Soul Weaver: A Fantasy Novel

by Trip Ellington

  For the second time, Thorne reacted as though slapped. His eyes widened and his breath blew out in a little “oof.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Faugh!” The emperor cut off Thorne’s denial with a chopping motion of one hand. When the wizened little sorcerer spoke again, the words were directed beyond the shaft of light. “Bring the other one.”

  Shuffling sounds in the shadows eventually became a hulking Tophylax Emperia herding a badly injured woman. Dirt and dried blood crusted her honey-colored hair.

  “Kal!” Shel cried, the first she had spoken. She had meant to keep her silence no matter what Thorne and his master did to her, but the sight of her friend so beaten and haggard tore at her heart. “What have you done to her?”

  “In point of fact,” said the emperor, “I saved her life. Hm. Yes, she would have died of her injuries were it not for me.”

  “Shel!” Kal started forward, but the giant bodyguard grabbed her arms from behind and held her effortlessly in place.

  “Now, now,” said the emperor, who had gone over to Kal and stood half a foot in front of her. He studied the thief with obvious interest. Her wounds were extensive. Dark, mottled bruising discolored her skin wherever it was visible; blood had dried on her face and clothes.

  For his part, Thorne was beginning to look sick. With a sidelong glance at the emperor and Kal, he took a step backwards. The archon drew up short. Two of the Tophylax Emperia materialized out of the shadows at Thorne’s back. Each rested one hand lightly on one of the archon’s shoulders.

  “There, hm, yes, there it is,” said the emperor without turning from Kal. “The traitor, he recognizes his doom. Hah.”

  “What’s going on?” demanded Kal, weak but defiant.

  Shel thought she knew the answer. She remembered what Thorne had said, when he held her prisoner and forced her to watch him torturing Rez. She smiled through the pain. She held little hope for her own survival, but she was comforted by the idea that she might get to see Thorne die first. Justice for Rez, at least, if for no one else.

  “Yes, hm, tell us,” said the emperor. “Tell us, Archon Thorne. What is going on?”

  “It’s not…” Thorne broke off and suddenly changed tack. “My lord, I have made a wondrous discovery.” The archon laughed nervously, trying to prove he wasn’t nervous. “I meant to present you with this new knowledge at the Conclave. You know that among your archons I have ever been your most loyal servant.”

  “Oh, so you wished to set yourself above your peers, is it? Hm, yes,” mused the emperor, tapping his chin with the spidery fingers of one hand. “Yes, Thorne, that does sound like you. Very well. Present this tribute to me, then. Present it now, this wondrous new knowledge, hah.”

  Thorne hesitated, biting his lower lip.

  “Should I ask this child instead?” asked his master, reaching out and taking hold of Kal’s chin. She shuddered at his cold, dry touch. “She could tell me, could she not? Hm, Thorne? Hah?”

  Shel was confused now. She had thought she knew what was going on. What did the emperor think Kal knew? Why wasn’t he asking her? She was the one who had heard Thorne admit his treason!

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “Shel…” It was Kal. The woman sounded miserable. “Shel, the other weaver…”

  “Ahhh, yes,” said the emperor. “This other weaver. Tell us about him, child.”

  “It was Rez,” sobbed Kal. Shel couldn’t understand. What was Rez? What did Kal mean? “Rez was the other weaver, Shel. Thorne…turned him somehow.”

  “Hm, turned. Yes, I like that.” The emperor shook his head. “Ripped the breathing soul right out of his chest and replaced it with his own will. Not supposed to be able to do that, hm? Supposed to be impossible, hah?”

  Shel was aghast. She couldn’t believe it. It was impossible. Wasn’t it? But if Rez had become their enemy, what other explanation could there be? Rez! Where was he now? Oh, Dunmir, thought Shel, everything was so much worse than she’d thought.

  “Why didn’t you just kill him?” she moaned.

  “What, kill his own brother?” The emperor shook his head, clucking his tongue sadly. Shel rocked back, swinging on her chains. She felt the blood drain from her face. Her entire body was cold. What did he say? It couldn’t be.

