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

by Amanda Twigg

  Guilt kicked Landra like a mule. She wanted to snatch the words back when she saw the cadet’s stricken expression. She’d been through more trauma in the last cycle than in all her years before, and her emotional walls were shattered. She took a steadying breath.

  “Sorry. I’ve had a hard for few days, and it got to me. What were you going to say, Bexter? I’m looking very…”

  The cadet hung his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, go on,” she prompted.

  He still didn’t answer.

  “Please?” Landra said.

  “I was going to say that you look very athletic.”

  Holy mist. Landra had tried to attract Bexter’s attention for years without success. He’d offered polite conversation but nothing more. Now, she saw him staring at her newly muscled shoulders, and his blue aura pulsed into deeper shades, inviting her to touch its boundaries. Why now, Bex, when there’s no time left, and my life is such a mess?

  “Athletic!” Dannet snorted, breaking the mood. “You’ve got to be kidding. Landra’s a pushover.” He shoved her and gave a surprised laugh when she didn’t waver. “Maybe she’s been working out, but she’s never pinned me down in a wrestling match and never will.”

  “I need to head to the showers,” she said, wanting to save them all from the embarrassing moment.

  “Enjoyable as this has been, we should go too, Bex. The Warriors don’t like it when we block their corridors.”

  “Not me,” Bexter said, and Landra glanced up.

  “I’m not family, so I have to work to stay here. I’m assigned as your duty guard, Citizen Hux.”

  Thisk’s doing. Got to be. Had she mentioned Bexter to the Warrior? She was sure she hadn’t, but it was just his style to post the object of her infatuation at her side. The man had a twisted sense of humor. No, she was certain Bexter’s name had never come up, but she had dreamt about the cadet most nights. Did I talk in my sleep?

  “I’ll catch up later then,” Dannet said. “I have a dozen things to sort out. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Bex.”

  Landra stared after her brother, convinced he had no idea about her attraction to his friend. Just as well. You’d only make a joke.

  “Where’s my room?” she asked.

  “In the barracks, I’m afraid. Space is tight this close to the city hub.”

  “Makes sense,” Landra said. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 31

  Six days. Landra didn’t feel ready for the ceremony. Whatever training Thisk had provided didn’t seem like preparation for what was to come. She had so much to do, but she decided to take the next few days one step at a time.

  “Which way to the stores?” she asked Bexter.

  “This way.” He tugged her down a narrow side corridor. “Store Chief Dell is a bit stern, but you get used to him. By all accounts, he’s good at his job.”

  They ended up at a counter facing a man who looked too young to be a Warrior, never mind a department chief. His permanently downturned mouth, stiff cheeks, and unblinking eyes made Landra nervous to speak.

  “We only stock Warrior uniforms here,” Dell said, glaring in disgust at Landra’s condition. “Try on base.”

  “Citizen Hux has a billet here for security reasons,” Bexter said. “Did a parcel arrive from Hux Hall with her belongings for laundering?”

  The quartermaster narrowed his eyes, as if not quite believing such a low-ranking soldier should stand in his stores. There was an order to the man’s aura that made Landra understand why he wanted her gone. Without a new uniform, Landra’s appearance had no way to improve, so she held her ground.

  “I’ll check,” Dell said before heading into his back room. After a few minutes, he returned and dumped a large parcel on the counter. “This seems to be for you, but if you need more uniforms, take a trip onto base or send a runner. We don’t have room to store kits for every rank here.”

  If it wasn’t for her Hux name, Landra was sure Dell would have called guards to escort her away. “Thank you, Stores Chief Dell,” Bexter said, snatching the parcel. Landra grabbed it off him.

  “I can manage my own kit, Bex.”

  They made a brief stop at her new bunk, and she was relieved to find her roommates absent. Seeing them before she’d showered would hardly make a good impression. It was a six-bed bay, but only four looked occupied. She sorted through her kit for a change in uniform and hung the rest of the clothes on a rail. Her pale blue citizen uniforms looked at odds with the darker Warrior blue garments on the other racks, and she spared a moment to let that sink in. She’d wanted this, to be in Warrior Hall, but her manner of arrival felt more wrong than she could explain. A deeper regret stayed with her too. Every soldier on base wanted to reach here, but she’d glimpsed the possibility of more. She didn’t need to see the homeworld to keep Oakham’s longing and sadness in her heart. It was part of her now. Maybe I’ll share Dannet’s excitement later.

