Twin Soul Series Omnibus 1: Books 1-5 (Twin Soul Series Book Sets)

by McCaffrey-Winner

  “Well said,” Avice agreed. She frowned. “Which means… that you really weren’t trying to frighten the poor kitsune girl.”

  “No, I would never!”

  “Ibb,” Avice said, looking Krea in the eyes. “How do you know Ibb?”

  “My father worked with him,” Krea said.

  “Oh, ho!” Avice laughed. “And you probably grew up with the old rustbucket.”

  “I like Ibb,” Krea said in protest, “he was nice to me.”

  “I like Ibb,” Avice told her with a wave of her hand. She shook her head, then her brows creasing once more. “But I can’t see him sending you here. At least not immediately.” She frowned. “Something is not right.” She looked up at Krea. “I am not allowed to tell you much but I can say this — you have my permission to read in the library.”

  Krea’s eyes widened and she broke into a huge grin. “Oh, thank you!”

  “Thank me later, dear,” Avice said. “In the meantime, I’d be careful if I were you.” She nodded firmly. “There’s still a judgement to be made.”

  “Ophidian said something about it,” Krea said.

  “What, exactly?” Avice demanded tensely.

  “He said that he’d tell me something after the judgement,” Krea said, wondering why the other woman was so worried.

  Avice relaxed. “Good,” she said. “At least he’s not breaking those rules.”

  “What rules, my lady?”

  Avice pursed her lips thoughtfully. Then, with a sigh, she said, “You have come to the House of Life and Death.” Krea’s eyes bulged in surprise. “The hatpin killed you. You should be dead.”

  “But — Wymarc!”

  “Exactly,” Avice said. “Your oath to Annora bound you to Wymarc, made a twin soul. But a life was lost. Death must be paid.” She shook her head. “It cannot be any other way.”

  “But — I died!” Krea said. “Shouldn’t that be death enough?”

  “It would be,” Avice agreed, “except that you’re talking to me now, alive.”

  “So what will happen?”

  “Judgement must be made,” Avice said with a shrug.

  “Judgement?” Krea asked. “Who makes the judgement?”

  “Why, you’ve met him already, dear,” Avice said with a smile. “He’s the little boy.”

  “What little boy?” Krea said, her brows furrowed. A moment later, she said, “That little boy? ”

  “Hmm,” Avice said. “You remembered. That’s quite rare.”

  “He’s the judge?”

  “No,” Avice corrected. “He’s the god. Judgement.”

  Chapter Seven: Krea’s Room

  When she was satisfied that Krea’s hand was healed, she led her out of the infirmary.

  “Where is your room?” Avice asked.

  “I was in one of the white rooms when I woke,” Krea said.

  “Yes,” Avice agreed, “that was a recovery room.”

  “Hana was with me.”

  “She was watching you?” Avice asked. “That’s very interesting. I thought Lyric —”

  “Lyric picked me up when I fell out of the sky,” Krea said.

  “Because you were flying for the first time and didn’t know how quickly you’d get tired,” Avice said.

  “Yes,” Krea admitted.

  “It happens all the time, dear, all the time,” Avice said, patting her arm. Her tone turned acerbic, “Particularly with one of Wymarc’s souls.”

  Krea couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Well, your room should be around here, somewhere,” Avice said. “Why don’t you lead us to it so I know where it is?”

  “But I don’t know —”

  “You will, when you find it, dear,” Avice told her, gesturing down the corridor.

  Perplexed, Krea turned in the direction indicated and started walking, examining the doors as she approached them. The first several seemed too close to the infirmary, she expected them to be recovery rooms, so she ignored them.

  They came to the main corridor and Krea turned left, towards the hall of the gods. There were no doors. Worried, Krea picked up her pace. She went all the way down to the end of the corridor just in front of the hall of the gods and looked around wildly. She turned right and went to the first door on the left. It looked soft, its wood carved with gentle images of animals. Krea tried the knob.

