Legacy of Souls

by D. Wallace Peach

  She splashed in the pool with Chellai and Thanelan and threw copper chits into the calmer waters away from the falls, artfully teaching them to swim while cleaning a week’s ground-in griminess from their naked skin. Long ago, with Briyon’s help, Raze had levered out the largest rocks and built the low dam at one end, never considering that it would bring so many years of joy.

  Every so often, Bel glanced at him with a brief but dazzling smile that made him ache. What gifts nestled behind those gold-flecked eyes? Affection, certainly. But she doled out fondness to everyone, including her tribe of goats.

  Not far from the water lay Talaith’s grave and the cave she’d called home before her death, one of many sadnesses he wore stitched to his skin. What had Bel said about him when the wisdom of her grandmother’s soul flowed from her tongue? The time had arrived to snip the threads of fear, to free his soul from its weight of shame and disappointment. He’d added regret to the list. A tall order.

  Bel scrambled up the ledge, leaving the children to frolic in the shallow water. Flinging her wet hair in his direction, she settled cross-legged beside him and grinned. “It’s freezing but so marvelous to feel clean.”

  “They love you already.”

  “It’s the sweets I slip into their pockets when Rozenn’s not watching.”

  “Hopefully, you’ll run out before she catches you.”

  “It won’t be long. I never learned how to make them.” Her smile slipped. Reminders of their week in Kestrel stung, a time both terrible and wonderful, the two halves difficult to reconcile. His father had almost died from an assassin’s arrow, and slavers had murdered Bel’s masters who despite owning her labor, had genuinely cared for her.

  Balancing the scale, his brother Azalus had wed Nallea, the love of his young life. And by some miracle, Bel had chosen to return with Raze to the freehold. How she would knead and shape his future, he couldn’t guess. And though he yearned for greater intimacy, his dreams required patience, his conscience restraint. The door to her heart stood before him, and he resigned himself to peering curiously through the keyhole.

  She leaned toward him and touched the pendant on his chest, the one his parents had gifted him not long after he’d learned to walk. All his life he’d worn it without a thought.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Pretty?” He grimaced.

  She rolled her eyes. “Handsome, then. Is it an emerald?”

  He nodded. Gold wire twisted around the milk-white soulstone. A tiny ovate emerald served as a cap, securing the pearly soul-catcher inside. That’s where he’d go when he died, all his essence absorbed into a tiny translucent sphere.

  “Valuable,” she said.

  “My brother has one as well. Only the best for the Anvrells.” He searched her chest, seeking a pendant and not finding one. Her wet blouse clung to her like a second skin, and his eyes lingered where they shouldn’t. He sat up and let out a breath in time to catch Thanelan flinging their copper chits into the falls. Chellai yelled that now the boy needed to fish them out, an order he wisely refused. “You don’t wear a soulstone, Bel. Why?”

  She shook her head. “I did once, but my grandmother filched it and traded it for a fat book. She insisted books were essential to improving the life of a goatherd with too much time on her hands.”

  Raze rubbed his eyes. Half of the time, her answers only left him with more questions. “You can read?”

  “Ai. Goatherds aren’t idiots.”

  “Your grandmother taught you?”

  “Ai. Her soul still does.” Bel glanced his way. “She once told me that the wealthy assume a heap of gold equals a heap of wisdom, and therefore, they surmise that the poor, lacking in one, naturally lack in the other.”

  “A faulty assumption,” he admitted—a mistake he himself had rendered on occasion.

  “Potentially a dangerous or costly one as well.” A smug smile edged across her lips. “You might say the same regarding the men of the Vales. They assume greater height and muscle somehow endow them with bigger brains.”

  “Our heads are bigger.”

  “Your skulls are thicker.” She laughed and rolled onto her back, arms behind her head. “And wisdom is different than learning and opportunity. True wisdom springs from the heart and alters the way the mind perceives. It bestows light on the profound nature of things.”