  They headed for the showers next, and Bexter waited outside.

  Not awkward. Yep, not awkward at all. I really saved us from that one.

  She found an empty cubicle, hung her new uniform on a wall peg, and locked the door. With each layer of remote land garments she removed, more dirt dropped to the floor. An intermittent water stream sluiced the gunk away. Her discarded clothes went into a laundry bag, but she suspected Dell would throw them away rather than attempt to clean them. Her knife strap went on a peg, and the Collector’s pink blade gleamed in its sheath. She stared at the weapon.

  Can I do this? Can I assume the chief elect role and broker peace?

  She still stared at the knife as she turned on the shower and stepped under the hot stream. Lathering soap over her head made her spiky hair soften. Clumps of filth twisted in the water. She rubbed soap over her body, accepting that it would never be the same. Her frame was more muscular than she remembered, but there were scars too—silver reminders of falling on rocks, scrapes climbing trees, and nicks taken in battle. The magical scar still tracked down her arm in a series of spider web patterns, more faded now but still there. She rubbed soap into the lines, wishing they would disappear altogether.

  Once she felt clean, she leaned against the wall, let the water cascade over her body, and thought of Bexter. A range of lustful scenarios played in her head. Are any of them possible? Chiefs take partners, don’t they? And female soldiers are expected to bear children. Shelk Thisk to the mist. Sometimes his humor was beyond understanding.

  A flicker at the edge of her vision made her turn. Her pale blue citizen uniform swung on the wall peg, its crisp fabric making her anticipate looking like a soldier again. She dismissed the light show as imagination and gave herself a break. Who wouldn’t be on edge after returning to find her home ransacked?

  It had been a nearly a cycle since her last hot shower, so she squirmed against the stinging sensation and enjoyed a brief respite from the of turmoil her life.

  Hot bolts of light exploded in her vision. Landra grabbed at the wall, her hands scrabbling on the smooth surface. Her heart jumped when she recognized the assault. Naked, and with Bexter standing outside the shower room, Oakham’s Soul vision overtook her like a like rampaging sickness. She’d just had time to recognize her worst fears were materializing before she became Oakham again, checklist in hand.

  Templers manned their trees, Meftah stood with Gallanto on the platform, and the greeting party gathered at the bottom of the ramp. She set about her tasks as Oakham, repeating actions like doing drills on a loop, but inside, she screamed in protest. It was the anguished plea of a trapped creature, desperate and shrill. Without any control, she yelped in the real world.

  Drum-like thumping intruded on her completion of Oakham’s checklist.

  “Citizen Hux?” Bexter said from outside the shower door. He sounded concerned.

  Landra’s senses shared a dual reality. In one world, she performed as Oakham, reliving her people’s defining event. In a smaller part of her mind, she felt th
e water on her back and heard Bexter’s worried shouts. The cadet was thoroughly Warrior-born. He smelled like a Warrior, walked like a Warrior, and acted with a Warrior heart, regardless of current rank. There was no place in his world for Soul magic. If he discovered her secret, she would lose him forever.

  “Landra?” His plea sounded more urgent.

  She couldn’t answer. The grip of the vision had her in its power, and she went about her tasks as the old soldier. She was Oakham, torn apart to see Gallanto say goodbye to his wife, broken to see the portal come alive for the final time.

