Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2)

by Brian Niemeier

  46

  Sulaiman marched from the Kerioth’s gangway to the Serapis’ hangar. His footfalls on the matte grey deck faded before they could echo from the distant walls and ceiling.

  Anticipation of the great work’s end lent haste to his steps. Smith’s workroom on the Night Gen ship was equal to the task. Sulaiman had only to obtain a few necessary materials.

  And resolve the matter of Tefler…

  Sulaiman heard the priest of Thera and the cook debark after him, followed at a distance by Astlin. He spared her a backward glance, saw her smoothing the silk and leather dress created when Smith had swarmed over Hazeroth’s coat, and marveled at her fortitude. The black gown with its long sleeves and hem befit a woman in mourning, and Sulaiman dared not forget giving her fresh cause to grieve.

  “We’re up two ships and minus a Hazeroth,” Tefler said. “Let’s celebrate. Where’s a good place to eat on Keth?”

  “The hour of laughter comes not till the days of sorrow are full,” Sulaiman said.

  Cook glanced at Astlin. She quickly looked away.

  The procession resumed, more somber than before. A chill crept into the already cool air, along with a golden glow that only deepened the shadows.

  Astlin gave a startled cry. Sulaiman turned and saw her staring at the closing hangar door. The narrowing rectangle of daylight framed a dark figure.

  A high cold voice resounded from every dark corner. “Such revels sound passing fair. Shall we sup together?”

  The figure advanced, clad in shimmering robes and a white mask devoid of expression.

  Despite the addition of a red stone brooding at its brow, Sulaiman knew the loathsome porcelain face.

  “Fall back,” he urged the others as his blade ignited.

  The masked figure responded by thrusting its slender arm toward Astlin. She cried out as a wave of sallow light washed over her.

  Centuries of war had honed Sulaiman’s vigilance. He heard rushing footsteps and rounded to see Amargos lunge from behind a metal crate and thrust his grey scimitar at Tefler.

  Sulaiman threw himself between the greycloak and the turncoat, but Amargos loosed golden light whose chill snuffed Sulaiman’s blade. Amargos was prepared; Sulaiman caught off guard, and the blow meant for Tefler struck his rescuer. Three feet of icy steel plunged through Sulaiman’s breast and drove him to his knees.

  A scowl twisted Amargos’ face. “One heathen priest’s as good as another. Now, shall I take your hands, your eyes, or…” The scowl became a grin as Amargos set both hands on his sword’s hilt.

  Sulaiman braced himself for the twist of the blade, but what came instead proved far worse. Indigo light limned the scimitar, freezing the path of the wound. Sulaiman gritted his teeth and refused to cry out—until an even colder emanation traveled down the blade, through his flesh, and into his soul.

  Amargos spoke to his sword. “It’s a shame, my loyal brethren, to spend you on this wretch.” He fixed his dark eyes on Sulaiman. “But this ship has ample raw material for shades.”

  One shade flowed in after another, till Sulaiman felt the line that tethered him to the world harden and fracture.

  The hangar dissolved in white light. The warmth flooding into Sulaiman’s body more than compensated him for the loss of his vision.

  “He IS NOT as good as me!” Tefler said.

  The return of sight showed Tefler standing nearby, the hand that had loosed the Well’s light still outstretched. Amargos staggered back, covering his eyes and groaning with rage.

  Sulaiman tried to stand, but the sword embedded in his chest and the shades that infested his soul kept him on his knees.

  Luckily, help was already charging in.

  “You—” was all Amargos could say before Cook drove a stout fist into the pit of his stomach. The greycloak captain’s breath came in wheezing gulps as he strove to fend off a hail of artful blows.

  “We just want to be left alone,” Cook said, throwing a kick that would have split logs.

  Amargos blocked and answered with a punch that failed to check his foe.

  “If Shaiel wants to tell us how to live,” said Cook, “he should send a better mouthpiece than you!”

  With a wordless cry, Amargos threw his whole body into a punch. Cook turned it aside, grabbed the back of the greycloak’s head, and forced it down as his knee crashed into Amargos’ face. Sulaiman lacked the strength to curb his pleasure when Amargos toppled onto the deck with blood streaming from his mouth.

  Tefler crouched down beside Sulaiman. “You were right about celebration being premature.”

