“I’m not leaving without Cooper Lee.”
Tuchulcha stares at me, head cocked to the side, with what could be an expression of pity. “Then you are not leaving, warrior.”
I rack my brain for a solution, gaze tracking from the wall of fire, to the spirit standing in my way, to the scar between Earth and the Eververse stitching itself closed behind me. If I can’t win a physical fight with Tuchulcha—and I can’t, especially not without beggar rings—then I’ll have to win a logical one. Dissecting every word he’s said since we started talking, I try to locate any hint of a loophole in the orders set forth by Vanth, in the way that Tuchulcha and Charun interpreted those orders. Cooper is only a thief in their eyes because he was the last human to possess the key, not because he actually stole it. Unlike Brendon, who would have been the final thief, had I not…
And there it is.
“Trade me,” I say. “Trade me for Cooper.”
Tuchulcha looks taken aback, as taken aback as a creature with snake hair and a beak can be. “Come again, warrior?”
“Hear me out.” I loosen my fists and raise my hands in a placating manner. “I am the last thief. Not Cooper. I am the one who should face judgment by Vanth. Cooper Lee didn’t take the key, didn’t steal the key, didn’t commit any crime against you, Vanth, Charun, or your realm.” My voice starts to shake under the weight of my growing fear, but I force it to stabilize. No retreat. No surrender. No matter the cost.
“At Holden Park,” I continue, “during the raid, I took the key from Jack Brendon. I stole it from him while he was unconscious. I snatched it from his person without permission, and therefore, I am a thief. But Cooper Lee didn’t take the key from anyone without permission. I gave it to him, by my own will, gave him something that was not mine to give. That is not his fault. It is mine. Just because his skin technically came into contact with the key does not make him a criminal—but I am a criminal because I willfully took the key from another. Cooper was ignorant. I was not. Cooper is innocent. I am not.”
Tuchulcha stammers out, “But—”
“Please, listen to me. I know what Vanth told you, but you have to listen to logic here, listen to the truth. You can’t execute an innocent man and call it justice. Cooper is an innocent man. So you need to let him go, or you’ll compromise your own morals. But, you don’t have to let Vanth down by freeing Cooper. You don’t have to refuse her the retribution she desires. Because I’m here. The real final thief. You can exchange me for Cooper, and Vanth can have her justice still.” My fingers tremble in the air, curling into fists once more. “Please, Tuchulcha. I speak the truth.”
The fire spirit forms an expression with an open beak that could be his equivalent to a disbelieving gape. His snake hair goes limp, hanging at his neck, and he taps his hips with fingers tipped by curling yellow nails. “You would sacrifice yourself, warrior, to save the life of the fair one, despite the fact that you have been given a generous out by Lord Charun? A rare and blessed reprieve from his fury? You would throw that away for what you consider true justice?”
Some floodgate breaks inside me, and my body stops quaking, goes rigid, back straight, proud and tall. “I’d fight for true justice any and every day of the goddamn week. And more than that, I’d fight for the life of an innocent from the ends of the Earth to the heart of the darkest underworld.”
“But you are scared, petrified to your very core…” Tuchulcha mutters.
“Fear won’t stop me from pursuing what’s right.” Not like it did in Gloston Square, where I did nothing while that fucking vampire walked away. “Not again. Never again.”
A moment of silence passes.
Then the fire wall flashes out in a wave of smoke, and Tuchulcha sighs. “This will come back to haunt me, I am sure,” he mutters, almost to himself, “but I admire your courage, warrior. I will petition to my Lady Vanth and Lord Charun for your exchange, based on your explanation of events, which I agree with. Bear in mind, however, that I do not have the final say. Your claims must convince Lady Vanth of your guilt and of the fair one’s innocence. More so, they must convince Aita, who stands beyond the gates.”
“God, thank you.” I drop my pleading hands to my sides and breathe, deep and slow, for the first time in several tense minutes. Cooper might live, if I play this right. All I have to do is…
“Wait,” I say, a wriggle of confusion in the corner of my mind, “who the heck is Aita?”
Tuchulcha gives me a look that implies I would have been better off not knowing that particular piece of information, but he answers anyway. With the best thing I’ve heard all day.
“Aita is the king of the Underworld.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It doesn’t hit me that I’m going to die until I see the gates.
It’s not that I don’t understand what my own bargain was, exchanging myself for Cooper, putting my life at the mercy of Vanth’s sword. But the full weight of my decision doesn’t sink into my chest until Tuchulcha and I round the last curve of the rocky pass, the widening end of the road before the mighty golden gates of the Etruscan Underworld. In that moment, my mind plays through the coming events, a brief agony under a sharp blade, followed by an eternal afterlife. I will die here, in an underworld that is far removed from any faith I have now or have ever held, and I will stay here. My shade will pass through the gates, and I will spend forever in a hell, punished for my so-called role in stealing the key. That or…well, I don’t know what the Etruscan Underworld is supposed to be like. I never read that chapter in the book.
