Soul of the World

by David Mealing

  The sheer genius of it staggered her. Every detail, planned to perfection. And she had seen the worst of it with her own eyes: Either there were many Need binders at work in the Gand army or the enemy commander was no longer limited to a single vessel, if indeed he ever had been. No telling when she might run across an officer with the golden eyes when she wore Marie’s skin; thus far she’d managed to avoid notice, but the reality of what she faced struck home like a knife to the gut. All of her ideas on how to use Need to command an army had been put in place here by her enemy. A tall enough order for the Sarresant army to stand against that, and with the march they’d stolen on her through the wildlands, it seemed unlikely there would even be another battle of consequence on this side of the ocean.

  Still, she would not give up so easily. Even as hope faded, the spark of a plan kindled in the back of her mind. The priests. Everything depended on the priests. She heeled Jiri to a quickened pace, diverting from the northern trade roads to tack west into the shadow of the barrier.

  The abbey at Arentaigne was asleep when she arrived, driving Jiri at a canter in the black of night. No alarm or cry went up as it might have done in a military camp, but Arentaigne was no outpost or hillside fort. Its abbey was one of a dozen such arrayed along the barrier, spread from New Sarresant to Lorrine, and the only one in riding distance between her and the enemy army.

  A few scattered lamps were lit by the time she dismounted, casting a soft glow from the second-story rooms as she hitched Jiri to see to her water and feed.

  “I need the head abbot at once,” she shouted. Her words echoed across the stone walls of the outer courtyard, greeted with the beginnings of shuffling steps and muted voices in the distance. Not good enough. “Now, priests! Move!”

  She withdrew a cloth to wipe Jiri’s sweat. They’d ridden for two days without pause for sleep or rest, and only a thick sheen over the top of Jiri’s coat gave any hint of the fatigue she knew her mount hid beneath the surface. Body could only go so far, but she would see it a few steps farther before they were done. She’d wasted no time, riding straight north from Oreste. There would be no time for the army to make the march. It was down to her. Her and these damned priests, if they could ever be roused from their sleep.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a brown-robed figure asked from behind, shambling out into the open air holding an oil lamp. “Who are—?”

  “Are you the head abbot?” she demanded, looking up from Jiri’s water bag.

  “No, I’m—”

  “Get the shit out of your ears, priests!” she shouted again, loud as she could manage. “And get the head abbot here at once.”

  The first brown-robed figure stood dumbly, mouth agape as she shouted over the top of him. “Now you wait just one minute—”

  “Say another word and I will kill you,” she announced, plain as day. She would do no such thing, but she found a little barbarity went a long way when dealing with civilians. And she was in no mood to explain herself twice.

  The priest’s mouth worked soundlessly, eyes wide as his gaze fell to the pistol holstered on one side of her belt, and to the saber dangling from the other. Did the fool not even recognize a cavalry uniform?

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, another brown-robed figure stepped into view, casting a weighing look between the first priest and where she stood tending to Jiri. This one at least had the sense to notice the star insignia on her collar and sleeve.

  “I am the head abbess here, General,” the second priest began. “My name is Sister Elise. What is—?”

  “Shelter,” she interrupted. “How many do you have here who can bind Shelter?”

  The abbess frowned. “Our services are ever at the disposal of the crown, but this is most—”

  “Enough, Sister. There is an army of Gandsmen less than a day’s march from New Sarresant and I need as many Shelter binders as you have under this roof to saddle and ride every horse in your stables to death to stop them. Do I make myself clear?”

  The woman gave her a stunned look. “Yes, General. Yes.”

  “Now, how many Shelter binders do you have?”

  “Eight, including myself. But none of us are trained for fighting. The charge of this abbey is to repair and maintain the bindings along the northwest border. We won’t be of any use in a battle.”

  “That depends on the nature of the battle, Sister,” she said, withdrawing the water bag from Jiri’s muzzle. “This one is going to be fought in precisely your area of expertise.”

  By now a handful of priests had come clamoring into the courtyard. Sister Elise made a gesture for them to stay back and keep quiet.

  “I don’t take your meaning, General,” Sister Elise said.

  “I’ll explain as we ride. Saddle every horse in your stable and rouse your Shelter binders. We move as soon as your people are ready.”

  She nearly had cause to regret her display at Arentaigne as they rode. A more diplomatic leader might have roused them in a more amicable fashion, but the requirements of the service ofttimes dictated speed over etiquette. In any case, being roused by rough words in the early hours of the morning would be the least of their concerns before this was over.

  Eight priests and twelve horses. Only Jiri was able to keep pace without signs of flagging, though with two days’ hard ride behind her even Jiri was strained. She’d explained the plan, and the stakes, as they rode. To her credit Sister Elise handled it well, and relayed the necessary information to her priests without troubling Erris to repeat any details. It left her to focus on keeping up the pace, ensuring none of them fell behind. Before long she took up the spare horses’ lead lines to guide them, as it became clear none of the others were well suited to hard travel.

