Soultaker

by Duperre, Robert J. ;

  The window to the outside world was ten feet long and seven feet tall, its lower frame level with his shin, and given that there was no glass, he had to be careful lest he fall forty feet to his doom. He stood to the side, leaned against the frame, and stared out at Breighton’s darkening square, which looked like a rippling lake as nightweed began poking through the sand to feast. It seemed Mitchell Hogan had failed in his promise to rid the central park of those nightly invaders.

  Abe rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. What’s happening to me? While standing in the Heart of the Tree, he had seen things: an odd vision, a sea of pale faces screaming at him, and in the background was a burning cross similar to the one adorning the Scourger’s House of Yehoshua. The image had faded quickly, and in the aftermath he’d felt eerily similar to when he’d played that strange song for those kids in Ramstable, only this time he actually remembered what he’d seen. And it scared him.

  Stop it, he thought. You have more important things to think about.

  But he couldn’t stop. Even though he should have been concerned only with the fact all the people of Breighton had disappeared without a trace save a single, sickly man, all he saw when he closed his eyes were those angry faces, that burning cross.

  “What’re you thinking about?” asked Shade.

  Abe’s bearded brother sat on the other side of the room, alongside the odd-looking man he had discovered. The bald, pale newcomer was still unconscious, his slender chest barely rising and falling. Shade stared at him, his posture slumped from exhaustion, but there was something more alive about him now than there had been in months. His near-constant anger seemed dulled. There remained an undercurrent of deep sadness reflecting in his droopy eyes, but it was tempered, controlled.

  “Nothing,” Abe lied. “Just admiring the clouds.”

  “Oh.”

  “How’s our patient?”

  Shade cast down his eyes at the sick man bundled in musty blankets. “The same,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I don’t know if he’ll make it.” He was visibly concerned, and Abe couldn’t understand why he seemed to care so much about this stranger. Abe worried if the man died, Shade would cascade into an even deeper despair than he’d been in before. It was a frightening thought.

  “He’ll be fine,” Abe said.

  “He’s still so cold.”

  “Then let’s put him by the fire.”

  Together they lugged the man to the cistern, and Shade lifted a jug of water over the man’s head and tilted it. A few drops of water dribbled onto dry, cracked lips. The man groaned, a nearly white tongue lapping up the beads. His chest rose and fell sporadically.

  “I can’t believe he’s the only one left,” Shade said.

  “We don’t know that,” Abe replied. “We haven’t searched the whole city yet.”

  “We’ve searched enough.”

  “There’s no such thing as enough. Unlikely as it seems, it’s possible everyone just packed up and rode away.”

  Shade’s lips drooped. “Hard to do that without horses.”

  “True,” Abe said grimly.

  In the aftermath of Shade’s discovery of the unconscious man, the three knights had spent the next few hours rummaging through six of the nearest towers and a few brownstones close to the city center. Each building appeared to have been rapidly abandoned; breakfronts were filled with clothes, inglenooks hadn’t been cleaned out, and dirty glassware was still heaped in washbasins. Which was nothing compared to what they had found in one of the city’s stables. The reek of decay had assaulted them when they were still a block away, and when they entered they found every horse—eighty-seven of them, to be exact—had been butchered. The hay-covered floor was saturated with dried blood.

  It looked like the horses had been feasted on after the fact, and from the telltale gouges on what remained of the dead animals’ hides, it was sabrewolves for certain.

  Abe shook the image from his mind and looked down at the unconscious man. “I’m still not certain about this guy,” he said. “Why’s he the only one left? What was he doing beneath the Great Pine?”

  “Don’t know,” Shade said. “Probably hiding. Y’know, locked himself in there and got trapped after the power went out.”

  “Okay, but hiding from what?”

  Shade shrugged. “If we knew that, we wouldn’t be asking questions.”

  “That’s fair,” Abe said. “Still, I don’t like this at all. For all we know, this man’s a part of whatever went down here.”

  “I… really don’t think so.”

  “And why’s that?”

