Shadowsoul

by J D Evergreen

  “Get it off her,” commands a female voice.

  Feet hurry towards me, and the creature is lifted off. I take in large grateful gasps of air.

  The young woman kneels beside my head and takes my hand, looking at my injuries. “She needs treatment.”

  I feel the pull of darkness. My body trembles and I swallow the lump in my throat. The only way they will be able to identify me is my brand. I don’t want to die as a number. I look at the woman and feebly squeeze her hand.

  “Claire.”

  She looks down at me, concern on her face.

  I try again, as darkness spills into my vision. I force the words past my lips, “My name is Claire.”

  Chapter Six

  The rebel camp.

  I awake to intense throbbing that pulses through my battered body, but even this ache can’t mask the searing in my leg. An involuntary whimper escapes me as I roll over to see where I am, and why I’m not dead yet.

  The lights are too bright, and I struggle to sit up. My aching muscles scream in protest. I finally make it to my elbows when a massive hand shoves me back down.

  “Stay still,” grunts a rough voice.

  I squint my eyes, trying to focus on the owner of the giant hand. Slowly my pounding head adjusts to the light in the room, and I can see the man in front of me. The man still stands with his arm outstretched, ready to thwart any further attempts at getting up. He is so tall I have to hold my head at an awkward angle just to look up at his face.

  His charcoal hair is cut close to his scalp, except for a thick strip about an inch long that runs down the center of his head. My gaze moves over his broad face, dark brown eyes and stubble covered jawline. A dark tattoo of a web covers one side of the man’s neck, most of it trailing down under his light green shirt. The man is enormous, easily six foot tall, and so muscular he looks like he could walk through a stone wall and think nothing of it. I do not fail to notice the long broadsword that hangs from his hip. The whole image is of an intimidating man that knows he is powerful. A vague twinge of memory tugs at me.

  Before I have a chance to delve into that thought, a young woman enters the room carrying a basket. A sword hangs at her hip, and she holds herself well. Everything about her screams natural authority.

  The man removes his hand from my shoulder and stands to attention while eyeing the basket in the woman’s arms. The man points at me like I’m some sort of disgusting animal. “Surely you don’t mean to use that on her?”

  The woman crosses the room and stands before me. “Yes, I do.”

  “She is an outsider and could be a spy. Even if she is not, blood loss or infection will kill her anyway, and that’s only if she survives the toxins from the acid first. If I were in charge I wouldn’t waste precious resources on her,” spits the man.

  “You are not in charge.” The woman replies calmly. “In any case she saved Oscar.”

  The man holds out his arm gesturing at me wildly, spit flying from his mouth. “She led the beast right to him.”

  The woman sets the basket on the floor next to me and rises to her full height. She places her hand on the hilt of her sword in a casual gesture. I don’t doubt she knows how to use it. “We were both there. What I recall is her running towards the beast when she could have run away from it.”

  The man eyes the woman and the veins in his neck throb, but he seems to realize this is a fight he won’t win. “Yes, Alexandra.”

  Alexandra’s jaw clenches, and she turns her back to the man. “Go eat, Nathanial, you must stay strong.”

  The dismissal is apparent in her voice.

  The man nods and stomps towards a curtain. Before he reaches it, the woman adds, “Nathanial, do not call me Alexandra. You know I hate it.”

  Nathanial throws a final disapproving glance in my direction as he tosses the material aside and steps through the doorway. “Yes, I do.”

  He disappears from sight, and I am able to relax a little. His apparent dislike for me makes me uncomfortable, or perhaps it is just the fact he can lift that giant sword.

  Alexandra kneels beside me and takes a wet cloth from the basket. She folds it and wipes my face with it taking great care around my wounds.

  I watch cautiously, but I don’t move away. I don’t know what it is, but I want to trust her. Alexandra doesn’t speak as she cleans my wounds, and while working her dark brown hair falls forward, gently framing her face.

  She wipes the cloth across my face but discovers the blood is from the injury on my arm. Gently she presses the fabric to the back of my head, and the pressure makes my eyes hurt and my world spin.

  The cloth withdraws and sticky blood coats it. The woman looks at the fabric and then leans over to scrutinize the head wound. “This will need stitches.”

  She leans back as if to assess my response. Vibrant green eyes search mine. I’m pretty sure I have never seen that color green before, and I stare for far too long.

  The woman’s eyebrows knit together. “Claire, your head wound needs stitches.”

  A surge of relief fills me. She remembers my name; I won’t die as a number. A smile creeps onto my face, and the woman looks at me with concern, perhaps trying to decide if my head wound has sent me loopy.

  Alexandra tries again, “Claire?”

  I wet my lips, and try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak. The woman turns to my bag, searches through it, and pulls out a water canteen. Patiently she holds it to my lips while I drink.

  I clear my throat, and the crackle leaves my voice, “Okay.”

  A tanned hand presses against my forehead. “You’re warm. The acid you have in your leg is nasty, and you are in for a rough few days.”

  I squint at the woman and my head pounds in sync with my heartbeat. “Who are you?”

