everywhere had stood still.

  Dorothea had scribed one labrynth, then another, and another, until the etchings on the dirt floor surrounded them on all sides. Some were identical, or at least they looked that way to Bri. Others were one of a kind and in no particular order. All of them pulsed with power.

  Bri wrapped his arms around himself as he knelt, watching the old woman move about with the grace and speed of a younger woman. Her fingers moved so deftly, drawing lines, creating turns. Bri couldn’t think of anything he could do with such ease.

  Then finally she stilled and knelt in front of him.

  “The labrynth is a spell.”

  “I know what a labrynth is,” Bri said.

  She smacked him upside the head. “You do not. You know nothing of labrynths. Being bled into one does not make you an expert. You may know how to feed one, but you know nothing of what a labrynth really is. If you did, you would not claim to know them.”

  Bri rubbed his head, shocked she had taken a hand to him. He was used to being hit, yes, but usually he had more warning. She had moved so fast. He closed his gaping mouth, swallowing whatever protests were forming. She had made her point.

  With one finger, she drew a circle between them. “The word ‘labrynth’ is derived from ‘labyrinth.’ A maze. A route meant to confuse and befuddle, but also to bring clarity. The first to scribe them wanted to ensure that those without training would not be able to decode the spells, or to create one by
happenstance. And so we have our labrynths, complicated spells that take years, if not lifetimes, to understand. Witches are the only ones born with an innate understanding of such things. Mortals can dabble, perhaps learn one, maybe two, in their entire lifetime. But witches can see through the labrynths clearly. We know them, and we can work with them, create new ones, undo others.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with me. I’m not a witch.”

  “No, you are not. But one hunts you. Someone very powerful is searching for you, and this witch is capable of incredible labrynths. Storms like the one we saw last night are rare. I could create such a thing, but I am nearly nine hundred years old. I have much experience, and I was always exceptional at my craft. But I know of no other whose ability matches my own. The last witch to equal, or perhaps even exceed my skills, died nearly a half a decade ago.”

  “I don’t know why anyone would hunt me,” Bri said. “Or who it would be. I never knew anyone outside the caravan, and they all seemed to get what they wanted from me. As long as I told fortunes and brought in money, they were satisfied. Could it be them? They want me back?”

  Dorothea frowned. “Think about what I just told you. That storm, the level of talent it would take to control a labrynth such as that. I doubt there was a true witch among those cursed thieves, let alone one powerful enough for this.”

  He cursed his own stupidity and tried to pay better attention. “So it’s not one of them. But then who? Who would know about me?”

  “Anyone with access to the myst. But even that is a mystery, for the only ones capable of seeing into the myst are the blessed seraph who rarely come down from their comfortable Haven. And though seraph can do many things, working labrynths is not one of them.”

  “Someone else then.”

  “Someone else. Or both. You are a rare commodity, Brishen. And there are those who would seek to collect such things.”

  “How do you know my full name?” He tensed at hearing his name, a name he hadn’t shared.

  “Always use your true name when working magic, Brishen. Names have power. And one should never not be himself when working great magics.”