The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1)

by Samuel E. Green

  Rejecting the thought that Fryda had been right, Edoma concentrated on Alfric's form.

  The world blurred around her, and suddenly she was in front of him.

  He was scratching at the ground. Strangely, a crimson light pulsed within his chest. As if sensing her presence, he turned his head all the way around. His eyes met Edoma's, and she almost released herself to the otherworld then and there.

  Terror struck her. Then guilt.

  Why had she allowed Idmaer to send Alfric away?

  Alfric grinned at her. Horns protruded from the sides of his head. Behind him were many other skinwalkers, busy devouring the corpses of a waylaid caravan. They were plain gray, without a light in their chest like Alfric's.

  Looking again at Alfric, Edoma pondered what that light might be. He continued looking her way but didn't move toward her. Instead, he took the arm he had torn from a corpse and chewed it contemplatively.

  Edoma furrowed her brow and concentrated. Communicating in the other-realm required an effort she wasn't sure she could manage, but she tried anyway. All her strength sapped out from her as she spoke, "Alfric."

  The crimson light within the skinwalker flickered. "Help . . . me . . ."

  That was Alfric's voice. Somehow, his soul had not left his body. He was still alive, somewhere inside that monstrous form.

  A great happiness washed over Edoma. She would stay here with him.

  No. That wasn't her thinking, but the euphoria. She had to leave. Now.

  Edoma screamed as she emptied herself of power. Her spirit form was ripped into the air. Below her, she saw the warpath of the wraiths and their skinwalkers. Towns were laid waste and holy places defiled.

  In the moment before she would be lost to the other-realm, Edoma pulled away from the sickness of pleasure. She took repossession of her physical form, and scrubbed every ounce of blood from the scrying crystal. It cast a wicked reflection at her, begging her to feed it more of herself.

  With a grimace, she placed the crystal back into the chest. She wanted to heed its call but knew it was the euphoria speaking again. Despite her knowledge, she couldn't stop herself from reaching for the crystal. The call had never been this strong before. She must have lingered too long in the otherworld.

  She bent over and vomited.

  Peering down, she saw that the vial of onyx dragon blood around her neck was glowing. It tugged away from her, floating in midair, as though it were trying to reach the scrying crystal. Or the crystal was drawing it.

  Clenching her teeth, Edoma wrapped her hand around the vial and tore the necklace. A great force pulled her arm even as she tossed the vial to the opposite side of the room. It clattered to the ground, unbroken.

  With an exerted effort, she slammed the chest shut and locked it with trembling fingers.

  27

  Fryda

  Fryda drank from the goblet, her hands quivering. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop shaking. The firewine did little to calm her. She had already known that Alfric was a skinwalker, but Edoma had just told her that he was still alive.

  Putting the goblet onto the table in front of her, Fryda met Edoma's eyes. "My horse, Flight, trampled him under her hooves. I thought she killed him."

  "It takes much more than that to slay a skinwalker," Edoma said through clenched teeth.

  Hope blossomed inside Fryda. "If he's still alive and he's different from the other skinwalkers, then we need to go after him. Maybe something can be done to save him."

  "As far as I'm aware, there's nothing that can bring someone back after a wraith has taken them."

  "But you said his soul was still inside his body—"

  "Enough, Fryda." Edoma rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I've had enough. Indham is more important than one man. Please don't make me regret telling you."

  "How can you let him go so easily? He's your son." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Fryda wished she could take them back.

  Edoma's face contorted with grief. "You know?"

  "Jaruman told me."

  Edoma stood and walked over to the window. She gazed through it as if she were watching the birds fly through the clouds on a sunny afternoon.

  Something glimmered beneath the chair Edoma had been sitting on. Fryda scooted forward on the chair to see it better. It was the vial of onyx dragon blood.

  "It wasn't easy giving Alfric and Hiroc up," Edoma said, still looking through the window. "I never would have done it were it not for Idmaer. He convinced me Durwin would use the children in their petty games."