  Sulaiman gestured to the hilt of the scimitar jutting from his chest. “Remove the blade.”

  “I think we’re supposed to leave it in,” Tefler said. “Pulling it out could—”

  Amargos’ wet cackling interrupted. “Mind your elders, apostate! The shades have done their work. Another cut will end him.”

  Sulaiman called down the light of the Well. The darkness in his soul obstructed its flow like grime on a windowpane, but the prana that shone through subdued the shades enough for him to stand.

  “Thank you for the warning,” he said to Amargos, whose bloody mouth gaped. “I shall take care to heed it.”

  “Enough posturing,” Cook told Sulaiman. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

  Sulaiman felt the shades massing against the light. Holding them back would mean channeling prana into his soul more or less constantly; depriving him of his other priestly gifts.

  No matter. I need only endure till the work is done.

  Tefler pointed toward the now shuttered door. “What about them?”

  In his distress, Sulaiman had all but forgotten the two beings that now stood facing each other across the hangar. He supposed his lapse could be forgiven; neither the fire souldancer nor the masked creature retained a full measure of humanity.

  As if confirming his judgment, the masked thing said, “Our congress is unmeet for your ears. Yet take no offense! Here is the sovereign cure for your ills.”

  Whatever foul maw the mask hid spewed forth a yellow-green miasma. The stench of the onrushing torrent burned Sulaiman’s nose. Sweat moistened his hands and brow as he realized the hopelessness of escape.

  Astlin swept her arm upward. A cloud of fire surrounded Sulaiman, Tefler, and Cook. The flames shielded them from the acrid vapor and burned away Sulaiman’s despair.

  Amargos’ screams showed that he lacked the same protection. Sulaiman watched through a red-orange veil as the caustic miasma annihilated the greycloak captain.

  Astlin let the fire subside. “You’re next,” she told the masked thing.

  “No need for threats,” it chided. “And no need for pretense.”

  The golden robe slid to the deck like a discarded snakeskin. In his shock, Sulaiman thought he saw double. The figure under the robe was Astlin’s mirror image, save for its longer hair and shorter dress.

  That is not Vaun Mordechai.

  “Please,” Astlin said, her voice hitching, “no.”

  The creature doffed its hateful mask, revealing a pallid face somewhat older and sharper than Astlin’s. Empty pits darker than hell’s dungeons stared from its head in place of eyes.

  “You don’t bargain with Shaiel’s Will,” it said with less formality but no greater warmth.

  “Who is she?” asked Cook.

  Astlin turned a glaring eye on her friends. “Clear out. Now!”

  “I will not leave you to this creature’s wiles,” said Sulaiman, “not if I judge its nature rightly.”

  The Will of Shaiel smiled. “Got a problem with women?”

  “That shape is but a fair guise for cold rotted filth.”

  “Hello?” Sulaiman heard Zan’s disembodied voice. Judging by Cook and Tefler’s furrowed brows, so did they. “You’re supposed to come to the bridge.”

  “We’re busy!” Tefler spoke below a whisper, but Sulaiman heard him clearly.

  Zan is using the ship’s eyes to lay a s
ending upon us.

  “That thing’s not human,” said Zan. “Only a priest can save us from a kost.”

  The three men exchanged skeptical looks.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Tefler told Zan. “Astlin’s some kind of demigod now. She killed Hazeroth; a kost should be no problem.”

  “It’s too strong for the gold lady,” said Zan. “But prana is stronger than fire.”

  Tefler turned to Cook. “Get Sulaiman some help. I’ll head up to the bridge on the off chance Zan knows what he’s talking about.”

  “Oh,” Zan chimed in again, “Watch out for the greycloaks who escaped from the brig.”

  Cook rolled his eyes. “Thanks, buddy.” He started toward the exit and motioned for Sulaiman to follow. Tefler ran ahead.

  Sulaiman cast a final look at Astlin and left her to face Shaiel’s Will alone.

  “This is more like it,” something cold and ancient said in Neriad’s voice when Astlin’s friends had gone. “We can have a nice family chat—unless you still want to fry me.”

  Numbness sapped Astlin’s will. Seeing Neriad standing pale and eyeless on the deck of a ship docked in a giant tree tempted her to believe that all her years of torment up to that moment had been a freakish nightmare.

