Soulbound

by Archer Kay Leah

  "A month you don't have." Gorgan backed out of the doorway. "Come on!"

  Forget the meeting. Grabbing Mayr's hand, Tash ran from the room and yanked him along. They kept pace with Gorgan, charging through the hallways to the main entrance of the temple. Without looking at the worshippers in the altar space—without seeing much of anything—Tash forced his legs to keep moving. They could not miss the baby's birth. Nothing and no one would stop them.

  "Started before my shift," Gorgan said.

  The hoarse words were almost lost to the noise drumming in Tash's head. His heart was working again, but the rest of him…

  They burst through the open entrance and fled down the long staircase of wide, white steps. Tash and Mayr were little more than a hand's length from catching Gorgan's heels and tumbling them all.

  Another chill blasted down Tash's spine, colder and darker than the last. In an odd moment of clarity, he heard a faint hiss. Over his shoulder, he glimpsed a blur of villagers who milled about the temple steps. Others dashed towards the woods that surrounded the temple.

  Can't lose focus. Just keep going. Tash obeyed Mayr's pull, his arm threatening to rip from its socket before they reached the last step and hit the red earth with heavy feet. The baby was early and anything could happen. They needed to help Arieve—

  A deafening roar split the air. Thunder slammed down around them, raining screams and shouts and piercing cries.

  The earth shook violently, cracking open beneath their feet. Veins of shadowy voids burst from a hungry core. The stairs blew apart, hurling stone in every direction. Pressure assaulted Tash from behind and below, tossing him as if he were a doll, lifeless and insignificant.

  He slammed to the ground, unable to yell, robbed of breath. Ribs dug deep. Every gasp seared. Warmth seeped from his nose as blood filled his mouth. His eyes burned, gritty and dry. Sharp, ringing pain stabbed the insides of his ears.

  White dust clung to the air. Rocks and bodies were everywhere at once, flying and falling, landing with sickening thuds around him. Blood splattered his hand, heat dropping from the sky…

  And then silence, lethal and furious.

  Death had come to play.

  Fighting to grasp life, Tash reached into the terror and drowned in darkness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mayr groaned. His whole body ached. Pains jabbed and flared behind his eyes in ribbons and chunks, flashes of colour fuzzy in his heavy daze. The ringing in his ears muffled what sounded like wails. Had a carriage landed on him, crushing half his ribcage? More than one of his ribs was jammed against the hilt of his sword. His right arm was pinned beneath his waist; his left arm was sore from an angle that offered nothing but tension. Though his legs were attached, they protested his efforts to move. None of his limbs seemed broken, but that provided only partial relief. When had he hit the ground?

  We were running… Mayr coughed and spat out dirt. Arieve, the baby…

  He pushed up, gasping and snarling as his muscles battled back. Whatever the damage, he would drag himself home, broken clarity and all. Cursing with every foul word he knew, he maneuvered into an upright position. Red earth soiled the front of his clothes. White and red grit covered the rest of him.

  In an instant, a headache rushed him, burning and punching at his skull. A cry of agony tore through him before he thrust his palms against his eyes. The priests could give him something to soothe the aches. He peeked at the temple.

  It took everything he had not to scream.

  There was no temple, only fresh ruins littered with bodies. Gaping holes filled with destruction. Each majestic column was destroyed, every wall blasted apart. Several still toppled, throwing white dust into the air. The roof lay on the ground, glass panes gone. The staircase to the temple was cracked and upturned. Dozens of the red trees that surrounded the temple were obliterated, the gardens buried. White stone was splattered red. Sickening grey smoke swirled, dulling the sunlight. The glass statues of the Goddesses that had once guarded the entrance were nowhere to be seen.

  Among the rubble, battered figures crawled and hobbled, unsteady as they tossed marble aside. Screams for help pierced the fogginess between Mayr's ears. The top levels of the temple had caved into the lower levels. Tattered red fabric waved in the slight breeze. Priests lay among the sea of worshippers, injured and unmoving.

  Panic raced through him. Tash.

  Mayr scrambled to stand, almost falling over twice. He gazed at the debris around him, rubbing away the dirt and hot tears stinging his eyes. There was nothing but chaos. Pummeled earth and broken stone. Ragged limbs discarded, lacking bodies. Torn parchment and clothes that fluttered away. A dozen footsteps to his left, a priest lay face down, the skin-coloured bracer of one arm unhidden by his soiled robes.