  "The more I hear of Idmaer, the more I think him a terrible man," Fryda said. The vial kept her attention. Why was Edoma no longer wearing it? Ever since she'd started drawing the wards, it had been around her neck.

  "He wasn't always that way. Once, he was a great leader. Even a great husband." Edoma rubbed her hands down her dress and turned to face Fryda. "Nevertheless, as much as it pains me, we cannot go after Alfric."

  The sudden revelation that Alfric was still alive had stirred Fryda. Now she was being forbidden from going after him? With the wraiths roaming Aernheim, she couldn't possibly hope to find Alfric. Not without onyx dragon blood.

  Fryda didn't know how to empower the wards, but there had to be a way. Edoma certainly wasn't going to do it. At least not for the purposes of following Alfric.

  "You saw Cenred and Sigebert through the orb?" Fryda asked.

  "They are in Grimwald Forest. Hurn's magic prevented me from seeing anything except a glimmer, but they are there."

  "Their quest is taking a long time," Fryda said. "Should we not send others?"

  "What good would sending others do? They have the best chance of convincing Hurn to help us." Edoma paused and studied Fryda for a moment. "You want to be sent into Eosorheim?"

  Fryda nodded, hoping her true intentions remained hidden. "Hurn and I have something in common. I am a Fatherless. I have been mistreated by the people of Indham." Hoping this argument would convince Edoma, Fryda held her breath.

  "No," Edoma said with finality. "I doubt you'll go to Eosorheim. More likely that you'll try and find Alfric. Even were I to send a dozen warriors along, you would find a way to escape them. I'm telling you, Fryda, there's nothing you can do. Despite what I saw, Alfric is lost."

  "You cannot believe that. You said he was different from the others."

  "Do not venture out from Indham. Enlil protected you from the wraiths before. He will not spare you the consequences of foolishness a second time."

  "Where was Enlil when the wraiths came?"

  "You walk a blasphemous path."

  Fryda sighed. Arguing would do no good. "I'm sorry."

  Edoma nodded. "I'm going to see Hiroc about his job. Don't do anything foolish." Edoma gave Fryda a stern glare before leaving.

  When she was sure Edoma wouldn't return, Fryda bent and picked up the vial. She removed the cap. The blood inside looked almost black, but the magical specks dazzled her with their light.

  There was no reason for her to take it. She couldn't empower wards without Edoma. Even so, she slipped the vial into her pocket.

  28

  Edoma

  Edoma scanned the note in her hands. The writing was so poor, it was barely intelligible.

  "He found your book," Mildryd said.

  "It says here that you found it," Edoma said, pointing to a scribbled line.

  Mildryd peered over Edoma's shoulder. "That it does. Although he misspelled librarian."

  If he'd been sent to one of the schools in Winhurst, his writing wouldn't be scrawled etchings that strain the eyes. But that would have required money. And Fatherless had no money. Sure, she could have sponsored him, but it would have been foolish while Durwin had still been alive. Still, Saega had been right when he'd said that Hiroc had fared better than any other Fatherless. He was an acolyte now.

  Edoma considered telling Mildryd what she'd seen within the scrying crystal. Fryda had only made Edoma feel worse. If Mildryd suggeste
d that they send people to go after Alfric as Fryda had done, Edoma might just crumble.

  "I spoke with Hiroc while he was here," Mildryd said. "I might have alluded to him that I was present at his birth."

  "What?"

  "It was an accident. I'm getting on in years, and it's hard to remember who knows what and who doesn't. There are too many secrets here. I can't be expected to keep them all." She folded her arms and pouted.

  "No matter," Edoma said with effort. She wanted to chastise Mildryd, but it didn't seem right to correct a woman who was at least thirty years older. Besides that, Mildryd was an undeserved friend. She had encouraged Edoma to repair the dilapidated temple and institute the priesthood of Enlil. Enlil had been one of the gods who had been worshiped in the south long ago. He wasn't trapped within an orb as so many of the new gods were. Despite being a northerner, Edoma's mother had spoken of Enlil. She had said that he was one of the few gods whose spiritsoul bargains were a blessing rather than a curse. The presence of his temple within Indham had been fortuitous. It felt right to continue spreading devotion to Enlil as her mother had done. The keepers of the ancient library, an order of women who had taken vows to pursue and maintain knowledge, were perfectly suited to become Daughters of Enlil. So Edoma had taken them as the first initiates, and Mildryd had been the first.

