Blade and Soul: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 2)

by C. M. Estopare

  And brought her eyes to the sky.

  EIGHTEEN

  Marceline

  She came to with a gasp.

  Checked her hand. Her side, her shoulder.

  Every wound was gone. Cleaned and healed.

  Marceline blinked.

  Is this the Underworld?

  Fire blinded her. The night sky set her vision right.

  It was a night devoid of stars.

  Footsteps crunched through the grass. Approached her.

  Marceline trembled. Her heart hiccuped.

  A hand wove around her jaw. Clutched it. Forced her to stand on shaky legs as she stared into the bright green eyes of a man who resembled a corpse.

  “Katell, you...,” he cocked his head of snow white hair. Searched her pupils. Scanned them, “you've done it.” he breathed, “You've truly done it.”

  On the opposite side of the fire, a throaty voice laughed.

  Marceline's eyes flashed as the stranger stared, turning his head this way and that. Treating her like some sort of experiment. A travesty well done.

  Rearing back her fist, she socked him in the jaw.

  Only for her knuckles to plunge through white mist.

  She had missed—but how?

  Suddenly—everything came pouring back. Reine, the siege. Marceline being dismissed from the contract.

  Her charge—her charge died.

  Her career with the Bann was...forfeit.

  Her eyes widened as her hands were yanked behind her. The stranger cuffing her hands with his own. The mist falling to the ground as dust, the trail curving behind her.

  A woman walked through the fire. Stepping through rollicking flames and smoke, she came to a halt before Marceline.

  “Is this any way to treat your saviors?”

  “You should have let me die!”

  The woman's face was angular and bronze. A sharp widow’s peak lowered as she furrowed her dark brows.

  Upon her wrist, a trail of dark blood trailed and dripped into the grass at her bare feet.

  The woman snorted, looked past Marceline. Met the eyes of the man behind her.

  “Robin,” she simply said, “bind her.”

  Using rope from a nearby travel bag, Robin tied Marceline's wrists behind her. Guided her to the ground before the fire.

  “We've all been here at some point.” he told her before disappearing.

  We've all been here.

  Marceline glared into the fire, hunched over. Cross-legged with her hands behind her back. She glared. Glowered and bit her lip.

  It had been years since she felt like truly crying. Just giving herself over to tears.

  Who am I? Without a charge to protect—without the Bann and my fellow Agents, who am I?

  Gerard had seemed pretty keen to dismiss her. Lucius was nowhere to be found—and the others...

  Who demanded that she be dismissed? Who saw her as unfit?

  They had never even given her a chance!

  She should have given her life once Reine lost hers.

  She swore Reine's blood had been lavender...trailing off the wooden platform, pooling in the grass. Green and purple, mixing.

  Who am I?

  With Reine dead, not only was her portion of the contract broken, but her career with the Bann was over. If she returned, the Masters would throw her out. Permanently dismiss her. And she'd be nothing, wandering the world as a listless traveler without a purpose. Without a goal and a reason to live.

  A lot like her parents.

  Was she simply destined? Destined to be nothing?

  She shook her head. Blinked tears away.

  Her chin dropped to her chest and she clenched her jaw. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell—heart hammering as she bit her tongue. As putrid sobs began to rack her body, her shoulders shivering. Pain-staking gasps erupting from her mouth.

  She couldn't control it.

  Marceline felt like a child again—crying. Crying because she couldn't stop it. Crying because her parents were gone.

  They had simply left her.

  Left her and moved on.

  She let the tears come now, as fire crackled and snapped in her face. The strangers—Katell and Robin—were somewhere on the outskirts. Leaving her to herself. As if they somehow knew what she was going through.

  They knew she needed time. Space.

  We've all been here.

  Marceline had done everything in her power to not end up here—helpless and worthless. Alive, but without a purpose.

  What is life without a reason? Without the Bann—what am I?

  Reine was gone. Dead. Murdered on a platform—she could have saved her.

