Council of Souls

by Jen Printy

  “Of course not,” Leah says. “Help me save him. Please.”

  “I cannot.” He draws in a deep breath and straightens.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Leah asks.

  Artagan gives her a long, assessing look. “I’m here to assist, but in the end, this gathering is your responsibility, lassie.”

  “Don’t call me that!” she shrieks.

  Artagan glances away for a moment then nods. “I understand you’re angry. This is an unfair burden to carry, but the consequences will be dire if you refuse,” he says, the emphasis on each syllable cold and mechanical.

  “I don’t care about myself if it means sacrificing him,” Leah says, and her rigid posture slackens. “You helped Jack save me. Please help me. I’m begging you.” Her voice breaks.

  “You were different—a soul immortal—something your brother is not,” he says, clinching the argument. “There is nothing any of us can do to save him.”

  I feel breathless, as though someone has punched me hard in the gut. But somehow with great effort, I keep my breathing steady. “You can’t mean Death expects Leah to gather her brother.”

  “I do, and he does,” Artagan confirms.

  I tighten my arms around Leah and pull in a long breath to regain my crumbling composure.

  “Then what was any of this for!” Leah wrenches away, her hand clawing at her necklace. “Death… he said… if I behaved, played by the rules, he wouldn’t touch my family. He would allow them to die of old age.”

  “Death seldom makes deals he gains nothing from,” Artagan says.

  “Y-You said the same thing! Gave me this damned necklace to remind me! But that was all bullshit too, wasn’t it?” The delicate chain snaps as she rips the locket from her neck. She throws it, barely missing Artagan’s head. The necklace hits the opposite wall and clatters to the floor.

  Artagan stares at her. His expression teeters between defeat and remorse. He closes his eyes, dragging in a deep breath through his nose. When they open again, the defeat has vanished, leaving only a note of regret. “I am sorry,” he says. Then, unlatching the door, Artagan steps out into the darkened corridor and closes it behind him.

  I stand, still in shock, cradling Leah’s trembling body in my arms.

  “Liar! Liar!” she screams at the door before her words splinter into uncontrollable sobs.

  “Shhh, love,” I say, stroking her hair. Her legs give out. With her secure in my arms, I guide her to the floor. Waves of helplessness and anger crash over me. I want so much to make her a vow to find an escape from this darkest night, pledge to save Grady. Instead, I do the only thing I can. I hold her and mourn along with her, her frail body shaking against me.

  I’m unsure how much time has passed when the door creaks, and I glance up. Kemisi slips into the room, a steaming mug cupped in her hands.

  “Leah, this will help calm you, help you sleep. Artagan sent it,” she adds, kneeling in front of us.

  I take the cup from her and press the rim to Leah’s lips. Without opening her eyes, Leah turns her head away. “Please, just a sip, love,” I breathe into her ear.

  Leah opens her eyes at my voice. She struggles to sit upright and then accepts the mug. Her hand trembles, and I wrap my fingers around hers to help navigate the cup to her mouth. She drinks about half the contents before her eyes close again, and she sags against my chest.

  Kemisi collects the mug and stands. I glance up at her, my brows scrunching together in a deep frown. “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  “That depends on what you want to know.”

  “I’m pretty sure I know the answer already.” Somehow I manage to keep my voice steady. “If Leah refuses to gather her brother, she’ll be forced to face Shadow Death, am I right?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she says, an apprehensive thread woven into her gentle tone.

  I nod mechanically. “Where’s Artagan?”

  “His bedroom, I believe,” Kemisi replies then leaves the room.

  I gather Leah up in my arms, her head lolling against my shoulder, and carry her upstairs to her bedroom. I lie next to her on the bed, listening to the even tempo of her breathing. Only when I’m sure Leah won’t wake anytime soon do I slip out the door and into the silent hallway.

  A strip of light gleaming from beneath Artagan’s bedroom door suggests Kemisi was right, and he’s there. I knock. When I get no answer, I try the knob, and it opens.

