THE ABSENCE OF SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 1)

by Amanda Twigg

  “No!”

  “But it’s my best skill. Didn’t you say I should develop my strengths?”

  “Fine!” See that tree on the other side of the clearing?” He pointed. “Land a knife in the trunk, and we’ll call it a strength.”

  She looked to where he pointed. The trees here differed from the ones on base. Their slender trunks and spine-laden branches pointed like arrows to the sky. She drew the Collector from her strap and focused on the narrow target.

  Settling to throw, she homed her gaze on the target, but a flat-handed blow struck her cheek and snapped her head sideways.

  “What the shelk?”

  “Where did you find that knife?” Thisk asked. “I’d hidden it.”

  She staggered, her ears ringing like the mother of all sirens. “It was only under your jacket. I thought you’d forgotten to give it back.”

  “I chose not to return it. There’s a difference.” He snatched the knife from her grip and launched it with enough force to plant it in a low tree branch. She’d have to climb to reclaim it now.

  “What did you do that for?” She started for the tree.

  “Leave it there, citizen. The Collector is dangerous for someone with your… tendencies.”

  “You want to abandon it out here in the remote lands? Weren’t you the one who threw a tantrum when you thought I’d thrown it at a bird? But now it’s fine to leave it behind in the wilderness? What happened to it being an irreplaceable artifact?”

  “I’m the Warrior Fourth. I don’t throw tantrums. Back on the overlevel, I acted like that because I thought you’d risked losing the knife. I know where I’m leaving it for safekeeping, and there’s no one out here to steal it.”

  Landra’s cheek burned in the cold air, and she lifted a hand to the skin where the slap had landed. Winton was a mist-forsaken piece of work, but he’d never hit her outside of a training ring. Not like this. Not in temper and in defiance of protocols. In all her life, no one had done that. Her pride hurt as much as her face, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her react, so she straightened to face him. Drawing a different knife from her belt sheath, she focused on the target. Her burning cheek fueled her outrage, and she uttered a low growl as the blade left her hand.

  Thisk came to her side and followed her gaze as the knife arced through the wind. Satisfaction rippled through his aura when the knife dropped short.

  “Seems like short-blade work isn’t such a strength after all. Good job. We have all your weaknesses to work on, Hux. Can we get back to practicing kicks now?”

  Landra pursed her lips, mentally cursing him seven ways sideways. “Yes sir,” she said, and the Warrior reset his hand.

  “Won’t it be more useful to kick here?” She relaunched her leg toward his groin but stopped short of contact.

  “That’s one option.” He edged back.

  He’d better believe she’d land that kick one day, and her satisfaction would offset any retaliation he might send her way.

  “We have nine kicks to learn if you’re going to master the full range of fighting movements.”

  “Winton called me more of a scrapper, and that’s worked so far.”

  “It depends what you’re after. The high kicks score more championship points, but if you want to settle for less, I won’t waste time training you.”

  “Fine! Let’s do this.” She planned to slam her boot into his fingers, no matter how far he moved. As soon as his hand set in place, she launched her attack with a roar, but her boot missed again—and by a good margin. “Shelk!”

  “Flexibility takes time to develop.”

  “I don’t have much of that.”

  “Flexibility?”

  “Time.” She couldn’t help but dwell on the impending ceremony.

  “Worry is a waste of energy, cadet, and I’m tired of your whining. Come here and lean against this stone.”

  A mossy rock face provided some shelter from the worst of the elements, but when she set her back against the wall, moisture from the rain-sodden vegetation leaked through her clothes. Thisk didn’t care. He grabbed her ankle and raised her leg, pushing hard enough to force her back against the jagged rock beneath the moss.

  “Agh!” she groaned as he pressed her knee straight.

  “You need this work to avoid injury,”

  “Then why does it feel like it’s causing me injury?”

  Thisk ignored her. “If we do this every night before you sleep, you should feel some difference soon.”

