The Shepherd of Fire (The Soul Stone Trilogy Book 2)

by Matt Moss

  Arkin stared at the man, not knowing what to say or how to react. He looked past him to the other three. He met Ros’s gaze. She cocked her head in wonder.

  “Let’s just leave him be, Tripp,” she said.

  “Why?” he replied, never looking away from Arkin.

  “There’s something special about him,” she added before dismounting her horse. She stood next to them and stared into Arkin’s eyes. She caressed his face. “Do you want to live?” she asked.

  Arkin felt hypnotized by her eyes, lost in a sea of emerald green that seemed to steal all of his senses away. He reached out and brushed the soft, white hair from her milky cheek. Her eyes still twinkled, calling him. He pressed his face against hers and kissed her rose colored lips. It was pure bliss.

  She broke it off, smiling, and pushed him back. He shook his head.

  What the hell am I doing? Arkin thought. Then he marveled how she didn’t look that much older than him. Get a grip on yourself.

  Tripp watched with pleasure. “She’s good, isn’t she, Arkin?

  Arkin looked down, disgusted with himself. How could he do that to Lyla?

  “She has that effect on all men,” Tripp said, clapping Arkin on the back. “You’re fortunate that she likes you.”

  “Come with us,” Ros said.

  “Ros!” Tripp gawked as if she just spoke blasphemy.

  “We can show you the world,” she continued. “All of it can be yours for the taking. Come with us.”

  Arkin cocked his head at her. “Why do you call yourselves soul takers?”

  “Do you believe in hell, Arkin?” Tripp asked. Arkin stared at him blankly as if it was a rhetorical question. Tripp adjusted his stance. “It’s a serious question. Do you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Heaven?”

  “Yes.”

  Tripp looked at the ground and began to pace. After a moment, he spoke. “So you believe that your soul will go to Heaven, or hell, after you die?”

  “Based on the Faith, yes.” Arkin answered.

  “What if there was a third place?”

  “A third place?” Arkin didn’t want to know. “Where?” he reluctantly asked.

  “Here,” Tripp said, tapping a finger to his own chest.

  Arkin gave him a confused look.

  “When we take a soul, it gives us power. That soul then becomes part of us; existing forever in darkness.”

  “Or until we die, but that hasn’t happened yet,” Ros said.

  Arkin looked at her. “Who… what are you?”

  She smiled wickedly. “We are the ones who never sleep. Never die. We’ve been walking this earth for thousands of years.”

  “We are the arbiters of death,” Grom chimed in as if it were some prophecy of old. “The eternal plague of mankind.”

  Scarface hadn’t moved the entire time and continued his long, menacing stare.

  A cold chill ran down Arkin’s spine. Whoever these people were, they were from another world. He looked at the ground, afraid.

  Tripp grinned at Arkin. “Alright, that’s enough about us,” he said and raised Arkin’s head with a finger. “Ros asked you a question earlier, and I don’t think you answered her. That’s rude, Arkin.”

  Arkin glanced to Ros.

  “Come with us,” she pleaded.

  “She’s never asked anyone that, boy,” Grom snorted. “I don’t know what she see’s in you, but I wouldn’t disappoint her.”

  Arkin found himself lost in her eyes again, but this time they weren’t shining. She was allowing him to make the choice by his own will.

  “No.”

  Her soft eyes turned cold as she glared at him. After a moment, she straightened her back, turned, and strutted back to the horse.

  Tripp chuckled. “I like you, Arkin. You do have something special about you.” He walked back to his horse.

  “He’s got a pair on him, I’ll give him that,” Grom stated.

  Tripp turned back to Arkin and spoke apologetically. “But… we can’t just leave empty handed. That would go against our code.”

  “What do you want?” Arkin asked, trying to keep his voice from quivering.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any soul stones would you?” Tripp asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Arkin gave three quick shakes of the head.

  Tripp frowned. “Pity. That sword will do fine, then,” Tripp said, pointing to Arkin’s side.

