Splinter (Trapped Souls Book 1)

by Ricki Delaine

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. Shaking his head, Mako flicked the reins, urging his horse to the side of the path. With a bitter twist to his lips and a little bow of his head, he finished, “So, lead on, fair lady.”

  Unaccountably feeling guilty at that look (and not liking it), Ria nodded. With what she hoped was an encouraging smile, she told the quiet child, “Go ahead, we’ll follow.”

  He blinked at her, turned and took off at a jog. The horses had no trouble keeping the pace, but as time went on and the boy showed no signs of slowing or stopping, Ria began to worry he would keep going until he injured himself. He must be tiring. She tried to get a better look at him, but it was difficult, with him running slightly ahead. The jarring motion of the horse underneath her wasn’t helping, either her sight or her poor muscles. Bones. Teeth. Gods, when did I ever think these were graceful animals?

  They were led on an odd path, never in a straight line for too long. It was when they struggled across a second stream, with the two of them dismounted and wrestling with the awkward gurney, that Mako noted, “He’s confusing our trail, to make us harder to track.” They paused briefly, only when needed to water the horses. When they finally stopped, it was almost night again.

  “Where is he taking us?” The question came without bluster, just a serious look from the former guard. “I don’t think this is good for him,” jerking his chin at the unconscious man. “I worry he’s lost too much blood.”

  Wanting to snap but sighing instead, Ria said tiredly, “I don’t know. And I worry that too.” She kept her eyes on the lad, his near white hair almost all she could see in the gloom. “But this child brought me to him, when he was hurt last night. I think he’s leading us to a safer place. With luck, a safe place with a healer.”

  Mako’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over that bit of information and he looked over at their guide. He didn’t say anything further.

  The sun was nearly set and the moon showing in an orange and purple sky when the boy paused, seeming to be listening to something. He turned off their current course and led them into the wood. They went some way until they reached a small clearing bordered on one side by a cluster of boulders. He gestured at it and gestured at them.

  The former guard understood immediately. “Camp.” He looked around. “This is okay. It’s defensible, to a degree. As long as one of us keeps watch.” He leaned over, laying a hand on his horse’s neck. The animal was exhausted. Though it had been necessary, it had been hard on the horses to ride for so long. And not just hard on the horses. He glanced at the girl. Much as he’d wanted to hate her still, he had to give her a grudging respect. It isn’t easy to ride as far as they had when you weren’t accustomed to it. She clearly wasn’t, and he’d guess she was in a fair amount of pain. But she hadn’t complained. Not once. “I’ll take first watch,” he said gruffly. “Get some sleep before you fall over.”

  “You’re the one who looks like he’s going to fall over, Master Guardsman.”

  Grudging respect evaporating like steam on a hot rock, he ground out, “Fine then. I’ll just tie you to your horse in the morning. Just be certain not to ride off a cliff or you’ll take your boyfriend down with you.”

  Not hiding his grin, he watched her face turn red as a turnip. She spun away with an angry stomp of her leather-wrapped foot and throwing open one of the saddle bags, she pulled a small wrap out, laying down near the flat face of the boulder at their backs. Eyes daring him to say anything more, she glared at him a moment, before purposefully closing them. He listened until her breath steadied and slowed. Then, settling his back against a convenient log, he faced himself to the forest.

  The night grew rapidly darker, and cooler. Mako found himself getting up every few minutes to move around, stay awake and glance up to see if that weird child was still perched up on the top of the boulders behind them, staring off into the darkness. He was. Even with the occasional cloud, the moon was still bright in the sky. Almost as if the boy could feel his quiet observation, he glanced at Mako, the light reflecting oddly in the child’s eyes, reminding the guard of some kind of animal. Shaking away his unease, he decided it was a trick of the light that made them seem to glow in the moonlight.