  “No!” she wailed in the real world then pushed. The shove wasn’t a physical action but a mental rejection of all that appeared before her eyes. She threw her fury into repelling the magic. She rejected her magical flaw, the unwelcome promotion, the loss of her mother, and the violation of her home. Her frustrations coalesced into a single mental shove, and the scene pixilated. Encouraged, she thrust again until the vision shattered into a myriad of fragments. They spun past her face like shards of ice, each bearing a slither of the fake reality. As the travelling pieces thinned, she slumped to the floor and felt water running down her body again. She hid her face in her hands to block out the world, but a deeper dread set in. She wanted to deny what she saw, but with her eyes closed and her hands pressed over her face, she could still see the world. This wasn’t the Soul memory coming to play tricks on her reality. The shower room came into focus as clearly as if she looked at it with wide-open eyes. A pile of blue-tinged towels filled the rack in the corner, a low wooden bench was spotted dark with dampness, and her uniform still hung as a reminder of her soldier heritage. The door shook from louder banging. She shivered, trying to deny the worst of her nightmare and the awful truth. She couldn’t just see the world. She saw Bexter and his aura through the wall.

  Give me a break, world. Just give me a break.

  Thisk arrived to pound on the door, with Bexter dancing in agitation at his back.

  “There was a scream,” Bexter said. His words came to her ears as clearly as if he were standing beside her in the room.

  “Hux!” Thisk shouted. “Open the door.”

  She couldn’t respond. Her magic was still growing, despite all her efforts to keep it in check. She was turning into a Templer, and shock controlled her now. Her body slumped, too exhausted to move. She wanted to tell Thisk not to worry and that she would be out soon, but the lie wouldn’t come.

  The door burst open, and she couldn’t move. Thisk stormed into her cubicle. Bexter leaned his head past the door but ducked back at the sight of her nakedness, a healthy dose of embarrassment overriding his concern. She wanted to hide, but that wasn’t possible. She had nowhere to go and no strength to move.

  “Fetch a medic,” Thisk said, unabashed by the scene. He switched the shower off, tore the ceremonial cloak from his shoulders, and threw it over her body. Decency restored, he hunkered down at her side.

  Bexter’s aura shrank as he headed down the corridor.

  That’s good. Don’t witness my shame.

  She was alone with the Warrior now and couldn’t help sharing his panic. Blue darts coursed through his aura. He pried her hands from her face, but she looked away, misery in her gold-flecked eyes.

  “Can you walk?”

  She didn’t answer, so he bent down and scooped her into his arms. She huddled into his chest to hide her face, his forest-smelling jacket reminding her of the cabin. His roaming blue aura filled her Soul sense, offering blessed blindness to the rest of the world, so she gripped the fabric of his shirt and pulled herself closer.

  “What happened?” he asked as he charged through the corridors.

  Tipping her face up, she worked her mouth until words would come. “A nightmare.” It was both the truth and a lie.

  His knowing stare didn’t ask for more, but she knew he would want an explanation later. Whatever gripes they’d brought from their trip were forgotten now.

  “I made the wrong choice,” she said in a small voice. “Why didn’t we disappear into the remote lands?”

  “Because we wouldn’t survive the winter.”

  “I know, but we should have gone anyway.”

  She felt his grip tighten around her body.

  Medic Sturton met them halfway to his infirmary and shuffled alongside as they kept walking. “What happened?”

  “Not here,” Thisk growled.

  Landra wanted to shout at gawkers who watched their progress, but she hadn’t the energy to make noise. Thisk settled her into an infirmary bed, and Sturton shooed him and Bexter away. The soft mattress, thick blankets, and warm air stream provided more comfort than she’d known in a cycle. She didn’t want to find sleep in case her fears tagged along in her dreams, but an unnatural weariness pulled her down, deep enough for the world to fade. As she slipped into sleep, Gallanto’s voice whispered, “Save our people, child of my life.”

  Chapter 32

  After an excessive amount of prodding and poking, Sturton declared Landra a splendid physical specimen and fit for discharge. He tutted over her bruised cheek, which was too shaded to have come from falling in the shower, and he prescribed physical activity to relieve stress. Then he ordered her away before second siren with the comment, “And a good haircut will make the world of difference.”

  Landra stared at the wall and wiggled her fingers before her eyes, checking she couldn’t see through to the space beyond. The action pulled an odd stare from Sturton, and she guessed the man had her pegged as an idiot.

  That could prove interesting once my promotion’s announced. Here comes Landra, the idiot chief. A weak smile found its way to her lips.

