The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1)

by Samuel E. Green

  Idmaer lost control of his body. His face hit the floor first. His body came after.

  As he drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind whirled through many things. Principal among them was justice.

  Justice had come, at least for his crimes. Perhaps it would soon seek out Saega, too.

  Unsatisfied with this most meager end, Idmaer struggled to his knees. For the first time in years, even as he wrestled with the darkness of exhaustion, he murmured the Ode to Enlil. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asked forgiveness from the gods and readied himself for death.

  51

  Fryda

  Fryda impaled a skinwalker with her short spear. She planted her foot against its chest and pushed it off the blade. Beside her, Peoh twisted his hand. A few feet away, a skinwalker's head crumpled. It stopped halfway through a charge and dropped. All around, crimson mist floated before vanishing.

  Heaving, Fryda leaned on her spear. There were no more skinwalkers. They'd killed them all. The split in the ground was much wider than it had been before. The spire's constant shaking must have opened it farther. It was now a chasm.

  On the other side, Jaruman was still beneath the stones. She couldn't see whether he was breathing. Enlil grant that he was. Eying the distance, she figured it was too large to leap across.

  "It's too far," Peoh said, confirming her thoughts. His entire body was now slick with blood. Most of the tattoos were covered by it. He'd killed eight skinwalkers where she'd killed only two. So many times she had come close to being slashed by their talons, and he had saved her.

  "Not for him," a voice said from behind them. Wearing a cloak, Hiroc entered the room through the hole in the wall and threw a man at their feet.

  Ealstan looked up at Fryda.

  "How did he—?"

  "There's no time," Peoh said. He grabbed Ealstan and pulled him to his feet. "You're Devoted to Aern, aren't you?"

  Scowling, Ealstan nodded.

  Hiroc held out a dagger with an imp on the pommel. "Will this runic device work if it's not in his hand?"

  Peoh inspected it and nodded. "Hold it on his flesh when he invokes Aern."

  Hiroc grabbed Ealstan roughly and pressed the blade to his back. "Take her across. Start making amends."

  Fryda didn't ask what he was meant to be making amends for, or why Hiroc was clothed in a cloak.

  "I can't take her all the way," Ealstan said. "I can only push her farther."

  "She dies," said Hiroc, "you die."

  Fryda didn't like the sound of that. Not when Ealstan looked like he wanted to kill them all. Still, she had to get to Jaruman. They cleared the path of rubble and skinwalker corpses. Beginning at the other side of the walkway, she took a running start. Pumping her arms, she sprinted as fast as she could. When she got to the edge of the chasm, she jumped. A great force pushed from beneath her feet and propelled her forward.

  She landed on the other side. Not waiting to catch her breath, she bounded over to Jaruman. His breaths were so light as to be almost non-existent. But he was alive.

  She tried again to push the block of stone from Jaruman's legs but failed. It was far too heavy. It was the same predicament that had forced her to leave him here before.

  "How do I remove the rubble?" she called out to the men across the chasm.

  Hiroc shoved Ealstan again. With the dagger at his back, Ealstan pointed his hand to the giant slab of stone holding Jaruman down. The slab shook. A soft groan left Jaruman's lips. It only moved a fraction, and that had been toward Jaruman's top-half. If it slid forward, it could finally kill him.

  "It's not enough!" Fryda cried. She squatted and put both hands beneath the slab. Gritting her teeth, she heaved. The slab shifted and finally slid away. Fryda knelt and lifted Jaruman's head.

  She heard yelling and looked up. Ealstan was now pointing his knife at Hiroc and Peoh.

  52

  Hiroc

  "Aern, grant me power," Ealstan said.

  Hiroc jumped back as Ealstan pushed the dagger toward him. He was expecting another wave of force, but nothing happened.

  Hiroc narrowed his eyes. Somehow, Ealstan had disarmed him. Thankfully, it seemed the other man's luck had finally run out.

  As Hiroc marched forward, Ealstan swung the dagger through the air. "Aern!" Cursing, he rushed Hiroc. Before he could get within striking distance, his head seemed to cave in. It burst in a fountain of blood. Dropping the dagger, he fell to his knees, his eye hanging from its socket by a thread.

