Soultaker

by Duperre, Robert J. ;

  Or had she?

  Ronan Cooper got down on one knee beside him. “I’m sorry,” he said once more. Shade wiped tears away with his duster’s dirty sleeve and gazed up at the brigand prophet. Cooper’s eyes glimmered; there was no mistaking his sadness. You will avenge me. It is only then that my soul will be freed. Shade squeezed his eyes shut and thought back to the times Vera’s spirit had visited him. He tried to remember her exact words, to recall if she’d ever once uttered Ronan Cooper’s name.

  No matter how hard he tried, he came up blank.

  Shade faced forward, and the thing in the cage scratched its curled fingers along the slatted floor. One of its nails broke. The sound turned Shade’s stomach. He rose to his feet and lurched toward the bars. The rotting woman stood as well, as if to mimic him. He stopped just out of the thing’s reach, and his lips quivered. The creature’s flesh was covered with boils and lesions; half the teeth had fallen from its mouth. But worst of all, there was no recognition of him at all in those milky white eyes.

  That’s not your Vera, his inner, logical voice stated.

  “I know,” he said aloud.

  Cooper appeared beside him, the creases around his eyes deeper than ever before. The corpse fell back and stood still, swaying. Ronan cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was choked with grief. “She was special to me, you know. She was my ward, but I loved her like a daughter.”

  Shade kept his lips sealed. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Asaph found her after we drove the Morningstar away,” Cooper continued. “She was still in her bedroom, not a scratch on her, but her eyes… her eyes were empty. She was dead, but she moved. I wanted her burned, but he said I shouldn’t. We could use her to convince others, he said.”

  “And convince them she did.” The words leaked out of Shade’s mouth like raw sewage. His jaw twitched. “She served her purpose. Why is she still here?”

  “I owed it to her mother to say goodbye to her in whichever way she wanted, but she didn’t have the heart…”

  “Her mother?”

  Cooper jacked his thumb over his shoulder. “The woman who owns this house. I’ve known Parama for many years. She’s a brave woman, one of the few who risked leaving her own people to explore our world. Vera staying with me was her idea. She feared the violence of the Wasteland, violence we in Lemsberg had been shielded from. I raised Vera from the time she was ten years old. She was… a special girl.” A thick stream of tears rolled down his cheek.

  I never knew, Shade thought in sadness. She never told me…

  The shell of that girl clacked its teeth and tottered in its cage.

  Avenge me, her ghostly voice spoke in Shade’s head.

  He gazed sidelong at the brigand prophet. “She came to me,” he said. “Her spirit did. She’s in pain. She wants release.” He paused, shifted on his feet. “I came here to kill you for her. I thought that’s what she wanted.”

  The man didn’t object. Instead, he simply nodded. “I’m sure you thought the worst, after I deceived you.”

  “That I did.”

  “You don’t know the whole truth about why I sent you away,” Cooper said, staring at him with those watering eyes. “I contemplated telling you of our discoveries in the cave, but it was Vera who convinced me not to. She wished for me to write that letter, to send you back to your brothers.”

  Shade’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “She loved you, Shadrach. More than anything in this world. She confided to me your angst, your desire to run away with her. Had that been what she wanted, I would have given her my blessing. But she didn’t want to. ‘He’s a man of principle,’ she said. ‘He belongs to the world, not to me. If he stays, I’ll only corrupt him.’ And so I forged the letter, and away you went.”

  Shade let out a sigh and again took in the putrid echo of humanity before him. “I believe you.”

  “That’s… that’s good,” Cooper said in relief.

  “But where do we go from here?” Shade asked.

  The man tore his gaze off the dead girl. “The documents of the Elders speak of a holy place beyond the River Butte, a place where the fragments of our Lord’s soul lie buried beneath the earth, accessible only by the most devout of men. That’s where I’m heading; I know the way. I want you to join me.” He looked at Shade, eyes pleading.

  “I’ll consider it,” Shade replied.

  “I understand,” Cooper said. He paused as if pained and said, “I’m sorry, but there is something you must do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Parama knows of you. Vera wrote her often. She knows how much you loved each other.” Cooper pointed at the undead thing. “She wants you to bring this abomination peace.”

  “She does?”

  “She does.”

  Shade looked at the creature, at the pus and bile that dripped from the corner of its frayed lips. That’s not Vera, he told himself. Without another word, he strode toward the cage, leaned his cheek against the bars, stared the dead thing in the eyes. It just gawked and swayed, clacking its teeth. The stench of rot was overwhelming.

  “I love you,” he said. “May you now have rest.”

  He spun Rosetta from behind his back.

  He jammed the silver barrel beneath the dead girl’s chin.

  He pulled the trigger.

  And it was done.

  13

  “THE DARKNESS! IT COMES! AND ONLY NOW DO I KNOW MY NAME!”

  —MESHACH THE 6TH

  9 SECONDS BEFORE DEMISE

  Abe looked out over the long line of gleaming steel chariots and couldn’t help but feel like he was living someone else’s life. That, combined with his growing crisis of faith, should have paralyzed him, but there was something weirdly normal about seeing this pageant of horseless carriages. Strange as that seemed.