  The woman removes her hand and collects a needle and thread. “You can call me Lexa.”

  I roll my head so Lexa can easily reach the wound. “How is the boy?”

  Lexa parts my hair around the wound. “Oscar is well, although he may not thank me for all the survival drills I am about to put him through.”

  My lips curl at her remark. “It is probably for the best; he was frozen to the spot.”

  “Yes, and of little help to you. If Oscar is going to patrol the caves he needs to learn to respond in frightening situations.”

  The back of my head burns as the needle is forced through the all too tender skin. I am lucky Lexa is quick.

  Within minutes she is back in my vision, and she rummages through the basket and holds out some kind of purple moss. “Chew.”

  I take the moss in my hand. “What is it?”

  Lexa moves to my arm and wipes around the bracer, trying to get a look at the injury without aggravating it further. “It will taste awful, and make you feel tired, but it will help with the pain.”

  I look at the twisted lump of moss. I suppose if Lexa was going to kill me she wouldn’t have gone to all this effort to treat my wounds. I put the moss into my mouth and bite down. The grainy texture spreads over my tongue and gets caught between my teeth. Bitterness follows the grains, sweeping through my mouth and sticking everywhere it pleases.

  Lexa gives me a small smile. “I told you it was awful.”

  I can’t help but agree with her. She holds out the water canteen, and I take a grateful gulp doing my best to rinse my mouth with the liquid.

  Lexa peels off my sticky bracer and inspects the wounds there. “So how did you end up surrounded by three dead scarlet guards and a Cerebi?”

  I let out a wry smile. “I was taking a stroll.”

  Lexa eyes me. “You were taking a stroll?”

  “Yes, as fast as I could away from the compound.”

  Lexa smirks. “And those guards, they took a stroll with you?”

  I sigh. “No. They caught up with me, and they weren’t all that happy about my late night walk.”

  “I can’t imagine they were. You fought well. Outnumbered as you were, I am impressed you
took out three guards and a Cerebi in the time it took for us to respond to Oscar’s alarm.”

  I look at Lexa and fidget with the hem of the blanket covering me. “More will come.”

  Lexa puts the needle away, and I realize with a jolt she has sutured my arm, and that I hadn’t even been aware. I glance back at the twisted lump of moss in my hand and cram the rest in my mouth.

  She shifts, so we are facing one another. “Their bodies have been moved and buried far from here. No one will find us.”

  I nod and search for a way to thank the woman in front of me. Words seem oddly insufficient.

  Lexa watches my struggle, and a small smile grows on her face. “You are safe here with the rebels, and you are protected. Now get some rest.”

  I blink at the woman. Did she intend for resting to sound like an order? She places a hand on my shoulder and gently guides me back. The blanket is so warm and the bed so inviting that sleep overcomes me.

  ###

  I fade in and out of consciousness, waking long enough to have a sip of water and drink a few mouthfuls of a purple tea. Always I awake to a different person. A part of me registers I haven’t seen Lexa since our initial encounter.

  I don’t know how long I spend fading in and out of consciousness, but when I wake up for real, I am much better. Groggily I sit up, and brief pain bursts through my leg. Moving aside the blanket I discover my armor has been removed, and I’m only wearing my shorts and a tank top. I recover from the momentary surprise of having fewer clothes on then I had fallen asleep in, and I inspect the wounds I collected during my escape from the compound.

  The cut on my calf has healed well, and the stitches in it look ready to come out. The burn on my thigh is covered in a purple moss and held in place with a tight bandage. I am covered in an array of small, scabbed scratches I had earned from the barbed wire in the compound fence. I’m tender, but I can move around.

  I sit up and peer at the rugged walls surrounding me and note the uneven scrapes and rounded corners. I touch the rough wall, and a tiny amount of dirt comes loose under the pressure of my hand, the little grains falling to the ground without a sound. The room is lit by small glowing crystals pushed into the walls around the space. I inspect the closest crystal, which is about the size of my fist and emits a dim light. I’ve never seen anything like this. How are they powered? It doesn’t look like the kind of electric lights they have in the infirmary of the compound.

  I turn my attention from the wall to find my leather armor on a stone table near the bed and my bag on the floor beside it. I cannot see my weapons. Which to be honest isn’t surprising. I had just appeared out of nowhere, so it’s not unreasonable for them to be unsure of my motives.

  I drop my legs over the beds’ side and get up, groaning as I move. I flex my tender legs, and it takes a few minutes to work a little flexibility into them. Lying in a bed after a long run through a cold cavern is never a good idea. I should have made an effort to stretch.

  I limp over to my armor and pick it up. I turn the familiar leather in my hands. My bracer and my pants have both been cleaned and mended. I pull them on, thankful to whoever had repaired them. The fastenings on my vest have changed from round stones to large canine teeth. I stare at the jacket, trying to figure out where they had come from. I get a flashback of teeth snapping close to my face, and I am reminded of foul breath. I look back at the fastenings and find new meaning there.

  “We found them in your bracer,” comes a voice from the doorway. “It would seem the Cerebi left you a present.”