  If only she hadn't been injured—if only she could have healed faster. Miraculously. If only.

  She hated feeling sorry for herself. She hated feeling pity.

  For a moment, she hated herself.

  Pull yourself together.

  But did she have a reason to?

  She could stay like this—sobbing. Feeling sorry for herself. She could stay like this and nobody would be for better or worse. A person's life no longer depended on her strength, on her nature. Nothing depended on what she did anymore. So—was it worth it? To pull herself together and stand on her own two feet?

  What you've been given is a gift. You should have died on that field.

  Marceline wished she would have.

  She wished she could exchange her life for Reine's. At least then she would have died knowing her duty had been somewhat fulfilled. She would have died knowing she had a purpose.

  But now?

  Marceline fell backward, let the cool dirt and grass blades soothe her.

  She brought her eyes to the sky.

  Stars blinked into existence, sprinkling the black. They winked at her.

  Grass crunched from some ways away. People moving. Hushed voices whispering, speaking. Probably about her.

  Marceline closed her eyes. Breathed.

  She fell asleep to the swan-song of crickets.

  GENTLE HANDS ROLLED her over. Undid the tight rope at her back.

  “There,” whispered a tired voice, “c'mon now. Here's a hand.”

  Marceline turned over. Reached for the Katell's waggling fingers and took the hand up.

  Katell hefted her up. Met Marceline's eyes for a moment before tilting her chin towards the high grass at their backs.

  The sun was rising, night trailing away.

  It was a new day. A new dawn.

  Marceline followed her, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she swatted forehead high grass away from her. Swimming through the field of waving grasses, Katell led her to a clearing in the vast plains of verdant. A clearing that opened up to a rushing river of glittering turquoise and a tangerine sky. Blue mountains rolled before the backdrop of orange, sky blue mist haunting its soft face.

  Marceline's jaw dropped. She clasped her hands before her chest.

  It was beautiful.

  Katell turned to face Marceline, full lips attempting a smile as she stretched out her arms to either side of her.

  “You have a choice.” she murmured, “A new day is so much brighter when yesterday could have been your last.”

  That much...is true.

  The panoramic view was...breathtaking.

  Was Marceline truly alive?

  Wrapping her pale arms around herself, Katell sputtered a giggle. Coyly smiled, “I don't know you—but we found you dying. You were almost there—almost to the bridge that connects our world to the afterlife. But something told me to...stop you.”

  A flock of crows wove their way through the sky, disappearing behind lacy clouds of gossamer.

  Katell sighed, “Do you still...want to die...?”

  Marceline held her tongue. She cut her gaze away. Looked to the bright sky. Her eyes searched for the birds.

  “I healed you with my life. This,” she showed Marceline her ripped forearm, “was a miracle. But now—it's your turn. How will you use it, stranger? This m
iracle? How will you use your second chance?”

  Marceline licked her lips. Bit her bottom one.

  Reine's dead.

  Marceline was dismissed from the contract. And with her charge dead, she was permanently dismissed from the Bann.

  She had no career now. No title, no purpose.

  Without her job—

  What will happen to me now? What will I become?

  It was a question she'd perhaps...find the answer to. Maybe, she'd search for it.

  Marceline met the woman's eye.

  “I don't want to be lost.”

  This was her choice. Her decision. She'd find a purpose—something to be dutiful to.

  Perhaps she owed something to herself.

  A smile parted Katell's lips. Her gaze hardened. Curtly, she nodded her head.

  “Then follow me.”

  NINETEEN

  Marceline

  Katell and Robin mounted slender black horses as Marceline watched, arms crossed.

  Steering her steed towards Marceline, Katell curved the beast's large head and swung its body to the right.

  “You coming?” she asked, offering Marceline a hand up.

  Marceline reached for it—hesitated and stopped. She met Katell's chilly eyes, “Why did you save me?” the words tumbled out like vomit, “Heal me? How did you do it?”