  Must have something to do with the visions…

  Ronan Cooper’s small carriage zipped along, its thick black wheels kicking up dust. Bertram drove, while the brigand prophet stood atop his seat, hands braced on an overhead frame. With his hair flying in the breeze, his chainmail vest, and the banner of the fish that flapped above his head, he looked like a leader. The problem with leaders, as Reverend Garron had told him many times, was that their reign always ended with either triumph or destruction. I hope we’re doing the right thing, Abe thought.

  What made him even more nervous was the ease with which his brothers had agreed to embark on this journey. When Shade presented the option two nights before, there had been unanimous approval. Shade seemed dedicated to the man’s cause, which was more than shocking.

  “Does something trouble you, Abednego?” said a tinny voice.

  Abe glanced down at the glowing screen on the sleek, oblong machine he was straddling. “No trouble, Ivan. And I told you, call me Abe.”

  “Very well, Abe. Are you certain there is nothing I can help you with?”

  “No. It’s personal.”

  “Affirmative. I will be here if you need me.”

  He shook his head. It was hard to get used to speaking with an inanimate object, even when that object displayed more manners than most people he had come across over his thirty-three years. It didn’t help that Ivan’s conduct helped further confuse his already taxed mind. He had spent the entire day before with the accursed machine, getting used to riding it, and when he’d gone to bed for the evening, after listening to Ivan instruct him all day, that metallic voice continued echoing in his ears.

  Someone whistled, and a familiar stallion approached. Abe felt a pang of loss. He hadn’t wanted to give up Greenie, but after experiencing what the Warhorses were capable of, it would have been foolish not to use them. It still grated on him, though; Greenie had been with him for the last twelve years, through thick and thin. Abe knew almost every inch of him. It felt like giving up on an old friend.

  “Hey there,” the grinning man sitting atop Greenie said.

  “Hello, Asaph,” Abe replied.

  “Y
ou master that thing yet?”

  Abe grimaced. “As much as I can for now.”

  “Well, be careful. I like talking to you. Wouldn’t want you splattered along the prairie, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  Asaph slapped a hat on his head, bowed slightly, and said, “Hyah!” Greenie took off at a mild gallop, heading for the trailer that would transport the horses, both healthy and lame. Abe grimaced. He still couldn’t quite get over that feeling of familiarity that came over him whenever he spoke to Asaph. Even though he’d hidden his association with Cooper, for some reason Abe still felt entirely comfortable around him.

  Speaking of secrets…

  Abe glanced behind him, to where Shade sat astride his own Warhorse, adjusting the machine’s grips. Meesh was nowhere to be seen. Perfect. His bearded brother had been mum about what had gone down in the shack, and Abe was determined to pry it out of him. He swung out of his saddle.

  “Am I finished for the day, Abe?” Ivan asked.

  “Not in the slightest,” Abe said, slightly annoyed with the machine’s incessant questions. “Just go to sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course!”

  “Very well.”

  Abe plodded across the grassy field. Shade didn’t look up as he approached. “Brother,” he said once he reached his side.

  Shade continued to fiddle with the grips. “Hm?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Hm.”

  The Warhorse hummed. “Shade, would you like me to shut myself down so you can speak in private?”

  Shade nodded, and the machine’s droning engine wound down. Great, I got the defective one, Abe thought.

  “What do you want?” Shade asked, lifting his eyes. Abe saw the same sadness in them that had replaced his old anger the last few days.

  “You need to talk to me,” Abe said.

  “About what?”

  “You know damn well about what. The woman in the cage. Vera. What was she to you?”

  “A friend.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He grunted. “It’s none of your business.”

  “You’re wrong. It is my business. We’re responsible for each other. If you fall, so do we. I’ve allowed you to wallow in whatever this shit is that’s bothering you for far too long already. No more. So tell me, and tell me now, or else I’ll haunt you with questions ’til the end of your days.”

  Shade’s old glower returned, though it had softened at the edges, and he slapped the sides of the Warhorse with a hollow twang. “What do you want from me, Abe? You want me to tell you she was my lover? How I wasn’t needed in Lemsberg after the deal was struck, but I stayed anyway? Or that I wanted to run away with her, to marry her, to never see your ugly damn mugs again? Don’t you threaten me with haunting, Abe. I’m haunted enough already. By her.”

  Abe knelt down, placed a hand on Shade’s knee. His brother looked wretched, face drawn out, eyes shimmering with tears.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Abe asked.

  “I… I couldn’t,” said Shade. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

  “But why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t think I do,” he said.

  Shade’s head drooped. “I broke my vows,” he said, so softly Abe could barely hear him. “We made a promise… that to praise the Pentus for giving us life, we would dedicate those lives to Him.”

  “We did. But that’s not all, is it?”

  “No… no.” He turned away. “Our relationship wasn’t just physical. I loved her, Abe. I didn’t just think about abandoning my duties. I almost did. Had Vera agreed, I would have run, would have made you chase me to the ends of the world. I would have done this gladly… wanted to… more than anything…”

  “I understand.”

  Shade looked up at him blankly. “How could you?”