  He let the girl sleep until he almost nodded off for the third time. Looking up at the stars, he knew several hours had gone by. He was grudgingly moving toward the girl to wake her, so he could sleep the last couple of hours until dawn, when he looked down and saw that the Mamoru’s eyes were open.

  He kept his mouth shut over the words he wanted to say. They were still in danger. There would be time enough later for the anger he still felt simmering, from the dignity he’d lost at the hands of his man. And the honorable life he’d lost, as a man in service to the Emperor. So he bit back the first words that came to mind. “Mamoru. You’re awake.”

  The man made a sound like agreement and nodded his head slightly. His eyes were roaming the campsite and he looked up at the night sky, frowning. “How long?”

  “Almost two days.” The Mamoru’s eyes moved back to him, taking that information in. “Here,” he said, handing the man a water skin. “We’re heading towards River’s Bend. You need to see a healer and take time to heal. We can’t go anywhere near home right now.” Eyebrows creased. He tried to sit up.

  “Don’t,” despite himself, Mako leaned forward, hand up to stop him. “Mamoru, you’ll be making it worse.” His voice darkened. “I’ll be an outlaw for nothing if you kill yourself now.”

  Dark eyes snapped up and the Mamoru seemed to come to himself. He looked around the campsite again, taking in the girl, lingering on the child and seeming to note everything else before settling once again on the former guard. That earlier suspicion crept back into his expression. “Why are you here?”

  Mako’s expression didn’t change. “What choice did I have?” Bitterness bled into the words, but there was more to it than that and he knew it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain it to himself, let alone anyone else. Everything was all mixed up in his head. All he knew for sure was that his wrists still hurt from the rope he’d been tied with, his shoulders ached from carrying a makeshift gig across rivers and he was tired. Bone tired. He didn’t feel he really needed to explain himself, so as the meager response faded in the night air, he moved over to the girl – reaching out to wake her.

  “Don’t. Don’t wake her. I’ll watch,” the Mamoru paused before continuing. “I’ll call you if there’s trouble.”

  Mako looked at Ria. Her closed eyes were shadowed with dark. Unwillingly, he felt a stab of sympathy. Frustrated with himself for feeling anything for that annoying girl, he nodded shortly. Stepping to the other side of the small fire, the former guard leaned against stone and closed his eyes.

  ˜ ˜ ˜

  The land around her was distorted as she ran, silent and small in the green. She could hear running footsteps. It was the rapid pace of animals, the fleeting sound of claws against stone. A hoarse baying, hounds on the hunt. They were ahead of her, and drawing even further so, running more swiftly than she ever could.

  Somehow knowing where they were headed, she took a short cut, running hard enough that it felt as though her heart would burst. She veered off her path and ran pell-mell through the underbrush, leaping over fallen branches, ducking under overhanging branches, following a path only she could see. Because she knew Eiji Forest better than even the rabbit she came to hunt, when the Emperor’s forest patrol had finished their rounds.

  The short cut did its job, she beat them to their destination. And though the scene was still strangely distorted, she made it to the stream – or what once had been one. Now, it was shockingly dry in the autumn heat, with the barest trickle of water. No fish, only flies, swarming above rotting water lilies and cat-tails, crumpled along the drying stream bed. It was why the villagers were starving. Drought. No crops, no fish. Barely enough water.

  But the running feet and baying hounds had nearly reached her. Too-small hands found handholds in t
he rough bark of a tree and her feet followed easily. When the branches grew thin enough to be dangerous she stopped, looking down. It didn’t seem to shock her, the size of her hands nor the size of her feet.

  It was probably because she was seven years old.

  No –

  She hadn’t been that age for many years.

  Please, not this. Her sleeping mind tried to pull away from the scene unfolding in front of her, but.

  Sounds drew her attention, stopping her from shredding the blanket of sleep that held her. The rustle of leaves, the crackle of dried branches. A man burst from the underbrush, darting out to the edge of the stream. He had a serow slung over his shoulder, limp in death. She felt her mouth water at the sight of the tiny deer, she hadn’t eaten for so long. The man had used the rope he’d trapped it with, to secure his catch to his pack. It was tied with the same hunter’s knot he taught her how to do that summer.

