Scavenger of Souls

by Joshua David Bellin

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said. “Is there a right way?”

  She smiled without humor. Then she nodded toward the building across the square, and with the rifle held relaxed at her waist, she walked me past the cage. The Skaldi raised itself a few inches from the ground as we strode by, and I felt the hairs on my neck prickle as its blank face swung to follow us toward the building.

  As with the infirmary, the door had no knob or handle, but it slid to the side when Mercy punched a code into the adjacent keypad. We entered a room brightly lit by long glowing tubes that hung overhead, emitting a harsh white glow. They hummed like everything else in the compound. Two guards stood by a single door in the empty room. Like the guards at the gate and the infirmary, both of them seemed to be about my or Mercy’s age.

  “What the hell is this?” one demanded.

  “I’m bringing him to Udain.”

  The guard shook his head. “Goddamn it, Mercy. You can’t just disappear for a week then barge into the commander’s office dragging one of Athan’s rejects. I don’t care who you are.”

  “This one’s different,” she said. “He . . .” She took a deep breath. “I think he might be one of Laman’s.”

  The guard reacted with astonishment, but it couldn’t have been greater than mine. I remembered Aleka telling me that Laman had steered clear of the place Mercy called the impact zone, but I couldn’t believe he would have kept a safe haven like this secret if he had known about it. I had no chance to ask, because the head guard marched the two of us to a pair of metal chairs and told us to sit, his companion keeping watch.

  “Wait here,” the guard said. “I’ll talk to Udain.”

  He pressed a button and spoke into one of the wire-mesh circles, then leaned close to listen to the reply. All I heard was a staticky rumble. It took a while, but eventually the interior door slid open and the guard entered. I sat beside Mercy and tried to ignore the other guard, who stared at me as if I was a ghost. Once or twice he opened his mouth as if to say something, but Mercy cut him off with a glare. In the absence of other sound, the buzzing lights made me feel like the bones of my skull were vibrating, and I was about to talk just to break the monotone when the door finally reopened and the guard signaled us to enter.

  “He’s in a pissy mood,” he whispered to Mercy.

  “Him and me both,” she said, before elbowing me through the door.

  The interior room was as bright and empty as the one we’d left, except for a long table at which a man sat. He rose from his chair when we entered, and my first thought was that Mercy had tricked me and led me back to Archangel. The man stood over seven feet tall, the muscles of his chest and arms evident through his immaculate uniform. But he was much older than Asunder’s lieutenant, with pure white hair falling in twin braids down his uniform front and a long white beard to match. When we approached, I saw how lined his face was, but I also saw no marks of frailty in his dark eyes, strong brow, and hooked nose. His entire body radiated strength and power, and even before he spoke I sensed this was someone used to having his word obeyed, someone who wouldn’t take kindly to deviations from the plan.

  Then he did speak, confirming my hunch. “I should throw both of you in the cage,” he said, his gravelly voice low and menacing. “Maybe that’s what it would take for you to follow my orders.”

  To my surprise, Mercy replied in a firm voice. “You want to get rid of me, go ahead. But I’m thinking that might not be such a great idea right now.”

  “Mercy,” he sighed. “Are you intent on forcing me to make an example of you?”

  She shrugged. I couldn’t tell if this was a show of bravado or if she really didn’t care what this titan did to her.

  “You’ve been AWOL for a week,” Udain continued. “More than enough time for me to decide to lock the gate and leave you to your own devices.”

  “You didn’t, though,” she said, and again I noticed her rubbing the biceps of her left arm.

  “I was sorely tempted.”

  “But you didn’t,” she repeated. “Why can’t you let me go, Udain?”

  He said nothing, and she sidled closer to him, looking into his face without fear. If this was a show, it was a convincing one.

  “You knew I was out there,” she said. “And you knew what I was up to. You could have come to get me anytime you wanted. But you didn’t do that either. Why is that, Udain?”