  "Tash!" Mayr hurried through the rubble and tripped, crashing to his knees beside Tash's lifeless form. Hissing at the fiery pain slashing through him, he rolled Tash over.

  He wanted to retch and cry and yell. Tash was little more than dead weight, his face smeared with blood from his nose, mouth, and a gash along his hairline. Faint breaths slipped between his split lips.

  "Come on, Halataldris. Don't go out like this," Mayr ground out through clenched teeth. He tore off Tash's ruined veil and wiped blood from Tash's face. There was no telling how long Mayr had been unconscious, let alone Tash. Please, please, please. Not now. Not ever… "You'd better damn well wake up or I'm sending you to the Realm of the Dead myself."

  Tash twitched. One of his hands lifted to Mayr's chest. With a moan, he peered at Mayr. "Doubt it," Tash rasped. "I'm already there."

  "You and me both," Mayr muttered. He raked his fingers through Tash's hair and down his neck, feeling for wounds and bumps. "Stay still, just a quick check." His hands glided over the rest of Tash, pressing tenderly.

  "Most of the damage is inside, love." Tash winced as Mayr grazed his ribs. "You can't fix that."

  "I can try." Mayr continued down Tash's legs, satisfied nothing was broken. Sprained was another matter, and they both were bruised and scraped for certain, but his head gash…

  Before Tash could argue, Mayr snatched a knife from his belt and pushed back the hem of Tash's first layer of robes. He sliced through the second layer and ripped fabric all the way around. The ragged strip was wide enough to fold twice and wrap around Tash's head. Knotted, the makeshift bandage was just taut enough without causing further damage.

  "You sit here for a bit," Mayr instructed, easing Tash upright. "No falling asleep, no lying down, no standing. I'll be right back."

  After tearing another piece from Tash's robe, Mayr went in search of Gorgan. He found him sitting more than twenty paces away, closest to the dirt road that led to the village. People already crowded the road and shouted their will to help, their stunned expressions marred by horror.

  Mayr kneeled in front of Gorgan. He stared past Mayr, his gaze empty. His ashen features were lax, swollen lips parted. Gorgan shivered, his hands tucked in his lap, drops of blood on his knuckles. The tremble wracked his entire body.

  "Gorgan." Mayr gripped his shoulders and shook him gently.

  Gorgan's focus slid to Mayr, weighted with confusion. "All these people… I don't understand…?"

  "I know," Mayr said softly, "but we don't have time to talk. I know you're in shock, I know you're hurt, but I need your help. Can you get up?"

  "I—" Gorgan lifted his left arm to his chest, grimacing as he cradled it with his right. "My arm… doesn't feel right. The elbow… my shoulder…"

  Not waiting for Gorgan to finish, Mayr fashioned a sling out of the fabric in his hands. He slipped it carefully around Gorgan's neck and injured arm. "Your legs?"

  "I think…" Gorgan dragged his knees up. "They work."

  "Good." Mayr loathed every syllable of his next words. "Enough to run?"

  "I—" Panic splashed across Gorgan's face. "I guess."

  "Come on." Mayr helped him to his feet. Once Gorgan was steady, Mayr grasped his shoulde
rs and stared him in the eye. "You're the only one I have. I need you to do exactly what I say. You have to do three things. You hear me? Three things."

  Gorgan nodded.

  Mayr sucked in a ragged breath. His heart thumped painfully. "One: run to the village and send help, anyone and everyone. You scream it until they start moving." He pinched Gorgan's chin, holding Gorgan's gaze to his. "Two: go to the estate, tell Pellon. Do you understand?"

  He received another nod, though it gave little relief. If Gorgan managed those instructions, they would have all the help they needed. Pellon would protect Aeley and Lira, no hesitation. He would also split the guards up: half would remain at the estate; half would bring supplies and wagons to the temple. Meanwhile, the Kattal soldiers in the village would defend the villagers from any possible attack.

  It was the third item that killed him. Just thinking the words brought tears to his eyes, blurring his sight.

