Soul of the World

by David Mealing

  “It is only the truth,” he protested.

  “I think you are less wise than you seem, Arak’Jur. Though spirits know we will have need of guardians in these times to come.”

  “Perhaps it is time to consider allowing the spirit-touched among the women to join in our hunts.”

  That earned an appraising look.

  “You have shown me our traditions must be open to change,” he said. “And that our women are more capable than perhaps we men believed.”

  She gave a satisfied nod. “There are some few among us who could lend aid to the guardians. I will speak of it at the women’s councils.”

  They walked on, contemplating, before Corenna spoke again.

  “I worry this is not over, Arak’Jur,” she said. “There are still corrupt spirits, demanding war. Other tribes may yet listen to their promptings. We are no closer to knowing the source, nor the reasons behind the barring of the sacred places.” He nodded as she continued. “And the fair-skins: Whatever surety they offered today, who can say how they will respond in time?”

  Corenna shivered as a gust of sharp wind knifed through the trees. Even with the spirits’ blessing he could almost feel it cut into his own skin.

  “I grieve for my people,” she continued. “And I fear for what is coming. The spirits abandon us, traditions break, the guardians are slain, the shamans are gone. Enemies stir around us. Even the darkest of our stories are not half so grim as this.”

  “Perhaps that is always the way of it, as the stories unfold,” he said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Corenna.”

  She turned to look at him as they walked, her dark eyes seeming to glow in the fading light. He could see fear nested there, recognize it mirrored in his own thoughts as he weighed the truth of her words. Yet there was more; a fire that burned deep. If he could only grasp it, he knew it held the promise of solace and safety, a ward against the shadows at the edges of his vision. Warmth to see him through the chills of the cold season until the spirits of growth and sustenance could find purchase once more.

  “I know, Arak’Jur.”

  Words went dry in his throat.

  “I am here, and we will face this together,” she said. “Either we are strong enough to meet it, or we are not.”

  He came to a halt, causing her to turn back with a questioning look. He wanted to offer assurance, to promise his strength would not falter. Instead he stepped forward and drew her close, lowering his lips to hers.

  She drew a breath when they separated, giving him a smile that could melt the cold spirits’ deepest snows.

  They walked the rest of the way at each other’s side, determination taking root like seeds scattered by the fury of a storm.

  68

  SARINE

  An Empty Street

  Gardens District, New Sarresant

  She kept pace behind Axerian, through streets that somehow still had a pristine coating of snow, untouched by fighting. For a few blocks it was as if they were out for a midwinter stroll at twilight on any ordinary day, at least so long as she kept her eyes from the trails of smoke on the horizon. That any part of the city had escaped the violence seemed strange to her, as if pockmarked houses, fire, and blood were the norm, and untouched snowfall the precious exception. The thought stirred sadness in her eyes. This was her city, and it was broken now, cracked and splintered beyond repair.

  Axerian said nothing as they walked, his usual knowing grins replaced by a brooding silence that had not abated since she cleansed away the blue sparks from the Gand soldiers. She could still feel her wardings in the southern Gardens, pulsing Green against the tide of Yellow coming from the north. Emotions balanced between her push and the Yellow’s pull: pride, fear, exhaustion. She hadn’t stayed behind to see the battle lines collapse, but from the groundswell of relief joined to the tableau of their emotions, it was clear victory had followed, after the Gandsmen broke. Yet the Yellow remained, even with scant few emotions left on the empty Gardens streets. So few survivors, and so many dead.

  The bodies resumed after a few blocks.

  It was a hard blow, passing from empty streets and quiet snows back into a field of dead. Ordinary citizens from the look of them, their muskets cast forward into the snow where they fell. Blood pooled and hardened like ice, a harsh reminder of the realities of the day. She’d been among soldiers only minutes before, watching lines of men fire into one another with furious battle cries. This was different. These were ordinary men, dead on a street otherwise untouched, a violation of the small bubble of tranquility she’d hoped would last forever.