  He had been so proud of her when she’d learned it well.

  Papa.

  No no no. Wake up!!

  The man scrambled frantically over the loose stone, running for the other side of the stream bed. The howling was horribly loud now, so close it made him turn his head, unwise as it was to do so.

  The first ryouken broke through the forest tree line, speeding up over the more solid footing at the water’s edge. The way it moved was unnatural, its gait uneven. Another animal joined the first, and then another. All wickedly fast, too lean and too long in the wrong places, like puzzles put together wrong.

  Their eyes were cruel.

  WAKE UP!!

  With a sound of dismay, the man turned to face them fully and raised his arms, stumbling back. There was no way to outrun them now. He tripped on the loose, water-smoothed rocks …

  “No!!” Ria’s eyes snapped open when she screamed, the cry torn from her throat and thrown into the cold night air as the last few scenes of the dream played out.

  She didn’t feel the tears on her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and hands held in horror over her mouth to keep from screaming again. But she felt arms go around her, warm and soothing, and she turned her face into the heat of that embrace – crying again for the loss of her father, though he’d been gone for years now.

  She reached up to fist her hands in the rough coat of the one that held her, still trying to shake the horror of the dream. The murmur of comforting words against her hair reached her finally, helping to calm her pounding heart. Slowly she came back to herself and opened her eyes. The Protector had moved from his resting place to her side. He was sitting (painfully, she’d guess) next to her, his arms were around her – she was nearly sitting in his lap. Only the rough reminder of the bandage against her arm prevented her from jerking away in a panic and she breathed in a dismayed breath when she realized where she was.

  Mako had been woken from his restless sleep by Ria’s cry. He quickly realized it was the village girl and she’d had yelled out from a dream. Shaking his head, he rolled over to go back to sleep again, his tired mind recognizing he needn’t worry, once he heard the quiet voice of the Mamoru speaking to her. As the guard shifted and turned over, the watchful eyes of their odd guide scanned over them all, seemingly unperturbed by the outburst.

  Theron noted that Mako hadn’t gotten up and there’d been no movement at all from the boy perched on the outcropping above them (was this the boy Ria had mentioned in the forest?), so he assumed they were comfortable where they were. His only concern was Ria at the moment. When the young woman was calmer, her breathing slowed and she blinked away whatever visions had haunted her, he eased back, allowing her to pull away. “You were having a bad dream. You called out.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn’t bring herself to lie. She still felt too raw. “Thank you.” The very corners of her mouth turned up, but it was sad. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It was a bad dream.”

  He looked at her for a moment before carefully saying, “You,” dark eyes met hers briefly and then moved to the fire. “You called out for your father.” There was a question in the statement, but his tone seemed to give her permission to remain silent about it if she wished.

  Theron sat quietly while the young woman decided whether or not to answer him. He watched the fire and waited and tried to forget the desolate look in her eyes when she’d woken up. He knew what that look likely meant.

  In a voice that sounded much younger than she was, Ria responded softly, “Ryouken.” From the corner of her eye she could see his mouth tighten. Staring into the fire, she tried to block out the images that had woken her, knowing it was impossible. She had tried before. She sighed. Feeling numb, she watched Theron lean over to pick up a branch and prod at the dying fire. After stirring it to life, he broke up the branch and laid it across the fire.

  She hadn’t even realized she’d begun to cry until he reached up to brush his thumb across her cheek. He caught her eyes, saying softly, “I’m sorry.”

  He stayed near her until she fell back into an uneasy sleep. Though it took some effort, he got up to walk around the camp. Surprisingly, he felt well, if somewhat shaky. A bit of tenderness in his shoulder, a dull ache in his side. Nothing more. He was too grateful to question it.

