Souldrifter

by Garrett Calcaterra

  Talitha sighed and glanced away. “So be it then. Tell us what we need to do, Natale.”

  6

  Dangerous Visions

  Taera awoke with a gasp, expecting to find Makarria looming over her, expecting to find herself shackled and screaming in pain, but there was no one there. She was safe beneath the covers of her own bed in Castle Pyrthin. It had all only been a vision, albeit a peculiar and unusually strong one.

  Since being coronated as Queen of Pyrthinia a year past, Taera’s premonitory visions had diminished only to be replaced by formless dreams fueled by her new civic responsibilities. Faceless graves. Shriveled fields of grain. Lifeless cattle mewing at her pleadingly. An endless maze in the throne room. An ever-expanding staff of attendants who swarmed around her asking, “What now? What now? What now?”

  These were the images that held her in suspended animation at night, half-asleep, only to awake in the morning as weary as when she went to bed.

  Pyrthinia had shouldered the brunt of the casualties in the war against Emperor Guderian and the sorcerer Wulfram. As short as the war had been historically speaking, Guderian’s steam-powered war wagons had decimated Pyrthinia’s ground troops, most of them enlisted militia men who would now never return to their fields, ranches, mills, workshops, and storefronts. The entire infrastructure of the kingdom was in turmoil. Taera had opened the royal treasury to hire migrant workers from Valaróz and the East Islands, but even so the planting season got off to a late start, meaning the autumn harvest wouldn’t yield enough to get them through the impending winter. To compound matters, the cattle grazing in the highlands east of the River Kylep had been stricken by pestilence, killing more than half their numbers. Nearly all the farms and ranches east of the Forrest Weorcan were experiencing the same phenomena. Their water supply was tainted, her agricultural advisors told her, rancid and sulfuric thanks to Guderian’s smelting factories in Col Sargoth, which were shut down now, but for years had been belching poisonous smoke into the clouds that drifted eastward and rained over the vast grasslands between Weordan and the Barrier Mountains.

  These were the very real nightmares haunting Taera’s dreams at night. She had gone half a year without having a vision or premonition. Until a month ago. In that vision she had seen Captain Lorentz fall, deep in a lightless tunnel, wearing another’s body. She cried that night, for she had no way of getting word to her brother Caile and warning the two of them. Even if she sent her fastest ship, her message wouldn’t arrive in Sol Valaróz for days, and wherever Lorentz was in her vision, it certainly wasn’t Sol Valaróz—she discerned that much from the dream if nothing else. And even if she did send a message, even if it wasn’t too late, what would she say? The visions were too vague for her to discern any clear warning, or to be of any help to Lorentz.

  When Taera had been young, still just becoming a woman, she had loved Lorentz in her own adolescent crush sort of way. But then he had gone to Valaróz with Caile, and it was years before she saw him again. When she next met him, on the outskirts of Kal Pyrthin, she was older and there were more pressing matters on her mind—namely a firewielder who was about to attack them—but still Taera held a place in her heart for Lorentz, even at times entertaining the daydream of taking him as her husband. It would never work, of course, with him being a career soldier from a poor family with no pedigree, but she was comforted by the thought of it. It made her feel safe. And now he was gone. She had dreamt it, and so it was, or would be soon enough. She wasn’t sure how, but the man who had looked after her as an adolescent, the man who had practically raised her brother, was dead.

  A sense of guilt and foreboding filled Taera now. Perhaps she should have sent warning. In the new vision that had awoken her this night, Makarria was calling to her. Telling her to wake up and go to the dungeon cellars and do something unspeakable. The Taera of two years prior would have ignored the vision, dismissing it as a childish nightmare, a warrantless fear. The Queen Taera she was now, though, knew better. Fear reverberated through her guts, but she ignored it, discarding her sleeping gown and dressing herself in simple riding clothes, not bothering to summon her women in waiting. The fewer people who knew about this midnight excursion the better.

  In the corridor outside her chamber, two guards jumped to attention when she opened the door.

  “With me, gentlemen.”