  It opened.

  “Hello?” Hana called from inside. Krea pushed the door open and peered inside cautiously.

  “Is this your room?” Krea said, eyeing the furnishings in surprise.

  It was a surprisingly large room. Krea saw that there was a hallway beyond the first room and she saw three doors, with bright light coming from two.

  “Is it yours?” Hana asked rising from the rocking chair she’d been sitting in, putting her knitting down on a side table.

  “I just tried the door,” Krea said.

  “There’s redwork over there,” Hana said, pointing. “And a hatpin.” She frowned. “I didn’t notice them earlier.” She looked appalled. “If I had, I would never have taken your room.”

  “I’ve never been here before,” Krea said, shaking her head and holding up a hand to Hana.

  “Interesting,” Avice said, motioning Krea aside and entering the room herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of air. “Very interesting.”

  “What?” Krea said, sniffing herself. The room smelled faintly of a scent that she’d learned to associate with Hana — and of trepidation, fear.

  “I do believe that this is your room, dear,” Avice said to Krea.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll leave!” Hana said.

  “You don’t have to —” Krea blurted.

  “It’s your room, too, dear,” Avice said smiling at Hana. She glanced to the hallway. “I believe you found two bedrooms and a bath, did you not?”

  Hana nodded mutely.

  “Aron!” Avice called out commandingly.

  “I didn’t do it,” a boy’s voice replied from the doorway. A moment later a ten year-old boy popped his head inside. He looked at Krea and smiled. He did not smile at Hana.

  “But you would have?” Avice asked.

  “It will speed things up,” Aron said.

  “There’s no harm in it,” Avice decided. She glanced to Krea and Hana. “Do you object?”

  “I hurt your hand!” Hana cried miserably.

  “I scared you!” Krea said in reply. “I’m so sorry.” She held up her hand. “And my hand’s all right. Avice fixed it.”

  Hana turned wide eyes to Avice who looked back at her with a shrug and grinned.

  “I could teach you redwork,” Krea said, pointing to the work on the wall. It was a good piece.

  “There was twine and other things in that cabinet there,” Hana said, pointing to the cabinet opposite the door. Shyly, she added, “Knitting things, too.”

  “Good!” Avice said. “So it’s decided.” She glanced at the two girls. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Goodbye,” said the boy.

  “Who was that?” Hana asked a moment later.

  “Who?” Krea said, walking to the hallway beyond the front room and glancing in each of the bedrooms.

  “The boy,” Hana said.

  “What boy?” Krea asked.

  Hana gave her a puzzled look, then shook her head. “Do you have a preference on rooms?”

  “They both look the same to me,” Krea said with a shrug. “Which one did you pick?”

  “I haven’t,” Hana said. “I was too worried that I wouldn’t be allowed to stay.”

  Krea’s brows furrowed. “Weren’t you in a different room earlier?”

  Hana nodded. “That’s why I was afraid,” she said. “Someone came and told me to leave, that I was in the wrong
room.”

  “Who?”

  “That woman, the one who brought you here,” Hana said. “The one who made me watch after you.”

  “Lyric?”

  “That’s the one,” Hana said. With a frown, she added, “I don’t think she likes me much.”

  “She doesn’t seem to like anyone,” Krea said. “She was nicer when we were in the caravan on the way up here.”

  “Caravan?” Hana said. When Krea nodded, she continued, “Was it on wheels?” Krea nodded. “How could anything on wheels get over the mountains?”

  “How did you get here?” Krea asked. She frowned in memory as she added, “I’m sure you didn’t fly.”

  “I was sacrificed,” Hana said. She made a sad face. “They killed me —”

  “Did they puncture your heart?”

  Hana nodded.

  “And then?”

  “Then the kami said, ‘How would you like nine tails?’ and I said, I didn’t know if I’d look good with them,” Hana replied. “And the kami said, ‘Try. If you don’t like them, we’ll see what can be done.’”