  I look up from the vest and find the source of the voice. A woman leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed and a smile playing on her lips.

  “Lexa,” I greet. Suddenly unsure of what to say to a stranger who took me into their home, mended my armor, and treated my injuries. I shift awkwardly and hold up my armor. “Do you know who repaired these? I would like to thank them.”

  Lexa nods. “It was Tash who restored your armor. I will take you to her. But first, you must eat, and then perhaps bathe.”

  My stomach rumbles loudly in response to Lexa's comment, almost as if it is trying to prove her point. Sighing at my body’s betrayal, I nod and finish strapping my armor to my body and walk over to Lexa. She leads me out the door, and I berate myself for not thanking her.

  “Lexa,” I say surprising myself.

  Lexa stops in the middle of a busy hall and patiently waits for me to speak.

  “I…what you did…thank you,” I finish lamely. Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing.

  Lexa nods. “No need to mention it, I am sure if our places had been swapped you would have offered me the same courtesy.”

  I agree with her words, but at the same time, knowing what I would have done doesn’t seem like enough.

  I follow her through the labyrinth of underground corridors. The curved roofs are a style I have never encountered before, and the many rooms house small groups of people. The space they share looks bigger than the cell I grew up in. Each entryway is graced with a curtain, which can be pulled across to grant its occupants a measure of privacy. Gems similar to the ones I had seen earlier are pushed into the walls and light the corridor. How did they build a place like this without Darkmor realizing? Surely the dirt from their digging must go somewhere.

  I look at the woman beside me. “Lexa, why do the crystals glow?”

  Lexa raises an eyebrow and gives me a sidelong glance. “They are a special type of crystal, our ancestors were said to possess magical abilities. Some of them could place a portion of their magic into crystals.”

  I know magic is real; had I not seen Darkmor wield it? And my own mother had told me stories of people with magical abilities. But how could something as ordinary as a gem hold power?

  I fiddle with a tooth on my vest. “Our ancestors put their powers into crystals?”

  Lexa looks at me and seems to decide I legitimately don’t know the answer. “Yes, many songs are sung of it, but all of them come with a caution. For there was a man who once poured his magic into crystals and used them to corrupt the minds of people in his quest to control them.”

  “They don’t sound like pleasant tales.”

  Lexa turns another corner. “All types of power are easily corrupted.”

  I can find no argument with her words, and return to watching the people around us interact. People come and leave as they please, and the general atmosphere is of happiness and purpose. These people are different from the ones I grew up with.

  A small blonde girl runs up to her father. “Daddy!”

  The man scoops her up and swings her in a circle. The small girl laughs with delight and wriggles her legs happily. His smile is one of pure joy as he carries her back into a room where a smiling woman greets them with a hug, and together they walk into the room.

  Sudden inspiration strikes me; they want to live. That’s what’s different—these people haven’t given up hope of living. A small smile creeps onto my face as I look at the people in the halls with new eyes.

  The sounds of the happy family fade as we make our way towards a large entryway. The scent of a well-cooked meal fills my senses. Lexa leads me in and reveals a room far more extensive than the one I awoke in. This room holds many long tables and benches. I inspect the closest one and find it’s made of hardened mud. So are the seats.The cooking stove, the serving table, everything is made from packed and hardened soil. Well, that explains what they did with some of the dirt they dug out of the tunnels.

  The people nearest to us eat from trays of food, speaking merrily to their neighbors. It is evident from the dirt on their skin and clothes that some of them have labor-intensive jobs, but still, they laugh and chat with the people beside them. Lexa leads me to a line on the room’s far side where people are handing out trays of food. A smile spreads across my face, and I tap my fingers on the side of my good leg as I wait. Pace by pace we work our way up the line and receive plates of our own.

  People nod and
show great respect to Lexa as she passes and many cast curious lingering gazes at me as I follow behind her. Their looks don’t bother me for too long as my attention is drawn to the tray in my hands. A slice of bread, a thick stew, and a hunk of cheese fills the plate, making my stomach rumble.

  I have never seen so much food all at once, and I struggle not to eat it before I have taken a seat.

  I recall my question from earlier. “Lexa, where am I?”

  Lexa pauses for a moment as she considers her answer. “A place where you are safe. A place where there is still hope.”

  I accept her answer as one for a person she is not sure she can trust yet. We weave our way through the seated people and reach a table, where I happily flop onto a bench. The people around us greet Lexa and spare a glance at me before they return to their meals and conversations.

  I attack my food with vigor, my spoon making quick trips to my mouth before returning to my bowl to collect another load. It had been a long few days, and I hadn’t eaten anything since before my last gladiator match. Even then it had been a small slice of stale bread and water.

  Within minutes I have eaten my entire meal, and I’m using the last of my bread to scrape my plate clean. I inspect the bowl closely, ensuring I have not missed any morsels. It is so clean, it looks like food has never rested upon it.

  Silence draws my attention from my squeaky clean bowl, and I look up to find the entire table staring at me with their mouths open.