  Almost two days unconscious. He shook his head. Using the Strength of the Divine took a lot of energy, your own life’s energy. Or so his brother had been taught. He’d been a witness to that training as well, and Theron now knew it from personal experience. Doing that for the first time, on the heels of injury, blood loss and numerous fights, well. Not the wisest thing to do.

  Necessary, yes, but not wise.

  Looking at the night sky, he could see from the stars that he was far from home. He had no idea where they were and that bothered him. Beyond vague memories of being moved, the sound of rushing water and voices, he had no recollection of the past couple of days. He did not like that at all.

  Listening to the sounds of the night, he went back over what he could remember. The palace. Lynea and the Emperor. Here, his heart lurched and a flash of heat washed through him as he realized again he’d been a fool to serve such evil. Then the incredible escape into the tunnels and the desperate, brave girl beside him.

  Somehow, somehow, he had used the power of the Mamoru to open the seal. Tentatively, he found that quiet place once again. He knew that if he needed it, it would be there. What did that mean? The ceremony had not been real. That ability, the powers of the Mamoru should still reside with Kino.

  At the thought of his adopted father, his heart sank. How would the events of the past days affect the elder man? Theron had gone against the Emperor, no matter how evil the man was. If the Imperial Guard was searching for Theron, they would surely go to Kino’s farm. Theron knew what that meant. The witch’s words, Kitsune’s words came back to him, “The Emperor is not truly evil. He’s following the path he’s been given.”

  What path would lead the Emperor to kill his bride? How was that not evil? He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to stay calm.

  Ria shifted in her blankets, murmuring restlessly in her sleep. Walking over to her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her trembling under his fingers. He didn’t want to know what her sleeping mind was showing her now. This girl should not have to carry such memories.

  It made him feel even worse, now, to know she’d faced the ryouken in the tunnels. Her father had been killed by them. He debated waking her up, but a few moments later she calmed, sighing in her sleep and unconsciously turning her face toward his hand. Satisfied she was not going to wake again, he stood, continuing his circuit of the campsite.

  “Seeing more of the past.” Hadn’t Kitsune said that? He pulled his dagger and absently used it to trim a branch waiting to be thrown in the fire. “More” of the past meant remembering. Exactly what did he need to remember? The jumble of images from the last three days rose up again, worrying at him and pulling his mind away from the puzzle the old witch had given him.

  Fighting pa
st the bone-deep exhaustion that took him after he’d opened the seal, then Mako suddenly being there, inexplicably joining the fray. How exactly they had made their way free of that mess was still painfully, achingly fuzzy. It remained that way for the rest of the evening. No matter how much he focused on it, he was not able to make it clear in his mind, nor could he recall anything more.

  As the sky began to lighten, he gave up. Exhausted, he cleaned his dagger, idly watching the glint of firelight on the metal. His eyes sharpened on it, something tugging at the edge of memory, but there was nothing more.

  Perhaps with more rest and time, it would come to him.

  ˜ ˜ ˜

  It was nearing dawn when there was a knock at the door. The old man was already awake, heating water for his tea and stretching a bit to warm his aching muscles before doing his morning workout.

  The strange hour of the visit had the elder immediately wary. He didn’t open the door right away, instead calling out, “Who’s there,” as he reached quickly for the sword sheathed and resting on a stand nearby. He may no longer actively serve the Emperor and did not expect anything but a long, quiet retirement, but Theron’s visit yesterday had left him on edge.

  And of course, life-long habit was difficult to break.

  He listened to the sound of shuffling feet on his wood-paneled porch. “I bring a message my lord.”

  “From who?”

  “From the palace, my lord.” The old Protector frowned. The voice was young and it made him wonder. The palace was quite far. When he opened the door, he was surprised to find a young boy, no older than Theron when he had come to live with him. A scraggly mop of dark brown hair fell in the boy’s eyes. He wore the typically simple clothing of one of the palace kitchen servants.