  “What’s a kami?” Krea said.

  “It’s a spirit,” Hana said. She glanced toward Krea and said in a lower voice, “One with incredible power.”

  “Who punctured your heart?” Krea asked.

  “My parents,” Hana said, a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

  “What’s your kami’s name?” Krea asked. She pointed at herself. “Mine is Wymarc and before she met me, her human half was Annora.”

  “Human half?” Hana said. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Krea could tell she was thinking deeply, perhaps communing with her soul. She opened them a moment later and said, “Meiko says I am the first.”

  What? Wymarc cried inside Krea’s head. First? Her tone changed. Be very careful, my little one. This is dangerous.

  “I like her,” Krea said out loud.

  She bit us, Wymarc said.

  “That was my fault,” Krea said. She saw Hana looking at her and explained, “Wymarc is talking me.”

  “Until you asked, I had never talked with Meiko,” Hana said.

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t think she wanted to talk with me.”

  “I’d think,” Krea said, “that if she took you as her twin soul, she must know that you’re amazing.”

  Hana gave her a disbelieving look.

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Krea said.

  Hana mulled the question over cautiously.

  “You’re going to have to talk with her sometime,” Krea said.

  Hana sighed and closed her eyes. A moment later, her expression changed into a smile. She opened her eyes again. “She was lonely, and she saw that I was lonely, so she picked me.”

  “There,” Krea said, “you should talk with her more.”

  “Wouldn’t that be rude?” Hana asked. “To you?”

  Krea shook her head. She pointed to Hana’s knitting. “Why don’t you knit something? Whenever I do redwork, I get to think a lot. I imagine if you’re knitting you get to think a lot, too.”

  Chapter Eight: Terric’s Words

  Krea was the first to admit that Hana’s knitting was more interesting than redwork. Oh, Krea loved the results she could get with her needle and thread but watching Hana’s knitwork grow larger and larger with each new row was amazing.

  “Please teach me!” Krea begged, putting aside the redwork she’d started. She glanced at Hana’s work and cocked her head. “What are you making?”

  “I’m making a hat,” Hana said, shivering. “It’s cold!”

  Under Krea’s impetuous questioning, Krea learned that the easiest thing to start with was a scarf. Neither were surprised to discover that there were extra needles and yarn available in the cabinet where they’d found the other supplies.

  It took Hana no time at all to, in her quiet, steady voice, explain to Krea how to cast on, how to knit and how to purl. Hana had her making a rib stitch for the first inch then had her switch to a stockinette stitch — “It’s easy: you knit one row, then purl the next row and repeat.”

  In no time Krea had a four-inch wide scarf four inches long. And then her fingers cramped.

  “That happens,” Hana told her, “when you’re beginning.” She showed Krea how to massage the muscles and then suggested that they see if it was dinner time.

  “If not, perhaps Sybil will have some soup,” Krea said hopefully.

  #

  Outside their door, they started toward the main corridor. Hana stopped and glanced nervously at the stairs that led up to the hall of gods.

  “What’s wrong?” Krea said. “I went in and everything was all right.”

  “I was told that I would meet my doom in the hall of the gods,” Hana said.

  “Who said that?”

  One of the double doors to the hall of the gods opened and an old man came out. He looked at Hana and sighed.

  “He did,” Hana said, pointing.

  “You are Krea?” the man said as he spotted her. Krea nodded. “I have heard of you, too.” A moment later, he added, “Of course.”

  “Me?” Krea blurted. “What did you hear of me?”

  He shook his head and looked far off, as though reading the stars. He frowned. “I’m sorry, I’ve said too much.”

  He turned away from them, heading down the opposite corridor from their room and was quickly lost to sight.

  “I met him before Lyric came,” Hana said. “He took my hand and cried over it.”

  “He cried?” Krea said. She couldn’t imagine how a man that old could have any tears.

