Legacy of Souls

by D. Wallace Peach

  He darted to the back of the tinker’s wagon. The small space lay in shambles as if the rolling home had tumbled down a hill. He scratched through the rubble of belongings and tossed aside the shredded mattress, leaving a trail of blood from his sliced hand. Nothing.

  Once again in the sunlight, he yelled her name, ran the cabin’s perimeter, and nearly stumbled over Lanya who stared without blinking at the sky. “I’m so sorry,” he said, Briyon’s pain melding with his own.

  He scanned the garden’s paths, sprinted into the pasture, and turned to stare at the barn’s blazing timbers. “Nae,” he murmured. She would have escaped from there… unless she was already dead.

  “Raze!” His heart leapt at Shara’s call, but when the woman loped toward him, she did so alone. “The cabin’s empty. Come with me to my freehold.”

  His life reeled. He couldn’t think, couldn’t leave Samoth and Lanya lying in the yard. He needed to find Bel. Deal with the fire. His freehold had fallen apart. Everything was gone.

  “Bel might have fled to my place,” Shara said when he didn’t move. She looked back toward the cabin. “We’ll return to bury the bodies later.”

  His hand shook as he rubbed his jaw. His body juddered with rising dread, joints falling apart. He’d have to face Rozenn. He wasn’t prepared, wasn’t in any state of mind to bear her anguish. And what if Bel wasn’t there?

  “Raze, listen to me.” Shara strode up to him, her voice soft yet with a firmness that kept him from dissolving. “We’re going to my freehold. One thing at a time. I’ll help you.”

  He drew in a breath, and they started across the meadow. His face hurt, his hand stung, and fear suffocated the life from his lungs. Shara’s brothers and the freehold’s new man met them in the yard.

  “Is Bel here?” Raze asked.

  The men shared a wince. “Nae,” Harper said. “We haven’t seen her. The children are with our parents, Rozenn’s around back. She’s waiting for Samoth, but it looks like you’ll have to do.”

  Shara touched his arm. “Shall I go with you?”

  He shook his head, removed Samoth’s soulstone, and walked around the outside of the sprawling home. Rozenn stood by an old peach tree in Shara’s grove, the gnarled branches left to grow wild a decade ago. When she saw him, her knees buckled, and she sank to the grass as if she were fashioned of air and all the wind had blown out of her. She covered her face with her hands, and her sobs heaved. He stayed beside her, silent, sharing her misery until her suffering wrung out even the will to cry.

  “Roz, I’m sorry. I brought you his soulstone.”

  She peered up at him, and he opened his hand. Eyes glistening, she stroked the glowing pendant with her fingertips but left it in his palm. “I don’t want it. He made me promise, and I’ll keep my word.”

  “What should I…” He stopped himself.

  “Swallow it, Raze… if you wish.” She folded his hand around it. “They stole Bel. She could have run with us, but she saved us instead. She and Lanya. You have to find her and bring her back. Samoth will help you.”

  His thoughts floundered, drowning. Pain and fatigue merged with a wave of anguish and sapped the last of his strength. Bel still breathed, but nothing about Sajem suggested that her life mattered. She was dust beneath his boots, effortless to trample upon and leave behind. He met Roz’s eyes, her husband’s soul closed in the palm of his hand. “Are you certain?”

  “Samoth was a great warrior and an honorable man. He chose his souls wisely, and his skills are valuable. I would be honored to…to have him in my life, but…”

  He waited for the warning. “Ai?”

  A new flood of tears escaped her lashes, her voice pleading, “But don’t let anyone else swallow his soul. If that’s what you choose, don’t delay. Don’t lose him.”

  “I promise.” He helped her up. “I have to go if I have any chance of catching them. Shara will see to…him and…”

  “I know.” Roz hugged him and stepped back. “Please go.”

  With nothing left to offer, he started toward the front of the home.

  “Raze?” She stopped him, and he swung to face her. “Kill him. Kill that slaver.”

  A grim smile shied to his lips. “I will try.”

  Shara waited for him by the well, washed of blood. She held out a wet cloth and cup of water. He dabbed his nose and drank. “Sajem stole Bel. I’m going after them.”