  Ruffling the horse's mane, Katell cast a sidelong glance behind her. Marceline followed her eyes, finding Robin in the clearing. The man gave a somber nod, and Katell whisked her gaze back to Marceline's, “Would you believe me if I told you that I can commune with the Fates?”

  Marceline fought the urge to roll her eyes.

  Katell shook her head, “Your search for answers will only breed more questions...more doubts...”

  “What you did was impossible.”

  “Impossible with conventional methods, but not with the Blood.” throwing out her hand once more, Katell wiggled her fingers, “So, are you coming or what?”

  The Blood? What did she mean by that?

  Marceline sighed. Stared at nothing.

  Could she trust these people?

  They had saved her—didn't they? Brought her back from the brink.

  She couldn't go back. Not to the Roselets, not to the Bann. She had nowhere to go back to, and nowhere to go.

  These strangers were all she had now. And they had already helped her once.

  Marceline took Katell's hand. Clasped it, “Sure. I suppose I have no choice.”

  “My dear,” laughed Katell as she hefted her up, “that is your choice. To follow!”

  Sure, Marceline huffed, clinging to the sides of the saddle as Katell kneed her horse into a canter, why not?

  THEY DOUBLED BACK AND traced the Poudurac, wild fields of high grass bowing low to dark forests with twisted black branches. As day gave way to night, the trees climbed toward the sky. Towering trunks piercing through flocks of birds and lacy clouds heavy with rain.

  Stars began to dot the sky when they came upon a sizable hovel proclaiming itself to be an inn.

  Djinn's Arms hung between two posts, the sign fluttering in the wind like a ragged tree branch.

  “We're about a day's ride out.” Katell whispered, gracefully sliding from the horse like a dancer.

  “From where?”

  Katell shrugged, “Oh, you know...”

  “The Brandys.” Robin barked from Marceline's left.

  Marceline looked at Katell evenly, the name drew a blank.

  They paid a stable boy to stow their horses and entered the inn at a brisk pace, eager to get out of the cold and darkness.

  The strong stench of musty pâté blew at them. Marceline's eyes watered as they entered, the dark wooden floorboards moaning as the three stepped into the inn's hearth. The place was homey, small. Warmth etched up through the floorboards as a small hearth fire burned in the small chamber's heart. Surrounding the fire, sat three oval tables. Two occupied. One empty.

  The patrons ignored them. All travelers. All exhausted. Katell and Robin took seats at the empty table, their backs to a gray stone wall. Marceline followed, sighing as she sat. Stretched out her legs.

  They sat. For a long time, they just enjoyed a reprieve.

  “It's been a long time since I simply just...sat.” Marceline heard Katell murmur.

  Their peace was quickly broken.

  “Staying the night, or simply eatin'?”

  The accent was southern. It grated on Marceline's ears.

  Across from her, Katell stiffened. Sat up straight.

  Beside her, Robin cursed.

  Marceline held up a finger.

  “One night? We haven't many rooms left...” the innkeeper drawled, fingering the lute dangling across her shapely torso.

  Robin nudged her, stabbing her rib with his elbow.

  “One room, Ma'am. Also, whatever you've got cooking.” Katell smiled. Nodded and pressed a handful of silver coins into the woman's outstretched palm.

  Without another word, the innkeeper left.

  “We're staying?” Robin blurted.

  “It's not safe out there. Not at night.” Katell said, leaning back into her chair.

  “It's not safe here!”

  “Monsters come out at night,” Marceline muttered matter-of-factly, “human and non-human.”

  Across the table, Katell stifled a grin. She nodded.

  “I don't like the look of these people.”

  “They aren't bothering you.” Katell laughed, glancing around nervously, “We'll just take our food and go up, yeah?”

  “Fine.”

  The place was practically empty, save for five others. Three gathered round an oval table adjacent to them, throwing harsh glances their way; while two others drank and played cards at a table opposite.