  Hana nodded. “He cried and said that he was sorry. So sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For what would happen to me in the hall of the gods,” Hana said. She shivered and crossed her arms, grabbing her shoulders. “That’s why I don’t dare to go inside.”

  Krea frowned and shook her head. “Food, you need food!”

  #

  Dinner was being served as they entered. They nodded at Sybil who took one look at Hana and dropped her serving spoon. She rushed around the counter and hugged the girl tightly.

  “He talked to you again, didn’t he?” Sybil demanded. Hana hung her head and nodded glumly. “Don’t you listen to him! He doesn’t know everything!”

  “Who is he?” Krea asked. She knew that Sybil was referring to the old man.

  “Some shaman of Hansa’s,” Sybil replied sourly. “They’re always predicting the worst.”

  Krea knew of Hansa, the god of fate. She had prayed to him as her mother was dying. Her prayers were heard, but not answered, her mother died anyways. Krea had no prayed to him since then.

  “They think they always know what’s going to happen,” Sybil added. She looked at Hana and repeated, “But they’re not always right.”

  Hana said nothing.

  “Come on, I’ve got your favorite,” Sybil said.

  “What’s her favorite?” Krea asked. “Can I have it, too?”

  Sybil frowned. “It might not suit your tastes.”

  “I’ll never know unless I try,” Krea said.

  “Very well,” Sybil agreed. She waved them toward a table. “I’ll bring it to you.”

  #

  Krea guided Hana to a seat. The girl seemed almost in a daze, like Sybil’s concern had frightened her even more than the shaman of Hansa.

  “I’m glad that you taught me knitting,” Krea said to fill the silence. Hana nodded glumly. “Do you want me to teach you redwork?”

  “How long would it take to make a piece?” Hana asked.

  “It depends on what you do,” Krea said. “Some pieces can take months to complete.”

  Hana shook her head. “I don’t think I can wait that long.” />
  “Wait?”

  “To see the gods,” Hana said.

  A thump on their table startled them and they looked up to see Lyric putting her tray down.

  “May I sit with you?” she said, not waiting for a reply. She glanced over to Hana. “What’s wrong?”

  Something in the tone of her question bothered Krea. It seemed like she was enjoying Hana’s unhappiness.

  “Here we are!” Sybil called out, carrying two trays, one in each hand. She spotted Lyric and her brows rose in surprise. “I thought you were going back to the library.”

  “Changed my mind,” Lyric replied tersely, munching loudly on a piece of celery.

  “Hmmph,” Sybil said, placing a tray in front of Hana, then the other in front of Krea. “Here you are, my dears. Food from Hana’s homeland.”

  Krea examined the small pieces with concern.

  “You don’t have to eat them,” Hana told her. She took a small jar of brown liquid and poured it into a little tray, adding some green paste and stirring it with two thin sticks. Satisfied, she picked up one of the pieces of — it looked like raw, thin-sliced fish — and dipped it in the brown liquid before putting it in her mouth and chewing blissfully.

  “Fresh fish, caught this morning,” Sybil told her. She smiled at Krea. “Terric has a pond he fished from every day.”

  “He catches the fish?” Krea asked, repeating Hana’s steps with difficulty. The two sticks were hard to manage until Sybil explained the proper way to hold them. Once she got the piece into her mouth she chewed slowly before swallowing. Hana gave her a questioning look but Krea had already snagged another piece. “It’s good!” she said between mouthfuls.

  “It’s raw fish, mostly,” Sybil explained. Krea’s eyes bulged. “I know, I know! You Kingslanders never think of such things.”

  “It’s still good!” Krea said, snagging her third piece. She pointed to some thin white shavings beside the green paste. “What’s that?”

  “Try it,” Sybil said, her eyes dancing. “You’ve probably never seen it this way but you’ve had it, certainly.”

  “Don’t take too much,” Hana warned.

  Krea tried a small sliver with her next piece. “It’s ginger!”

  “Indeed it is,” Sybil agreed. “In Kingsland it’s used in some chicken dishes, mostly.”