  The first rays of morning sunlight saw them thirty leagues past the abbey, a day’s march for a well-trained infantry brigade. Half what they needed to cover, if luck was on their side. She called the first halt to rest and change mounts as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. This near the coastline it made for a rich display of orange, purple, and gold, a fitting moment to break for some of the hard bread and cheese they’d packed from the abbey stores. She paced through the line, checking the horses for signs they might falter, selecting the weakest of the four to swap for their more rested counterparts. The least she could do short of diverting into a roadside village to procure fresh animals, little as she was like to find any decent horseflesh pulling a farm cart or tending to the harvest. Say what she would about Arentaigne, at least Sister Elise kept a good stable.

  “Up,” she called when she’d finished her inspection. “Time to move.”

  The priest who had woken first at the abbey gave her a sour face. “How much longer? Even by daylight our mounts aren’t good for more than another hour or two at this pace.”

  “No,” she replied. “No, I expect they’re not.”

  The rest of them exchanged a look.

  “You mean to have us walking?” The priest challenged her with a defiant glare.

  “Brother Antonin—” Sister Elise said.

  “I’d have you crawling through a pool of your own entrails if it meant a chance to save the city, you blind fool,” she snapped back. “But no. No. If it comes to that, if your horses falter, then it means you run.”

  The priests said nothing more after she swung herself into Jiri’s saddle and heeled her forward, though the exchange had soured whatever relief they’d had from food as they pressed on.

  The first horse broke before they’d gone another five leagues, stuttering to a halt and refusing to budge no matter how the mare was coaxed. No amount of cursing proved effective, and so they left her behind, her rider transferred to one of the reserves. Sister Elise made as if to protest for a moment, cut off by a withering look before she could voice the complaint.

  Two more horses went down before they left the road. One stuttered to a halt as the first had done, but the second went down in a heap, slowing enough not to injure its rider before it pi
tched itself into the dust. An effort Erris judged worthy of a quick end no matter the possibility of a battle to come. She’d drawn her pistol and fired before the priests could register her intent, a miniature thunderclap echoing across the sparse woodland. Sullen eyes regarded her after that, blessedly silent as they turned northwest, leaving the road behind as they fanned out toward the Great Barrier.

  Whatever hope they’d harbored that she might reduce the pace was snuffed out as she nudged Jiri to a canter, weaving through the trees in the direction of the barrier. The last of the reserve mounts was used within the hour, a broken leg that earned another pistol shot to silence its shrill screams.

  When the fifth horse went down she called another halt. They were close, so close. By her reckoning they should be within a handful of leagues from where the Gand army had stopped its march. Yet if they pressed on with riders doubling up, the rest would collapse before they made it another hour. She did another review of the horses, and split them without protest from the priests. The freshest, strongest mounts and riders would press on while those who needed a rest took it. Only Jiri had the strength to maintain her pace at the head of the column, and so it fell to her to ride with her vision shifted to the leylines, watching for connections. The rest would follow, keeping the towering blue haze of the barrier to their left until they came upon the place. Gods grant them the strength to catch up before it was too late.

  Another hour passed, and exhaustion settled around her like a warm cloak in a winter storm. Shifting her vision to the leylines gave no sign of anything more than the erratic patches of Life and Body common in wild places, and of course the deep pool of gray haze she knew the priests would see as the white pearls of Shelter, the reserve that powered the Great Barrier itself.

  Then finally, Death.

  Her heart sank even as blood rushed through her veins. She’d found it, and she was not too late. A quarter league in the distance, but unmistakable: inky blackness pooling on the far side of the barrier. It was there, and it was growing. Her thoughts turned to Marie and Philippe, to the rest of the villagers of Oreste, and she offered a prayer to the Exarch on their behalf.

  Sister Elise was the first to arrive.

  “Is this it?” the sister asked, looking as bone-weary as her mount beneath her. “Is this the place?”

  “This is it,” she replied. “They are pooling Death now. The rest will begin soon.”

  Sister Elise nodded, allowing her mount to stutter to a halt as she lowered herself from its back.

  “The rest of your priests,” Erris said. “They’re close?”

  Again Sister Elise nodded. “We may not be soldiers, General, but we are far from weak.”

  She offered no reply to that, shifting her sight to find Body, tethering it through the sister.

  The woman’s eyes widened, then she bowed her head in thanks. “Thank you, General.”

  “The least I can do, Sister.”

  The most she could do in fact. Without being able to see or use Shelter she was as useless as a noble-born officer for this fight. She could ease the fatigue of the ride with Body, but not the deep exhaustion of working with the leylines themselves.

  Three more priests arrived within a few minutes, paying truth to Sister Elise’s claim. None looked less bone-weary than their abbess, and all were grateful for the Body Erris offered. Death continued to swell beneath the barrier, and in the few moments of respite she allowed herself to look for the golden shimmer that indicated her link to Marie d’Oreste. The connection was effortless to find after the initial bond was made; it had never taken more than a moment to find Marie, no matter the distance between them. Of course this time she expected to find nothing. She knew full well what the inky pool betokened for the Gandsmen’s prisoners.

  Yet there it was. Against all odds, she saw it there: Need. Marie was alive.

  She expelled a sharp breath, turning the heads of the priests, more than one of them starting as if she had crept up on them from the shadows.

