Soul Hosts

by Joseph Isaacs

  Chapter 18

  Second Shadow

  It's human nature. We don't acknowledge the world might be about to blow up under us. -Verica

  --

  It was time. Verica gritted her teeth. Turning to wraith form was as comfortable as jumping into an icy lake in winter. A stinging sensation started at her scar and spread across her body. Within a heartbeat, her body numbed, and the pain faded.

  “The things I do for Jazlyn,” Verica thought. “Peel off my skin. Rush into labs. Spy on kings.”

  “Why do you profess to do it for Jazlyn when we both know your true motivation is curiosity?” Lukor, the wraith who resided inside of her, asked.

  Verica grumbled. Jazlyn was lucky. Asgaroth only tore bones, he wasn’t a know-it-all wraith who called her on every half-truth.

  Her apartment was empty, as her father and his assistant had traveled to Kaldia for a Healer's conclave, which was lucky, as her father hated her turning into wraith form. She’d not been sure she wanted to spy for Jazlyn, but in the end boredom won out. She had raided the pantry, jousted, raided the pantry again, played mumbly ball, and after four more pantry raids had nothing left to do, but to go over and over again in her mind the disconcerting things that she’d learned through Jazlyn and her own inquiries. Nothing added up and that didn’t sit well with her. Lukor was right. She needed to know what the Dracon was up to, though she was fairly sure she wouldn’t like the answer.

  Verica stuck to the edge of the stone corridors, making her way past a cadre of Flickers.

  She entered the off-limits area, where the government of the Red Palace conducted its business: the huge cavernous chamber known as the Court of Flames. The Court was nestled in the windowless center of the Red Palace, beneath the crater of the volcano. On the north side of the room, sat the Burning Throne with a ring of basalt benches surrounding it.

  On the eastern side, beneath an enormous hanging tapestry of the Dragonking, an acolyte in a maroon robe practiced projecting tendrils of fire into the air. Servants with trays of food knocked on chamber doors, delivering salvers of pepper-fried pulled pork and roasted potatoes drizzled with honey for midday meal. Verica had eaten lunch not an hour ago, but the smell of food still made her mouth water. Wraith form always worked up an appetite in her.

  On the southern side, Volkanus's head and wings rose from the deep caldera of boiling lava. Even in his healing bath the dragon looked terrible. His scales had flaked off in large chunks, the skin beneath them was peeling, and cantankerous boils dappled his raw flesh. His eyes were weak and fluttered open only for moments at a time. What would become of the Palace if the dragon died?

  “This whole place could erupt,” Verica thought, “yet everyone stands around complacently, waiting for the dragon to recover.”

  "I must admit, I find this surprising myself," Lukor said. "Why is the palace not evacuated?"

  "The Prophet Crow says when Volkanus dies, he'll be replaced by another," Verica explained.

  "But prophecy is an inexact science. Oftentimes the waters are misread or there are junctures. The Splasher saying goes the future is not written in stone, it's written in water. Wouldn't it be wise to take precautions?"

  "I don't know. It's human nature. We don't acknowledge the world might be about to blow up under us. We just go about our business," Verica thought, maneuvering past another guard station.

  The southern side housed Verica’s destination: the Dracon's office. She passed through a tunnel with obsidian walls flecked with some sparkling mineral. Verica ran her hands over the stone, which proved surprisingly smooth.

  “Two millennia ago, Centuron dug the tunnels with earth magic before the Second Dark War,” Lukor said.

  “I thought Centuron and Dragonking were enemies?”

  “Allies turned enemies, as happened often with these Immortals,” Lukor said. “The Immortals had more time than sense.”

  "Is it true that Centuron trapped the wraiths as well as the Immortals?" Verica asked.

  "Centuron's Order of the Guardian trapped me. That much I can attest to. I cannot say with certainty what happened to most of my brethren, as I was one of the first wraiths to be captured and the histories merely speculate on this.”

  “How were you captured?”

  “I was sent as an envoy to talk to the Immortals. Dragonking ambushed me, killed the host I was linked to, and Centuron's son trapped me in the sarcophagus."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I fail to see how it’s your fault."

  “I just mean I sympathize.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I mean…never mind! Just leave it!”