  Bell had swallowed her grandmother’s soul long before he’d met her, and the words of wisdom slipping from her tongue continued to surprise him. He smiled at her, forgot what he intended to say, and turned his eyes from the captivating view. Chellai and Thanelan had resolved their differences and were throwing fir cones into the pool. If he had any sense at all, he’d order them to stop, but then they might discover they’d grown hungry or bored, or they’d want Bel to play with them. He preferred her lounging right by his side.

  The children caught him watching their antics and climbed up the ledge, waterlogged and shivering. Belizae dried off their skinny bodies and helped them into their clothes, inviting them to visit her in her tinker’s wagon after supper for a treat. Raze had rescued the rolling home from the forest, and upon their return from Kestrel, Bel took up residence beneath the bow-topped roof, a godsend since the freehold’s cabin bulged at the seams. And though he planned an addition at the rear of the barn for his own use, the project languished behind other priorities.

  They walked from beneath the forest’s canopy into a twilit world of powder blues and grays, the meadow a bouquet, crickets serenading them along the path. The children skipped ahead to the lake, imitating the belching of bullfrogs. Bel curled her fingers around his hand, and kissed his cheek, meeting his eyes with a delicious smile.

  He pulled her along, chuckling at the twists and turns of his life, the beautiful gifts that arrived as utter surprises. Bel had landed in his heart, tenderly filling a hunger he’d scarcely known he had. She’d smoothed the ruts in his muddy road and before he realized it, set his life rolling again.

  ~3~

  Rozenn rocked baby Aryn by lantern light as dusk deepened outside the front window. The curved runners Raze had carved for her chair thumped like a heartbeat on the uneven floor. “I think the children have eaten enough sweets for one night, Raze. Would you bring them in?”

  He ceased whittling, his never-finished ravenwood staff resting across his knees. Lanya and Vax chuckled in the midst of a game of Pauper’s Plunder. Samoth raised an eyebrow in his seat by the window where he fletched arrows, his response to the recent trouble with slavers.

  “Do you all know?” An embarrassed heat flushed Raze’s face.

  Her head at an angle, Rozenn winked at him. “Thanelan doesn’t tell only you everything; he tells everyone everything.”

  Raze cringed. “You don’t mind?”

  “Nae, Bel’s sweet, and we can tell you’re tripping over your eyes for her.”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  Samoth smirked. “To a blind man.”

  “At least she keeps goats and weeds the garden,” Lanya muttered. “You, my lord, have forgotten this place requires work.”

  “I’ve been keeping up with chores. Who spent the day repairing fences?”

  Lanya huffed. “Not like in the old days.”

  “And don’t call me ‘lord.’” He straightened his back, feigning indignation. Her statement neared the truth. The work of the freehold used to be a distraction from the nagging aches of his past, a means to work off his rage and prove his mettle. Since he’d made peace with his father, he was content to simply enjoy the life he’d built.

  He packed up his whittling tools and left the staff in the corner with the other unfinished projects. When he swallowed Briyon’s soul, he’d swallowed the old man’s love of carving and his tendency to start projects he never completed. The memory warmed him as he wandered outside into the summer night.

  Lantern light shone through the tiny windows of the tinker’s wagon, and Chellai’s high voice rose above Thanelan’s chatter. He knocked o
n the door, which elicited some scurrying. Bel opened it, a broad and secretive smile widening her eyes.

  “They know,” he said.

  “I know they know.” She laughed. “But it’s so fun to sneak.”

  “Why am I the only one who doesn’t know what everyone knows?”

  She shrugged and tromped down the wagon’s rear steps, waving to the children to follow. “Tell your mum they’re all gone. You ate the last of them.”

  “Can we get more?” Than asked.

  “We need coppers,” Chellai said. “We’d have to do more and more extra chores.”

  Thanelan’s shoulders sagged until the inevitable idea sparked his imagination. “We could make some with honey.”

  “And berries,” Chellai squeaked.

  “And other things!” Thanelan ran for the porch stairs, Chellai on his heels. “We’ll ask Lanya and me mum.” They disappeared through the door.

  Bel sighed. “They’re little whirlwinds of joy. What a wonderful childhood they have here.”

