Winter Souls: an Adult Paranormal Witch Romance: Sector 10 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Angela Fristoe

  “I’d hit you again if I thought it would do any good,” she said. “Did you forget she’s the reason you don’t have a soul?”

  3

  Fear. Such a simple word, yet at its heart was a depth of emotion that held the power to incapacitate its bearer, to bring them to their knees for mercy.

  During the first few months on the island, fear left Elora constantly cowering before Niobe. When Elora embraced the fear, it rewarded her by keeping her alive, helping her submit to Niobe’s cruelty. In her loneliness, it became her companion, and once it took root, it dug in so deeply that to rip it from her would have been to tear her soul from her body.

  Yet as the years passed, Elora realized what a trick the emotion had played on her. Fear had not kept her alive to live another day. It simply delayed an end to her suffering. She no longer relied on it to drag her kicking and screaming through the day. She no longer expected it to fuel her determination to survive.

  She watched as Mason disappeared through the door, and in the farthest recesses of her heart, she felt her old friend rise. She had known about Mason’s soul, but until she saw him, until she experienced his cold and emotionless stare, she hadn’t fully understood what being soulless would do to him.

  “There was a time,” the Dealer said, drawing her gaze to him, “That we thought you would never walk this shore again.”

  “It is a thought I had myself,” Elora responded.

  “Mason hoped you would.”

  “I wish that were true, Gregory, but from my reception, I doubt it is.” She let her lips tip in a slight smile. “If Mason believed it possible, he would have made it so. As his father, you know this.”

  Gregory grunted, and Elora stared at the fierce old man. He spent little time in the village when Mason was growing up, too busy leading Tank forces in the South where the ravagers thrived in the milder climates. A noble battle for certain, but one that took its toll on his family. And in the end, it left the village vulnerable to Niobe.

  “Tell me of Niobe,” he ordered. “How did she take you?”

  Elora struggled to swallow around the lump in her throat. It had been so long since she’d thought of that day. Her eyes squeezed closed, and she fell into the memory.

  “Where does it lead?” she asked.

  “To death,” Mason answered. He pushed his shovel full of snow to the side, then planted it firmly in the permafrost ground and propped his forearm on the handle. “Why do you care about the bridge? It leads to the Ice Witch’s island, surrounded by ravagers.”

  “Rumors. Spread by the Regent and the Tank to keep us trapped here. What if it leads to one of the other sectors? My mother told me that long before the ravagers there was an ice bridge between this land and another.”

  “You believe a fanciful tale about a bridge between us and another sector, but not the Ice Witch?”

  “Fanciful tale, huh? Well, one day I’m going to find out for myself.”

  “It’s forbidden,” he said sternly, causing her to look back at him.

  “By who?” Defiance fueled the warmth in her cheeks. “The Regent? When was the last time she came here? She’s long forsaken us for the comforts of the Capitol.”

  The shovel dropped to the snow-covered ground as Mason stepped forward to grip her arms.

  “You shouldn’t talk like that. You could be arrested for treason.”

  Her smile faded, and her eyes narrowed at the challenge. She swept past him, marching along the path toward the shore. Mason didn’t follow her, but she sensed his eyes tracking her. He didn’t believe she would do it. He thought the rumors of the Ice Witch would scare her.

  The bridge shimmered before her, and as she placed her foot on the icy entrance, she heard Mason’s yells. Turning, she flashed him a teasing smile then took a few steps back, unconcerned about falling. Even if she managed to break through the icy surface into the frigid waters, there were no ravagers inside the shield.

  “Elora!” Mason yelled as he raced toward her.

  His voice was joined by her father’s, and her shoulders stiffened. Determination sparked within her, and she spun back around. With her arms stretched out for balance, she carefully walked the narrow bridge.

  When she reached the shield, she hesitated. Going out wasn’t a problem, but getting back in would require one of the guards to open it. She glancing back at the shore to find the nearest guard, but instead saw her father, with Mason right behind, following her dangerous path.