  The passageway widened as she entered the Royal Chambers, where the highest ranking officials held their offices. She passed Glower mages in white shawls, Lesser Beast Tongues training wolves or hawks, Fire-Whisperers, half a dozen acolytes, and a score of servants and guards. She hugged the walls to avoid crashing into anyone. She’d collided with that orphan boy, Wayden, in the stairwell. If she were to be caught spying on the Dracon, it would mean her life. All it might take is someone turning suddenly and she might crash into them. She stayed close to the walls, as most people tended towards the center of the corridor.

  A honeycomb of doorways dimpled the stone walls, each with a different insignia upon it: an armored fist for defense, a golden coin for the treasury, a wolf for the skywolf kennel, a water droplet for Prophet Crow, and so on. The Dracon's gilded double door stood at the very end of the passage. It was engraved with an emblem of a crowned dragon in front of the sun. Two magic-eaters and a pair of Flickers stood at either side of the entrance, along with the largest of the Royal Companions, Sir Oz Strongfist.

  Some said Strongfist was descended from Ozacs, and Verica would have believed it, if his skin were gray. The muscle-bound Dragon Knight stood near seven-foot tall. He wasn’t as kind as her Org, either. Verica had made the mistake of watching him fight in the Choosing and she still had nightmares of the mess he’d made of his opponent.

  “You sure the Magic-eaters won’t affect me?” Verica thought.

  “Yes. Raylar’s creations interrupt source-derived magic, while wraith form is a biological process-“

  “You’re like my father. The more you explain something the less I understand it.”

  Fire-Whisperer Dade strode down the corridor and shoved a parchment with a codex seal into Strongfist's gauntleted hands. The Dragon Knight glanced at it, grunted, and stepped aside. Verica entered behind Dade, a shadow within his shadow. She moved too quickly and stepped on the back of the Fire-Whisperer's robes. Dade paused midstride, a puzzled expression travelling across his brow.

  “Something wrong, Your Lordship?" Strongfist asked in his deep, booming bass.

  Dade stared right at Verica. Finally, he shrugged. "No, nothing."

  Dade entered the Dracon's chamber. Once inside, Verica ducked into a dark corner, near a tall wooden bookshelf, behind a table where two acolytes were writing on parchments with quills.

  The Dracon's quarter would have been large, but it was crammed with hundreds of ceramic vases, golden armor, vials filled with various liquids, jewel-encrusted skulls, necklaces strung with coins, Kaldian inventions, colorful weaving, furs, and dozens of buxom statuettes. Dozens of cabinets, shelves, and chests lined the room. It looked like her father’s lab, packed with a thousand curiosities.

  Paintings of deceased Dracons hung from the wall as well as a painting of Niar hanging right above the tyrant. The Dracon resembled a heroic leader in the painting, arm extended in the air. The real Dracon looked more like a bureaucrat behind a desk covered with stacks of parchments, bottles of ink, and codex seals, dictating to two scribes.

  His Fire-Whisperer veil was off, and Verica saw his true face. He had sallow eyes and a crooked nose, red hair and blue eyes. She’d expected devil's features, but he bore a disappointingly plain countenance.

  Dade handed one of the acolytes the scroll. "Your Majesty
, the acolyte was indeed embezzling. We've accounted for every coin he's taken and it adds up to five hundred and forty."

  “You said there are nine thousand gold-bones unaccounted for?"

  "Indeed there are. And I know exactly who took them."

  "Who?"

  "You did, Your Highness.”

  The Dracon let out a laugh. “Impressive, Dade. You’re both smarter and more foolish than I thought. I command you not to speak of the money to anyone."

  "Then help me understand why, Sire.”

  "You over-estimate your importance." The Dracon refastened his veil. “The allocation of those resources is classified.”

  “As Treasurer of the Court of Flames, how can I balance the budget, without knowing where our treasury went?"

  "How can I be expected to govern a country without secrecy?"

  The argument had seemed promising at first, but soon became boring. The arguments went round and round, until even Verica's foot fell asleep. After a long notch, the Dracon dismissed Dade, who left mumbling to himself. His extra shadow did not follow him, but stayed in the dark corner of the Dracon's office.