  “Do all Warriors go through this?”

  “There are rules in the city, but I can tell you one thing. Whatever hardships Warriors endure, they do it without squealing like spoiled brats.”

  Landra clenched her teeth and rubbed her bruised cheek, certain that Warrior trainees didn’t endure what Thisk was putting her through. He’d admitted he wasn’t a trainer, and she was sure he was making this up as he went along.

  “Agh!” she groaned as he repeated the lifting action with her other leg. It hurt more than the first side, but she bit her lip to stem her cries. After a minute of agony, he dropped her ankle and left to retrieve his cloak from a tree stump.

  “That’s enough for today.”

  Relief surged through Landra. She could settle into the cabin and warm herself against the stove before the evening chill deepened. Gathering her cloak, she set out toward the ranger hut.

  “Not yet, cadet,” he said. “You have a knife to retrieve, and I don’t mean the Collector.”

  She turned without argument and limped away.

  True to his word, Thisk put her through similar agony every evening, stretching both her legs until they went over her head and sometimes settling her into the splits in both forward and sideways positions. Once there, he pressed his weight onto her shoulders and bounced. It was easily the most painful element of her full-body stretching routine.

  His training methods for weapons utilized more traditional protocols, and there was no suggestion of employing the hethra.

  One rainy day, she stood before him with her sword raised, feeling like a fraud. His aura flashes colored the rain as it fell around him, signaling an imminent attack, so she darted sideways to dodge his blow. Swinging around, she brought her own blade down on his padded shoulder before shuffling out of reach.

  “You’re improving.” Water ran off his hat and trickled into the lines of his baffled frown.

  Landra flinched with the guilt of a cheat. He would never approve of her Soul sight advantage, but turning the skill off was no more possible than choosing deafness. If anything, her Soul vision had brightened since she’d shared Oakham’s memory. She was glad there were few doors to see through here.

  To allay suspicion, she held still for Thisk’s next attack, even though she knew when it was coming, and his sword whipped her weapon away. His blade tip settled in line with her nose, and his expression reordered into a mask of weary frustration.

  “But your concentration is hopeless. At times, I daren’t close in because you read every move. Then, it’s like you’ve gone to sleep. Meditation might help your focus, but we’d be idiots of the mist to add that to your training.”

  “Why, if it can help?”

  “Think, cadet. Soul priests use those training exercises.”

  “Oh. Maybe I’m just too small for sword work.”

  “You have decent tactical instincts, but you’re flighty. If I sent you into battle now, you might lose your head or risk the Warrior next to you.”

  He slid his sword away and rolled his shoulders. “I think that’s enough for now.”

  Another session was over, but Landra didn’t feel her usual relief. More time had gone by since her flight from the city, and panic over what was to come unsettled her gut more with each passing day.

  “Can we stay a bit longer?” she asked. “I need to practice.”

  “I can’t argue there, but I won’t be teaching you. As you’re keen, grab an axe and fill the log pile before you
come in.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “Keep us warm.” He laughed before disappearing through the trees.

  Landra sheathed her sword, shook the rain droplets from her jacket, and wiped moisture from her lashes. She replaced her cloak, wondering why Thisk had failed to understand her urgency. Competing in the championship took skill, but surviving the remote lands took more. She was sure they had been gone for more than half of their allotted sixty-day cycle.

  She stormed back to the ranger house, planning to request a solo training routine to fill her time, but a push on the door found it bolted.

  “Thisk?”

  When no response came, she leaned on the panel and eyed the log pile. The waiting trunks nestled beneath a makeshift cover, with a freshly sharpened axe and a water skin resting on a chopping block. She claimed the tool and took her position in front of a log. The city wall showed through the trees beyond, and homesickness shredded her emotions as she took her first swing. The axe crunched with more force than she knew she possessed, and aura dots erupted from the gouge in the log. Insects swarmed away to disappear into the stack of chopped wood.