  They fell in behind her wordlessly as she strode down the corridor, down a marble staircase to the first floor, and then to the front of the keep to the antechamber above a stairway leading to the dungeons. “Not a word of this to anyone, gentlemen,” she commanded as she opened the gate. “If anyone finds out, I’ll have both of your tongues.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Taera led the way down, letting the vision of her dream fill her mind. It was the scent-hound she was seeking, but the scent-hound in the tower of Kal Pyrthin was long dead. Makarria’s grandfather, Parmenios Pallma, had killed it in an act of mercy, chopping its hound head from its woman’s body to end its suffering. The rest of the scent-hound contraption, however—the six-foot brass compass portion—had been stowed away in the dungeon beneath Castle Pyrthin with the rest of the relics of Emperor Guderian’s reign.

  “Who’s there?” the dungeon-keeper demanded as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. His aggravated expression disappeared when he realized it was Queen Taera standing before him. “Oh. Your Majesty, my apologies. How can I be of service?”

  “Grab two sets of manacles, a length of chain, and take me to where the houndkeeper’s belongings are stored.”

  The dungeon-keeper raised one eyebrow, but did not voice any objections he might have had. He gathered his things, and then with the manacles and chain in hand, along with his key ring and a sputtering torch, he led the way deeper into the dungeon, past a series of umbral cells, all of them unoccupied but a few. The stone ceiling was low and the air was stagnant. It wasn’t as bad as it had once been—Taera had made certain the dungeon-keepers kept the place as sanitary as possible, even if the few occupants were murderers—but it was still a subterranean dungeon, saturated with the damp mustiness that infiltrated all such places built near the sea.

  In the far back reaches of the dungeon, the ceiling became higher and the corridor opened into a room: the torture chamber. It was no longer used for anything of that sort, and instead Taera had turned it into a storage area to keep all the effects from the scent-hound tower that once belonged to the houndkeeper, Natarios Rhodas, or Wulfram. She had considered simply destroying all of it the year before when she took control of the tower and the messenger ravens within, but she’d had a premonition that the items might be needed one day, and she had been right.

  The scent-hound contraption rested upright against the far wall of the chamber. The scent-hound’s corpse itself, Taera had ordered removed and buried, but the brass compass still bore signs of the hound’s coupling to it. Taera ran her hands over the corroded sections of brass where the scent-hound—a naked woman’s body, she remembered all too well—had been melded together with the contraption. The sections where the hands and feet had been melded, particularly, had left serrated scars in the outer ring of the compass, as if her skin had eaten into the metal like acid. Bits of hair still clung, embedded into the brass itself, where the hound’s head had rested on one of the cross supports. The spike extending from the main compass axle that had once protruded through the scent-hound’s navel had been cut away to remove the body, but the exposed nub of the axle still remained, jagged and rimmed with metal burs.

  The two guards who had accompanied Taera from her chamber were ill at ease, keeping themselves as far away from the contraption as possible.

  “Is the compass secure against the wall?” Taera asked, trying not to think about what she was on the verge of doing.

  The dungeon-keeper nodded. “It’s chained up there tight so it won’t fall over and hurt anyone who might have to work back here.”

  “All right then, we’ll d
o this standing up,” Taera said, slipping off her riding boots and stockings. Barefoot, she turned to face away from the contraption and backed herself into place.

  “Manacle my ankles and wrists to the outer ring.”

  “Your Majesty…” he started to protest.

  “No questions. Do as I say.”

  He approached her warily and opened the first of the manacles wide to slip it around both her left wrist and the ring of the compass. His hands were shaking, and he latched the manacle only loosely, terrified of harming her.

  “You’ll have to do it tighter than that,” Taera told him. “My skin needs to couple with the metal if the magic is going to work. Go on. Tighter. I won’t break.”

  He did as she commanded. She inhaled sharply as the scabrous metal bit into the back of her wrist. “Good. Now the other hand and my feet.” Again he followed her orders, and each time Taera winced in pain as the metal bit into her flesh.