  Shade, stretched his legs out before him, leaned back on his elbows, and faced the fire. He stared at the flames with a furrowed brow, seeming far away. After a few moments of silence he asked, “Is the Holy Book true?”

  Abe felt taken aback by the question. “Yes.”

  “How can you know for sure?”

  “Because I feel it,” Abe replied, drawing up a leg and latching his hands around his knee. “I know our creation is a miracle, one I’ve seen repeated time and again. If that’s not proof of the divinity of the Pentus, I don’t know what is.”

  “But what if the one we worship isn’t truly, well, God? You yourself said that Pentmatarianism probably came about as an offshoot of the ancient religions. What if the Scourger’s god is the One True God?”

  “Yehoshua?” Abe shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Holy Book spells it out. Yehoshua was a prophet, but a flawed one. He wasn’t a god. In the centuries before the Rising, more men died in his name than in all other wars combined. No loving god would allow that.”

  “But we’re creations of the Pentus, the Loving God, the Five made One. And we’ve killed.”

  Abe let out a sigh. “We’ve only killed to protect people. We’ve never forced anyone to worship the Pentus under threat of the sword.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “There’s no guessing about it. It’s simple fact.”

  Shade took a deep breath. “Abe, do you believe in ghosts?”

  “There are records in the Temple of the Crone describing haunts, but I’ve never seen one myself.”

  “Do the records say how they get here?” Shade’s eyes grew large, almost desperate, and Abe had to fight the urge to hug him. “The Holy Book says that when a body dies, the soul is judged and sorted. Those who seek forgiveness, no matter their beliefs, are brought to the River of the Dead and ferried to the Crystalline Hall, where they’ll dine with the Pentus until their essences are called back to the Hub of Creation, while the unabashedly sinful are sent to one of the Nine Hells.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then how do these ‘haunts’ get here?”

  “The same way demons do. Through fissures.”

  “Then somewhere out there is a portal leading to the Crystalline Hall?”

  Abe tapped a finger against his chin. “No. All haunts on record are malicious in nature.”

  “All of them? Completely, through all time?”

  “Of course. Why would the Pentus allow a pure soul to be trapped so far from His glory?”

  Shade’s jaw quivered as he mumbled something under his breath.

  “Brother, you’re worrying me,” Abe said. “What’s this all about?”

  “It’s just… I’ve been…” he started, but then fell silent. Tears rolled down his cheek. Abe lifted his hand toward his brother, dropped it. An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

  That silence was broken when Meesh traipsed into the room and tossed his sack on the floor. It landed with a thud, which made Shade jump. “All set out there,” he said. “Horses secured for the night. Inside the building. Figured it’d be safer that way.”

  “Hobbled?” asked Abe.

  “Of course.”

  “Wards set up?”

  “What, you think I’m an idiot?”

  “Do you want me to answ
er that?”

  A mischievous grin stretched Meesh’s lips as he bent over and rummaged through his discarded bag. “I actually do, because if you give the wrong answer, brah, I won’t share with you. Guess what I found?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Abe said.

  Meesh lifted a glass bottle filled to the neck with sloshing brown liquid. He shook it twice before prying the cork off the top. Holding the bottle under his nose, he breathed in deeply, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Damn. I ain’t had a drink since Burrell’s. And that was swill.”

  “I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” Abe said.

  Meesh winked. “I am.” He tilted back the bottle and gulped down a mouthful, then pulled it away from his lips and coughed. “Whoa,” he rasped. “This shit’s strong.”

  “Give here,” Shade said.

  Abe was disappointed, but did nothing to stop Shade from grabbing the bottle when offered and taking a chug. He gagged, wiped spit from his chin, and offered the liquor to Abe.

  “No thank you,” Abe grumbled.

  “Fine. Your loss.” Shade took another sip.

  “Hey man, don’t hog!” Meesh said. “You don’t get twosies until I get mine!”

  Shade chuckled and handed the bottle back.

  Meesh took another swig. “So what’s up with our patient?”

  “No change,” Abe said.

  “None at all?”

  Shade shook his head.