  “Life’s all about challenges, brother, and no life is more challenging than ours. We were brought into this world without ever knowing a mother or a father, without experiencing innocence. From the moment we opened our eyes, we were expected to fight, to struggle, to endure, yet we’re not gods. We’re human, saddled with the same faults as any man who’s ever born, lived, and died. We feel fear, doubt, anger, hatred… and love. With that in mind, I’ve always found the expectations the Temple puts on us to be a tad unrealistic.”

  Shade sniffled, wiped snot from his nose. “You do?”

  “Of course. We’re all imperfect, no matter how we came about. Some, like our brother, bypass the tenets by treating all of life like it’s a grand joke. Others of us can’t do that; we’re sensitive, we feel. You and Meesh mock me for being a pedant for the rules of our order, but what you don’t see is that I act that way because I’m afraid. Afraid that if I don’t, I’ll end up just like those brothers of mine I had to hunt down and destroy. Afraid that if I lose focus for even a moment, all that doubt and desire will come roaring back like it did once before.”

  Shade sat back with a start, his mouth gaped.

  “Yes,” Abe said. “I almost fled, too.”

  “When?”

  “It was my sixth year of life. Your age now. There was a girl, Tesha. I met her in New Salem—the most splendid creature I’d ever seen, with soulful brown eyes and skin so dark you’d swear she was born from the essence of the night. She was barely twenty, but she had already mastered the sword. I used to take to sparring during the time it took to decipher the Crone’s riddle, and she was the greatest challenger in the whole city. We practiced together in New Salem’s grand arena, and she beat me every time. I wasn’t going easy on her, either. We stayed together even after our matches ended, and I found myself falling for her. Hard. I’d hum her name when I laid down to sleep. I wanted to drink in every part of her—her smell, her skin, her breath, everything.”

  Shade nodded dumbly.

  Abe hadn’t told this story in eight years, and most days he didn’t even think of it. The telling was still difficult even after all this time. “Tesha fell just as hard for me as I did for her,” he continued. “I snuck away from my brothers at night to be with her. I found an excuse to stay behind in the city after we’d finished our task of clearing out a hive of phantasms. I was there for half a year, and every moment, both waking and sleeping, I spent with Tesha. We explored each other’s bodies, minds, emotions. We loved, and we lived. And then… Tesha became pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” Shade sat back, astonished.

  “Yes,” Abe said with an exaggerated nod. “Over the next four months, I watched her belly grow. I was filled with every unwanted emotion imaginable. A Knight Eternal, having a child? Unheard of! And so I plotted, and planned, and plotted some more. I thought the same as you—that we would flee together, that I could somehow run far enough that the Crone could never find me.” He felt tears tug at the corners of his eyes, forced them back. “Fortunately, or unfortunately, I never got that chance.” He stopped speaking, his lips pressed together.

  “Why?” Shade urged.

  “Because Tesha fell ill. She lay in bed for weeks, sweating, bleeding when she coughed. And then one day she just… stopped living. I woke up beside her, and she was cold. Her and the baby, gone. Her body’s now in the mausoleum just outside the city.”

  Shade’s eyes alighted with clarity. “That’s why you stop for a moment whenever we pass it.”

  “Yes.” Abe took a deep breath. “At the time, her death rocked me to my core. I convinced myself that her death was my fault, that it was the Pentus punishing me for breaking my vows. I returned to my brothers a new man, dedicated fully to our cause, steadfast that it would never happen again.”

  “You still believe it? That the Pentus punished you?”

  “I haven’t for a long time. I know now it was simply bad luck. Whether or not the Pentus is real, or if this Almighty that Cooper touts is the true deity, none of that matters. No God would be so cruel, especia
lly one that teaches love, togetherness, peace. So now I remain tied to our laws, but not for the reason you might expect. I do it so I’ll never have to feel such horrific loss again.”

  Abe stopped talking, and for long moments afterward, he and Shade sat in silence. Even the bustle of more than two thousand Outriders preparing to depart seemed to slink into the background. Abe closed his eyes, swore he could feel Tesha beside him.

  Someone shouted their names, and Abe glanced up. Meesh was a good distance away, waving as he sat atop his Warhorse. A thick cloud of dust rose all around him.

  “Looks like it’s time to go,” Abe said, squeezing his brother’s knee before standing up.

  Shade grabbed his forearm before he walked away. “Abe… thank you,” he said.

  “Just remember, brother… I’m here for you. Always.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “You better.”

  Abe walked back to his new Warhorse and swung his leg over the side. The thing immediately woke up. Buzzing filled his head, almost comforting, until that blasted mechanical voice spoke.

  “Is everything fine, Abednego? I sense a heightened heart rate.”

  “Yes, Ivan.”

  “Are we preparing to depart now?”

  “We are.”

  “Excellent.”

  The whir of the Warhorse’s motor grew louder. Abe swiveled in his saddle-like seat and opened the compartment behind him. It was spacious enough to fit both his guitar case and blitzer, with room to spare. He then turned back around, leaned forward, and wrapped his fingers around the handles. “Pentus help me,” he whispered.