  “I’ll go with you. Give me ten minutes to collect my gear.”

  “Nae, Shara. I need you here. Rozenn needs you. So does what’s left of my freehold. Vax will return tomorrow. Keep them safe. That will ease my mind and allow me to do what others should have done a long time ago.”

  She couldn’t argue with his reasoning and gripped his forearm. “Bring Bel home.”

  “I’ll do more than that.”

  ~

  Raze cursed the sun as it raced him across the meadow. Shara had insisted on cleaning and wrapping his hand, the cut shallow but the tending warranted. Harper and Kace had returned to his freehold. Their farmhand dug a hole at the track’s edge for one of the eight slavers dragged from the bloody yard.

  When Raze reached his home, he paused to catch his breath. Samoth’s and Lanya’s bodies were gone, but Samoth’s sword lay on the porch steps like a sacred offering. Raze wrapped his bandaged hand around the hilt. He lifted it, the feel of the grip foreign, his lack of skill reflected on the blade’s steel face. Bracing himself, he walked around the cabin.

  In the clearing near a copse of maples, Kace and Harper dug two holes beside Briyon’s grave. They looked up as their shovels bit into the dirt. Raze knelt next to Lanya’s body. The cantankerous woman had served as the matriarch of the freehold, and he couldn’t deny his fondness for her.

  Briyon’s grief flowed inside him. The old man’s love for her fiery spirit had never withered. In life, Briyon had never chosen violence or prepared Raze for the challenges ahead, but the peaceful man had believed in justice, and that goal melded firmly with Raze’s desire for revenge.

  From Lanya’s neck, he removed the lanyard with her glowing soulstone. He handed it to Kace. “Give this to Rozenn. She can decide its fate.” Kace accepted the pendant with a touching reverence.

  Raze squatted by Samoth’s body and collected his thoughts. Their journey together hadn’t ended, the man’s soul resting against his chest, sword in his hand. “I hope I live up to your expectations, my friend. I will attempt to avenge you, and I’ll do my best to keep your family safe.”

  After a nod at the twins, he returned to the cabin. Slavers had sacked the place, and since the purse on the mantel lay empty, he scrounged for chits in Lanya’s room. Holding his breath, he strapped on Samoth’s sword belt and sighed again at his woeful lack of skills.

  Ready to go, he collected his staff from the yard and whistled for the horses. He rode Warrior Wind bareback to Shara’s and borrowed a saddle, another of many charities he expected to beg in the future.

  The slaver’s horses left fresh prints in the road, the dirt kicked up by their shoes. They had two hours on him, and he had a limited ribbon of daylight to trail them. What he would do once he found them deserved his attention. Eight dead left how many alive?

  At the fork, the tracks veered south toward Espen and Avanoe beyond. If they herded captives other than Bel, their pace didn’t show it. No one walked, which meant Bel rode with someone or had a horse of her own. To Sajem, she was a prize long denied. Otherwise, why endure such an ordeal for one woman? Would the madman choose to own her? Would he kill her?

  The slavers wouldn’t reach Espen by evening’s end. Unless they planned to travel in the dark, they’d build a camp. As the afternoon waned, he rode with greater wariness, eyes vigilant for a turn into the forest or toward the cliffs of the shore. If they threw her into the sea, how would he retrieve her? That worry joined the others he’d failed to bury in the back of his skull.

  Tension knotted his shoulders. His cut hand ached, and his nose throbbed. Th
e fight, his rage, and the grief haunting him clawed away at his reserves, and the futility of the rescue drained his confidence. He needed to come up with a plan, or his mission was doomed. He urged the horse on. He had no choice.

  When the trail diverged from the road, a bloody twilight heralded the passing of a broken day. He followed the path toward the sea, dismounted, and led the horse on foot through a copse of twisted cedar and yew. The descending dusk nipped at his heels, but he couldn’t risk a mistake. He crept along the thicket’s edge and stopped when in the distance a bright flicker of light appeared on the rocks topping the cliffs.

  Every inch of his body longed to crawl forward to assure himself that Bel survived, that he followed her and not a wasted hope. But even if she huddled by the fire, even if she spotted him, he couldn’t help her. He’d accepted during the long hours in the saddle that his choices needed to be wise ones. He couldn’t afford to botch it because he’d get only one chance if he had any chance at all.