  Hiroc kicked Ealstan's chest, and he fell backward, descending into the chasm. Hiroc shuffled over to the precipice. There was no sound that indicated Ealstan had hit the bottom. The drop looked endless. But that wasn't saying much, considering the only light in the room was coming from the wards on Peoh's body.

  Ealstan's dagger lay on the chasm's edge. It was a miracle it hadn't fallen as its owner had done. Hiroc picked it up.

  "We can't get across," Peoh said as he came alongside Hiroc. Fryda was on the other side, nursing Jaruman's head in her lap. "She's trapped with Jaruman."

  A sound penetrated Hiroc's ears, like a single chiming of a giant bell. He clutched both ears. The sound stopped. There was an explosion of light as every stone along the walls seemed to burst with the brightness of a sun.

  When the light faded, the chasm was gone. The hole in the wall was repaired. The original entrance was no longer blocked with rubble.

  Peoh grabbed Hiroc's shoulder. "The gods have seen fit to save us. That explosion of light was the spire transferring ownership."

  Idmaer had given up ownership. Did that mean he was dead, condemned by the Council? Hiroc refused to believe that until he knew for certain.

  As they stepped across the stone where the chasm had been, Hiroc marveled at the spire's power. Magic seemed an impossible thing. Only moments ago, Hiroc had been a man of flames. Ealstan had called him the burning man—a reference to the depictions of Enlil. How had the fire come without a runic device? He didn't know the answer, but he feared it might have something to do with giving all his spiritsoul to Enlil.

  Jaruman's legs were mangled and bloody. White bone stuck out from below his left knee. A pool of blood lay beneath him.

  "Can't we take him to the pool?" Fryda said to Peoh. She frowned. "I forgot that it was broken by the falling wall."

  "It will have been restored." Peoh stopped and thought for a moment. "Who is most likely to own the spire now?"

  "Edoma," Fryda answered.

  Hiroc shook his head. "Not Edoma. She hated the spire. It will be Saega." His eyes widened. "Saega wishes to kill you. I overheard him speaking."

  Peoh bristled. "Then we cannot waste any more time. It will take too long to heal such wounds in the pool. If we don't leave before Saega learns of our presence, we will be trapped again."

  Not wanting to be in the spire another moment, Hiroc got beneath Jaruman and lifted him up. Peoh took the other side. They ventured out from the spire, through the entrance.

  As they stepped through the doors, they suddenly clanged shut. Every window along the spire's surface vanished.

  "Not a moment too soon," Peoh said.

  They carried Jaruman through the streets. Surprisingly, there was almost no one around. Hiroc was thankful since now that his adrenaline was gone, he realized he was naked but for the cloak pinned around him.

  When they arrived at The Flaming Monkey, Hiroc saw why the streets had been so deserted—the chopping block was being readied in the courtyard.

  53

  Edoma

  The ax fell. Idmaer's head fell after it.

  Edoma forced herself not to look away. Idmaer had been guilty. Wulfnoth had condemned Idmaer with his testimony.

  What was left of the town—those who hadn't become skinwalkers, victims to skinwalkers, or victims to one another—watched on as a great fire burned at the center of them.

  Two warriors took Idmaer's body. It slumped in their arms, limp and lifeless. Another warrior picked up
his head by his silver braid.

  The warriors tossed Idmaer's head and his corpse onto the fire. It spit and crackled. The smell of burned flesh was overpowering. Edoma held her breath and walked to the fire. Bracing the heat, she fished the multicolored bracelet from her pocket and cast it into the flames. She watched the flames lick it up, the threads curling and disintegrating. She walked backward until a familiar voice spoke.

  "Justice is done," Saega said.

  "The people seem satisfied with justice."

  There was an air of silence about them. Many had likely suspected that the absence of Aern's protection was more than just a weakening. But he was dead. They knew that now. And the man who had a hand in killing him had seen justice.

  Edoma felt nothing. She had expected to flee after the execution, unable to stop herself from crying. Instead, all she could think about was their next step. Hiroc hadn't returned from the spire with Peoh yet. But Saega now controlled it. It would be simple to extract them.