  “I got this.” Meesh said, sashaying toward the prone man and then kneeling. He slid the liquor across the floor. Shade snatched it up, but didn’t take a sip this time; he held the bottle close to his chest as if it were a precious babe.

  Meesh rubbed his hands together. “Alrighty dude, let’s see if we can’t shock you awake.”

  Abe realized what was about to happen, but the “No!” was barely out of his mouth before Meesh slapped the unconscious man’s cheek. The man’s head rocketed to the side, his chest hitched.

  “You ass!” Shade yelled, tossing aside the bottle. Stinking brown liquid swilled across the hardwood floor. He shoved Meesh, who fell back on his rump.

  “That was uncalled for,” Abe scolded.

  “Hey, at least I woke the guy up,” Meesh said, eyes alight like an imp’s. “More than I can say for you two.”

  Slowly Abe turned, and sure enough, the unconscious man was unconscious no longer. His eyes were gray, Abe saw, and they darted this way and that. His breathing came in rapid bursts like he was hyperventilating.

  Abe scurried toward him on his knees. “Calm down,” he said. “You’re among friends.”

  The man looked at him cockeyed, his mouth caked with dried saliva. “Do I… know you?” he croaked.

  “Not that I recall,” Abe replied.

  Unexpectedly, the man planted the heel of his hand into Abe’s chest with such force he was knocked backward. The man sat bolt upright, blankets tumbling to the floor. He scuttled backward toward the cistern, gesticulating wildly like the conductor of the symphony of the insane.

  “Get back!” he cried. “Get away from me!”

  “Whoa!” Shade said. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

  “Yeah, brah,” said Meesh. “Don’t freak.”

  Abe just sat back and watched, his hand clutched to his now-sore breastbone.

  The man’s gaze flitted to each of the three brothers, and his head then whipped around and he stared, mouth agape, at the flames within the iron cistern. He yelped and scampered to the side while batting at the back of his neck as if he feared he might have caught fire. When he reached the far wall, he drew his knees to his chest, ducked his head, and rocked. Meesh circled his index finger around his ear, and Abe told him to keep quiet with a frown.

  Finally, the man lifted his head. His jaw trembled, but at least he didn’t seem frenzied. “Where am I?” he asked.

  That voice, Abe thought. There was something about it, and the look in the man’s eyes, that was familiar, like a memory he was only vaguely aware of. He shook out of it and said, “Still in Breighton. You knew you were in Breighton, yes?”

  The man nodded.

  Shade shuffled forward. “What’s your name?”

  “A-Asaph,” he replied. “Asaph Noigel.”

  “That’s an odd name,” Meesh said with a chuckle. “Two of ’em, actually.”

  Asaph stared at him sidelong as if he’d spoken some foreign tongue.

  Shade glared at his brother before introducing himself to the newly awakened man. “Asaph, I’m Shadrach, but you can call me Shade.”

  Still that sidelong, vacant stare.

  Shade continued: “I found you hidden in a locked room beneath the Great Pine. Why were you in there?”

  Asaph’s eyes widened as he glanced from the brothers to the giant window. “It’s dark,” he said, his tone dripping with dread. “It’s dark and we’re exposed. IT’S DARK AND WE’RE EXPOSED!”

  He leapt to his feet and dashed to the window. Abe followed, afraid he’d leap out the empty portal, but when Asaph arrived at the frame he stopped short and peered out into the newly black night.

  “They’re out there,” he said, frenzied. “They’re coming. He’s coming! They’ll rip us to shreds, and then we’ll stand up and join his side. It’s not safe here, not safe, not safe, not safe!”

  Cautiously, Abe placed a comforting hand on the man’s back, peered out alongside him. Again he had a sense of familiarity, as if he had stood here before with Asaph by his side. Stop it. No more visions. He looked up at the giant moon filling the horizon between the towers, nearly full, its light bathing the city in haunting cobalt. Asaph whimpered under his breath. Abe looked over the square, but saw only a couple small, shadowy, four-legged shapes meandering through the giant field of nightweed. It looked like a few of the dogs had returned. But not the sabrewolves. Small victories.