  "Third thing, Gorgan," Mayr forced out, his voice shaky. "Go to Arieve and stay there. We'll come home as soon as we can." He swallowed hard and choked on the agony clawing at him. He would never witness the baby's first breath, their first wail, their first glimpse of the world.

  The only thing worse is being dead.

  It was duty against duty, personal desire pitted against what was right. If he had been someone else, maybe he could have run from the destruction, abandoning the wounded for their child.

  Instead, I'm the one who stays.

  "Do you understand?" Mayr shook Gorgan again. "Village, Pellon, Arieve—in that order. If anyone tries to hurt Arieve, you rip them apart. Shove their bones into their face until they're nothing." He cupped Gorgan's cheeks. "You protect everything Dahe, got it?" When Gorgan nodded, Mayr released him. "Repeat the instructions."

  Gorgan winced as he straightened. "Send villagers, tell Pellon, protect Arieve."

  "Good. Go."

  Gorgan hurried away awkwardly. As long as everyone else is safe, that's what's important, Mayr told himself, wiping tears from his cheeks. This was his role, his purpose. He protected others, taking little for himself. Lives came first, not want.

  Though I'd really love to know what in the tarnished name of the Four this is.

  Mayr scurried back to Tash. The temple had exploded, he gathered that much. His last encounter with such violent destruction had been during Aeley's ambush on her brother at the smaller Dahe estate in Oly Valley. The attack was meant to rescue villagers caught in Allon's attempt to coerce power from Aeley, but Allon's people had tossed explosives down like insignificant pebbles. They had blown holes throughout the house in attempts to kill Aeley, Mayr, and their comrades. Since then, Aeley had fixed little of the property.

  This…

  Who hated the priests that much?

  He helped Tash stand, grateful that Tash had stayed put. Around them, villagers fumbled through the rubble, calling out to the wounded.

  "You all right enough to help? Or do you want to wait for a healer?" Mayr held Tash up, one arm around his back. If only he could take Tash home, fuss over his injuries… But we can't, and I'm not sending him alone. He'd probably fall down dead halfway there.

  Tash lowered his chin. "I can help." He curled his arm around his ribs, grimacing as he drew a sharp breath. "Stop me if I try to be a hero. My body can't take being that clever."

  Mayr pressed a gentle kiss to Tash's bandaged temple. He needed to keep Tash by his side, especially if his injuries took their toll. "So we won't be clever—we'll be smart. Come, walk with me. You know all the priests that should be here."

  As Mayr turned them towards the centre of the wreckage, Tash splayed his shaky hand over Mayr's chest.

  "It's all gone," Tash said, voice cracking. "There's nothing…" Overcome by a sob, he hid his face in Mayr's shoulder.

  "I know."

  "Arieve, she's… and they're…"

  "I know that too." Smoothing Tash's hair to soothe them both, Mayr struggled to stay composed. There was no time to break down or heal his wounds. No time for tears, shock, or anything beyond compassion. The last thing he needed was to focus on the reality: they could have died had they stayed in the temple, leaving everyone they loved behind.

  Thank the Four for Coye. If we were dead, she'd be the only one Arieve has. She'd be the difference between Arieve raising our child on her own and having a family.

  Mayr blinked, realization blazing a path of stark clarity through his instincts. Perhaps he had underestimated Coye's worth in their lives, too angry to see her role in Arieve's future. They might never completely get along, and he refused to apologize for defending Arieve, but he could not deny Coye gave Arieve someone else to turn to. No longer was it a question of happiness—it was a matter of survival.

  "We should get helping," Mayr mumbled. Reflection was a luxury in the wake of what was.

  To Mayr's relief, Tash nodded and followed. Tash was quiet except for his cries at what they found. Mayr could not blame him. At their feet lay twelve years of Tash's life, the place he had called home.

  That home was becoming a grave. Broken possessions and shredded, bloody fabric lay among the upheaval, scattered around lifeless bodies. Glass shards crunched beneath Mayr's boots everywhere he stepped. Plants lay in bits, colourful petals strewn everywhere, sticking to everything. Books and parchment had been reduced to tatters. The altar had fallen over, cracked through and splattered with food, wax, and blood. What remained of the furniture had been tossed in every direction, depositing splintered wood, soiled linens, and dented metal where they did more damage.

