Splinter (Trapped Souls Book 1)

by Ricki Delaine

  With his right arm pressed against the muscled throat and gasping against the burn of his injuries, Theron watched its jaws open impossibly wide. Foul breath wafted across his face, choking him with the smell of rot. He didn’t dare turn his face away from those wickedly sharp fangs, too close to clamping down on his throat. Grimly, he vowed that wouldn’t happen before he reached the dagger on his belt.

  Feeling his arm going numb, his fingers finally reached and wrapped around the hilt of his dagger, pulling it free. With a sharp exhale, he almost laughed at the comforting feel of leather in his hand. Flipping the blade over, he stabbed upward, under the protective shell on the monster’s chest. Blood, thick, hot and cloying poured over his hand as he yanked the knife free, pushing against the creature’s suddenly weakening hold. Relief burned through him, so harsh he felt giddy from it.

  It worked, it’s dying. Thank the gods. As it fell back, the moon lit the creature’s face fully and he finally saw its eyes. The sclera seemed to be lightening, from some dark color he couldn’t quite make out, to something more like white, leaving pupils like pinpoints and a gaze widened with shock. Had its eyes been completely black, before? Theron didn’t stop to do more than wonder briefly, because as it dropped, he felt something tear when talons ripped free. He staggered, heaving a few desperate breaths, willing himself not to black out. Not good. Unwittingly, one hand pressed to his side and he yanked it back with a hiss of pain. “Ash,” he called. “Ash!” His voice sounded faint in his ears. Where was his horse?

  The creature in front of him might be dying, but it wasn’t dead yet. Stepping further back out of its reach, he reached down to grab his fallen sword. Those fiendish eyes followed his movements, but they were both moving slower now and slowing. Sheathing the fouled dagger, he held his sword as ready as he was able. He could feel his life steadily dripping from the wound in his side. He had to stop the bleeding. In spite of the pain, he pressed his free hand against the injury, backing up until he almost fell over the roots of a huge tree.

  The monster had stopped moving forward, but he didn’t take his eyes off it. Theron leaned against the comfort of the tree at his back, sliding down the trunk. He was so tired. He’d sit down and rest, just for a moment.

  He could keep an eye on the thing from here.

  ˜ ˜ ˜

  Ria’s breath was coming in tiny gasps as she struggled to keep up with the child running in front of her. She’d been crazy to follow this strange little boy into the woods.

  The foliage had been sparse initially and with the moon being so bright, the young woman was able to keep up with him. As they went deeper into the Emperor’s woods, it grew darker and more treacherous. Now, her curiosity was shifting to anxiety. “Wait!” She called breathlessly.

  The boy either didn’t hear her, or was too intent on their destination. He wasn’t slowing down. Barely conscious she was doing it, she felt her anxiety sweep forward, washing over the child in front of her. Somehow, that caught his attention. Abruptly he stopped, turning to look back. Briefly she wondered if that meant he was sensitive to such things, as she was, or if she’d actually “sent” that mental poke.

  But he was restless, fidgeting where he stood. She didn’t have time to figure it out. “We have to slow down. If I break my leg, I won’t be able to do whatever it is you need.” Gesturing to her bag, she pulled off the small pack and rummaged in it. It was quick work to find the torch and get it lit. It was awkward carrying a light when she needed both hands to scramble through the undergrowth, but it would be ridiculous to kill herself falling over a root.

  As the forest grew darker, anxiety turned to outright fear. She’d never been in this area before. By the time they’d gone through the many twists and turns of overgrown path, she wasn’t sure she would be able to find her way back again. The boy didn’t look back after their quick stop and his initial glance, to make sure she was following, when they started up again.

  If she’d wondered before, she knew now. He wasn’t a normal boy. He moved through the forest with an ethereal grace, his footsteps sure and silent. She’d thought she was experienced in the woods and had always felt comfortable moving in the brush. In comparison to this child, she was a clumsy ox.