  At least I’ll have bugs for company. Each heft of the axe seemed to dull her distress more, as if weariness could dampen her misery, so she continued working, even when her shoulders burned and sweat coursed down her back. By the time Thisk called her inside, she only had aura light and a glint from the shuttered window to guide her way back.

  The exertion made for a difficult time the next morning, with an unbearable return to stiffness and pain. Staring into her near-empty salve pot, she sighed.

  Best keep the dregs in case Thisk discovers even more painful trials.

  “You ready to work?” Thisk said.

  “I suppose. Are we doing knife training today?”

  “The answer’s still no.” He buckled a sword belt.

  “But I’m good with a knife, really. That tree you asked me to hit was just too far.”

  “I know you’re good. That’s exactly why we’re not doing short-blade work. You can juggle the knife through your fingers with all the fancy flips and rolls championship judges like. Those moves will gain points for looking pretty, even if they have no place in a real fight. Your instincts in close quarters are good, and your aim is ridiculous.”

  “Sure,” she said, assuming he was mocking her.

  “Take the compliment, Hux. Seasoned veterans can’t match your results. All you need now is more throwing distance.”

  “So, what are we doing today?”

  “We’re surviving.”

  He threw an empty sack at her chest. “We only eat what you put in there today. House stores are off limits.”

  Landra gripped the rough sack, and chills raised the hairs on her neck. You’ve decided to stay remote-side.

  Before she could dwell, Thisk pushed her out of the door and threw cold-weather garments at her back. The door slammed, and a grinding noise accompanied the sliding bolt.

  Landra stared at the hut, knowing the Warrior wouldn’t come out again, so she wrapped in her gear and went searching for food.

  Chapter 24

  Chick-birds roosted at the edge of the clearing, so Landra searched in the grass for eggs. Despite the protest of clucking birds, she returned to the hut empty-handed. It didn’t take chief elect thinking to realize Thisk had sneaked out early to collect the morning’s supply.

  Do you have to make everything difficult?

  He didn’t have to, she decided, but that was his way. She considered her options and decided to forage rather than hunt. Summer fruit remnants lay in decaying mush at the base of bushes, ripened beyond use, but she remembered a brambly hedge out back. The last time she’d looked, its berries had been too green to harvest, so she picked up her sack and trekked that way. A purple mass of swelling berries greeted her as a reward. For every juicy delight she popped in her mouth, she put one in the bag. The sack started to bulge, but before it was completely full, an aura movement stopped her mid-reach. Orange shades scuffled in the undergrowth.

  Bird? Rodent?

  She eased her hand to her belt sheath and found the knife slot empty. Thisk had chased her off without preparation time, and now was she alone in the wilderness without protection.

  “I’ll see you in the demon mist, Thisk,” she said into the forest noise.

  The aura’s orange shades deepened and expanded at her outburst. Before she could react, a flurry of white fur sprang from the bush and scrambled to her chest. Fur brushed her face, claws raked her neck, and orange aura-light flickered through her blue shades.

  Not a bird. Shelk!

  She flailed her arms and kicked her knees, but the animal latched its fangs into her cloak and wouldn’t release. Shaking didn’t budge the creature, so she unfasted her neck cord and discarded the cloak. Before the animal could grab her again, she ran away, her breathing heavy enough for any beast to track, but a glance back made her halt. There was no pursuit—only a rodent filling its pouches with berries. My berries. It snaffled up the loose fruit, which had spilled from the sack’s neck and then stuck its snout inside to empty the contents.

  She couldn’t believe the vicious attack had come from such a small animal, but there was no denying the pattern of its aura shade. She sighed. Having failed to beat a rodent without a knife, she decided to take meat off the menu. After it scurried away, she retrieved her belongings and went hunting for mushrooms.

  She returned to the cabin by midday, her lumbering stride reflecting failure more than weariness. Thisk let her in and claimed the sack.

  “What did you find?”

  “Not much.”