  He retreated, extending the distance between them, but keeping the speck of fire in view. Beneath the trees, he tethered Warrior Wind and brushed him down. The moon rose, casting a silver light across the swath of wind-scoured rock. He sat on a low jut of ledge and ate from his pack, wrapped in his cloak.

  Sleep gnawed at him in equal measure with a restless fear. He withdrew Samoth’s pendant and studied the glowing soulstone. Carefully he untwisted the wires and removed the tiny onyx cap. It slipped through his fingers, and despite his frantic searching, remained lost in the grass. With a sigh, he emptied the pearl of Samoth’s soul into his palm.

  Light radiated from the bead like a tiny sun, and he stared at it, frozen with trepidation as if the world had descended into an early winter. Only a year had passed since he’d surrendered his regrets about swallowing Briyon’s soul.

  He’d admired Samoth and suspected the man had chosen his souls with the same meticulous precision he’d employed in every other facet of life. His skills would translate, both those of horseman and swordsman, abilities Raze would willingly absorb. But did he want another soul, all Samoth’s souls? Their temperaments, biases, loves, and fears? He needed to decide soon.

  The moon crawled overhead, indifferent to his struggle. In the distance, the slavers’ fire writhed with the wind. He breathed out his trepidation. He required Samoth’s skills. Bel’s life, his happiness, her future no less than his own, depended on his ability to fight.

  He needed the expertise to kill without fumbling and injury, without remorse. The alternative was to give up on all of them, to toss the soul-catcher in the sea or bury it in the sand, doom the man to an eternity in a tiny glowing sphere. And what would he tell Rozenn? She would know he’d refused her husband’s soul.

  He pressed the pearl between his lips, rolled it on his tongue, and swallowed. Heat welled in his stomach, rushed up his body into his face. He swayed as it raced through his veins, bursting into his fingers and toes. New levels of awareness bloomed in his head; senses intensified, sharpened. The wind acquired a distinct scent beyond the brine of the sea and blew with an audible rhythm over the weeds.

  A flood of emotions pooled in his chest: anger, love, regret, sorrow, courage, and joy. They roared in like breakers driven by gusty winds, crashed together in a thunderous spray, then dissipated into a sea of calm control. And from the stillness percolated thoughts like distant memories. A familiarity with weapons, the subtle mindset of a soldier, the anatomy of motivation, of the way fear compromised the enemy.

  The impressions came from others behind Samoth too, other lives, other battles, other loves, but filtered through layers of souls, the sorting and integration refined. And there were other elements solely the man’s own—his love for Rozenn and his children, the joy of horses, a rich gratefulness for his freedom and the right to choose.

  Raze rolled to the grass and grieved for his friend’s loss until sleep overcame the pain.

  ~

  Stars spangled the faded satin of the night sea, dawn a shy glimmer shaping the contours of rocks and trees. The slavers’ fire still burned. They didn’t care whether Raze caught up with them; perhaps they welcomed him. And yet the all-night fire also meant sentries, someone awake feeding the flames. Sajem wasn’t a fool. They’d expected him to follow, possibly with others. But to what end?

  Despite the strange dreams, he awoke refreshed, his hand less stiff, nose less swollen. After all the heaving emotions of the night, a deep sense of calm settled upon his skin. He shook off his cloak and unsheathed the sword belted to his hip. Even with his wounded hand, his grip on the hilt felt oddly familiar. He swung, reminded of the perfect balance, the feel of the blade as an extension not only of his arm but his body. His wrist rotated and steel sliced the air. He was in full control, the sword under his command.

  Quietly, he cleared a spot for practice, marveling at the urge to integrate his new skills. His movements began with the unhurried diligence of a ritual, a few swings and lunges. He stepped in a tight circle, moved outward and inward, extending beyond an invisible ring and retreating again to the core, always in balance, always poised to spring.

  He tried not to analyze, to consciously remember. His logical, rational mind shifted aside letting his internal talent and intuition assume command.