  Her father would not overlook this. What had she been thinking? He would send her to the Capitol to live with her mother.

  It happened suddenly. One moment she was standing on the inside, and the next she was outside, her head jerking back as something pulled her hair. With her neck arched, she caught a glimpse of the Ice Witch. Elora’s feet slipped from under her, and only the hold on her hair kept her from falling.

  Her father passed through the barrier, stumbling as he came face to face with the witch. His momentum carried him forward and with a shout, fell from the bridge into the waters below. His last cry echoed through the air as ravagers pulled him under.

  “When Niobe pulled me through the barrier, my father fell. The ravagers took him.” Elora squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could erase the images from her mind. “Mason ... He caught himself on the edge. I offered Niobe anything to save him.”

  “So she took you.”

  Elora nodded. “But it wasn’t enough. She’d been waiting right on the other side, concealed by a charm. She needed the blood offering of one and the soul of another.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To create a Soul Rune.”

  The words hung between them, heavy with their implications. One of the most dangerous magic-infused objects, a Soul Rune empowered its holder control over time and space, allowing them to cheat Death’s Reaper by moving through the captured soul’s memories.

  Many of the ingredients used were so rare it was thought impossible to create. If she hadn’t seen Niobe make it, Elora wouldn’t have even believed it could exist. It was the simplest ingredients Niobe collected last. The blood of a willing victim—an offering Elora made freely to save Mason—and the soul of an unbreakable man.

  “She chose wisely,” Gregory said. “Mason always was strong. A weaker man would have perished under the weight of being soulless, giving in to the temptations of every curiosity.”

  “He’s not the same man.” Elora stared at Gregory, wondering how he could speak so nonchalantly of such a devastating event.

  “You're right. He’s not. If anything, he is stronger now, unhindered by a conscience. He accepted his role in the Tank and is one of its most skilled guards.”

  “But it’s not the life he chose. He wanted to be a Paladin, forging weapons for the forces.” She placed her hands on his desk, leaning forward. “With Niobe dead, we could ask the Regent for help. She may be able to get his soul back.”

  “No. Mason is a Tank guard. There’s no need for him to have a soul.”

  Elora reared back, stunned by the hardened man in front of her. He was an eerie copy of the Mason who left her here alone. Yet, unlike Mason, Gregory had a soul, and it was as dark as the blood of a ravager.

  “That’s the life you wish for your son?” she challenged. “A soulless existence battling monsters?”

  “It’s what the Sector needs.” Gregory rose from his seat, towering above her and casting her into his shadow. She scooted back at the harsh expression he wore. “The effects of your escapade extended beyond you and Mason. Niobe damaged the shield, and we lost guards to the ravagers.”

  “Mason deserves a choice, a chance to be whole again.”

  “No.”

  She studied him a moment and realization dawned.

  “That’s why you wouldn’t send him for the Mage. You think if given a chance, he’d go to the Regent. You're afraid he’ll make a choice you won’t like.”

  “Mason will do what is needed of him. He knows his place.” Gre
gory walked past her to the door, pulling it open before turning back to her. “Your father’s property was reassigned. You’ll stay in the first barrack house. In the morning, speak to Norm at the pub about food. Once the Mage repairs the shield, I’ll take you to the Capitol to stand for your crimes. It shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

  Arguing with him was pointless. Even if Gregory were to listen to her, he didn’t possess the heart to care. With slumped shoulders, she exited the building and went to the cabin that would be her temporary home. Inside, she tugged off her coat and hung it from the hook on the back of the door then peered around at her new home.

  The compact space held a narrow bed, a set of cupboards beside the wood burning stove, and a table with two chairs. To many, the room would seem sparse, but to Elora, it was wonderful. She smoothed her hand along the top of the bed, her fingers dancing across the soft fur blanket. Pushing down, she tested the bed’s softness and groaned in delight at the gentle give of the mattress.