  “The elder brother who stood in his way, hm? The proud brother who finally stepped aside, only to tarnish the family name with rebellion? Hah! Kill him? Why do that, hm, when you can possess his very soul and make him your puppet!”

  “It will change everything,” Thorne promised. A note of pleading crept into his voice as he continued. “My lord, with so many of the others slain…my secret knowledge will reverse the damage this dreary day has brought. We'll have no further need of the archons and their tribute! No need of soul traders and their greedy hands sifting our gold. We can take the souls we need, take them directly from the people whether they will it or not. My lord…”

  “Yes, hm.” The emperor spoke softly, but Murdrek Thorne fell silent at once. “Yes, I see. Hm. But, Thorne…” He turned around then, facing Thorne with malevolent glee. “Whatever could you mean,‘we?'”

  “You!” amended Thorne, realizing his mistake. “Of course, my lord, you would have no need. I only meant…I only thought…My lord, I am your loyal servant. All I ask is to continue serving at your side.”

  “The better to slip a dagger into it,” snapped the emperor. “Faugh! Enough of you.” His free hand flapped in a boneless wave of dismissal. One of the Tophylax Emperia holding Thorne reached up and twisted his head completely around. The body slumped to the floor.

  The emperor hobbled over and squatted down over the corpse. He moaned softly as he lowered himself on his spindly legs. He searched Thorne’s robes with one bony hand, eventually coming up with a sparkling jewel. Shel could feel the resonance of the soul trapped within. Leaning heavily on his staff, the emperor rose with a series of grunts and grimaces. Wheezing for breath, he pocketed the gemstone and regarded Shel thoughtfully.

  “Put the Shadow in her cell,” the emperor said at last, then turned to go. One of the Tophylax came forward, already reaching up for the chains that held Shel. At the far edge of the light, the emperor paused. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Hm, I nearly forgot.”

  He turned around and stretched out one emaciated hand toward Kal. He made a claw of his fingers and pulled his hand back. Kal shrieked in pain.

  “No!” Shel screamed, writhing away from the Tophylax and trying to get away. She wanted to run to her friend, to stop this somehow. There wasn’thing she could do.

  Kal’s back arched and she howled in torment. It appeared, to Shel’s eyes at least, as a bulging mushroom of white light sprouting from Kal’s chest. Rapidly it was drawn out, elongating, stretching, resisting, succumbing. The ghostlight flashed across the room and was absorbed by the emperor’s claw-like, grasping hand. The ancient wizard smiled darkly as Kal sagged to her knees, the torment on her face sagging into blank disinterest. She was gone. She was Soulless.

  The emperor chuckled. “Thorne thought he was clever, hm? Thought that he knew something I didn’t. Faugh! There’s precious little I haven’t learned in twelve hundred years.”

  “Oh, Kal.” The tears spilled over Shel’s cheeks and she wept. “Kal, why? Why?” She bucked and struggled in her chains, pulling against the implacable hold of the Tophylax behind her. “You monster!” she screamed at the eternal emperor, who merely laughed.

  “Child,” he said. “Still yourself. Your time will come soon enough, yes. It isn’t so easy with a Shadow, no. Hm, rituals and rigamarole to follow. Yes.” He looked up at the Tophylax holding Shel.

  “Go on,” the emperor commanded. “The cell with her.”

  Chapter 27 - Dreams and Visions

  It was dream-like, but not a dream.

  He sat with his back against a tree. He knew he was near the edge of the forest, not far from the open fields surrounding the burning city. He
knew that he had come here with these others, a dozen more survivors. They all seemed to know him. They even looked to him for direction, but he had none to give.

  He wasn’t sure about who he was. He had been somebody, obviously, but it seemed he was no longer that person. The others kept using a name. Rez. It sounded right, except they all thought this Rez person was going to tell them what to do next. They expected Rez to have ideas and plans and goals. If he had any goals, he didn’t know about them.

  That was strange, surely. But the strangeness didn’t matter all that much to him. It wasn’t a solid thing like the tree bole, solid against his back, or the hard dirt and rotting leaves at his feet. Those things were real. He wasn’t so sure about anything else.