  Arkin looked down to find the sword still in his hands. He’d been holding it the whole time and didn’t even realize it. He tossed it through the air to Tripp. Tripp caught it by the blade before tucking it into into the horse’s pack.

  “We’ll see you around, Arkin,” Tripp said as if it were a matter of fact. He mounted the horse and led the group back onto the trail.

  Before leaving, Grom shook his head and muttered something about Arkin being lucky. Scarface still exuded hate at Arkin as he reined his horse around to follow Grom. Ros was the last to fall in line, meeting Arkin’s eye with a look of pain, but oddly still filled with arousal. She followed the rest around the edge of the trees, her white hair flowing elegantly in the breeze.

  Arkin fell to the ground after they were out of sight. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head against them. His breath became panicked as he tried to wrap his head around what had just happened.

  Demons.

  He’d heard of the stories and knew of books that were written about these horrors from the underworld. Most of the time, the stories were meant to scare people into living right. He never thought the stories would be real.

  He wondered if all the stories of old had some facet of truth to them.

  No doubt those four were real, it wasn’t a dream.

  “God, watch over me and give me strength,” he prayed out loud. Despite his recent lack of faith in the Almighty, saying the words still made him feel better.

  A snort came from behind. He turned to find the horse trotting towards him. It nuzzled Arkin’s head, motioning him to get up.

  Arkin didn’t know whether to laugh or give it a hard chiding for its impeccable timing. Earlier he thought it dumb for running off.

  “You knew something was coming, didn’t you?” Arkin patted the horse’s neck. “Could you feel them coming?”

  The horse snorted again and dug its hoof into the ground, ready to leave.

  Arkin smiled. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

  Arkin rode into the Crossing the next evening.

  The night before had been long since no sleep could be found. He’d shivered through the darkness and dared not make a fire, afraid that it might be seen. He hoped to never see those four again, but something told him that he would.

  Arkin stabled the horse behind the Whistlestop — his father’s shop. He slung the bow over his shoulder, mindful to keep it on him more often now, and carried the rest of his things to set on the front steps.

  He found the key in its usual hiding spot behind the shop, returned to the front door, and slid the key into the lock. As the door cracked open, he heard a sound from inside — a thud followed by something breaking.

  Arkin quickly flung the bow from his back and strung an arrow. He edged to the door and eased it open with the weapon drawn back.

  The front room was empty — just his father’s desk and littered bookshelf that looked like it had been raided. He peeked the tip of the arrow around the door, followed by his head. His eyes locked onto a man, dressed in black, standing in the middle of the main room.

  Arkin adjusted his stance and pulled a bit more, preparing the velocity for a deadly shot.

  “Drop it,” the man said, cool and unafraid, his arms held at his side.

  “You’ve come to the wrong place looking to steal,” Arkin threatened, still on edge from being robbed on the road.

  “There’s nothing here I want but memories,” the stranger replied.

  Arkin cocked his head. “Do I know you?”

  “Unlikely.”
The man walked over to the fireplace and pulled a book from the mantle. “Levi sure did like his books.”

  “You knew him?” Arkin asked, closing the gap between them as he edged past his father’s desk.

  “I did… at one time. Did you?”

  “Not really. I’m just an errand boy around town. Cleaned his shop a couple times is all,” Arkin said with conviction, still holding the draw on the bow. He cursed himself for letting his name slip to the soul takers, but he was under whatever spell Ros casted on him at the time. He swore he wouldn’t let his name slip again — it was dangerous being tied to the Order since Victor took control over the kingdom. “How did you know him?”

  “We were friends, once. Long ago.”

  It can’t be, Arkin thought. Is this Lucian? He didn’t know why, but something in his gut told him it was. There was something strangely familiar about him.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” Arkin said.

  “And I didn’t catch yours,” the man said with his back to Arkin. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you my name and you drop that bow you’ve got drawn.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Thomas.”