  The dragon Saega had captured looked on. Within its veins ran the blood that would keep Indham safe for at least a little while. Long enough to send another party to Eosorheim, or even to think of a more permanent solution. Indham would stand where Mundos had fallen. She was sure of it.

  "I'm sorry, but we must act soon." Saega's voice sounded strange, and when he smiled, it was clear why. Only a handful of teeth remained in his mouth, and his gums were black. A poultice covered his face, but the stench of death overcame even the smell of Idmaer's burning body.

  "Now that you're back, I can heal you. I'll not let you refuse."

  "There will be time for that," he said. "I must retrieve Peoh from the spire."

  "You cannot go in your condition. He will kill you."

  "Ha, I can assure you that with the spire, even Peoh cannot harm me."

  Edoma couldn't argue with that. With Peoh inside the spire, he was at the mercy of its owner—who was now Saega.

  "You don't have to go alone. I'll come with you."

  As Saega shook his head, the sunlight shone onto his face. The skin of his cheeks seemed translucent, as though his head had been dipped in a single film of wax. The sores were black now. "You must harvest the blood from the dragon." He handed her the suppression stone. "Nightfall will be here soon." She let him stagger into his carriage.

  As the carriage took him up the hill toward the spire, she realized he had been decomposing before her eyes. She would have to keep an eye on him. When he returned, she would get to the bottom of it. There were rumors about dark magic and how it could take its toll on a person. She feared that, like Idmaer, Saega might hold secrets. Could he be using more than just his own lifesoul to power his magic?

  If he didn't get well soon, she would know that he had dabbled in dark things.

  She glanced at the Daughters behind her. "Tie the dragon down with more ropes. Make sure its jaws are closed."

  The Daughters swarmed the dragon, throwing ropes over its massive form. They tied the ropes around nails and hammered the nails into the ground.

  The dragon remained placid, Edoma controlling it with the suppression stone. She felt its pain and fear, but it could do nothing. This dragon would die to save thousands.

  She faltered. Had Idmaer once thought the same thing?

  The dragon screeched. Realizing she'd let her mind waver, she returned her focus upon the beast. She drew her knife and steadily walked toward it. She stroked the scales. They gleamed in the light. She saw her reflection in them. So old. So frail. So burdened.

  "Forgive me," she whispered as she plunged the knife into the dragon.

  54

  Fryda

  Fryda stood beside Hiroc and Peoh as the fire became embers. She had watched the execution through the window of her room in The Flaming Monkey. Jaruman rested in the room nearby. Peoh had performed healing magic on him, but it was nothing like the waters of the spire's pool. Jaruman was still unconscious, but his bones had been repaired. Peoh had said there might be bleeding inside him. She hoped not, because she wouldn't be in Indham to see whether he returned to health.

  She had spoken with another Daughter about what was happening. Idmaer had killed Aern. Now the whole town knew that their Guardian had fallen. What would happen now? From the somber atmosphere, it didn't seem like anything good could come from it.

  "It is a great crime against nature for a man to suffer for a sin he didn't commit," Peoh said.

  "You don't think Idmaer did it?" Fryda never liked him, but to think that he'd killed Aern was…unthinkable.

  Before Peoh could answer, Hiroc said, "The Council must know what you intend to do to save them." Although his eyes were dry, it was clear that Idmaer's death had affected him. He seemed colder, harder, more unlike Alfric than ever. The clothes he now wore had been from Jaruman's room. Although large, they were cinched tight with a belt. On one side of the belt was Ealstan's dagger, his own knife on the other. Without his robes and with two blades, he looked more like a warrior than an acolyte.

  "The Council cannot know." Peoh had taken a poleax from Jaruman's room. She didn't know why he needed a weapon—he had fought well with just his fists and his magic. "Saega holds the spire. It is too dangerous to remain in Indham. The thing that must be done must be done alone."

  "And what about me?" Fryda asked. She hoped he hadn't forgotten about his promise.