  "He also asked about the Talented."

  "I suppose you told him all about that?"

  "Not everything."

  Edoma threw up her arms. "My words mustn't have been enough to placate him. I also had words with him about the Talented. Something along the lines of not to speak with anyone about it. It seems he's quite disobedient." Like his father.

  "You think he's inherited your . . . gift?"

  Even though Mildryd knew that Edoma had once been a mage, she still treated the subject with caution. It was to be expected with the way King Beorhtel had spread his lies about the Talented.

  "I know he has," Edoma said. "Thankfully, it appears it's not the god of my homeland who's called him."

  "Aern?"

  Edoma shook her head. "Enlil, I believe."

  "Gracious," Mildryd said, clutching the prayer beads around her neck and glancing at the eternal flame on the wall behind her. "King Beorhtel's going to be eager to get his hands on him. I suppose he'll have to wait, though. Not likely he'll send his inquisitors into Aernheim with the wraiths upon us."

  "I'm counting on that," Edoma said. She could barely wait to open the book. First, she had to clear something up. "Have you ever seen Idmaer venture into the catacombs?" Mildryd's room was adjacent to the stairwell that led there, so it seemed a logical question.

  "Not that I remember."

  "I believe the First Priest's medallion can be used to open a door to a secret chamber."

  "Fine fortune getting him to give it to you."

  Edoma grunted at that. She was thinking the same thing. He was more likely to burn the spire down than lend her the medallion. But maybe he would come with her to the tomb.

  With the book Mildryd had found in her hands, Edoma started from the beginning and scanned its pages. Most of it was written in a language she couldn't understand, but it wasn't the words she was after. Halfway through, she came upon the diagrams of wards. On the left-hand page was the ward for protection against the wraiths—two half-circles, one encompassing a crescent moon and the other a sun.

  Below the wards were pictures of various creatures. There was a number below each picture. The spot behind her ear itched as she thought of how much frustration could have been avoided had she possessed this book. She might have warded the warriors with something other than lamb's blood. Alfric might never have become a skinwalker.

  "Is something the matter?" Mildryd asked.

  "The tutors in Mundos used these same diagrams. I'm surprised their methods hadn't changed. This book has to be at least a few hundred years old."

  "What do the numbers indicate?" Mildryd asked.

  "The strength of certain blood types. The blood of humans is the strongest we have available."

  Mildryd held out her hand. "Do you mind?"

  Edoma passed her the book.

  Brow furrowed, Mildryd flicked the pages forward and then back again. "You said that human blood is the strongest, but what's this?" She pointed to a page depicting various dragons.

  "I only have a small vial. It would ward one building. If it comes to that, I don't know which I would choose. Or who I would keep out."

  "It doesn't have to come to that. There is somewhere we can get more dragon blood."

  "We can't go there now," Edoma said. "The enclosure was shut down. Wild dragons lurk there. We have no more suppression stones. It would be suicide."

  "Maybe. At least you have another choice," Mildryd said. "There is another page."

  Edoma swallowed and turned the page. There it was. The reason why she had sworn off using blood magic.

  Etched in deep lines was a drawing of a child and its parents. The number "one" rested below the child. The same number was above the parents. The love between parent and child. The love between two joined in marital union. Both were the most powerful bonds, and to give them up in sacrifice would create the most powerful magic. The most evil magic. Few gods would accept such sacrifices, but Mun was certainly one. Edoma always thought it strange that Mun, a god who could grant healing, would also receive such terrible sacrifices.

  "Never again," Edoma whispered.

  "This happened in Mundos?"

