Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle)

by Jones, Krystle

  He had seen the half-crazed look in Lianora’s eyes when she felt the necklace, and he knew how much it would upset her to find it gone.

  And how much it will upset my father to learn I have lost it.

  Yet, bound as he was, he was helpless to interfere and watched as the murdel’s bony skeleton fingers drew closer to the jewel.

  No sooner had its fist closed around the crystal did it immediately release it in a yelp of pain. Stumbling away and stupidly falling to the ground, it held its hand up in the air. A few wisps of blue black smoke swirled away from what had once been fingers, now no more than crooked, blistered skin clinging to the bones underneath. On parts of its fingers, the skin had been singed away completely, polka-dotting its raw flesh with spots of white bone. A small breeze blew the scent of charred flesh back to him, and Rowan swallowed back bile, tasting its putrid stench in the back of his throat. The crystal glowed white hot, yet Lianora slept with a half-smile on her peaceful face.

  The other murdels took a few steps backward, whispering to each other, while the injured murdel writhed on the ground in agony, clutching its ruined hand. All the while, the crystal glowed as if warning them to keep their distance or suffer the same fate.

  Slowly, one by one, they approached her, and seeing they could handle her body without burning, they lifted her onto a nearby cart.

  His body slacked. Thank you. Whoever’s listening, thank you.

  Then the back of his skull exploded with pain, and he thought no more.

  CHAPTER 17Veil

  LIAN MOANED SOFTLY.

  One eye opened and then the other, like she was a babe learning to use her eyes for the first time. The blurry darkness she stared at took shape into a glowing canopy of moss and branches joined together like fingers, with small patches of starry heavens. All around them, the red and gold veined leaves of Dreaka’s Forest shone.

  That's right. They had ran into the forest after –

  They. Rowan.

  Shaggy, dark hair tickled her cheek, and with a start she realized Rowan was lying beside her, his face completely lost to sleep. His forehead was crusted over with a brown stickiness that went into his eyes and partially across his nose.

  Her heart trembled. No, he couldn’t be –

  His nostrils flared, and a second later his warm breath caressed her face.

  Relaxing, she closed her eyes.

  She was lying on something soft, and when she turned her head, she saw pale moonlight reflected off a bolt of silk. Small, pointy objects jabbed into her tender back, poking and prodding each time the cart hobbled over a branch or hole. She tried to use her arms to push herself up, but they seemed to have been glued together. Rope scratched against her wrists, which were itchy and raw.

  With a sigh, she lay back down and stared up at the sky.

  She smiled as she stared at the stars, feeling strangely peaceful. She was so relaxed that she didn’t notice when her mind wandered to darker thoughts until it was too late.

  One by one the memories came, like bandits come to steal away her happiness: the gentle yet scorching touch of Gabriel's lips on hers, the feel of her father's corpse beneath her crumpled form, and the destruction on Ursa's face as she sent her out of the room. The memories trickled into her head, driving the light from her soul and filling it with a dark emptiness that crushed down on her chest.

  She gasped for air, suddenly unable to remember how to breathe.

  “Sleep. Grieve,” the dream voice whispered. “Keep your love of them close to your heart, and it will drive away the darkness.”

  A white light chased away the memories, driving them away until there was nothing but a dull ache in her mind.

  She closed her eyes as a single tear slid down her cheek and dreamed of nothing.

  ***

  FOR THE NEXT FEW days, the creatures seemed content to let her ride in the cart while Rowan walked alongside them, hands bound. The creatures never quit looked her in the eyes. Whenever they fed her sparse meals of rock-flavored water and salty meats she had never tasted, they never tarried for long in her presence. She saw the fear in their black eyes and wondered if they reflected the color of her soul.

  The shadow being had remained dormant; the familiar stomachache associated with its presence was even gone. Yet, she couldn’t help but to feel like she was turning into a monster.

  She had said some terrible things to not only Rowan, but Gabriel and Ursa, the two people she cared about the most, these past few days. Now, Gabriel and Ursa were gone for good, for surely if they had somehow managed to escape the fire, the monsters had caught up with them and torn them apart. Had they died thinking she hated them? Did they have half as much regret in their last moments of life as she did now?

  She trembled, feeling more miserable than she had ever felt in her life. What was happening to her? She knew nothing about her birth mother. What if she had been crazy and had passed on the illness to her?

  Another, more irrational, theory lingered at the edge of those thoughts, something that had crossed her mind before. Maybe the teardrop was causing her bizarre fits of rage. She had never lost herself to her darker feelings before it came along, though she would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge they’d been there all along. But the more she thought about it, the more that theory didn’t make any sense. The crystal always made her feel better, driving out the darkness.

  So where were these feelings coming from, this unabandoned rage that pulsed deep within her? It didn’t even feel like her own; it felt like it belonged to someone else, a being stripped of its right to live.