  Before Peoh could answer, the dragon outside moaned. It was a terrible sound, filled with despair. The Daughters fixed another of the bloodletting devices beneath it, and it moaned again. Edoma stood beside it, a white stone in her hand. The stone shone brightly, and the dragon quieted.

  "Dragons shouldn't be used for such things," Fryda said.

  "It is the way of the Guardian's magic. Some gods refuse to take blood not given freely. But not Mun. She will take whatever blood is given to her."

  Fryda forced herself to turn away. Was it right for her to ask Peoh to ward her with the dragon blood? She could now see the terrible price it had cost.

  "Sometimes we are forced to make difficult decisions. Is it right? Is it wrong? I'm sure there's a correct answer, but in the moment, we can only do what we think best. To use this blood could mean saving the man you love. It could also mean so much more."

  Fryda didn't know exactly what Peoh meant by that, but she took consolation in his words. She didn't know whether using the dragon blood was the right thing to do, but she did know she loved Alfric and would do anything to find him. She might not be able to remove the wraith from his body and return him to normal, but she'd never be able to live with herself if she didn't try.

  "Where are you going?" Hiroc asked.

  In the madness of the past few days, Fryda hadn't had to tell Hiroc about Alfric. Swallowing, she said, "I'm going to find Alfric."

  "In Eosorheim?" As he looked at her, his expression became confused. "Somewhere else?"

  Fryda nodded, her bottom lip trembling. "Alfric is a skinwalker." She burst into tears. When she brought herself under control, Hiroc was looking through the window with vacant eyes.

  He turned to her, face as cold as before. "I blame myself," he said. "I betrayed him. Maybe with Enlil's fire, he might have stood a chance. Deep down, I think I knew Alfric was lost after the warriors didn't return."

  "He's not lost," Fryda said. Hiroc's placidness made her feel ill. When she had found out, she had broken into a fit of tears. She feared what might happen to a man who couldn't grieve properly. Elated, she realized she hadn't told him about the things Edoma had seen through the scrying crystal. He would have hope if he knew that. "Edoma said Alfric might be different. He might still live."

  "Go on your quest if you must, but I know my brother is lost. I've seen what happens when a skinwalker takes someone." He turned and walked back inside The Flaming Monkey.

  When Fryda and Peoh went inside, Hiroc wasn't there. He had probably gone to one of the rooms.

  "Hand me the dragon vial," Peoh said as he took a seat.

 
; Fryda sat across from him and handed him the vial. He removed the stopper. He dabbed his finger with the blood and began tracing wards on her face.

  Finally, after so long, she was being warded with the dragon's blood. Exhaustion sapped at her energy. She couldn't rest, though. Not when she would be able to find Alfric. She had to leave before Edoma found out what she was planning.

  "Mun, protect this woman," Peoh said. All along his body, the tattoos flared with color. At the same time, Fryda felt heat surge along her face and down through her limbs.

  "It is done," he said. "You'll have a week. If you don't find refuge before then, you'll be prey for the skinwalkers. Tell me, this man you seek, was he Talented like his brother?"

  Fryda shook her head. "Not that I know of."

  Peoh frowned. "Strange. Did he have any other gifts?"

  Recalling what Jaruman had said about dreamers, Fryda nodded vigorously. "He used to dream about dragons."

  "Ah," Peoh said, as though something had clicked inside his mind. "Then you must be especially careful. Much rests upon you finding him and restoring him."

  "Restoring him?"

  "There are ways to bring someone back who still shares their body."

  "Do you know how?"

  Peoh shook his head. "I only know it's possible. Because someone did the same to me."

  Fryda's eyes widened. Peoh had once been a skinwalker? But he looked like an ordinary man—well, except for the tattoos. Her chest filled with hope. Alfric could be saved.

  "Who helped you?" she said. "Perhaps I can visit them and they might tell me how to do the same for Alfric."

  "It was your mother," Peoh said with a forlorn smile.

  Fryda stood and walked to the window. Outside, a crowd watched while the Daughters continued their work on the dragon. She could see Edoma barking orders to them. Edoma had refused to send someone after Alfric. Her own son. Fryda wouldn't abandon him like that. Even if she didn't know how to save Alfric, she would try.