  I’m lying in bed, tossing and turning. Any second now the real Neriad will come and wake me up.

  Neriad’s eyebrow arched. “You always space out like that when you’re worried. Feel like sharing?”

  Could it really be Neriad? Astlin hadn’t seen her in decades—except in the illusion she’d made for…

  Xander. Astlin remembered the strange, endearing quality of his speech; the soothing calm of his presence, and knew she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Are you really my sister?”

  Neriad’s mouth spoke. “I’m no less who I am than you are.”

  “Stop weaseling. What are you?”

  The thing wearing Neriad’s skin crossed her arms and stepped closer. “Your reflection in a gold mirror. We’re both creatures of warring gods. Thera ditched you, but Shaiel welcomes us both.”

  Anger burned away Astlin’s numbness. “Shaiel made you like this?”

  “No more than Thera put the Fire in you. Shaiel freed me from death and put me in charge of his empire.”

  “Free from death?” Astlin said, “You look like a corpse!”

  Neriad’s lip turned upward. “Living and dead aren’t the only options. After you left, I met someone who’s neither. We’re very intimate now. It’s funny; he used to work for the ones who took you.”

  The ruby on the mask in Neriad’s hand glimmered, though the light hadn’t changed. “Now we serve Shaiel.”

  Astlin’s fiery composition meant that the shiver down her spine had nothing to do with the temperature. But all of Neriad’s change and horror didn’t extinguish Astlin’s yearning for her family.

  “We’re taking this ship back to Keth. Come home with me.”

  “Nadia’s dead.”

  The suddenness of the statement, more than its content, left Astlin dumbstruck.

  “I was never much help looking after her,” Neriad admitted. “The fever took her soon after Spiral took you.”

  Memories flooded Astlin’s mind. Walking Nadia to school and carrying her home, working late to buy her new shoes, singing to comfort her when she cried for their mother.

  Astlin didn’t hide the tremor in her voice. “Neriad was selfish…weak. But she wasn’t cruel.” The air around her rippled with heat. “You’re not my sister.”

  The eyeless face lost all expression. “Neriad. Fallon. The Will of Shaiel. ‘Tis all one to me. Yet your charge of cruelty rings false. I merely give warning that all flesh sees corruption, though it be young and blameless.”

  “Can Shaiel give my sisters back?” Astlin meant to sound defiant, but her voice held the hint of a plea. “Can he give back the life that was taken from me?”

  “You would ask the Lord of Death to give life?” Shaiel’s Will shook Neriad’s head. “He offers nothing so cheap. Let us fly on the Night Gen ship to Cadrys, where they who adore Shaiel receive cords of gold that perish not. When Zadok’s silver thread weaves her soul once more, Nadia shall join us there.”

  “And end up like you?” Astlin searched for some trace of Neriad’s mind but met a barrier like a frozen wall of coal. “No one could want that for someone she cares about.”

  The Will of Shaiel chuckled. “The cutting of the silver cord is the end of love—and all virtue. Yet ‘tis better by far than oblivion. The Void runs over, and Shaiel’s favorites only shall endure.”

  “Love saved me from the kind of hell you’re building,” said Astlin. “I’d rather have nothing—be nothing—than lose it again.”

  Neriad’s empty eyes seemed to grow even blacker—a sort of negative gleam. “Do you love your friends? This ship’s officers and yeomen and their kin? Ferry us to Cadrys, or I will slay them all. Yea, all that dwell upon this sphere. Mithgar shall be unpeopled, save for we two, when the Night Gen take possession.”

  “We stopped the Night Gen,” Astlin said, if only to quell her own doubt. “Thurif seized the Kerioth, and Zan shot their other ship down.”

  Laughter roared from Neriad’s throat like a collapsing icefall. “Lord! Can you truly be so dim? Think you that the Night Gen’s ships numbered but two? Kerioth and Ashlam were lowly scouts—an advance on the full payment. Beyond the light of the stars, ship upon ship and fleet upon fleet wait to inherit this world. And you, my sister, were the asking price!”

  Astlin’s heart sank, but it struck bedrock and kindled new resolve. “Ask Hazeroth what’ll happen if you even touch one person on this ship.”