  He rummaged through the contents. “Poisonous!” he said, throwing the mushrooms at the wall before she could protest. “You didn’t eat any, did you?”

  “No.” She wondered if he credited her with any sense. “I didn’t know which were edible, so I brought them all back for inspection.” Griping awoke her empty stomach, and she eyed the mushrooms miserably. They were by far the bulkiest food item she’d found, and she’d scraped her knee on a tree climb to reach them.

  Thisk cleared a space on an upturned crate and set the remaining berries and a bunch of wriggling grubs down. “This is it? Didn’t you think to bring meat?”

  “I didn’t have my knife.”

  “Hrmph,” he sounded, as he shared out portions.

  Landra only took one berry, her stomach bloated from her earlier feast. “Shall I cook the grubs?”

  Thisk picked up a squirming larvae and pushed it into her mouth before she could argue. Its soft, twisting body squelched over her tongue, and she started to spit it out.

  “Don’t you dare!” Thisk said. “There’s nothing else.”

  Landra squeezed her lips together. She couldn’t bring herself to bite down, so she swallowed the grub whole. Yuck! It was disgusting.

  With the rest of the day, Thisk took her out and showed her which stones sharpened well into blades and where the best vines hung for binding weapons together. He pointed out edible fruits and which ones to avoid. At the sight of a large leaf growing near the forest floor, he twisted it free, ground it between his hands, and accosted Landra with the remnants. She shied away, but when the leaf juice met her scratched neck, the stinging faded, and she allowed him to continue. For all their discoveries, they ate nothing and returned to the clearing with empty bellies.

  “Back to wood splitting and stretching for you,” Thisk said.

  Landra’s mouth fell open. She’d trekked a long way to claim her spoils, and it had taken five attempts before she’d managed to climb high enough in the trees to claim her first mushroom. Having learned not to argue, she headed back to the log pile and picked up her axe.

  This time, she couldn’t bear to face her city, so she turned to the cabin to finish her work. Her shoulders ached and sweat dribbled down her back. She glimpsed Thisk through the window. He was eating a bird leg, and she thought she saw juices run down his c
heek. It had to be her imagination because she couldn’t see that well from outside. Her next axe swing splintered her targeted log in one move.

  Enjoying your feast, Thisk?

  The thought was torment because he was obviously relishing his meal. She finished her jobs before stumbling back into the house, never having known such exhaustion and hunger. She reached for the water bottle, which hung on a wall peg.

  Thisk snatched it away. “Did you fetch water?”

  Landra didn’t answer. She threw herself on the bed, her dry mouth making sleep hard to find. “Shelking mud slug with slime for brains,” she said into her pillow. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard Thisk laugh.

  Chapter 25

  Landra awoke early the next morning and considered Thisk’s devious ways. Before he stirred, she hid a knife, bow, and a water flask under a bush outside, so when he acted true to type and shut her out, she was prepared.

  That night, she came back with more berries, a floppy rodent she’d managed to spear, an edible mushroom, and a flask of water.

  “Clever,” Thisk said and they sat down to a satisfying meal. He sniffed the flask. “Where did you get this water?”

  “There’s a fall behind the horseshoe rocks.”

  He grinned and tipped his head back to trickle the last drops into his mouth. “Ah!”

  Landra watched, unsurprised but annoyed. She’d taken to expect the worst from Thisk, so had drunk her fill before returning to the hut. “If you try that again, I’ll bring some brackish water from the sludge pool.” Her smile was as sweet as if she were offering him scute.

  He looked at her thoughtfully then rummaged under his clothes for a hidden flask. “Drink this before you do logs tonight.”

  She sighed and wandered out to perform the evening ritual. It startled her when the Warrior came to stand beside her for the axe wielding. He didn’t help but instead folded his arms to look at the sky. As dusk fell, he seemed lost in thought.

  “The clouds often clear at night,” he said. “It’s why the temperature drops. Why don’t you stop for a moment, Landra, and look up?”