  Marceline didn't understand their urgency.

  But they're different, she decided, closing her eyes, they're not human. That much is obvious.

  Perhaps they needed to be extra careful.

  A finger prodded Marceline's forehead. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  Before her sat a tall deck of pastel colored playing cards, a large painted portrait adorning the face of the first card.

  “While we're waiting...” Katell presented another deck, this one she sat before herself, “have you ever played Fata Morgana?”

  BOWLS OF BONE BROTH were thrown before them and they ate. Robin demanded that they be shown to their room, and the two strangers bid Marceline goodnight before disappearing up rickety wooden stairs.

  The inn slowly emptied, two of the original five patrons waddling up the stairs to their rooms as Marceline sat with her head in her hands, listening to the crackle of the fire. Feeling eyes bore into her from the table adjacent.

  Chair legs scratched against the floor. Wood creaked.

  Something heavy clattered upon the space before her. A chill touched her cheek.

  She looked up.

  A man stood, frozen. His face seemed friendly, young. Riddled with pockmarks and distended scarring.

  A cracked clay mug sat before her. Something audibly sloshed.

  “Seems like you need this.” he murmured, his voice a graveled rumble. Taking a seat across from her, he frowned as Marceline eyed the mug warily.

  She met the man's brown gaze and stood.

  Agents never drink.

  But did that matter anymore?

  She marched past the table.

  Rough fingers caught her wrist. The grasp tight.

  “Sit.” he commanded, “Drink.”

  From her far left, she noted that his table was now empty. The other two patrons originally sitting with him, eying Marceline's table and picking them apart, were gone.

  Deft feet danced up the rickety stairs to her left. She saw silver. Knives.

  Marceline cast her gaze behind her, “Those your people?”

  His grip tightened. Her bones moved. Popped and snapped.

  Marceline bit her tongue. Whimpered.

 
Dark brown eyes narrowed, “You aren't one of them,” the man breathed, choking her wrist, “are you?”

  Whirling around, Marceline freed her wrist.

  As the disheveled body of a woman rolled down the wooden stairwell. Her body slamming into every step.

  Across the room, the innkeeper shrieked before ducking beneath a heavy wooden counter top. She prayed—murmured a zealous whisper.

  As a trail of white dust flew through the air, racing down the stairway to circle around the woman upon the floor before the silhouette of a man materialized. Robin.

  Katell stood at the top of the stairs. Hunched. Needle like claws erupting from her elongated nail beds.

  Footsteps raced up above, wood dust rained from the ceiling.

  Marceline cursed. Narrowed her eyes—they were hetaera. Vampires.

  Merde—what had she gotten herself into?!

  The stranger beside her bristled—exploded from his chair.

  Marceline used this to her advantage.

  She snorted. Whirled around to slam her heel into the head of the man behind her.

  An agile hand reached. The man ducked and caught her heel. Yanked her body and threw her towards the floorboards.

  She hit the ground with an oof. Air exploding from her lungs.

  “We didn't come here to fight!” Katell screamed from across the room.

  Leaning over Marceline, the man grinned as he brought his lips closer, “You're not a vampire.” he hissed.

  He pulled away.

  Marceline screamed—reached for the bronze clasp holding his cloak to his chest and ripped at it. Bringing the man to the floor.

  Quickly, she rolled over. Straddled him.

  “Marceline!”

  It was a screech. A sudden call. A howl that broke her concentration.

  “Marceline—don't—!”

  A guttural growl forced the fire to sputter.

  Slamming her boot into the man's wind pipe, Marceline turned. Froze.

  Remy lay on the floor, clutching her belly. Katell hovered over her as another of Remy's comrades wrestled Robin, a giant man with arms as thick as tree trunks. Both men circled, nose to nose, steam streaming from Robin's parted lips.

  Remy wore a foreign uniform. A black tunic with an exploding sun.

  Marceline's eyes flashed.

  It reminded her of that badge. The one Remy had given her.