  His eyes flashed, and he lifted a strong, lined hand. A metal cuff on his wrist caught the room’s icy light. Mercy faced him squarely, while he stared at her as if she was an impossible child he’d never managed to reform. Her face lit again with the humorless smile.

  “So here I am,” she said. “And I brought you a present. The question is, are you going to open it?”

  He shook his head. “One more of Athan’s primitives wandering the impact zone means nothing.”

  “I told Ramos, this one’s different. He’s—”

  Udain silenced her with a hand. Circling the table, he stood before us, seeming to fill the room. His eyes were as dark as hers, and I saw nothing in their inspection to give me hope.

  “So this is the boy,” he said to her, his eyes remaining on me, “you claim is one of Laman’s.”

  Mercy nodded.

  “And I should take a chance on your word alone,” he said. “I should let this jackal loose in my camp, and allow him to work his will on my troops. Is that what you’re advising?”

  She said nothing.

  “Laman’s people are gone,” Udain said, turning from us. “Lost to time and memory. Take this filth to the cage, and let him meet his god that way.”

  “They’re not gone!” I burst out. “Not all of us. If you won’t listen to her, maybe you’ll listen to me.”

  Udain paused. I saw the tension in his broad back, and I was afraid he was about to level me, but I kept going.

  “Laman’s dead,” I said. “I’m his—I was his—I was with him when he died. He gave me his name. I’m Querry Genn.”

  Udain half turned, showing me his profile. “You saw him die?”

  I nodded. “In a battle with the Skaldi. We destroyed their nest, but he died the next day. There are only”—Soon’s and Wali’s faces flashed before my eyes—“fourteen of us left. We were captured by Asunder’s—by Athan’s colony. Our commander, Aleka—”

  At the mention of her name Udain turned fully to face me. “You’ve seen Aleka? Where is she?”

  “She was wounded in the ambush,” I said, too surprised by everything that had happened in the past hour to register additional surprise that he knew her name.

  Udain turned to Mercy. “You knew about this?”

  “I had no idea who she was,” she said, sounding defensive for the first time.

  “Take me to her,” Udain growled.

  “No point,” Mercy said. “She’s a mess, and it looks like Athan got her with the staff. That woman’s not talking to anyone anytime soon.”

  Udain paced to the door as if he was about to go check for himself. Then he turned back to me. “I have little patience with those I suspect of sharing Athan’s philosophy,” he said. “So speak fast. What do you want from us?”

  “I need help,” I said. “The rest of my colony is gone. Stolen by . . . Athan. He’s killed two of us already, and he’s taken . . .” My last glimpse of Nessa, carried away in bonds by Archangel, returned to me. “If you won’t help me, then send me away. Just don’t keep me here. I’m running out of time. I’ve got to find someone. . . .”

  “There is no one,” Udain said, yet his voice had lost some of its edge. He sounded weary, spent and old. “No one with the strength to raise a force against Athan. All of the colonies north and east of the impact zone have been raided by him, and too few are left to contest him in his stronghold. Those who try are slain by—”

  “The Scavenger of Souls,” I said.

  For the first time since I’d entered the room, Udain looked rattled. “The Scavenger of Souls is a myth,�
�� he said. “Or a hallucination, induced by the power of Athan’s staff. But his warriors are very real, and those who enter his domain don’t return. They’re either found dead on his altar or disappear altogether, and the hunters”—he nodded at Mercy—“always return empty-handed.”

  “I didn’t exactly come empty-handed,” Mercy mumbled, sounding very much like a petulant child.

  Udain raised an eyebrow, but ignored her. “The canyon is impregnable. Ever since we installed our hostage, there”—he tossed his head, presumably in the direction of the caged Skaldi—“few of his disciples have been foolish enough to assail us. But we’re always watchful for new modes of attack”—his dark eyes settled on me—“and we’re not inclined to be merciful to wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

  The room fell silent, except for the buzzing lights. A feeling built in my chest, a feeling of nervousness or dread mingled with determination. If Aleka had been awake, she might have been able to vouch for me, but that wasn’t an option. I knew I would have to prove my innocence another way. I just wasn’t sure I would survive the trial.