  Mayr picked a path through the rubble, pulling Tash by the hand. The first people he found—two young men and a woman—were wounded but intact, pinned beneath stone pillars. After dragging them out and bandaging them with pieces of robe, Mayr instructed them to await a healer at the edge of the fray. The three hobbled off without peering back.

  The next six bodies were not so lucky: all dead, and more than one suffered from a cracked skull. The three people after them were unconscious and unlikely to survive. The two priests after that were barely put together, limbs and torsos torn asunder, veils and robes drenched in so much blood the fabric looked black.

  Steering Tash away from the grisly sight, Mayr cursed under his breath. No one attacks the temples. There's nothing to gain except a messy death, a cursed afterlife, and agonizing punishment during every life after that. What could this possibly achieve?

  Mayr continued on, relieved when they discovered a group of stunned priestesses buried under the remains of one of the libraries. With their assistance, the women crawled out of the mess of fallen shelves, overturned tables, and damaged volumes then helped each other limp to safety.

  His relief died the instant he spotted Kee thirty paces away. Among the crumbled walls and bookshelves of her private study, Kee sat beside Armamae's still form.

  "Damn, damn, damn." Mayr hurried to Kee with Tash in tow.

  Blood coated Kee's left cheek from the jagged wound around her eye, and her eyelid was swollen shut. The rest of her face was a mess of small wounds. The backs of her hands were torn, and her ripped veil hung low in her disheveled black hair. Next to her, Armamae appeared to be asleep, bruised with his robes askew.

  Surprise brightened Kee's face. "Thank the Four's kindest graces," she murmured, reaching for Mayr. He clutched her gritty fingers lightly. "I was worried everyone might be done for." Kee smiled sadly at Tash. "Brother Halataldris, may you always find such favour with the Goddesses. You are certainly held in esteem."

  "I don't feel like it." Tash fell to his knees beside Armamae. "You're hurt, Sister, and Brother Armamae, he's…" Hesitant, he laid his hand on Armamae's chest.

  "He's alive, Halataldris." Kee rubbed Tash's shoulder. "He breathes, though it's weak. I found him under my desk. I fear he's hit his head." She caressed Armamae's scraped cheek. "It's too early to tell if he'll come out of this," she said softly. "His age does not lend itself to sufficient healing. We may yet count his name amo
ng the dead."

  The words alone broke Mayr's heart, but Tash's sob nearly destroyed him altogether. They owed Armamae more than they could offer in return. For him to die for no reason…

  Mayr ground his teeth. If he ever found who was responsible, he would make them pay in every imaginable way.

  "We need to bandage you." Mayr muttered a prayer as he bent down and tore long strips from Armamae's robes. Kee remained still while he dressed her wounds. Once he finished, she resembled a pale imitation of herself, half of her face and both hands bandaged.

  Kee rummaged through the rocks and wood beside her. "I found this. It might be helpful." She dropped something warm into Mayr's palm. "There are several pieces scattered about, none of which matches anything in my study, though it's stuck in everything. Perhaps you'll know what it is."

  The heavy metal fragment needed no thought: shrapnel, sharp and black. He had noticed shards of it in the rubble and sticking out of bodies.

  Seeing it up close, his entire body throbbed with anger. It was not shrapnel from the usual types of explosives, composed entirely of metal. The fragment in Mayr's hand was reinforced with veins of white and pink diamond—the kind found in the most expensive pieces of jewelry ever worn, owned by few people in Kattal because the price was too high for anyone else to afford. The same kind of diamond used for rare weapons. Such precious stone claimed the lives of miners due to the extreme methods required to obtain it. It would not be in explosives unless the person responsible could sell their entire life for a small rock.

  Or hire someone with magic to do it.

  Mayr's face burned. Rage itched beneath his skin. Adren helped the Shar create new explosives—ones that do the worst damage. Ce said they're worth more than the most precious jewels.

  More than one of them would have destroyed the temple.

  Those gut-sucking, ass-cracking bastards from the rank depths of Kiss My Filthy Hole! With a deep growl that morphed into a shout, Mayr kicked a chunk of white stone at one of the toppled pillars. As the stone hit the pillar and fell, he yelled obscenities at the piercing pain that surged through his toes. Sure, why not a few broken bones? I knew those bastards weren't done. Now we're sitting on this disaster.