  “There,” Asaph said, pointing a trembling finger at the shapes.

  “Just dogs,” Abe said.

  The frightened man squinted. “Dogs?”

  “Yes, dogs.”

  “But I don’t… where are…” His voice drifted off.

  “Come now, my friend,” Abe said. “You really need to sit down and relax.”

  Abe guided the man back toward the fire, and when Asaph slumped down on the floor, Abe took a moment to give a cursory check of his vitals. Asaph didn’t react to his touch in the slightest. His heartbeat was stronger now, and his flesh was no longer cold, though still cooler than normal.

  Abe knelt before him. “Asaph, listen to me. We’re friends. We truly are. I’m Abe, and the one who slapped you is Meesh. We’re here to help you in whatever way we can.”

  The man wrapped his arms around himself and turned his head so he looked at the wall.

  “Please,” Shade said, “just talk to us.”

  Color gradually returned to Asaph’s cheeks. “I could use some water,” he said, pale fingers clutching at his neck. “The desert has nothing on my throat.”

  “Of course,” Abe said. Shade slid forward and handed the man the jug of water.

  Asaph drank down deeply, coughing afterward. He then ran a hand over his bald head and took a deep breath. When he again looked at the knights, his air was serious but not alarmed. “You’re sure we’re alone here?” he asked. “There’s nothing outside waiting to kill us?”

  “No. It’s all clear,” Abe replied.

  The man let out a sigh and took another pull of water. “Well that’s a relief.”

  Shade placed a hand on his knee. “Asaph, we need you to tell us what happened here.”

  Asaph took a deep breath, and his tired, purple-rimmed eyes showed a hint of vitality. “It was horrible,” he said in barely a whisper. “There was so much screaming, so much death. Everyone… everyone… and then… he did the most… despicable thing…”

  “Who did what?” asked Shade, his grip tightening on the man’s knee.

  Asaph looked at him uncertainly.

  “Please, m
y friend, we only want to help,” Abe said. “Tell us what happened. Everything you remember. Take your time.”

  Asaph closed his eyes when next he spoke. “It was the last full moon. At least I think it was. A hooded man walked into the city, all by his lonesome.” He pointed toward the window. “He stood right there, in the middle of the central park, and just… waited. Folks gathered ’round him, asked what he wanted, but he didn’t answer. He was there for an hour before someone was sent to wake Herr Hogan. When he arrived, the hooded man still said nothing. He just lifted a hand, and… they arrived. There were so many of them… so, so many.”

  Abe’s heart quickened. “So many of whom, Asaph?”

  “The dead,” the man said, meeting his gaze. “Men, women, and children. A whole army of them. Merciless. They butchered everyone in the park, and then they ran to the taverns and brownstones. They were wild beasts, I tell you. Wild beasts, mindless killers…”

  Abe peered over his shoulder at Shade. Possessors? he mouthed, and Shade shrugged.

  “Where were you during all this, brah?” Meesh asked.

  “Right there,” Asaph replied, his face soured by guilt. “I’d been diagramming the conduits that run beneath the sand when the hooded man came, and was with the first group who went to him. I was there when the… undead… descended.” His throat hitched, his color paled again. “There was so much blood. People I’ve conversed with, eaten with, laughed with… all died while that hooded beast just stood there. Then… I know this sounds insane, but it’s true… then those who’d fallen stood back up and attacked their fellow citizens.”

  “It sounds like quite the ordeal,” Abe said.

  “What happened next?” asked Shade.

  Asaph gulped. “I… I ran. Back to the Great Pine. I ran down as far as I could, to the base of the complex, and just… hid. I don’t know how many days I was there while still hearing them lumber outside that door. I… oh no…”

  The man swiftly leaned to the side and vomited the water he’d just drunk all over the floor. The brothers each backed up a smidge. Meesh looked like he too might get sick, which wasn’t surprising; while he was fine with blood and entrails, Meesh never dealt well with puke, be it his own or anyone else’s.