  “Ah yes, the late prince—a soul yet more stubborn than yours. You’ve my thanks for ridding me of so poor a servant.”

  “If that’s how Shaiel treats his friends,” said Astlin, “I’m glad to be his enemy.”

  “My lord calls you neither friend nor foe. Do you still not understand? Shaiel names you his kin. Your worth to him is more precious than worlds!”

  “Well he’s not worth a damn to me.”

  Astlin knew from primary school that mundane matter was composed of four elements derived from raw prana. In one instant, she extracted all the elemental fire from the air surrounding Neriad’s body. Deck plates buckled under the heat, and Astlin had to shield her eyes from the flash.

  The fire’s radiance dimmed. Astlin watched sickly golden light swallow the flame like a bull eating the sun in old myths. Heat-warped deck plates froze and cracked.

  “The Void triumphs over the Well,” Neriad’s voice called from the light’s frozen heart. “And your Fire is but prana’s shadow.”

  The sickly glow faded, but Shaiel’s invincible Will remained. Neriad’s dress wasn’t even singed.

  “A final time I pray you fly to your lord and brother. He and I are the family you crave. Your lot has been bitter. It needn’t be more so.”

  The hangar seemed to spin around Astlin. There has to be something I can do! She cast about for any means of saving the ship—and herself—from this monster with Neriad’s face. There was only the Kerioth, rows of stacked cargo containers…

  …And something moving at Neriad’s feet.

  “Once more only will I ask, in memory of your sister’s love.” Shaiel’s Will gestured with the hand that clutched its white mask. “Take ship with me and forsake your wretched past, or—”

  A number of deck plates, seemingly buckled by the extremes of heat and cold, erupted in a cluster of tendrils. A tentacle made of spinning gears engulfed Neriad’s outstretched arm and cut her ultimatum short.

  I’m not dreaming; I’m hallucinating, Astlin thought until the tendrils formed a shifting metal mass, and Mirai Smith’s skull-like face emerged.

  “Thank you for the gift!” he said to Shaiel’s Will.

  Neriad’s face twisted in a sneer. The tentacle covering her arm hissed and creaked as frost spread over its chaotic surface. A blow from her o
ther hand scattered frozen gears across the floor, but there was no trace of the mask—or Neriad’s right arm below the biceps.

  There’s no blood.

  Astlin was about to charge in and help Smith when the deck lurched under her feet. Air howled past, carrying bits of debris, as the hangar door opened. The ship tilted at a sharp angle, and though Astlin quickly regained her balance, Shaiel’s Will was less graceful.

  Neriad slid toward the yawning door, beyond which the Irminsul seemed to shrink as the ship climbed. The deck plate under her remaining hand glowed, and she stopped as if the golden light anchored her to the spot.

  Loud banging and the squeal of metal on metal made Astlin turn. Her heart lodged in her throat when she saw several cargo containers tumbling from their stacks and barreling toward her. She threw herself down the incline just as the world beyond the door vanished in an unbearably bright whiteout.

  Astlin could feel the light’s incredible, primeval power. What Shaiel’s Will had said through Neriad came back to her.

  Fire is but prana’s shadow.

  Suddenly she understood what was happening—or hoped she did. With her path blocked in front and behind, there was only one way left to go.

  Calling on her dim memory of chasing Hazeroth in flight, Astlin willed herself to rise. The speed of her ascent surprised her; she almost collided with the ceiling.

  Beneath her, the cargo containers rumbled by. Three struck the Kerioth, but its moorings held. Astlin dared a last look into the abysses of Neriad’s eyes in the split second before a cargo container plowed into Shaiel’s Will.

  The container slid several yards before screeching to a halt. Astlin only saw the monstrosity that emerged from behind it as a shadow limned in sallow light. Its wings hid a third of the sky, and its roar echoed from the hangar’s far corners.

  Fear and revulsion drove Astlin to act by reflex. Thousands of tons of suddenly superheated air blasted from the hangar and into the prana-lit stratosphere, carrying away several containers and the monster that had been Neriad. The white light quenched the shadow’s golden aura. A chilling shriek pierced the sky but died as the terrible shadow dissolved.

  Astlin faltered as her feet touched the deck. With an effort she composed herself and looked out through the lowering door.