  “Athan’s followers,” I said. “You feed them to that creature out there.”

  Udain nodded. “When we can catch them.”

  “But I’m not one of his followers,” I said. “And I can prove it.”

  Udain and Mercy exchanged glances. “How?” he said.

  I took a step until I stood directly in front of him. I had to crane my neck to meet his black eyes, but when I did, I saw something there I hadn’t expected to see. Something hidden, buried beneath the strength and certainty. Something that looked an awful lot like pain.

  “Take me to the cage,” I said. “And I’ll show you.”

  7

  Udain and Mercy walked me to the cage, followed by a trickle of curious guards.

  The one named Geller was in the lead, a sardonic smile on his pimpled face. Like him, none of the guards had reached adulthood. Given the size of the compound, it struck me how few of them there were.

  Asunder had been busy in Udain’s territory.

  The Skaldi rose on skeletal forearms as we approached, its colorless body a sickly yellow in the camp’s cold light. Its blank face couldn’t show emotion, but whatever senses it possessed to detect the presence of prey set the air prickling between us. I’d survived Skaldi attacks before, the first person anyone knew who’d done so. The first time, the attack had left me without a memory. The second, at their nest, I’d fended off a whole army of the things. Laman believed I had some special power, something born or bred in me, that made me immune to the monsters that threatened everyone else. He had no idea what that power might be, and neither did Tyris. Whether Aleka agreed with them I’d never had a chance to ask. Whether Udain would be impressed enough to trust my word I had no way of knowing.

  Mercy watched me intently. “If this is some kind of macho thing,” she said, “don’t do it on my account.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t.”

  “Then why the dramatics?”

  I didn’t answer her. “It’s going to attack me,” I said. “And it’s going to look like it’s winning. Just . . . don’t do anything. Let it come. It’ll lose power soon enough, and then you can let me out.”

  “Once the beam’s off, you know you’re on your own.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I got that.”

  “So what makes you so cocky?”

  I smiled. “Trade secret.”

  “Your funeral,” she said.

  Udain gestured toward the cage, then tapped a code into the metal cuff around his wrist. The enclosure whined like a motor shutting down, and the yellow light blinked off. He pressed one more button and the cage door released with a hiss. I looked at him before entering, but his expression was nearly as blank as the Skaldi’s. As far as he was concerned, I guess it didn’t matter which way I chose to die.

  The Skaldi’s blunt, empty face swiveled toward me. Its body quivered with anticipation. I wondered how long it had gone without a meal. The lips of its scar waved sickeningly, like tongues tasting the air.

  I had a moment to glimpse Mercy edging up to the cage, then the creature threw itself across the space between us and crashed into my arms.

  And I was back at the nest, and nothing had changed.

  Pain. Gut-wrenching pain. My insides twisting, my head a fog. Claws raking me, the scar peeling back to reveal the emptiness inside.

  Deep within me, something responded to that emptiness, something tore loose. Something was dragged free. Something was no longer mine.

  Something.

  My name. My life. My past.

  Something.

  It drifted upward, catching briefly in my throat, then exiting my mouth like a spent breath. It hovered in the air between us.

  The creature’s scar opened fully, and I saw an endless emptiness before me, a black pit far deeper and darker than its physical shape could hold. I clutched at the thing that had come loose from my insides—my memory, my life—but I couldn’t hold on. It was dragged inexorably toward the pit, and I was dragged with it.

  I was no longer I. I was it.

  I was lost.

  A voice. “Querry!”

  A bright light.

  The thing tugged. Pulled. Tore. Won.

  A blurred shape moved against the brightness.

  Then the light and the sound and the feeling died, and black night replaced them all.

  I came to in a pure white room, staring up at banks of buzzing lights. My head throbbed, my throat ached like I’d been screaming for hours. I felt emptied. I knew my name, and that was about all I knew. But that was something, that and the sound of my heart beating again in my ears.