  “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about this place.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled and raised her eyes to the full moon balancing on the Ravenwood’s peaks like a silver pearl. She seemed suspended too, encapsulated by the same halo of enchantment glowing in the star-salted sky. He, on the other hand, teetered, uncertain which way to fall.

  She hummed a sigh into the night, and he caught a secret glimpse of her soul, the dreams weaving and unraveling in her life. Gods, she enchanted him. He loved her, yearned for her, refused to endure a lifetime of wishing, his heart leaping and chest tight.

  She smiled at his cow-eyed stare. “Well, I suppose it’s time to turn in. Thank you for everything, Raze, especially for this place.”

  As she turned to retreat into her wheeled home, he clasped her hand. “Will you walk with me?”

  She looked up at him. “Ai. To the lake if you don’t mind. I’d like to see the sky’s reflection.”

  Her shawl around her shoulders, she strolled with him past the barn and goat shed, her charges penned for the night. Raze steadied her as she climbed the fence to the path that wound toward Cully Lake. There the moon revealed its twin, an echo mirrored on the water and glimmering with each ripple. The mountains exhaled a cool breath, and fireflies twinkled above the meadow like wayward stars.

  “This reminds me of my old home.” She sat on a jut of exposed ledge, facing the lake.

  He dropped beside her, content with the view, the balmy air, and the company. “Do you miss it?”

  “Parts, maybe. But I suspect the things I miss are more rosy-daydream than reality; what I wanted it to be, not what it was. I’m happy here.”

  “I’ve been accused of…” He couldn’t quite push the words out. Ten years ago, he’d freely expressed the affections of his heart. He’d wedded Mirelle with a youthful lover’s optimism, and their brief romance had ended with her murder. He hadn’t loved a woman since. Until Bel.

  “Laziness?” she guessed.

  He laughed. “That too.” Clearly, he wasn’t privy to all the conversations traversing the freehold. “Perhaps ‘accused’ isn’t the right word. I’ve been… notified that I’m…”

  “A coward?”

  “Bah!” He pinched his eyes between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not that, Bel. I’m the master of the freehold, and you insist on ‘paying me back’ for your freedom. It makes me wonder if you feel stuck here, if you wouldn’t rather live elsewhere, truly free. I don’t want to lay any claim on you that you might…reciprocate out of obligation.”

  “I’m happy here, Raze.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not spineless. I would never love you out of obligation.” She threw a handful of pebbles in the lake, dappling the smooth surface with overlapping rings. “Shall I tell you why?”

  He looked at her. “Why?”

  “Because you would never ask me to.”

  He sat with her words, sorting through the broader implications. She hadn’t said she loved him, but she didn’t deny it, either. Only that she wouldn’t pretend to love him if she didn’t. He drove himself crazy. So, if he told her he was falling in love with her—had fallen in love with her—she could go either way. He’d end the evening as a king or a fool.

  Yet, love never showed up at the door in tidy packages strung with ribbons; it demanded vulnerability, a choice to trust and accept the risks of hurt, disappointment, and failure. His afternoon’s musing returned to him, life lessons repeated over and over again until they penetrated his thick man’s skull. He’d botched things before, and he’d survived.

  “I love you, Bel.” There. The truth spilled.

  Her eyes wandered his face. “That was hard, wasn’t it? But what an infinitely precious thing. I’ve loved you, Raze, since the spring night we danced like a whirlwind by the fire and every day since.”

  ~4~

  Lord Benjmur Demiris relished the morning sun’s caress on his back and the black Anchi tea on his tongue. A brisk morning walk had invigorated him, and despite his thirty-eight years and thinning hair, he boasted the figure of a younger man. From his seat on Athren’s balcony, he captured a panoramic view of Ildus and its shattered coastline. As opposed to the precipitous ramparts of cities south and north its cliffs were more akin to rocky riverbanks.

  Soon his reach would extend from Avanoe’s granite walls to the white city once ruled by his brother and now in Athren’s unsteady hands. What remained of her one legitimate heir lay scattered in last year’s riot of autumn leaves, dispersed by scavengers, picked clean by insects. Not Benjmur’s doing but not a disappointment. His nephew Laddon had grown into an honorable man, devoted son, and unfortunate obstacle.