  She wore a brand-new uniform, but the Collector hadn’t arrived with the fresh supplies. A memory flash from the previous day saw it hanging on a peg in her shower cubicle. She went rigid before deciding Thisk would have sorted its safekeeping. At least, she hoped he’d taken charge of the knife.

  With things on her mind, she didn’t step out of the infirmary right away. Of the two other patients under Sturton’s care, one was a Warrior with a slash to the leg, taken in service on the Warrior’s Run. The other was Baylem, who slept behind a wafting curtain.

  Landra lifted the screen to peek inside. Tightness squeezed her heart at what she saw. Her friend sprawled over the bed as if no bones supported her body. Yellow-stained bandages wrapped her head, spasmodic breaths broke through her pale lips, and her lidded gaze seemed to drill the ceiling.

  You survived, you’re in the right place, and you’re not as bad as you look.

  It was easy to think but impossible to believe. Baylem’s aura stretched thin enough to resemble an almost-white shroud.

  Sitting beside the bed, Landra stretched a hand over her friend’s delicate Soul, and a strand of blue light drifted loose from the aura. She reached for the thread, only to see it dissipate into particles between her fingers. As the Soul strand winked out, Landra felt the loss in her gut. Oh, Baylem, you’re leaking away.

  A sob caught in her throat. She lifted the girl’s slender hand into her lap and was surprised by its coolness. Training callouses ridged the palm.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” Baylem whispered, opening her eyes to slits.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep,” Landra countered.

  “There’ll be time enough to sleep soon.”

  Landra controlled her short breaths, but silent tears tickled her cheeks. “What do you mean I’m supposed to be dead? Is that what everyone thinks?”

  “Only the gossips.”

  Landra smiled. “How are you?”

  “Sturton says I’m recovering, but it doesn’t feel that way. Seems like it’s a bad idea to duck under a falling hammer and take a sword slash. I can’t get my strength back. Every time I wake up, more weakness washes over me.” Even as she spoke, another twist of aura-light drifted free.

  What can I say, Baylem? You’re right. You’re leaking away. Not useful.

  “From what I hear, yo
u saved my father from raiders,” Landra said. “Don’t let him avoid giving you a ribbon for this.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. A couple of guards were there and Bexter too.” Her grip suddenly tightened. “Rednet—he took a blade through the guts. Innards spilled everywhere. Did he make it?”

  A shape formed in Landra’s memory of the invading hethra, a soldier dying, and an awful scream. So, that was Rednet, and he’d been impaled by a blade. She hadn’t known the quiet guard, but his death felt wrong. A sword wound on a Templer raid? That didn’t make sense. She couldn’t bring herself to answer the question.

  Baylem broke the silence. “I hear Bexter came with your family to Warrior Hall. Have you seen him yet?” A sly twinkle lit her eyes, lightening the mood.

  “Maybe,” Landra answered, and they both managed a laugh, but Baylem’s chuckle led to a coughing fit. More aura strands drifted loose until a sip of water settled her shaking.

  “What are people saying about the raid?” Landra asked.

  “How would I know? I’ve been laid up in this bed, and Sturton’s strict about visitors. I was hoping you’d have the goss.”

  “No gossip, just a sore head from my fall in the shower.”

  Baylem groaned and contorted her face enough to make Landra laugh. “Best go before Sturton comes to check. If I don’t look asleep, he’ll throw poison down my neck.”

  The girl looked like sleep would descend, even as she spoke, and Landra knew she should let her rest.

  “I’ll check in tonight,” Landra said, but she wasn’t truly certain she would see Baylem again.

  “With an update on Bexter?”

  “To see how you are,” Landra answered.

  “Boring! When you come back, be sure to bring Dannet.”

  “I’ll try,” Landra said, and another tear rolled. “I’ll set you up on a date.”

  Baylem couldn’t manage a response, so Landra eased away. Threads of the girl’s aura attached to her uniform, and a solitary strand tangled with her own blue shades and melded. By the time she drew the curtain back into place, her friend was already making convincing sleeping noises. Sturton witnessed her tearful goodbye, and they locked eyes. He didn’t offer any words; there wasn’t anything to say. Landra was grateful he left her to her grief.