  Her stomach grumbled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since the previous evening. A search of the cupboards produced nothing but a plate, kettle, and mug. Gregory had mentioned going to the pub in the morning, but she couldn’t wait that long, not when she knew a hot meal was only a few hundred feet away.

  It took only a few minutes to reach the pub. As the only building in the village with electricity, it was lit up like a beacon. Before the Sixteen High Regents divided the world into the Sectors, even before the rise of the ravagers, electricity had been scarce in the Northern regions of Sector Ten. Life up there had only grown harsher since the division. The High Regent allotted only a certain amount of electricity to be used by communities and in Ironshore, that allotment went to the pub for the town cook.

  The combined heat of the fireplace, stove, and multiple bodies melted the snow that landed on the windows. The sound of music drifted out, and an overwhelming sense of peace came over her.

  Civilization.

  A giggle burst forth. Ironshore had always seemed as far from civilization as possible until she was trapped on the island.

  Elora sucked in a deep breath then slowly exhaled and pulled open the heavy door. She scanned the room. The pub hadn’t changed in the time she’d been gone, though her memories of it were few. Her father hadn’t thought it safe for her to go, particularly in the evening.

  A fire roared in the massive stone fireplace along the back wall, heating the pub while wagon wheel chandeliers with small candle-shaped light bulbs dimly lit up the room. A dark brown animal hide had been nailed above the mantle, and three sets of elk antlers were mounted over the bar.

  The music changed from an old folksong to a fast-paced, stomping rhythm, and she searched for the source. At the far end of the bar, a box with a large cone protruding out of it rested atop a metal case. The box and cone shimmered, and blue sparks flew from the cone in time with the music. She inched toward it for a closer look.

  She had seen enchanted music boxes before, but never this size. Most were the size of a child’s hand and made only the softest of sound. She drew closer, her hand outstretched to touch the dancing sparkles, but before she could, a gnarly, old hand smacked across hers.

  “Ow!” she cried, pulling her hand into her chest and looking toward the old man who glared right back at her. The wrinkles of his face were deeper, his hair thinner, but there was no mistaking him for anyone other than Norm.

  “You dim, girl?” he asked. “Touchin' breaks the spell, and I ain’t got time to be finding a witch to conjure another in the middle of the dinner rush.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen a music box like this before.” She leaned in. “How does it work?”

  “You got ears, girl? Magic.” He shoved a plate of food at her and pointed to an elderly woman at the table a few feet away. “Give that to old Meryl.”

  Elora looked down at the plate in her hand. Crab, bannock, and a salad of mountain sorrel and fireweed. Her stomach clenched painfully, reminding her of the last meal she’d had of scallops and seaweed.

  “Don’t be dawdling. Meryl ain’t got no patience when she’s waiting on her food.” His eyes narrowed on her. “You get your plate after.”

  She nodded and moved quickly, dumping the plate in front of the woman and then going back to the corner of the bar. Norm snorted when he noticed she was back.

  “Gregory told me to see you about food,” she said, giving him a hopeful smile.

  “Did he? You sure he told you to come now?” Norm asked.

  “He told me to come in the morning, but ...” She licked her lips, the smell of food wafting around her so strong she could almost taste it.

  “The Dealer’s got a reason to be telling you to wait till morning. There ain’t a whole lotta women ‘round here, and the ones who come in the evening know how to handle themselves. You're too soft to be in here.” He shook his head, sending the greasy strands of hair fluttering around his weathered face. “Come back in the morn.”

  “Please,” she begged.

  He grunted and one of his eyes closed involuntarily. “Stay here. I’ll get you a plate to go.”

  She nodded and sank onto a stool that had been tucked under the bar top overhang. While she waited for Norm, she surveyed the pub. In the crowded sea of faces, she recognized only a few, though others seemed vaguely familiar.