  Edoma nodded. "Not at first. We have no dragons in the North, but the mages tried everything else. The old. The sick. Great mountain beasts. The noble cats of the jungle. Eventually, the children were taken." There was no holding back the tears. Edoma hadn't spoken of it to anyone since she'd walked into Mun's temple on that dreadful day. "When I warded Alfric and the others, I never connected that human blood was required for the wards. I should have known. I used…lamb's blood. How could I have been so foolish?"

  Mildryd rubbed Edoma's back until the tears stopped. "You must prepare a party for the dragon enclosures. From the look of this," she said as she pointed at the page, "human blood won't last long enough. The enclosures are a day's ride. Killing a dragon will take longer than that. Maybe much longer."

  Edoma reached for the dragon vial around her neck. It wasn't there. She remembered tearing it away when she'd gazed into the scrying crystal.

  A slamming noise echoed through the library. It was soon followed by someone yelling for help.

  Two other acolytes were carrying an unconscious Hiroc. From deep wounds on his shoulders, blood dripped onto the stone below. A crimson puddle quickly gathered.

  Edoma's mind raced as she knelt beside the puddle. "Put him down," she said to the acolytes. "Gently."

  They obeyed with wide eyes, and she gripped Hiroc's robes from the collar and pulled outward. The cloth tore open down to his waist. The wounds were swollen and flaring. When she pressed her hand to stem the blood flow, a terrible feeling washed over her. There was a taint to the wound.

  "A skinwalker did this," Edoma whispered.

  "No," one of the acolytes said, "he fell into the pit outside the Basilica."

  Edoma narrowed her eyes. "Lying will not save Hiroc."

  Only magic will do that.

  Edoma thanked Enlil that she already had the blood she needed. Using her finger, she traced the ward of healing over his chest. When she invoked Mun, the wards glowed crimson before winking out.

  The wounds had closed, sealed shut by brown scabs. They weren't fully healed, but at least he wouldn't die from blood loss or infection.

  Mildryd entered the library with a group of other Daughters, carrying a stretcher.

  "Take him to the infirmary," Edoma said, wiping her bloodied hands on her robes. "Dress his wounds. If he wakes, give him water."

  The Daughters nodded and carried him out.

  "Now," Edoma said, turning to the other acolytes, "what are your names?"

  "Ealstan
," the one with the thin mustache said.

  "Kipp," said the short one.

  "You said he fell into the pit," Edoma said, addressing Ealstan.

  "Yes," he said, "Mother Superior."

  She narrowed her eyes, not missing the scornful way he had spoken her honorific. "You are lying."

  "The Holy Order abhors lying. It is most strange to be accused of lying by a false priestess who serves a false god."

  "How dare you? You stand within the Temple of Enlil."

  Kipp seemed to cower behind Ealstan, but Ealstan only grew more confident. "Tell me, why is it that Enlil was suddenly worshiped here again? Where does he live? Certainly not in this world as Aern does. In the imaginations of his followers?"

  Edoma clenched her jaw. If only this fool knew the truth, he wouldn't be acting so smugly.

  "These wards you paint around the town," he continued, "the way you healed Hiroc . . . You're Talented. When all this is over, you will be taken by Beorhtel's inquisitors, along with Hiroc. The Daughters will return to caring for old books, and Aern will be the only god worshiped in Indham. As it should always have been."

  "This is far from over. It could very well get worse." Edoma's gaze crept down to the knife at his belt. She'd seen it before, but she couldn't recall exactly where. The pommel was intricately carved, with the winged imp of Aern, and runes were imprinted on the sheath. Hadn't Saega once owned a knife like that? No, it was probably a family heirloom. Acolytes were meant to give up all personal belongings when they entered the Holy Order, but she suspected this particular acolyte wasn't the kind to obey rules.

  Ealstan turned up his nose. "Come, Kipp, we have a real god to serve."

  Kipp remained, even after Ealstan insisted a third time before storming out.

  "Sorry, Mother Edoma, I didn't know Hiroc would get hurt so badly. I thought he was Talented, so he would . . . you know." He twirled his hands in a mock-attempt at something magical.

  "Tell me what happened," Edoma said with a sigh.