  As they ventured further and further into darkness and the village fell further and further behind them, Ria began to doubt the boy truly meant her no harm. If something were to happen, there would be no one to see or hear it. She’d never ventured quite so far, even when she took her increasingly risky and dangerous trips to the palace. As her unease grew, she found herself looking back along the path, wondering if she should turn back now. Wondering what he would do if she did and if she could even find her way back in this pitch. She didn’t doubt that she could best him. He was so small. But just because he was a child, it didn’t mean he couldn’t lead her into a trap.

  And with dark thoughts growing loud in her mind, she stopped, took a step back and turned, hoping she could find her way home. But there was a tug on her sleeve and she looked down into blue eyes muted of their brilliance in the leafy shadows. Her gaze followed a small arm pointing off into the darkness under a tree ahead of them. Her heart nearly stopped.

  A creature lay there. As large as a horse, with black bony unnatural wings spread and seemingly shattered around it. Caught up on the sight before her, she did not notice the boy who’d brought her step quietly back, his form melting into the shadow of the trees around them.

  Dropping her pack, she cautiously approached the … the thing. Its breath shuddering in hesitant gasps, there was an odd fluttering sound near the end of each. Leathery wings shifted when she drew near, and Ria jumped at the sound, like the breathy whistle of a reed. The monster looked at her with eyes almost solid black. Her heart sped up painfully, at the entirely too human expression of stark fear on its face. It was dying.

  The wound was deep and ugly, its belly torn open, dark “blood” (it’s the wrong color, why is it black, it’s not supposed to be black) oozing sluggishly from it. It reeked of blood and dirt and something rotten, like decomposing flesh. One hand over her nose and mouth, she took another step near it, horrified and hesitant. Long, wicked claws looked like they could rend her from throat to stomach.

  She needn’t have worried. It drew another long shuddering breath. One more. Its eyes lost focus and it exhaled, long, hissing and slow. When it finally stopped, it did not draw another. The pained tension left it and it moved no more. Seeing the thing dead and motionless was almost worse. Her stomach turning over heavily, she fought the urge to throw up. Every last bit of her was telling her to turn around and run home. This couldn’t be real. She must be in her bed, still sleeping. She reached out slowly, as if to prove that if she tried to touch it, it wouldn’t be there. Things such as this just didn’t exist.

  “Don’t.” She jerked her hand back, her heart lurching in her chest. Ria looked in the direction of the voice. Her eyes quickly caught a light, barely there, glowing softly. As her eyes focused on it, accustomed now to the darkness of the forest, she could see it was a stone set in a band, around the wrist of a man sitting at the base of a tree.

  It was the Protector, from the palace. He didn’t look like he could protect anyone at the moment.

  “Don’t touch it,” he said, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that she had to strain to hear it. Sitting wasn’t really what he was doing. No, more like leaning, against the tree a short distance away. Seated in its roots, one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee. She realized with a start that she could see him clearly. It was more than her eyes adjusting to the light and more than the glow of that odd stone. The forest was opening up and the light of the moon was leaking through. She could just make out the road beyond the edge of it.

  The man was bleeding. His sword lying near him, the blade smeared with that thick, black blood. One hand was pressed tightly against his right side, where along the edge of his palm she could see the jagged tear of leather. Another gash in the material lay ugly
across his shoulder on that same side. From the ragged breath he took, he was in pain. Forgetting her horror at the dead thing in front of her, she pivoted fully, darting over to him. As she reached him, the strange glow from the band on his wrist faded. She wanted to ask him about it until she saw the true extent of his injuries. He was losing so much blood. “Gods, what happened? What is that thing?” Throwing an absent glance over her shoulder at her bag, she said, “Bring my pack, quickly!”

  The man in front of her frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

  She looked up from her frantic examination of his injuries. “What do you mean? The little boy, right –” Ria frowned, looking for him. He was gone. The forest was still and silent and there was no trace of her silent guide. “He was … didn’t you see him?” She glanced up at the man in front of her, watching her warily. “There was a little boy. He woke me and led me here. But,” she stopped, wondering if she would ever know who that child was. And why had he chosen to bring her, of all people, here to this wounded man?