  The bodies continued as they walked, and the realization set in that Axerian was following them like a trail, watching their numbers grow as he tracked their quarry in a twisted mockery of woodcraft. Trusting to Axerian to lead the way, she allowed herself to look at the bodies they passed by. Blood long since congealed, clothing torn with long slashes, deep cuts in the backs of the men—and women—lying dead on the ground. As if someone had cut them down while they fled, chased them down and slashed at them with …

  She stuttered to a halt, gaping at the bodies with rising horror.

  Axerian turned back with a questioning look, understanding dawning in his eyes just before he could ask why she had stopped.

  “Why?” Her voice trailed off before she swallowed and tried again. “This is d’Agarre’s work. The slashes, and cuts. It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Axerian only nodded, with all the solemnity of a priest.

  “Why would he do this?” she said, the shock creeping into her voice.

  For Black, Zi thought to her.

  “He’s close,” Axerian said. “Blinded by madness, and near the end. He won’t care who he must kill, to see it done.”

  She looked down at a pair of bodies at her feet, young women no older than she. Ragged clothes, with the appearance of secondhand finery. Whores, most like, who had left behind the brothel under d’Agarre’s spell. Either one could have been her, in a different life, if she hadn’t had Zi, or her uncle’s kindness.

  “Sarine, we must go.”

  She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes.

  Every street was piled with the dead, spiraling inward in a grotesque display of Reyne d’Agarre’s madness. How many had died because she’d failed to stop him? Hundreds at least, their freezing corpses shouting the blame she felt settling over her shoulders.

  He is here.

  For a moment she could have mistaken it for Zi’s voice, but no. It was harsher, like iron scraped on steel. Axerian immediately pivoted to scan the nearby buildings, and she saw a crystalline serpent materialize on his shoulder. Not Zi, though it could have been his twin, with scales of deep midnight blue.

  “Where, Xeraxet?” Axerian asked. She heard no reply, though Axerian slowed and stopped as he faced a townhouse up ahead at the far side of the street.

  There, Zi thought to her. The source of the Yellow.

  Axerian turned back to her, a desperate plea showing in his eyes. “He’s there, Sarine,” he said. “We must stop him, must put an end to his madness.”

  “I’m ready,” she said, letting her guilt flow into anger.

  “He will be like nothing you have seen before. A kaas-mage on the cusp of ascension is a—”

  A scream and a spray of glass pierced the twilight air, coming from the terraced window of the townhouse at the end of the street. Time seemed to slow as she watched a small figure sail down and strike the ground with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across the snow before she realized what she was seeing. A child.

  Fury boiled over, and she charged.

  “Wait, Sarine, you can’t—” Axerian cried out, but she was already gone.

  Lakiri’in gave his speed, and Body. She reached for Red, only to hear Zi’s voice echo in her thoughts: No—he will know.

  She reached the door in a heartbeat, flinging it open and racing up the stairs. “D’Agarre!” she cried. “Enough!”

  A h
eavy thud sounded from above as she vaulted the second flight of stairs, then the third. She raced down the hallway toward where the door to that chamber had been shattered off its hinges, cracked panels of painted wood left behind.

  Only at the last moment did Axerian’s shouted warning from below register in her ears. “Wait, Sarine!”

  A white flash filled her vision as the floor seemed to lurch away beneath her feet, sending her tumbling back down into the stairwell. She felt Zi flare White as wood cracked around her, splinters flying as she crashed into the wall at the base of the landing.

  Black, Zi thought to her. Draining.

  Pain lanced through her as Zi’s shield receded, and the world struggled to come back into focus.

  “Sarine,” a voice called from above. “How lovely to see you again.”

  “D’Agarre,” she said between shallow breaths.

  He offered a formal bow as he stepped into view at the top of the stairs, his familiar red coat drenched in the deep crimson of frozen blood, his long knife dripping a fresher, brighter hue.

  “If you understood the stakes you would forgive me cutting a few corners, I think,” d’Agarre said as he straightened, taking another leisurely step down toward her. “But understanding was never your strong suit.”