  Taera let out a long breath, trying to calm herself. Already she was trembling and she hadn’t even gotten to the most painful part. “All right, now the chain. Wrap it around my waist. You’ll have to lift the back of my blouse so the axle touches my skin.”

  The poor man blanched, more terrified at the prospect of lifting her shirt than anything else he’d already done.

  “Go on,” Taera prompted him.

  With shaking hands he lifted the back of her blouse only as much as was needed to clear the jagged nub of the axle. Taera shifted her weight and leaned back into it with a groan as it bit into the skin along her spine. “Quickly now. Wrap the chain around me to hold me in place.”

  The man did so deftly, even if he was terrified. Taera cried out in pain as he pulled the chains tighter, pressing the burs of the axle into her unprotected backbone. He shied away, but she yelled at him. “No! Tighter. And secure it quickly.”

  When it was done, Taera stood there shaking, sweat beading on her forehead and running down the front of her chest beneath her blouse. She kept her voice calm, though. “Good. Now go. All of you. Back to the other end of the dungeon and wait.”

  “Wait for what?” the dungeon-keeper asked.

  “For me to go silent. I will be speaking, perhaps howling, screaming. When you hear me stop, return and unbind me. If I’m unconscious, take me to my chambers and summon the physician and my chambermaids.”

  The man’s eyes went wide, but he said nothing. He merely nodded and turned tail after the two guards who were already hurrying back down the corridor the way they’d come. With them out of the way, Taera closed her eyes and opened her mind to her visions. She didn’t know exactly what to expect. As a seer, her magic was different than Makarria’s or Talitha’s. Visions came to her unbidden. It wasn’t a magic she summoned on command. Still, she knew how to clear her mind to the visions when they came, and that’s what she did now, pushing through the pain in her limbs and spine.

  Makarria, she called out silently. A deep, thrumming tone grew and resonated through the compass and into her body, a tone she more felt than heard. The brass biting into her flesh began to tingle, then sting, then burn. Pain, like white-hot fire, pulsated through her spine, filling her belly and forcing itself out her lungs.

  Taera, the voice came. I’m so sorry I had to ask this of you.

  It was Makarria, speaking through her. Distantly, Taera could feel her body shaking, could hear herself bawling, audibly growling out the words she heard in her head, but she paid her physical body no heed, enraptured as she was in the magic.

  We are queens, you and I, Taera responded inwardly. What sort of rulers would we be if we were unwilling to make personal sacrifices for the well being of our kingdoms?

  Indeed. Still, I would not have asked this of you if there were not imminent danger. The Old World Republic has come, Taera. The election in Sargoth is not going well. Talitha has been impeached, and the Old World knows. They offer me a treaty in name, but in reality they offer me only the choice of surrendering to their occupation of Valaróz. From there they mean to take the Five Kingdoms, I’m certain.

  What will you do?

  Again, Makarria’s response came like a bellows blowing white-hot heat through Taera’s core. The only thing I can do: refuse them. They will leave and return with their armada, and we must be ready for them. I will go to Col Sargoth myself and ensure the council elects a strong ruler. Caile I’m sending to Veleza to prepare my western naval fleet to protect the Ocean Gloaming. We can expect no help from the Kingdom of Golier on that front. My admirals here in Sol Valaróz will continue to patrol the Sol Sea, but they are too few to protect the eastern front alone. I need your help, Taera. You must prepare the Pyrthin navy. Our two kingdoms are all that holds the Old World at bay.

  Pyrthinia cannot afford the toll of another war, Makarria.

  I know. That’s why we can’t let it come to that. The Old World is testing us, I believe. If we let them, they will walk into the Five Kingdoms and make them their own. But if we show our strength, our unity, they will back down. I’m certain. They never attacked during Emperor Guderian’s reign. We must show them the Five Kingdoms are as strong and unified as they were under his rule.

  Very well then. I have a few surprises for their armadas, if it’s a show of force they want. I will prepare my fleet.

  Thank you. I’m sorry we had to speak like this.