  The room is smaller than Leah’s and mine, and far less furnished—a single bed and a matching dresser in the far corner, a writing desk surrounded by stacks of books covering the floor and most of the available flat surfaces. Artagan leans at the desk, chin in his hands, staring at one of his books. His only company is a half-empty bottle of Scotch.

  I step into the room, closing the door behind me. The smell of burnt sage—pungent and sweet—stings my nose and eyes. I watch Artagan for a long moment. He looks as weary as I feel. Shoulders slumped, he sits motionless, engrossed in the pages.

  “Leah can’t take her brother. You know that, right?” I say. Unexpectedly, my tone is authoritative, and my voice collected.

  Artagan startles. Apparently, he hadn’t heard me come in. He turns his head to look at me, but he says nothing, so I continue. “I thought Death didn’t allow council members to gather their own family, after Morrighan and all.”

  “So did I. But it’s an unwritten rule, and Death is a ball-breaker.” His eyes drift in thought. There’s a depth of uncertainty hidden under the confident façade. It’s a look I’ve never seen on his face before. “I suspect Domitilla is involved,” he goes on, rambling as though speaking more to himself than to me. “She’s been complaining I wasn’t aptly punished for what happened to Vita. Perhaps Death finally listened to her. But still, there must be more. Maybe with more time—”

  “Taking Grady punishes Leah, not you.”

  One eyebrow rises. “Only Leah? Widen your scope.”

  I frown, my eyes narrowing.

  “I have to admit it’s a brilliant plan. Domitilla believes Leah will never take her brother, and her refusal will send her to Shadow Death. In desolation, Dom assumes you’ll gobble down the hemlock concoction without a second thought. I cannot fault her logic. And with another heir snatched away, only I will be left. And Domitilla will be but one step away from Vita’s ultimate plan.”

  “The line of Brennus demolished. Clever bitch.” I sink onto the corner of his bed. Artagan offers his bottle, and I accept it, almost with reverence. I take a long swill, feeling the warmth trickle down the back of my throat, and then another before handing the bottle back.

  “Justice for Vita. Check. Revenge on me. Check. Two birds, one stone.” Artagan takes another swig. “This whole time, we’ve been so focused on Muan and his brothers that she was able to slip through the cracks. I’d always assumed Vita was both the brawn and brains of the little duo. I was wrong. I hate being wrong.”

  Artagan looks down at the floor, one hand clenched around the neck of the bottle, tight enough to leave his knuckles white. “Still, the question remains—why has Death gone along with this in the first place? What did Domitilla offer him? He must be gaining something substantial, not just Domitilla’s happiness, to risk this level of dissent among his children. I’d love to find out. It might be useful, but I probably never will.”

  “So she’s won,” I sigh.

  “Not quite yet. Since we don’t know Domitilla’s scheme, it’s a gamble for Leah to take her brother. She might be playing right into Domitilla’s hands. That being said, I do have the makings of a plan of my own. Not as foolproof as I’d like, but it is something.”

  I open my mouth to reply but then close it.

  Artagan raises a thick eyebrow, inviting me to continue.

  “What made you change your mind? You told Leah she had no choice.” I take a deep breath, the
sickly-sweet smell stinging my nose again. “Ah, the sage.”

  He nods. “Since I wasn’t sure if my office had been smudged over the last few weeks, I had to play the dutiful son. Understand, even if this plan succeeds and Death lets this cup pass from Leah, it won’t change the fact that another council member will gather her brother. When Death decrees it’s a mortal’s time, no one can amend that decision. If Grady were immortal, even a touch, we’d have something to work with.” His attention drops back to the book. “My sympathies. I know he’s your friend.”

  “Yes, and a good man.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ll tell you, but your only job is Leah. That’s it. It’s your turn to keep her from doing anything stupid, while I try to pull magic out of my arse.”