  With a grunt she picked herself up from the wall, adopting the defensive posture Donatien had taught her, even without the benefit of her practice swords. D’Agarre seemed unconcerned as she gathered herself; he watched her with the curiosity of an alley cat cornering a wounded sparrow.

  “I understand enough. How many have you killed today, d’Agarre?”

  He smiled and took another step. “I’ve heard it said that power is priceless.”

  She grit her teeth, preparing for another attack. Finally Zi gave her Red, with Body and the spirits’ gifts entwined to push her far beyond her normal limits. Even so, d’Agarre seemed to move with her, keeping pace as if it were a matter of course, as if he expected her every move.

  A shadow flickering at the top of the landing was her only warning. Only instead of an attack from d’Agarre she saw bubbles of white flare around him, casting a silhouette against the thick shield of pure energy. Around the edges she saw Axerian raining blows with his forward-curved blades. Had Axerian climbed the outer wall? Either way she spared no time to think on it, charging forward, lunging up the stairs empowered by Body.

  Keep back, came the thought in her mind, the iron-grating voice of Axerian’s kaas. By instinct she leapt down to the landing as Axerian dropped prone at d’Agarre’s feet. An instant later the shield around d’Agarre erupted in a violent surge, incinerating the air around him into trails of smoke. She heard d’Agarre snarl as he clamored back toward the chamber from which he’d come. Axerian sprang to his feet in a fluid motion, following close behind, and she took the stairs in one leap, bolstered by the strength of her gifts.

  “Two?” d’Agarre said as they rushed back into the chamber overlooking the terrace. “Two of you, against me?”

  Axerian flanked around the side of the room wordlessly, his eyes fixed on d’Agarre. She made to do the same in the other direction when her eyes caught on a group of figures cowering in the corner. A mother huddled around two small children, paled and shaking. They had to be the source of the screams. The source of the small figure she had seen outside.

  D’Agarre noticed her interest, stepping sideways to interpose himself between her and his would-be victims. A wicked grin spread as he watched her, taking another step toward them.

  “You’re too late, Reyne d’Agarre,” Axerian said abruptly. “Only one can ascend, and the champion of Balance is already chosen.”

  D’Agarre reacted as if slapped in the face.

  Axerian wasted no time, rushing forward with blades drawn. She picked up the cue a moment later, driving toward d’Agarre at an angle to push him away from the innocents. As before, Axerian’s whirling blades struck only shimmering shields of white. Her strikes found the same, strands of incandescent pearl that seemed to regenerate almost as fast as she could strike them down. D’Agarre swiped at them both with his knife, driving each of them away as he stepped forward.

  “A cheap lie,” d’Agarre said. “And you see it is too late.”

  Saruk, came the voice of Axerian’s kaas. Saruk, obey your maker. This man has been driven mad. He cannot be allowed to ascend.

  Axerian retreated a few paces as his kaas materialized on the carpet between him and d’Agarre.

  “What is this?” d’Agarre demanded. In an eyeblink, another crystalline serpent appeared at d’Agarre’s feet, coiled and radiating light as bright as the midday sun.

  The new kaas’s voice sounded in her mind, a subtly different tone from either Zi or Xeraxet.

  You promised us power, Xeraxet, d’Agarre’s kaas thought to the room. You promised, and we have seen it through. Your time ends now, and ours begins.

  “Saruk, you must see reason,” Axerian said. “Think of the enemy. This man cannot stand against him.”

  The mother and her children’s eyes had gone wide watching the scene, darting terrified looks between the crystal serpents and the blood-drenched knife in d’Agarre’s hands. Sarine edged closer to them. Near enough now to push d’Agarre away if he made a move toward them.

  D’Agarre began to laugh. “Your pleas are worthless. I can feel it. The time draws near.”

  This cannot be, Axerian’s kaas thundered. You must not allow this, Saruk. I command it.

  No.

  At first she thought the rebuke came from the kaas coiled around d’Agarre’s feet. But no; she knew that voice all too well.

  Zi appeared at the center of the room, raised up to his full height.