  His core occasionally shifted, allowing for a varied response. Muscles coiled and unwound, accessing the body’s natural power. The sequence repeated but with greater fluidity, capable of responding to an opponent with grace and control. His speed improved. The sword flickered in a circle at his side, weaved into his left hand, spun and leapt to his right. He grinned, the potency of the skill exhilarating. Faster, his feet dancing, sword twinkling, he moved from the clearing into the rougher landscape pocked by tuffs of seagrass and stones. He whirled through the forms, lost his balance, and landed on his ass with a grunt.

  Samoth would have found his arrogance and the resulting lesson amusing, and he chuckled as he regained his feet. His chance of rescuing Bel had just increased tenfold.

  ~21~

  Escaping Tegir proved more challenging than Danzell imagined. Her brother, the newly coronated Emperor of Ezar, wanted her dead, and he spared no expense. A hundred gold chits rested on her head for the murder of Ezalion, the bounty paid dead or alive. Tegir swarmed with citizens, servants, and slaves all dreaming of living out their lives in luxurious ease.

  Draeva purchased twenty slaves, all tall and slender Ezari women. She dressed them in quality attire, draped them in cowls, and sent them traipsing about the lower city and harbor. If they survived the night, a questionable prospect, they’d earn their freedom and a fat purse.

  “Collect our crew,” Johzar instructed his tattooed second. “I’ll meet you in Avanoe.”

  Draeva pursed her lips. “How long?”

  “Give me a fortnight. A little longer.”

  “Safe voyage.” She collected her gear and strode from the dank cellar that had provided two nights of shelter.

  Danzell hid her sword in the folds of her beggar’s cloak and tugged the hood over her forehead. The rough cloth of her laborer’s smock already chafed, and her comfort wasn’t likely to improve with travel. No sense in delaying, she cocked her head toward the door and crept after Johzar into the night’s balmy air.

  The bridges from Tegir’s massive island to the mainland hosted the same hungry crowds of bounty seekers as the harbor. After some deliberation, Johzar led the hours’ long trek to the southern cliffs—the domain of smugglers. Fragrant oils and spices graced the pantries of estate kitchens, and no one cared for the high tariffs, least of all the rich.

  As they crested the last rise, Danzell scanned the fog-swollen slope rolling toward the sea. Lanterns strung the shore like pearls, each offering contraband or death. The middle of the night to smugglers and their customers retained the same hustle of midday markets but with a knife’s edge. She tightened her eyes in royal indignation. “I hadn’t expected a… crowd.”

  Johzar grunted. “Smuggl
ers, runaway slaves, and anyone desperate enough to escape Ezarine justice.”

  “What happens next?”

  He shifted his weight from his damaged ankle. “They use long rope ladders to scale the cliffs. We choose one and head for it.”

  “What about guards?”

  He eyed her, his face in shadow. “Your Ezari soldiers look the other way if their pockets sag with silver, and blind ignorance is preferable to a quick trip to the waves.”

  “I had to ask.” She rolled her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

  They skirted the nearest group and headed farther up the shore. He touched her arm and pointed to the next halo of lantern light dangling in the mist at the cliff’s edge. She nodded, and they approached the ring of grizzled faces and slit eyes. “Yozar?” Johzar inquired from a distance.

  “Escaped slaves?” a woman asked.

  “Murderers,” he replied.

  “Ah.” The woman chuckled. “The ship’s makin’ for Valcore.”

  Danzell strode up to the smuggler, Johzar growling as he limped behind her. She opened her palm, revealing a pair of sapphire earrings. “Drop us in Yozar.”

  “Special stop for a couple killers? Why not?” She held out a hand. “Give me one; hand the other to the man on the boat.”

  Danzell closed her fist around the gems. “We’ll carry them both down. The men on the boat can send one back up. The second is for the ship’s captain.”

  The woman’s pleasant smile turned sour. “Won’t argue with murderers, then.”

  One earring Danzell handed to Johzar. The other she slid into her pocket. She clamped down on the terror flooding her senses and lowered herself over the edge first. The ladder swayed and her foot flailed for the lower rung. She caught it and started her descent into the thick gloom, eyes peering straight ahead at the rock wall, hands slippery with sweat. Down and down, one rung after another, she held her breath.