  Arkin narrowed his eyes at the man. He eased off the draw and let the weapon fall to his side.

  “Thank you,” Thomas said. He turned around to look Arkin in the eyes. “Your turn.”

  “Boy.”

  “Boy? Really, do you take me for a fool?”

  “It’s what everyone calls me. I’ve gotten used to it.”

  Thomas chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose it fits.” He placed the book back on the mantle. “I’ll be leaving soon. Just wanted to stop by and pay my respects as I passed through.”

  “Take your time, Thomas.” Arkin felt like he’d seen him before but couldn’t place him. Maybe he could tell him something about his father that he didn’t know. “Can you tell me about my f…” He almost said the word, but paused for a breath and caught himself. “My friend, Levi?”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. “He was,” he paused in thought, “an honorable man. And sharp of mind.”

  Arkin suppressed a smile and the tears that would surely follow if he let his emotions go. With steeled resolve, he held onto his mask.

  Thomas moved to the middle of the room, all while taking in the place with his eyes. He continued. “He was a fighter through and through. He was everything that any man would want to be.” Thomas looked down after he spoke the last words.

  Arkin suppressed the lump in his throat as he felt Thomas’s words. Sincerity wasn’t something that you could fake. Not real sincerity.

  Arkin cleared his throat. “He was a great man,” he said.

  Thomas nodded. Turning, his gaze was drawn to the corner of the room. A sword and shield hung on the wall — the Order’s crest etched and painted into the shield — both on a wooden plaque, a steel cross with three bronze unity circles woven between them. Thomas walked over and softly touched them with a hesitant hand.

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve laid my eyes on these,” he said.

  “Were you in the Order?” Arkin asked, stepping towards him.

  Thomas turned his head to reply. “What makes you say that?”

  The question caught him off guard. “Levi told me that those were the Order’s standards,” he said, thinking on the spot. “I just assumed that only a member of the Order would know them.”

  A smile crept across Thomas’s face. “Indeed.” He pulled the sword from the wall and felt the blade in his hands. “Yes. I was a member of the Order. Alas, now I’m but a jeweler who makes a living off the pompous nobles of Kingsport.”

  “Is that where you’re going? To Kingsport?” Arkin asked.

  “It is. I’ve been on a trade run in Greenehaven and am now on my return home.” He stepped towards Arkin with blade in hand.

  Arkin tensed, aware that he still held the bow but knew that it wouldn’t be much use at close distance. “I suppose you’ll be on your way now, then?”

  Thomas stopped a few paces away. He stared into Arkin’s eyes — as if he were searching for something. He stood there, fixed upon them for a span. It made Arkin uncomfortable.

  Thomas shook the fog from his head. “Forgive me. I was lost in a memory for a moment. You have the eyes of someone I know.” He smiled, awkwardly. “Yes, I suppose I’ll be going,” He tossed the sword to his offhand, testing the weight. He turned it in his grip, admiring the blade. “Mind if I take this with me?”

  Arkin paused for a moment not knowing what to say. He couldn’t just let him take his father’s sword. But he couldn’t say no because it wouldn’t make sense that an errand boy cared about it so. “Why should I mind?” Arkin said, hating the words.

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You won’t tell anyone?”

  Arkin shook his head with a clenched jaw.

  The man in black shouldered the blade and walked past Arkin. As he stood in the doorway, he regarded Arkin before leaving. “It was nice to meet you, Boy.” He gave a half grin as he ran his hand through his dark hair, slicking it back against his head.

  Arkin froze. In that moment, he recognized the man. It was the same motion that the stranger did right after he killed Levi.

  It was Lucian.

  Arkin watched him walk through the door and into the dying light of day. He seethed with rage, but remained fixed in place. Never had he thought he would have been this close to his father’s killer and not known it. What would he have done had he known it? Let the arrow fly? He saw Torin catch a bolt out of the air that would have pierced his skull.