  At the moment, however, there were more important things to worry about. She shook her head. “I-I guess it doesn’t matter now.” The lady’s Protector was not looking well at all. Why was he here alone? Blood oozed from under his hand. Even by torchlight, he was shockingly pale. Wedging the torch into the tangle of roots next to him, she ran over to her bag and brought it back, rifling through it to pull out the rags she’d brought.

  He watched her silently. She bundled one of the rags quickly and moving to the more grievous injury, nudging his hand aside and pressing the cloth to it. With horrifying quickness the linen was soaked through. Too concerned to be self-conscious about it, she pulled the linen away again and shifting his tunic a bit, gently peeled up the edge of his shirt, hoping to see better where she should put pressure to stop the bleeding. She realized with a shock that the shirt was dark with the man’s blood. Though the dim light washed out the color, there was no mistaking it was his. His shoulder looked bad, but his side was worse and still bleeding too much. How is he not dead already?

  He still hadn’t said anything and when she moved his hand back to hold the rag in place, his grip was so weak it scared her. “Hey.” She said sharply. “Stay awake,” she wasn’t a healer and didn’t know why she was telling him that. It just seemed important somehow, that he stay with her. It felt like if she let him, he might fall asleep. She had a bad feeling that if he did that, he might not wake up. Upending her bag in a clear area near them, she rummaged through what she’d brought. Rags weren’t going to be enough. In her head she cursed the silent boy who’d brought her, he could have prepared her for what she’d be facing. All she had were things for herself. Her mom’s pack was too small for much else.

  She listened to the man’s breathing, worried at the way it seemed to fade a bit on each exhale. Pulling the water skin, she opened it. Scooting closer, she held it to his lips. “Here,” she said softly. “Drink this.” He obliged, heaving a sigh that sounded like relief as the water hit his lips. Ria frowned, thinking desperately. She couldn’t carry him, he was too heavy. He needed a healer, but the nearest one was in the village. There’s no way Ria could make it there and bring the healer back in time. Even if the old biddy believed the young woman enough to come, that woman was old and frail. She’d never make it this far into the forest. No, Ria was on her own. She needed to do something a healer would do. Something she’d seen the healer do.

  This was my mother’s pack. Picking up the bag again, she went to the back pocket. Please, please, let it be there. It was. As her fingers brushed against the soft leather case, her heart leapt and just as quickly started to pound, terrified at the prospect of what she was thinking of doing.

  She pulled out the case, her fingers fumbling at the knotted tie holding it closed. The leather case was actually one long strip of pockets, each holding items for sewing. They were not the simple items you would find in most kits like this. They were ornate and carefully wrought. Ria’s father had given it to her mother. It had cost as much as he earned in a month. This small but beautiful sewing kit had been her mother’s most treasured belonging. Silently, Ria thanked the goddess she had the good fortune to bring this particular bag tonight.

  Not looking at the man beside her, she said, “You are still bleeding badly, my lord.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice. She took a deep breath. “We have to stop it, or you will die.” She looked up then, to find him still watching her with that worrying, dazed expression. She knew in theory how this worked. She had seen the healer do it once, when one of the farmers had tripped on his plow after his ox had spooked during harvest. The hard metal blade had made a horrible gash in his thigh and fixing it hadn’t been pretty. Ria hadn’t stayed to watch after the farmer turned as pale as a ghost, looking as if he might fertilize his own field with his just eaten breakfast. Now, she hoped she understood it enough from that old memory, to do what the healer had done.