  Part of her wondered whether the feather was responsible for making her feel so conflicted. But when she remembered coming out of that hallucination and not finding a feather there at all, she bounced back to the first theory that her mother was mad all over again. It was a never-ending cycle, her questions and ludicrous answers, chasing each other without finding any solutions.

  Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile. Maybe it was part of becoming an adult, lifting the veil off one’s innocence so as to expose it to the realities of the world.

  They ate twice daily, slept while the sun was high in the sky, and traveled only by the pallor of the moon. She always felt hungry, and during those first days of a reversed sleeping schedule, her stomach rolled and turned in on itself as it tried to digest the food given her.

  Once or twice she had contemplated escape, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately upon realizing she didn’t have a clue where she was and might end up lost for good.

  Dreaka’s Forest was massive, covering nearly half the eastern border of Asilee. Lian had never spent much time in the forest, having only played on its outskirts when she was a small child.

  Though she mostly sat all night and slept all day, she noted strange animals she had never seen before: colorful, two-headed birds that sang with haunting human-like voices; small, furry mice with long tails that allowed them to swing from branch to branch; and insects with glowing wings.

  The colors of the forest also changed as they wound their way deeper into the woods. What started out as pale green leaves with red and gold veins were starting to give way to nearly black trees with blood red leaves, their jagged edges lined with silver. It was funny; the stories never mentioned that. They must be deeper in the woods than she thought, perhaps to some part unexplored by humans. There was something else about the woods, an almost metallic hum that hung on the air. But if it bothered the creatures or Rowan, they never said.

  The more time she spent in the company of the strange, skeletal-like creatures, the more comfortable she became around them. She was sure of it now, that fear was what made the creature charged with her binding keep messing up and nervously rolling its beady glass eyes up at her. The moment it had a sloppy knot, it let go of the rope as if it had scalded it and scurried back to its companions at the front as quickly as it could.

  Laughter rolled off her tongue as she watched it stumble over i
ts awkward feet until she realized with a start she was smiling and abruptly closed her mouth, resuming her solemn facade once more. Why should she have joy when she had been the cause of so much suffering for so many others? Ursa, Gabriel, Ana, her father, Alastor, Rowan... they were all either dead or worse because of her.

  Upon waking, she had asked him what had happened. She was surprised they were still alive. All Rowan had said was that the necklace had saved her, but he had not elaborated. When she had pushed the topic, it only seemed to irritate him so she kept her thoughts to herself. She had her theory, that the crystal was some sort of weapon that could alter a person’s soul, but that didn’t seem quite right. There was something else there, something she couldn’t quite grasp.

  Rowan had spoken very little to her, mostly to ask questions like “Are you all right?” and “How are you?” She wasn’t quite sure how to answer him; she wasn't sure what she felt anymore, if anything at all, and gave only short, vague replies before they both returned to uncomfortable silence.

  On the fifth night – at least she thought it was the fifth night – after building up her courage, she decided to chance a real conversation with Rowan. She had been removed from the cart and now walked beside him with her hands loosely tied at the wrists. She had lost her heels somewhere along the way, and her bare soles were so sore after the first night that she could barely stand to put any pressure on them. When they developed calluses, she no longer noticed the pain.

  She stole a glance at Rowan, who was staring intently off into the darkened trees. “What are you looking at?”

  He didn’t look at her; his attention was on something in the distance, though she couldn’t be sure if he was daydreaming or ignoring her completely since she doubted anyone could see much in that abysmal forest at night. (The blood red leaves apparently did not glow.)

  To her surprise, his eyebrow twitched. “Nothing,” he replied curtly before prying his eyes off of whatever had him transfixed. His jaw was set as he stared at his feet, not saying a word.

  She chewed on her lip. “How are you handling all this?”

  He turned his head slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

  “Nothing really.” She shook her head. “It’s just that so much has happened lately, terrible things, but you still seem to be holding on somehow.”

  Though she couldn’t see his entire face, she knew it hardened. “Sometimes people are so immune to evil that it eventually holds no power over them.”

  She blinked. “That seems a bit harsh,” she said softly.

  “Well, life can be harsh.”

  She faced forward, wondering if she had been right to try to talk to him. After all, they weren’t friends; they were barely acquaintances. They were like light and shadow. Why should he talk to her? He had given her no reason to like him in the past, but a part of her felt compelled to try to make it up to him, for the mess she had gotten them into.

  “I didn’t see you at the dance the other night,” she said, kicking pebbles along the path with her filthy feet.

  He sighed irritably. “I was there.” He returned to staring at the trees.

  She followed his gaze but saw only pitch black. He’s probably trying to avoid conversation, but I will make him talk whether he wants to or not.

  “Did you like it?” she asked.

  His shoulders sank. “What?”

  “I meant, did you enjoy yourself? At the ball?”

  “Enjoy,” he repeated, drawing out the syllables. He chuckled once, harsh and dry. “It was more like being tortured slowly over the course of several hours.”