  It was harder to be quiet than Verica would have guessed. She let out a stifled sneeze, at the exact moment Oz Strongfist announced, "Beast Tongue, Belza, daughter of Baltoo, Dragon Keeper, and Mistress of wolves!"

  Belza pulled up a chair across from the Dracon, her shock of red hair, swaying like a burning bush. "Your Majesty, the chase for the dragon is on. A message from Ko’s camp claims that the dragon has been spotted. The Beast Tongue and Swiftrider are in pursuit."

  Verica perked up at this. “I thought Volkanus was the last of his kind.”

  “Clutches of dragon eggs are laid as deep underground as the dragon can hide them,” Lukor said, “Sometimes they do not hatch for hundreds of years and then, without warning, they do.”

  Belza handed a parchment to the Dracon. "Sky Raiders are in the vicinity as well.”

  “Ozac’s eyeballs. We have to hope Gar doesn’t get to the dragon first then. We will delay the prisoner transport a day later, have the skywolves ready to depart two days prior to Three Moon’s Night."

  Belza nodded.

  “Very well, dismissed,” the Dracon said.

  Jazlyn always said Verica didn't understand emotions well, being part wraith. Well, she was pretty sure she knew what she was feeling now. Her toes were tapping and her leg had fallen asleep. Her shadow form was starting to wane, and she’d yet to hear anything related to Jazlyn or her mother. She knew exactly what she was feeling right now.

  She was hungry. She needed a lemon biscuit.

  She was about to give up her surveillance when Oz announced, "Prophet Crow."

  "Enter," the Dracon said. "Finally. What took you?"

  Verica wondered the same thing herself.

  "I apologize for my lateness," Crow answered.

  The Dracon dismissed the two acolytes. When the door closed behind them, the Dracon turned to Crow. “So the two children host Arth and Kolram? It's confirmed?”

  “The pigeon came in from Ko a few moments ago. It’s confirmed.” Crow unfastened his black cloak, but despite the warmth in the room, he left his bird's mask on. "Are you sure this is wise, to risk them on this venture with the dragon? If they die, or their return is delayed till past Three Moons’ Night, you are denied three powerful magi.”

  The Dracon paced the room, almost crashing into Verica. “It's of the utmost importance we acquire this dragon. Volkanus is dying." The Dracon briefed Crow on what Belza had told him. “Crow you might be too young to remember how bad things were under Dracon Coralis. The man almost brought Helos to ruins. Our military was weak, our coffers bankrupt…I swore to myself if I were accepted for the Great Choosing, I would run things differently. I would make sure the Drakondim was as powerful as possible. And that’s what I will do no matter what the cost.”

  "I see." Crow stepped in front of the door. Verica's power was beginning to wane, but the bird-masked prophet was blocking the exit.

  Verica's chest tightened. "I'm going to get caught.”

  "Not necessarily," thought Lukor, "Perhaps you'll be lucky and the dragon will die and the volcano will blow up first."

  "I should never have explained sarcasm to you.”

  Crow stroked his beak. “I saw nothing in the water about you having a new dragon.”

  "The water doesn't tell all though, does it? What about Dakarth? Do our sources in the Bone Palace have any word for us?"

  "Dakarth's simply planning on freeing his father. He doesn't want his advisors to jeopardize it with any tricks or subterfuge. He is aware you have eyes in the Bone Castle."

  "Free Asgaroth? But he's inside of Jazlyn," Verica thought. "How do they plan to get him out?"

  "Perhaps they have discovered a way of putting Asgaroth's soul into a new body," Lukor said. "Or they have discovered a way of breaking the Guardian field and returning him to his original body."

  The Dracon returned to his cluttered desk, sorting absently through parchments. "Very well then. Dismissed."

  Crow bowed and departed, unaware he was followed by a second shadow.

  --

  The Draconess and Jazlyn stood beneath the gaze of a tall Flicker with a silver mustachios. Next to him was a short Flicker, with traces of greasy-black hair still growing upon a balding egg-shaped head. The tall one’s chain mesh draped like a tent across his skinny frame and the short one's was tight upon his bulging stomach, giving the impression that he was attempting to smuggle a melon beneath his mail. A magic-eater slithered nearby. The horrid creatures always gave Jazlyn ghastly nightmares. She could feel Asgaroth's telekinetic powers being drained by it. Which was a shame, since she felt an urge to tear the bones out of these guards.