  These other people, though. They cared about things that might not be real. They clung to one another and didn’t even see themselves doing so. He could see it. They cared mostly about the same things, and so they stuck together and collectively attempted to alter what was outside themselves. It seemed to him that wasn’t going to get these people anywhere.

  He was seated comfortably and the weather was pleasant. He had eaten recently, a meal of stringy, dried meat and small, overripe berries. It was enough that his stomach wasn’t empty. Did he really need anything else?

  Look at them, he thought. Most of them were standing, but that was their choice. They were alive, the same as him. They had eaten, the same as him. Yet they concerned themselves with other ideas, external ideas that probably didn’t matter. He didn’t understand them, or the way one or another of them would occasionally glance his way with curious, hopeful expressions which they quickly hid when they noticed him looking back at them.

  There was something, he admitted. Something external and quite distant. He wasn’t sure what it might be, though he might have known once. He thought that it was actually two things, similar and very close together. They felt warm in his mind, but far, far away.

  He felt both drawn to and repulsed by this far-off presence. Presence. Was that the right word? He wasn’t sure if that mattered, words and what they meant. The other people with him were using words out loud, but in the silence of his own thoughts did it really matter what symbol he used so long as he knew its meaning?

  He became aware of a change in the far-away presence. He had been right: it was two separate things, and now they were split. One remained where it was, as near as he could tell. That was the aspect which pulled at him, beckoned him closer. The other was what repulsed him, and it was coming closer. Its warmth dimmed rapidly as it sped toward him, which seemed odd.

  Fading, it arrived. Nearly spent, the tiny invisible flame entered him and Rez stood up decisively. Clearing his throat, he approached his surviving followers. He saw relief in all their eyes when they realized his silent vigil had ended. He smiled reassuringly, looking around the group and pausing briefly to lock eyes with each of them.

  Alban and Rori; they’d come out of the city with him. There was old Collam, remarkably still alive. He didn’t know the names of the other nine; eight men and a woman, little more than a girl. She was somebody’s sister, he remembered that. Who was it…Belden, that was it. Belden wasn’t here. He was probably lying dead in the streets of Solstice.

  Rez shook his head. They had run away. He had run away. When he felt the presence of the Tophylax Emperia, his only thought had been escape. He didn’t know how Kal had done it, but somehow she’d cut him off. He could no longer use his powers.

  It must have been Shel, he reasoned. She was a Shadowoman. That puzzled him. He hadn’t known that before, but he was certain of it now. There was something missing in his memory. He thought briefly of that dimming flame which had entered him a moment ago. What had that flame lost on its way to him?

  “We have to get back to the capital,” he said aloud. He showed nothing of his true thoughts to the others. They expected him to lead. He would do so. Even if he wasn’t sure why he led, or where. “How many of the others were with you in Solstice?”

  “Everyone,” said Collam. The old man started to add something else, but a rumbling cough interrupted and he turned away to spit a thick glob of dark phlegm into the undergrowth.

  “Shel and Kal, they said we had to throw everything we've got at them,” said Rori. She sounded angry. Disillusioned. When she looked at the others, there was a fierce pride in her eyes. She and Alban, they were the ones who had “rescued” him. There was something else to it, though. From the way she said Shel’s name, Rez could guess. It was good.

  “Aye,” Collam agreed, his coughing fit subsided. “And I roused up every thief and scofflaw I could find in the city. Old friends and new, we turned the whole of Solstice against the Suncloaks.” He laughed, a somewhat painful wheeze. “'Twas a grand old ball.”

  “One we've nothing to show for,” Rez reminded them, looking pointedly around at them.

  One of the men stepped forward. Rez tried to think of his name, but drew a blank. “We've something all right,” the man said, dumping a heavy burlap sack on the ground at Rez’s feet. Sparkling jewels tumbled out of the sack, spilling on the ground. Soul stones. Kneeling, Rez picked up a fat emerald and turned it over and over before his eyes.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Thank you…”

  “Dorson,” the thief said. “I was with Peele.”

  “Peele, yes.” Rez shook his head. “He didn’t make it out?”

  “Killed by Archon Norres,” Dorson said, lowering his eyes.

  Rez shook his head, wearing a saddened expression. Rising, he pocketed the emerald and reached out to clasp Dorson’s shoulder.