  She grimaced. “Surely it couldn’t have been all that bad? I thought it was rather fun, at least before the fire choked all the life out of it.” She blinked, and in that instant of darkness, she felt Gabriel's hands twirling her around the crowded dance floor, recalled her loathing at seeing Ursa for the first time after she had kissed Gabriel, remembered how she blushed at the way the beautiful stranger had held her so dearly, and how she had trembled in fear as her father died in her arms. She shook her head, concentrating on locking all of those memories up in a box at the back of her mind where they couldn’t trouble her.

  When she opened her eyes, she caught Rowan giving her a peculiar look. He took a sharp intake of air and immediately broke her gaze. “I don’t enjoy things like parties and balls as you do, my Lady.”

  She decided to not point out the inaccuracy of that statement. “Why do you say that?”

  “I have a hard time talking to people,” he admitted softly, as if it were a crime to say so.

  “You talk to me.”

  He half-smiled. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  She smiled with him, feeling faintly lighthearted for the first time in days.

  Their shoulders bumped as they were lead on by their captors. She still had no idea what they were. “Do you know what those things are?” she whispered, not wanting to draw their attention in case they understood her and became offended. Though they had not harmed her, it didn’t mean they weren’t capable of it.

  “They’re called murdels,” he replied.

  “How do you know?”

  “Didn’t you grow up hearing any of the stories? There are enough tales about the woods to go around.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I believe in such things. I mean, did you know they existed before now?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve seen them before. I’ve seen a lot of strange things, actually. The cottage I grew up in was nestled on the edge of the forest. You can’t help but learn a few things about the woods when you live that close to it.”

  “I see.” She chewed her lip. “What did you say those things were called again?”

  He sighed. “Murdels.”

  “Murdels,” she said slowly, tasting the word on her tongue. “Why do they look so...?” Her question hung in the air, unable to find a word that adequately described how she thought of them.

  “Odd? They live in the mountains, laboring in the caverns digging for saffurite. Their long arms help them reach it, and they have very sensitive ears to navigate through the dark tunnels.”

  “For what? What did you say they were looking for?”

  “Saffurite,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “It’s a valuable blue mineral that can only be found around here.”

  She remembered sneaking a peak under the blanket she often slept on in the cart; beneath it was a bed of sparkling blue rocks. Their beauty made them no less irritating as they poked her in the back day after day.

  “What’s so special about it?” she asked, stepping over a small log just as the tip of her big toe brushed against it. She stumbled a bit but quickly regained her footing.

  He eyed her sidelong, a grin toying with his lips. “You really don’t know much about the world, do you?”

  She blushed. “Of course not,” she snapped. “Being a lady somewhat limits one’s outdoor explorations.”

  “You know, there are these things called books.”

  “Imbecile.”

  He smiled to himself, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “You never answered my question, my Lord, about the saffur-rock.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Saffurite.” He glanced around and leaned in. “Only those who deal in the Dark Exchange know of its hidden properties,” he explained, keeping his voice low.

  She leaned in, nodding.

  “You see, when saffurite is ground up, it forms a powder that can be used in drinks, foods, or even taken directly, though that’s not recommended because the effect isn’t as strong. There’s magic in the mineral that is only unbound when it’s dissolved, which is why most people opt to drink it. Rumor has it can grant longevity.”

  “You mean you will never die?”

  “No, no. Just put off death a bit longer. Something about the powder makes you age slower. At least, that’s how I understand it.”

  She was silent, letting it all sink in. “If this big secret is only known to
people trading illegally, then how do you know so much about it?”

  Again, he ghost-smiled. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am the Black Knight of Accalia,” he said. “I make it my business to know.”

  She gave him a shy smile and was amazed at the sheer pleasure found in such a simple gesture. It felt strange and guilty and wonderful.

  She glanced at him, ducking her head the smallest fraction so that he wouldn’t notice her staring at him. Was this really what it had taken to make them speak cordially to one another, the destruction of so much they both had held dear?

  “What about you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she breathed, her focus returning to his weathered face. She could actually see all of it now; his entire head was facing her.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, narrowing his brown eyes slightly as if it would help him to peer into her mind. “You always seem so lost in your own fantasies.” He turned his head back to the front as the path became more rugged, filled with fallen tree limbs and a milieu of holes burrowed by small animals. The moon poked through the vegetation, casting shadows all around them.

  “I was thinking maybe there are such things as magic and the gods. That maybe there are more to legends than being simple bedtime stories.”

  “You're saying you don't believe in the gods?”

  She considered this. “I think if there were such things as gods, they wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Accalia wouldn’t have suffered so. Those people spent their lives believing in something they couldn't see, and look where it led them.”

  He gestured with his head. “Look around you. Would you have believed in things such as murdels had you not seen them?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well, they clearly exist, even though you never saw them until now.”

  She looked at him. “I know where you're going with this, but it's...”

  “It’s what?”

  She felt him watching her, waiting. Blushing, she took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that they’re dreams, all we have to hold onto. To give us hope, a reason for trying at all.”