  The Draconess appeared to feel the same way. "I’m the Draconess! What do you mean I can't enter?

  "It means you can't come in, Your Majesty," said the short Flicker, pronouncing each word slowly. “Enter is a fancy word for come in.”

  The tall Flicker smacked the back of the short guard's head. "I apologize for my companion's impertinence, Your Majesty. I'm afraid in essence he is correct, however. We must allow no one entrance to the Plague Room by strict order of your lord husband, His Royal Highness the Dracon Niar, leader of Helos-“

  “Yes thank you, I know who my husband is.”

  But the guard went on unperturbed. “-Son of Terok, First Seat on the Temple of the Third Moon, and first seat upon the Court of Flames, may his ember burn ever luminescent."

  “May an ember be forever shoved up his posterior,” Jazlyn thought.

  "That can be arranged," Asgaroth said.

  “If you want to tear his bones out, I’m all for it.”

  “Just bring me to him and get rid of the magic-eaters. I’ll do the rest.”

  The offer wasn’t without its temptations, but Jazlyn felt her future lay elsewhere than patricide.

  It was infuriating that this wasn’t working. She’d tried earlier to gain entrance into the Plague Room, had been turned away, so Jazlyn had dropped a hint to the Draconess that it would be charitable to visit the sick. How could she have predicted that the guards would have the audacity to entrance to the most powerful woman in Helos?

  However, discovering that the level of security was so high was a type of information as well. It was a confirmation that the Plague Room was not a Plague Room. Doblin had suddenly come down with the plague and was quarantined, yet he’d seemed perfectly healthy. Ravenna's parents had been in perfect health when they were seized. According to Verica, her father had offered to look at the Plague victims, but had been turned away, as other healers were handling the situation. There was no doubt that Ravenna was correct. The Plague Room was nothing but an excuse of the Dracon to gather the authorized magi.

  The Draconess glared at the guards. "I am the Draconess, the highest ranking woman in the Drakindom. I demand you allow me entrance."

  "It's called the Pl
ague Room," said the short Flicker. “It just might be because people have the plague in there.”

  The tall guard shook his head apologetically. "What my ill-mannered compatriot is attempting to articulate in his crude, low-brow fashion is that the disease in question is of a highly contagious nature and might pose a threat to her majesty’s delicate constitution."

  His translation is harder to understand than the original, Jazlyn mused. He thinks it more mannerly to say no with larger words.

  "A servant bearing food go left a moment ago. He appeared to be quite alive and well upon his exit," the Draconess said. "As a Descendant of an Immortal, I have never caught a contagion in all my years. I am the daughter of Kero, granddaughter of Borleat, great-grand daughter of Dragonking."

  The short guard rubbed his nose. "Yeah, well they can't come in either."

  The tall guard rolled his eyes at his companion. "I am most sorry for my partner’s manner, Your Majesty. His heritage is not as noble as your own. He is the son of a washer woman, who was daughter of a gambler, and grandson to a whore.”

  The short guard raised an eyebrow. “You forgot great-grandson of a boiled pig and brother to a chamber pot. Those are allowed in, by the way.”

  The tall guard ignored his companion. “His breeding leaves much to be desired, but alas, in essence, his summation is correct. You may not enter."

  "Can we just peek in?" Jazlyn asked.

  The tall guard bent down on a knee, eye to eye with Jazlyn. He took her hand, and looked at her so tenderly that for half a moment Jazlyn thought he might be preparing to propose. "My dear, I am afraid our orders were quite explicit. No one may, as you say, 'peek'."

  "Trust me, there ain't much to see in there. Just a bunch of old people sitting around looking depressed," the short Flicker said, picking at something in his ear.

  "So no one in there with …say…an actual plague?" Jazlyn asked, backing away from a magic-eater that slithered up to the hem of her dress.

  "As for that I couldn't say," the short Flicker said, catching Jazlyn’s eye meaningfully. "They seem well enough to me, but what do I know? I’m the great grandson of a mangy stray cat and the half-brother to a dung beetle. Hex me, I can’t even tell the difference between a plague room and a dungeon."