  “It was a bold plan,” he admitted, feeling a reluctant admiration for the Shadowgirl’s audacity. “And our losses are not all in vain. You dealt a heavy blow to the emperor’s Conclave of Archons. But the job’s not finished yet.”

  He looked back down at the sack of gemstones. So much power. There were more of the sacks, he saw, lying on the ground. They hadn’t made it out with all of them, not by a long shot, but the tribute of at least three archons was stuffed into those burlap sacks. So much power.

  Rez realized the hand he had rested on Dorson’s shoulder had tightened until the other man was wincing slightly. He released the lad and stepped back. Whatever Kal had done to him – whatever Shel had done – there had to be a way to undo it. He couldn’t accept the idea of all this power at his fingertips, useless to him.

  The trouble was, he had so little time. The emperor would be off-balance, but it wouldn’t be long before the old vulture took charge of the situation. The girl, Shel – she’d be dead already, of course – had given him an opportunity, but if he didn’t seize the moment it would pass. Yet, she had also stripped his power from him. Without his weaving, and with only a dozen weary, wounded soldiers to call his own, how could Rez hope to finish the job of toppling an emperor?

  He ground his teeth in frustration. There had to be a way.

  ***

  It was dream-like, but not a dream.

  Shel knew she was asleep, her body lying on the damp stone floor of a featureless cell in the emperor’s dungeon. But if she were dreaming, she didn’t know where her body was. There were other ways that this was like no dream she had ever had.

  She was in the Midnight Grove, with Sanook. Sanook was dead, though, so this clearly wasn’t real. Yet Sanook seemed to know he was dead, which meant it wasn’t a memory. Maybe it was a dream, she thought.

  “It’s not,” Sanook said.

  The Grove was different. She had never seen it this way. Somehow, although she couldn’t directly see it, she knew the Grove was much larger than she had known it. These Winterheart pines stretched out in a vast, shadowy forest that covered the land. These woods were full of tiny villages. Her people lived here. This was the past.

  “Correct,” Sanook said.

  The Shadowman stood at her side and they moved. Shel was unaware of having taken a single step, but now they stood elsewhere in the ancient, vast Midnight Grove. It was
the edge of a village. Two dozen small huts blending into the surrounding trees, the midnight wood of their construction unvarnished and largely unadorned.

  The huts were generally large enough for three rooms inside, some as many as five. Some were built around the boles of taller trees which spread their lowermost boughs gently over the roofs. Others were hidden in those branches, evident only from the black wood ladders jutting down from amongst the nettles. One stood apart, in the center of the village. It was the largest, but it contained only one room.

  Shel and Sanook stood at the doors of the meeting house. The entire village gathered within. The young men gathered in a loose knot to one side. The older men stood with their wives, some of whom held nursing babes to their breast. Young women stood with their mothers, most of them clutching hands. The rest of the children sat quietly in the back with two old matrons watching after them.

  The villagers wore loose, shifting clothes in shades of black and purple. Men and women alike wore sleeveless, vest-like garments for shirts above their baggy trousers. A few wore hats, though no two of the hats were the same. The caps were small but quite elaborately constructed, and they denoted the occupation of the wearer. There was the triple-peaked, cup-brimmed cap of a Caregiver. On the other side of the room, the conical hat with its myriad dangling ornaments identified a Woodsinger.

  They didn’t wear their delicately carved wooden masks, not here. Their faces and arms were bare, in some cases their chests as well. Their marks stood out in stark contrast against their universally pallid skin. A thousand symbols inked by birth, spinning dazzling webs across their flesh. No two bore identical markings, but the same symbols appeared in different combinations and designs.

  The meeting house held no chairs. There were no benches or couches for sitting. The floor was bare earth, and the walls undecorated, midnight-black wood from the Winterheart pines. At the heart of the room stood its sole ornamentation, a miniature black-barked, amethyst-nettled midnight tree. From amongst the spreading boughs of this tree emerged other branches, narrow and twisting and bare of nettles. These curled in a loose filigree around the tree, rising and then spreading outward. The tips of these vine-like branches flattened into broad, sturdy pads on which sat smoking, dimly burning candles.