  Kestrel too lay in his sights. His daughter, Nallea, had adopted the Anvrell name, wife to the heir, and with his guidance, she would grow into a magnificent ruler. Only two men barred her way—Rydan, severely weakened by an arrow to the lung, and Azalus, her husband. One Benjmur could wait out; the other would require intervention. For a year or so, her suffering would cripple her, but she was young, and time found a way to stitch together the wounds left by death. He knew; he’d experienced the loss of life’s love too.

  Except for Celes, the Demiris house would rule the Vales, and Celes too would one day bend before him. Juntis blustered, plagued by slavers, and though he benefitted from lucrative trade with the lands of the south and east, his province failed to prosper, his ship-based commerce undercut by the cities across the sea. Benjmur would barter his soul for a chance to build an empire to rival Ezar.

  “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” Athren scowled at him from across the table, teacup balanced between her hands so lightly he feared it would drop. “Benjmur?”

  He raised his eyes to her exasperated face. He’d comforted her, bedded her, and fondled her with a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed, and for an hour, more or less, his mind had surrendered to the pure physical pleasure of his body. He’d forgotten that he didn’t particularly find his dead brother’s wife attractive.

  She pinched her eyes, the delicate creases of age accentuating her unhappiness. To some she was a vision, svelte and youthful, blond hair scarcely marred by gray. He remembered her that way too, before she’d swallowed her husband’s and then her father’s souls. Ambition, ruthlessness, and suspicion looked ugly on a woman.

  “I’m listening, Athren.” Smiling, he reached across to her.

  Her shoulders relaxed as she rested her cup on the table and clasped his hand. “I’m concerned about the slavers’ boldness in Celes. Ildus isn’t so far north that it prevents them from stealing families and burning my fields. The province is too vast to patrol.”

  “A legitimate concern, my dear. This once, Ildus’s breadth and wealth is a liability. I understand Juntis is threatening war with Ezar.”

  “Not directly.” She withdrew her hand and massaged her forehead. “Anything so bold would prove deadly. He’s threatening
to imprison any slavers stepping foot in his province until the Empress changes the laws… your laws.”

  “Not my laws, simply ones I negotiated to ease our burdens. I ended slavery in the Vales.”

  “And became rich in the process.” She huffed. “Nallea, your own daughter, nearly lost her life.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He pressed two fingers to his temple, the reminder irritating.

  “But it’s no matter now.” She rose and paced. “The slaver, this madman Sajem, is a menace. He no longer cares about the law, and he’s not above killing anyone who attempts to block his way. I don’t need this on top of everything else dogging me.”

  “Laddon?”

  She spun on him. “Of course Laddon. I’m furious that he’s still missing. I’m livid about Nallea’s marriage to Azalus when she should have wed my son. Where is Laddon? He wouldn’t simply disappear.”

  “Athren, my dear.” He stood, enfolded her slender hands in his, and kissed her fingertips. “Laddon’s disappearance means one of two things. Either he’s imprisoned and can’t get word to you, or he’s—”

  “Dead,” she whispered, sagging into his arms with a sob. He stroked her hair until she reeled away from him, a whirlwind growling her fury at the sky. “I need to send a force to Kestrel. What if the Anvrells imprisoned him? He might be alive but for how long?” She paced, hemmed in by the balcony’s rails. “At the same time, I don’t dare compromise the strength of my Guard here. All because of those slavers.”

  “Let me help you.” Benjmur lowered his head and sought her eyes. “I love you. Let me handle the Anvrells and the slavers.”

  She met his gaze, the paths of her tears shining in the morning light. “How?”

  “The Ezalion Challenge in Tegir. I’ll attempt to convince Lords Rydan and Juntis to attend. I’ll ask Kyzan to arrange an audience with his sister to discuss the slavers. And if possible, I might clear the air with Rydan and learn the truth about Laddon.”

  “And exact my revenge.” She smiled despite the wickedness of her threat.