  The internal debate between defiance and agreement must show on my face because he leans forward, pointing his index finger straight at me. “I’m serious. If this is to work, you must stay out of it. I need to play on the dissent arising in the council. They’d never trust you. Otmar and Kemisi have agreed to help. The members are nervous and on edge. They don’t know what Leah will decide, and they’ll fear this could turn out the way things did with Morrighan.”

  “Could she? Could Leah become the next Morrighan or Vita’s clone by gathering her brother?”

  “It’s a valid concern, and we can use this to our advantage. If we can stoke the fire and make it grow, maybe Death will be forced to change his mind and give the assignment to another.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work?” I ask, my voice scarcely audible.

  I see the wheels turning behind his calculating eyes, making the horizontal line along his forehead deepen. “That will depend on what you’re willing to do. You and Leah, that is,” he says, rising from his chair and fastening the top button of his blazer. “But no need to think about that now. Let me see what I can do first. All right?”

  I nod and rub my hands across my face, hoping the action might wipe away my weariness with it. When I look up, Artagan has vanished out the door. I grab his Scotch and take a large mouthful. Then, pushing myself to my feet, I steel my nerves before I return to Leah.

  The soft, steady sound of her gentle breathing fills the room. I crawl into bed next to her. I must nod off because I am jolted awake by Leah thrashing, as if she’s trying to run.

  It’s early morning. A faint pink glow shines on Leah’s face, which is glossy with sweat. Tears roll down her cheeks from under her closed lids. She breathes heavily, with gasping sounds. I grab her by her shoulders, holding her steady. “Leah. Leah, wake up.”

  Her eyes pop open at my voice, her face darkened by haunting images. She attempts to catch her breath as if she has been running for miles.

  “Bad dreams?” I smooth the wet hair back from her face.

  Leah jerks her head away, turning to stare out the window. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll see about more tea, to help you—”

  “For God’s sake, Jack, will you stop trying to fix things? There’s no fixing this,” she snaps.

  I flinch. I open my mouth several times to say something, but each time, I snap it shut, realizing I have no idea what to say. The silence grows awkward, and the mere inches between us feel like miles. At a loss, I swing my legs off the edge of the bed. Propping my elbows on my legs, I lean forward and focus on my hands as they hang between my knees.

  “Jack.” I look back to find Leah sitting up, studying me. A brief grimace of discomfit crosses her face before she speaks again. “I’m sorry. My thoughts and emotions are a jumbled mess right now. The tea won’t help. What I need is time to think.”

  I nod, moving in to hold her again.

  “Alone,” she adds, looking away.

  I sit a moment in a sort of trance, gazing down at the striped grain of the floor. Then with a bob of my head, I leave and go to the solitude of my room.

  The morning sky brightens then thickens with a gray haze. I sit on my bed, staring out the window. Leah’s right. Nothing I can say will take away the pain of the impending loss of her brother. No comforting deeds will strip the burden off her shoulders of what Death expects of her.

  I exhale, trying to relax the tense muscles in my shoulders and neck, and hold tight to the sliver of hope that Artagan may be successful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Over the next few days, I see little of Artagan. I grow impatient for a tidbit of news about how his plan is proceeding because Leah grows more distant with each passing hour, folding further into herself. I wish she would open up and let me comfort her, but it’s as though she has driven a wedge between herself and the entire world, and with every relentless swing of the pendulum, the chasm expands.

  I strive not to take her increasing remoteness personally and concentrate my energy on what little I can do, mainly scouring Artagan’s book collection for the smallest morsel, anything, that might help. But every time Leah recoils from my touch or asks me to leave her alone, that goal becomes more challenging. No matter how I feel about my culpability in this situation, deep down, I know Leah will never blame me. Still, something buried in those green irises scares me.

  With Grady still sick, I haven’t had to face him and pretend all is well, a circumstance I’m selfishly grateful for. I’m not sure I’m capable of that kind of deception. Nausea rolls through me, expanding into a consuming ache, at the thought of my friend.