  The pain was infiltrating through the magic, and Taera could feel herself convulsing on the compass wheel, could hear herself moaning. She burned to be released, but then she remembered her other vision, her vision of Lorentz. She might not have another chance to speak with Makarria again, she knew.

  Makarria, wait. Don’t go. Lorentz—has he died?

  There was a long moment of silence before Makarria’s response coursed through her. No, but he is not himself. Something happened to him in the tunnels of Khal-Aband.

  It is as I’ve envisioned then. Be careful, Makarria. He cannot be himself, for I saw him die in another’s body.

  I don’t understand, Taera.

  Neither do I. I’m sorry.

  And with that, the magic flowed out of Taera and she collapsed with an exhausted moan.

  7

  Speaking to the Void

  Her friends had all been briefed at first light as to their individual missions and Makarria sat now on her throne with Caile to her side, once again watching as the Old World delegation approached. She had initially intended to meet with them in private, but after all that had happened the previous day she decided a formal hearing in the throne room with an audience was better suited to her ends. She needed her people to know that she was fighting for them and had no intention of letting the Old World occupy the Five Kingdoms. If nothing else, she needed to gain her people’s confidence. If she failed in that, then Valaróz was doomed. She wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow it. She was a descendant of Vala and a long line of compassionate, just rulers. Her grandfather Parmo had died to wrestle the throne away from Don Bricio and Emperor Guderian, to make Valaróz great once again. The thought of letting him down was too much to bear.

  “Gentlemen, welcome,” Makarria greeted the Old World delegation.

  Ambassador Mahalath and Senator Emil bowed before her at the foot of the dais.

  “We are glad to see you safe and in good health this morning, Your Highness,” Ambassador Mahalath said, his white teeth gleaming against the backdrop of his burgundy lips and black mustache.

  “Thank you,” Makarria replied. “And thank you both for meeting with me again this morning.”

  “Of course,” Senator Emil replied. “We will have you know that we are even more determined to provide the Kingdom of Valaróz assistance considering the attempt on your life yesterday, Your Highness. Our offer of aid stands. We are confident we can come to agreeable terms, and working together the Old World Republic and Valaróz can solidify the stability of the Five Kingdoms and ensure decades of peace.” He sneered, as if Makarria’s agreement were a foregone conclusion. “The Sen
ate has empowered me with full authority to negotiate with you on the Republic’s behalf.”

  “As to that, I would first like to thank you for your offer of aid,” Makarria said, projecting her voice so the entire audience could hear her. “I have spoken with Talitha of Issborg and have been appraised of the election situation in Col Sargoth. A new King of Sargoth will be elected in thirteen days, by decree of the new lord of proceedings. I am confident this development, carried out in accordance with the dictates created by Sargoth Lightbringer himself, will result in the election of a strong king who will solidify any instability in the Kingdom of Sargoth. In fact, I mean to attend the proceedings myself to ensure an appropriate candidate is lawfully chosen. Furthermore, I spoke with Queen Taera of Pyrthinia last night.”

  Makarria watched Senator Emil’s face carefully as she said this, but if he was surprised at her newfound ability to communicate over thousands of miles, he made no indication. He was a good politician indeed. The crowd, at least, tittered in surprise at hearing the news.

  “Together,” Makarria continued, not daring to scrutinize the senator too blatantly, “Queen Taera and I have coordinated an elevated naval presence in the Ocean Gloaming, the Sol Sea, and the Esterian Ocean. We will protect all lawful merchant vessels and be ready to respond to any civil unrest you suggested might occur with the absence of a king in Sargoth, Senator Emil.”

  That was her official stance, anyway. Senator Emil was smart enough to read between the lines and see what Makarria was really saying: our navies are ready for you if you decide to invade.

  “I will additionally coordinate efforts with the Kingdom of Golier when I arrive in Col Sargoth to secure the safety of vessels passing through the Gothol Sea. Taking all this into consideration, I am confident that the Five Kingdoms are perfectly capable of solidifying themselves and securing decades of domestic peace. So while we thank you for your offer of aid, we must decline.”