  “What is it, General?” Sister Elise asked. “Have they started?”

  “You’ll know before I do, Sister. Watch the barrier. I have no gift for Shelter.”

  The sister gave a grim nod. Erris could see the responsibility settle over the other woman. To her credit the abbess did not flinch.

  Sister Elise took charge, speaking with the others and welcoming the fifth and sixth of their number when they arrived a few minutes later. Erris took the moment to rest, leaning against Jiri as her mount lay in the grass beside her. Fatigue washed over her. She had pushed herself and ridden these priests just as hard. Yet in their element she could almost dare to believe they were measured to the task. Sister Elise had a sharp way with command, a practiced sense of what her people could do. Just as well none of her binders could sense Death, though, or the enormity of their task might become a hurdle unto itself. Never mind that the strongest Shelter binders would have been forced into the army rather than the priesthood. Never mind that the enemy had almost certainly brought twice their number or more.

  She grit her teeth, forcing those thoughts to die. No point in harboring doubts now. Everything hinged on the next few hours. Shelter crews like the priests of Arentaigne were used to repair the barrier when it weakened, drawing on the leylines to reinforce its towering wall. Using Death to disrupt the barrier, to create a breach willfully, was an abominable tactic, and all the more so for their using prisoners to do it rather than livestock. Men and women left greater pockets of inky Death when they were slain, but it was no less sickening to contemplate using it in battle.

  She closed her eyes to ward away the thoughts, and once more found Marie. Need called to her, a shimmering light in the distance.

  A risk to embrace it now, but the prisoners were marked for death regardless. If by chance there was some last information, some last words that could pass between them …

  A glance at Sister Elise revealed the priests in good order. She could spare a few moments.

  She reached out to Need, to Marie, and tethered herself to the golden light.

  Her vision shifted.

  Even before her eyes focused, she knew something was wrong. Where she’d expected the familiar rope tethers and ragged faces of the prisoners’ camp, she was surrounded by luxury. Elaborately woven carpets strewn across the floors of a broad canvas tent, filled with actual furniture—a desk, tables, chairs, and a bed. Looking down, she saw Marie’s familiar travel-worn dress. No mistake there. What was Marie doing in a tent like this?

  “Ah, at last,” came a voice from behind her. “I was hoping you’d make another appearance.”

  She spun, and found herself facing a tall man standing upright, wearing the red uniform of Gand. Dirt-colored hair specked with gray, a clean-shaven face just starting to show the lines of age, four stars on his collar. And a pulsing, golden light shining from behind his eyes.

  He walked around the desk, towering over Marie.

  “So pleasant to meet my enemies before I crush them,” he said, his words touched with a foreign accent she couldn’t place, stilted and severe. “An opportunity rarely afforded commanders who do not share our gifts, though I expect a fledgling like yourself does not truly understand.”

  “This is your doing,” she said in a cold voice, not meaning it to be a question.

  He laughed. “Yes. I’ve beaten you, with my little maneuver. The rest of this”—he made a dismissive gesture—“is a formality. We both know your city will fall.”

  She said nothing, fixing a look of hatred on her face. This man, or rather whoever was seeing from behind those golden eyes, was responsible for unconscionable brutality, murders, and worse. Fantain’s Cross, Oreste, and how many others could be laid at his feet. Before he had taken control the Gandsmen had fought according to the precepts of war. Now they were monsters made flesh.

  “Come now,” he said, affecting a light tone as he sat in one of the cushioned chairs, motioning for her to do the same. “Don’t sulk. I be
gan the campaign with more matériel and a superior tactical position. It was only natural I should find victory here. Your city is situated foolishly close to the Aegis barrier; surely you must have expected a flanking maneuver backed with disruption bindings?”

  She remained standing, eyes narrowing as she maintained her glare. “If you intend to kill Marie, do it and be done with it.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Kill Marie? Your vessel, you mean? That is not the way these things are done. Your vessel will remain here, should the need arise to discuss terms. The right of the victor, as it were.”

  “You’re no Gandsman.” She knew it for a certainty. The accent was wrong, but intuition led the rest of the way. This man—this creature, in light of the horrors he’d commanded done—carried himself with a menace she’d never seen among the generals of any army.

  He smiled. “No, I am not. But desperate men hungering for power will embrace whatever talent promises to get them there. The Gandsmen were halfway to empire when your king ordered his invasion, and it frightened my would-be puppeteers enough to hand the strings to me. It is enough, for now. I suppose you fight for Sarresant here in your colonies. One of their generals, perhaps?”

  She knew better than to confirm it, and said nothing.

  “No matter,” he said. “It’s obvious. You’ve little stake in the conflict across the sea, judging by the ineptitude of your forces there.”

  She’d heard enough. Turning away, she prepared to release the Need binding, feeling a pang of sorrow leaving Marie in the company of this creature.

  The man leaned forward in his chair before she could release the binding, his tone growing cold. “I will find you, wherever you think to hide. I know you are here in the colonies. You will not ascend. I’ve beaten you today, and I will beat you again. Your city will burn, and your people be put to the sword until I find you.”