  I shake off the remorse, not allowing myself to dwell on Grady’s doomed future, and continue up the stairs, carrying a tray of food to Leah’s room—a plate of scrambled eggs and buttered toast and a cup of herbal tea. It’s become my morning ritual over the last few days.

  Halfway up the stairs, Kemisi meets me. “How’s Leah?”

  “More remote,” I say, choosing to leave out the detail that today she has trouble even looking at me.

  She purses her lips and bobs her head. “I’m not one to question my father’s decisions, but this—it’s cruel. I could have never taken Amun. And before now, there was always an unsaid reassurance I’d never have to. We might be Death’s children, but we’re human, too. And that part of us isn’t made for gathering the ones we love,” she says, peering into the shadows. “I’ve talked to Father, asked him to reconsider, and explained to him the mistake he’s repeating. I don’t know if I changed his mind, but I wanted you to know I tried.”

  Hands full, I give her a courteous bow of my head. “Thank you. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.”

  Kemisi smiles and then turns to continue down the staircase, her mess of curls bouncing as she goes. Although I find no real hope in her words, I’m grateful she attempted to change the tide of what’s coming.

  I nudge the bedroom door open with my foot. The room is just as dim as I left it, but to my surprise, Leah has moved. No longer curled in her bed, she sits in a chair by the window, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. However, the room still emanates the same aura I’ve grown accustomed to in recent days. Anguish and anger drip from the ceiling and ooze from the walls.

  “You’re up,” I say, placing the tray on the small table next to her. “I know you told me you weren’t hungry, but you should eat something.”

  Staring out the window, Leah appears not to hear me. Then she stirs and seems to come out of her listlessness. I decide this is a good thing, no matter what the alternative is. Maybe she’ll talk, let out all those pent-up emotions. I move to put a hand on her back, but she pulls away from my touch.

  “I’ve made a decision,” she says. Rising to her feet, she lets the blanket drop from her shoulders onto the seat of the chair and walks to the window. Outside, the sky is overcast. A storm is brewing on the horizon. I step toward her, but she waves me away again, pressing her forehead against the cold pane of the window. She closes her eyes tight, as though she’s attempting to seal herself off
from the outside world.

  “Please, love, you can’t keep shutting me out,” I say, the nervousness raising my voice an octave.

  When Leah opens her eyes, a new fire resides there. She straightens her shoulders, and she faces me with nothing but distance in her expression. Outwardly, she’s composed, but I can see the quickening heartbeat pulsing in the hollow of her throat. She takes in a deep breath before she speaks. “I’ve decided I’m going to take Grady.”

  “What?”

  “I have to,” she says.

  My jaw tenses, but I keep my voice calm, although I want to scream. “I think we should wait. See if Artagan can find a way. If not, well, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” she fires back so fast it startles me.

  I shake my head back and forth, bewildered. “Of course not.”

  “Artagan isn’t out there trying to save my brother. He’s trying to find a way to pass the job to someone else, to keep his family safe. To keep you from doing something reckless. It’s always been about you. Grady will die no matter what. Since I can’t save him, the least I can do for my brother is to make sure his death is painless. Can you imagine what his last hours will be like if Death relents and hands his passing to, let’s say, Domitilla, or worse, Muan? I’ve seen what the Soulless can do. I can’t let Grady’s final hours be like that.”

  I step forward, but she shifts away, reclaiming the distance.

  “Or maybe I’m just tired of fighting,” she says.

  I choke down the lump forming in my throat and try reason again. “But how can taking your brother be an option? Remember what Artagan said it did to Morrighan? We’ll find another way.”

  “That, right there.” She jabs her finger in the air. “Telling me what to do. That stops today.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m just scared that taking your brother could destroy the very essence of who you are. Grady wouldn’t want you to give up every part of yourself for him. I know he wouldn’t.”