  Axerian, you have set him on this path, Zi continued. It is time to see it through.

  Axerian turned a desperate look toward Zi, falling to his knees. “No. Please,” he whispered. “We will be ruined.”

  D’Agarre’s knife clattered to the floor. “Yes!” he shouted, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “Let it come. Now.”

  “Zi,” she said. “You cannot mean to let him …?”

  Her companion turned to meet her eyes with an unblinking ruby stare.

  No more killing, Zi thought to her. I will complete his stores myself. This is the only way.

  “Zi—”

  Either this, or he kills until he ascends. It is too late to stop it.

  She looked across the room, from d’Agarre’s madness-twisted face to Axerian’s grief to the horror in the eyes of the mother and her children. Desperation clawed at the edges of her mind, pleading for another way. Zi only stared up at her, waiting for her assent.

  She nodded.

  The room flashed as Zi’s scales shifted to emit a dazzling array of colors, rays of brilliance spilling out in every direction. D’Agarre shuddered as the light seemed to bend toward him, soaking into the scales of the kaas coiled around his feet. The mother cowered, sheltering her two remaining children from the intensity of the display. Axerian hung his head in a gesture of despair.

  And then d’Agarre was gone.

  Sobs echoed through the room as the mother looked up, tears running down her cheeks. One moment d’Agarre had been there, arms upraised as his kaas drank the light from Zi, and the next the room was still.

  “Thank you, my lady,” the woman said between choking tears, clutching her children tight. “Thank you. You’ve saved us.”

  AFTER

  EPILOGUE

  REYNE

  Awakening Chambers

  Gods’ Seat

  Air rushed into his lungs, the struggle of life finding purchase from the void. He drew it in, everything he could hold. He had arrived. He had done it.

  Blood rushed into his limbs as he stepped off the platform. He was in a chamber of cold stone, lit by dim lamps that held their glow without the telltale flickering of flame. Magic. The Power of the Gods.

  He smiled.

  Every word had been true.

&
nbsp; Looking around the otherwise empty stone chamber he felt his first pang of regret. In the rush of the moment he had left his Codex behind. He had seldom taken an action the book had not prescribed since he first bonded with Saruk as a boy on the streets of Villecours. The bond had saved him, guided him away from the paths of poverty and crime toward a higher, nobler purpose. On his shoulders now rested the weight of the world. He would pay the price again tenfold if the book told it true. Worse was coming. And Reyne d’Agarre would stand against evil with all the power of a God.

  He flexed his hands, feeling the familiar crinkling of leather. Clean. His gloves had been caked in blood, to say nothing of the rest of him, before he ascended. And here they were washed and new, as if freshly tailored. A proclamation of redemption he could happily accept, though he could still feel the need for power gnawing at the back of his mind. A relentless companion, one of which he doubted he would ever be truly free. Such was the price of greatness. With a deep breath he thought as much to his companion, invoking the subtle request for Red along with it.

  Empty, came the thought from Saruk. A heavy price, to carry us here.

  He frowned, feeling the thirst claw toward the forefront of his thoughts. Empty?

  Calm. More will come.

  His heart beat in a flurry, vision blurring as his breath came shallow. He stood frozen in the center of the chamber, hanging on his kaas’s words.

  Calm.

  A part of him urged the same. A quiet voice amid a torrent of fear, bordering on a rush of panic. Empty?

  We must seal ourselves to the Seat of the Gods. Power flows, then. Peace.

  “Where?” he rasped, struggling to voice the thought.

  Here.

  The sensation compelled steps forward. The wonderment he had felt dwindled to a low flame as they passed chambers connected to this main passage, cut from stone and decorated in strange styles unfamiliar to his eyes. Worry wrapped itself around his central core of purpose. Empty. Not only his stores, but the chambers as well. Not a soul from which to feed. The emotions that had become his balm, the lives he could snuff out to slake the thirst for a time. All gone. Had he made a mistake coming here? What was this place? Saruk’s words carried him as the predatory parts of his mind tuned his senses to the subtle currents of the still air, searching for any sign of feeling.