  Then her eyes found Mason. He sat in the back corner of the room, his back to the wall with a clear view of the door. He must have seen her when she came in, yet he’d made no move to approach her.

  Her chest tightened, and she pushed back the pain of his dismissal. If she allowed herself to be consumed by the sorrow of his lost soul, she’d wither and die. Moving forward was the only thing she could do, and that meant speaking to him about Niobe and the Soul Rune.

  She slipped from the stool, but as she took a step toward Mason, a plate thudded onto the bar top in front of her.

  “You sure don’t listen do you, girl?” Norm said. He grabbed the towel hanging over his shoulder and wiped at a splash of ale that had begun to congeal into a sticky puddle. “That was the problem your folks always had with you.”

  “You remember me?”

  “Hard for most of us to forget the girl who brought the Ice Witch’s wrath upon us.”

  “I didn’t ...” Her protest trailed off. She had no defense, because even though Niobe dragged her through the barrier, she had ventured onto the bridge willingly. Foolishly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry ain’t gonna do a lot to comfort many here. A lot of people lost someone when the ravagers broke through, not to mention Niobe’s habit of showing up every few months.”

  Elora had seen Niobe use an ancient sigil to transport herself when she needed to gather supplies and ingredients. What she hadn’t known was where she’d gone.

  “Yet another reason Gregory told you to wait till the morn. Anger and ale ain’t the best of combinations.” He nudged her plate toward her. “Now get.”

  Elora grasped the plate. “Thank you.”

  As she moved to the door, her gaze drifted to Mason again. He was laughing at something the man across from him said. Her ears picked up his deep chuckles, noting the hollowness of his mirth. It was all an act, put on to convince others that he was no different from them.

  How must it feel to be so empty inside? To have no emotions to drive your actions, no love or hatred to guide you.

  But it didn’t have to be like that. With Niobe gone, the Regent could free his soul from the Soul Rune. All he needed to know was where his soul was trapped, and she might be the only one who could find it.

  4

  Mason listened to the tale Nick told of the time Luce was chased by a moose on one of the perimeter checks. He laughed at the appropriate moments, understanding the humor in the story, and to some degree even appreciating it. Yet, the laughing didn’t do anything for him. It was a motion he went through, because if he didn’t then others would notice something wrong with him.

  Be
ing without a soul was not a common state. He hadn’t even known it was possible until it happened to him. If those in the village knew, it would impede his ability to do his job. They could accept him being rough and hard, but soulless? They’d turn to the nearest witch to send him to the Underworld.

  He watched as Nick threw back his head and gave another howl. The older man’s entire belly jiggled with the force. Mason shook his head in mild amazement. How Nick managed in the Tank force baffled most people. Not only was he too good-natured, but he also possessed a gut well padded with the wealth of his appetite.

  “Boy, you shoulda seen the way she was dodging and weaving. I ain’t never seen anyone move that fast.”

  Mason tipped his lips into a smile then took another swig of his ale. Nick continued his tale, and Mason let the gruff sound of his friend’s voice to pass by him.

  His eyes narrowed when he spotted Elora talking with Norm, a plate of food in front of her. He found it hard to believe his father sent her for food at this time of the evening. Ironshore was a quiet place during the day, and the presence of the Tank kept it from being as dangerous as some of the other Northern communities. But this was the wild and a pub full of drunks, who rarely encountered women like Elora was not the safest of places for her. She’d obviously figured that out as she crept along the back wall of the room to the exit.

  The clunk of a mug hitting the table brought his attention back to Nick, and he gave another obligatory laugh though he missed what was said. His gaze wandered back to Elora, but rather than leaving the pub, she was walking straight toward him. She stopped beside the table, staring down at him, though with her short stature he wasn’t much lower.

  “Mason, I need to speak with you,” she said, her eyes darting from him to Nick.

  “I’m busy.”

  “I ain’t too busy for a chat with a pretty lady,” Nick said and snaked an arm around her waist to tug her to his side.