  “What a damn fool thing to do,” a voice rumbled above me, and I lifted my head to see the old man. For a moment I blanked, but then I remembered his name.

  Udain.

  He sat in a chair by my bed—I was lying in a bed, its sheets stiff and clean—and seeing him there brought back other pieces of the past. The Skaldi. The cage. The interrogation room. Mercy. The altar.

  Wali. Nessa. Aleka. Soon.

  Everything.

  The past seven months were still there, intact. The time before, though, remained gone.

  I tried to rise, but he laid a hand on my chest, and I found I didn’t have the strength to resist.

  “Steady,” he said. “That little performance nearly got you killed.”

  “What happened?”

  “Mercy brought you out. Against my orders, I might add.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “It never laid a hand on her. Which is more than I can promise, if I ever catch her pulling a stunt like that again.” His mustache lifted in what might have been a smile. “I will say this for her, though. She’s almost managed to convince me you are what you claim to be. Or at least, that you’re not one of Athan’s infernal raiders.”

  “I guess I owe her for that, too,” I said. “Where is she?”

  “On duty. Or serving time, as she might put it. She seems to favor those old-world expressions, for some reason.”

  I watched his eyes, intense and black yet lit with affection for the girl who did nothing but torment him. I remembered her eyes, black as his. With the stark difference in their skin—hers brown, his pale—I hadn’t noticed the resemblance before, but I saw it now.

  “She’s your granddaughter.”

  He nodded. “The only one left.”

  “And Laman?”

  “My son,” he said. “Mercy’s uncle. Born three years before the wars of destruction. His brother Athan came after, with no memory of the time before. It may explain why they saw the future so differently. Why they followed such different paths.”

  I sat, the room spinning for a moment until his hand gripped my arm. I saw that they’d had the decency to clothe me in a new uniform, spotless and as crisp as the sheets. A few deep breaths restored my balance, and he let me go.

  “My field is engineering,”
he said. “Nuclear engineering. I worked for the government, taught at the university level. That might not mean much to you. It meant nothing to Laman.”

  “He didn’t think much of engineers,” I said delicately.

  “What you mean is that he blamed us for the world’s destruction,” Udain said. “Saw us as the enemy. We had built the bombs. We had poisoned the land. We had hidden the truth from the people until it was too late. And then, after it happened, we were the ones who profited from the wreckage of the old world.”

  He spoke with bitterness, but I couldn’t tell if it was directed at his lost son or himself.

  “What he could never stomach was that we were also the ones who organized the survival colonies. We were the ones who perceived the seriousness of the Skaldi threat and who saw the need for new, more flexible forms of organization to meet it. Not the politicians, who were too busy scrambling for the few scraps of power that remained. Not the so-called common man, who was too terrified to crawl out of whatever bombed-out hole he was hiding in. Not the preachers, screaming of doomsday and urging the race to give in to despair. It was us. We were the ones who saved humanity. And our thanks for it . . .”

  His voice had grown angry as he talked, but now it trailed off, and he shook his head. I got the feeling he’d delivered the same speech many times before. And that Laman had tuned him out more and more each time he delivered it.

  “I was at the forefront of the movement to gather the ones who remained,” he continued after a pause. “The experts, the leaders in their fields. Everyone from geneticists to metallurgists to astrophysicists, I wanted them. There were so few of us left, and we were scattered and unable to communicate. But mobile companies of a hundred or fewer, I believed, could best scour the ruins while evading the Skaldi. The survival colonies arose out of that.”

  “As search-and-rescue teams.”

  “We called them RUs,” he said. “Recovery Units. Eventually they became somewhat more, living communities, a new system of social order. As much as you can call this living. Or order.” He laughed, a deeper version of his granddaughter’s humorless sniff. “But from the start my objective was to defeat the Skaldi, not elude them. To use our collective willpower to reclaim this planet from the ones who stole it from us.”