  Finally getting the knot undone, the young woman pulled out the strongest thread in the kit and a thin metal needle. Those quiet eyes seemed to understand immediately what she intended. It seemed to wake him from his daze. With a grim expression he reached down, taking a small dagger from its sheath. Setting the leather-bound hilt in his teeth, he bit down on it, nodding. She knew biting that leather would make this easier for him to bear, but it truly brought home what she was about to do.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm the fluttering in her stomach. Using some of the water she’d brought, she cleaned the wound. It was shaky in the beginning. It was still bleeding so much it made it difficult to work. Ultimately, she was working near one-handed, keeping as much pressure on it as possible while she made each stitch. Bit by agonizing bit she did the work, and it did get easier as she went on. The bleeding slowed and finally stopped. But that was little consolation as she looked into his face, his eyes closed in pain as he took slow, controlled breaths.

  It definitely took longer than she’d hoped. She found she couldn’t help apologizing whenever she felt him wince. Finally, she bit her tongue, kept quiet and focused on just getting it done, as quickly as possible. She didn’t think about it until later, but it said something that he managed not to make any sound, except a few pained breaths. The farmer hadn’t done nearly as well, all those years ago. That man had howled and cursed the healer’s existence, as she tended the ungrateful lout.

  It wasn’t until Ria made the final stitch, tied and cut the thread, that she was able to begin to relax. Feeling the tension wash out of the man next to her, she took what felt like the first full breath since she had started that wretched task. Vaguely, she heard him exhale. He tipped his head back against the tree, the faint chime of metal ringing out as he dropped the knife to the ground beside him.

  “Here,” she said quietly. She lifted the water skin again and tipped it, watching his throat work as he took a few swallows. Smiling a little, he reached up, taking it from her and drinking down several deep draughts. Finally, he lowered it again.

  “I didn’t take you for a healer,” he murmured, wiping a palm across his mouth. He watched her clean and put away her mother’s tools, closing up the leather case, tying it carefully and setting it back in the pocket of her bag.

  One side of her mouth turned up. “I’m not.”

  He looked at the work she’d done, his mouth twisting in a grimace. She hoped it wasn’t about how poorly a job she’d done. She’d done her best, she really had and even now her hands were still shaking from the stress of it. A healer would have done better. Would have managed without it hurting so much. Ria told herself she didn’t care what he thought, as long as he wasn’t about to die on her and leave her alone in the middle of the forest. Still, she waited, expecting the harsh and scornful words to come.

  But he said nothing like that. He just made a thoughtful sound, commenting, “You’ve managed to imitate one fairly well.” He shifted gingerly, testing her handiwork. The pain from the sewing job had done a lot to r
ouse him, apparently. His earlier lethargy was gone. Finally, he nodded, seeming pleased. Her eyebrows went up. This man was a mystery she didn’t understand.

  She was happy to not be yelled at, however. Pulling a strip of linen out of her pack, she wrapped it around his torso, binding it as tightly as she could, to keep the stitches from pulling. She secured it firmly with a knot in front.

  Looking at the results, she knew the rough bandage would hold. She just didn’t know if he would. He may be alert, but he still seemed nothing like the man she’d seen that morning.

  “Help me up. I need to get back to the palace.”

  Is he mad? She shook her head. “My lord, you’re in no condition to travel.”

  Putting a hand on the blood spattered ground, he tried to lever up. Ria could see it must hurt horribly, but seeing how she couldn’t really stop him, unwillingly, she reached out to give him a hand up. She almost pulled it back when he snapped at her, “I said not to call me that.”

  She had no other title by which to address the man. Did he mean she wasn’t fit to speak to him? Unable to hide her irritation, she ground out, “What can I call you then?” Her ire was wasted though, as her voice caught on a grunt, helping him to his feet.

  “Theron.” Ria looked up. His eyes caught hers and he repeated, “Call me Theron.” Looking down quickly, the girl hid her shock. He was a noble. If anyone heard her address him that way, they’d cut out her tongue. Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face and he relented, his mouth twisting. “I’m sorry. Call me what you wish.” Again, he was acting exceedingly un-noble-like. Ria was beginning to wonder if the man had hit his head during the fight. It wasn’t important at the moment, however, as the words he’d just spoken were breathless with pain and Ria frowned, catching her lower lip in her teeth. He needed a healer, soon. Her crude efforts were a poor substitute. She said so.