  What did he think? That Lucian would announce his name and they would have an epic duel to the death in the Crossing while hundreds of people watched like he’d always imagined?

  Was it revenge that he wanted? Or was it the fame and glory?

  Why did he feel the need to prove himself so?

  The open door called him to follow.

  He ground his teeth and threw everything he had into a punch. Wood shrapnel flew as his fist blasted through the edge of the room’s arch beam.

  Was Lucian going to Kingsport, or was that a lie too? Arkin wondered if their paths would cross again at the capital.

  No. I’m going to see Malik and then I’ll leave. In and out, as planned.

  “One day, Lucian,” he said it aloud as a promise to himself, the Whistlestop, and the Almighty above, “I’m going to send you to hell.”

  As night fell, Arkin relaxed with an old bottle of whiskey that Levi kept hidden in the cellar. He passed the time with thoughts of his father, of Lyla, Paul the Prophet, and all his friends in the Order. He thought of Picaro, the odd old man that he met at the Grand Highlands who had given him the puzzle box.

  He pulled the Picaro box from his pack and began working the pieces to get his mind off things.

  After a while, his eyes began to wax heavy and sore. He fumbled the box, still unable to open it, and for old times sake, dashed it against the wall. Pieces flew and a warm glow emanated from the center as it fell to the floor. Arkin jumped from his seat and crept towards the broken box, his eyes wide in wonder.

  A small, green stone intensified its glow as he approached. He knelt and reverently took it in his hands. He could feel the power pulsating through his veins.

  He carried it about the room as it gently pulsed. He was amazed by the artifact of legend.

  Some time later, he wrapped it in an oiled cloth that he once used to dust his father’s shop. He tucked it into his pocket and walked to the wall where a sword once hung. He stared at the plaque that held the Order’s crest.

  He pulled the shield from the wall and pressed it tightly against his chest.

  A tear fell as he closed his eyes.

  TWELVE

  Lucian entered the capital at night.

  If there were two things that he was good at, it was killing and stealing. And to be a good thief, one had to be stealthy. Especially when dealing with corpses.

&n
bsp; With one last twitch of life, a guard’s body went limp. Lucian pulled the dead man away from the outskirts of the Church’s courtyard and let the body slip into the channel. The current would take him around the palace and into open waters. In the dark of night, a floating body should go unnoticed. Even if someone did happen to see it, it would be chalked up to just another poor bastard who drank too much and fell in.

  After disposing of the guard, Lucian peered over the bank to look at the Church. The front was guarded by six men armed with swords; two more men with bows watched over their flanks.

  So much for a grand entrance, he thought. His eyes scanned the massive building for another way in. Up high, a shadow moved in the candlelight — the high priest’s balcony. Lucian remembered seeing the holy man standing there, watching, as the guards hauled him to the prison cells.

  You knew this wouldn’t be easy, Lucian. Nothing ever is.

  As the guards rotated around the grounds, Lucian saw an opening. He dashed across the open yard and hid amongst a row of rose bushes. The smell tugged at his senses and made him want to see Sarie all the more. Even though she tried to kill him the last time they were together.

  Guess I had that one coming.

  Another rotation and a dash against the side of the church. He pressed his back against the stone and edged towards the corner.

  “Be right back, I gotta take a piss,” a man’s voice said before rounding the corner. Lucian pulled his dagger, positioning himself to strike.

  Shit. It’s about to get loud.

  The young guard entered his view, laughing with his head turned to his companions.

  “Yeah, well your mother didn’t think it was!” he shouted back to them. His smile quickly faded when his eyes locked on Lucian. The guard stopped in his tracks, frozen.

  Lucian saw his own blade glinting dangerously in the moonlight, and knew the guard saw it as well. “Keep walking, boy,” Lucian said through his teeth and nodded towards the trees.

  The young man nodded his head in agreement, almost pissing himself.

  “You never saw me.”

  “I never saw you, sir,” the guard squawked and casually made his way to the pines on the far edge of the grounds.