Regardless, I am going to die.
Calvin Kinsey. Twenty-two years old. Decapitated by an Etruscan Psychopomp in a bid to save an archivist’s life. Riker and Ella and all the rest…they’ll either call me a hero or an idiot. Maybe both. Heroes aren’t always the sharpest tools in the shed, are they? I’ve certainly played the role of the dunce well thus far. All I need to do is add a dash of heroic sacrifice to the mix, and I’m guaranteed a nice speech, with some extra snide remarks, from the commissioner at my funeral.
But I digress.
(Because I’m scared. That’s what people do when they’re afraid. Ramble on.)
Tuchulcha and I approach the gates of the Etruscan Underworld, interrupting the “trial” already underway. Kneeling before the center of the gates is Cooper Lee, barely conscious, head lolling to one side, coherent thought drowned by pain. Charun holds him upright by, of course, his injured arm, because these damn Etruscan bastards have no respect for the man they think a thief. Charun’s meaty hand is locked around Cooper’s burned wrist, damaging the seared, blistered flesh even more.
The burn was already third degree. Cooper will have scars from this nightmare forever.
Standing on the opposite side of Cooper from Charun is a woman I recognize from the illustration in the Archive book. Vanth. A tall, stately woman with flowing dark locks that kiss her waist. She wears no top, her breasts exposed, as are her many scars. Faded white lines that crisscross her stomach, back, chest, and neck, as if she’s fought in a thousand deadly battles and emerged victorious every time. She holds in her slim hands a sword, the point planted in the ground, as she looms over Cooper’s sagging body, an expression of distaste etched into her stunning face.
But the most imposing thing I see, as I get closer to the scene, is not Vanth or Charun, but the figure beyond the gates. The figure bathed in shadow. The indistinct outline of a colossal body—nearly as tall as the gates, thirty feet, and broader than a doublewide trailer. Nothing about this figure is distinguishable, as if his true shape is, by its nature, cloaked in mystery. Nothing except his bright, burning blue eyes, two flaming orbs set deeply into a skull that must be the size of a compact car. Eyes that are narrowed, fire churning, either in deep curiosity or in absolute anger.
Aita. King of the Underworld. Who’s been trapped behind his own locked gates since Jack Brendon and friends stole Vanth’s key. Who is probably as pissed as a god can be. Out for the blood of
the guilty. Yearning for the chance to punish, for all eternity, the fool who would dare dishonor his realm, his loyal Psychopomps, and the dead Etruscans he has vowed to protect for the duration of their promised afterlives.
I am about to become that fool. The thought almost makes me piss my pants.
But then I remind myself…better me than Cooper Lee. And I refrain from soiling my underwear in front of a bunch of Etruscan death demons and the shadowed king who rules them.
Vanth and Charun break their focus on the trial in progress when Tuchulcha and I reach the end of the mountain pass and come to stand at the edge of the rounded, empty courtyard area that leads to the closed gates. Charun is the first to turn toward us, dropping Cooper in the process, and the archivist flops to the ground, twitching in pain and fear, mumbling incoherently. Charun then yanks his hammer out of its strap at his side, snarls, and points the weapon at my face. He speaks to Tuchulcha in gruff tones, and though I can’t understand a word, I get the gist of his meaning: What are you doing? Why have you brought this asshole here?
Tuchulcha steps forward into the courtyard and bows, first at Charun, then at Vanth. He answers his boss in soft-toned Etruscan and gestures at me with one of his fleshy pink hands. I don’t exactly know how he explains my plea, but whatever he says, however he says it, has a profound effect on the two death demons. Charun gawks at me, as much as a creature with tusks and huge, glowing eyes can gawk, while Vanth, who appears interested but not shocked, moves away from Cooper Lee and glides toward me. The billowing of her long skirt creates the illusion of flight, as if she’s an angel, descended from heaven to recover the souls of the lost.
She stops four paces from where I’m standing, and because she’s half a head taller than me, an imposing figure, I have to look up to meet her hard, proud eyes. Without breaking her stare at my bruised and sweaty face, she asks Tuchulcha something. The words roll off her tongue in a mild, melodic tone, nothing like Charun’s brusque voice, and if there wasn’t a spark of fury dancing on the edge of her gaze, you would never know she was aching to enact her wrath on the party responsible for stealing her key.
Tuchulcha nods his head and replies to Vanth’s question, then bows again and shuffles a few feet farther away from me. Either because Vanth wants a more private audience, or because she’s about to chop off my head with the sword still in her steady grasp. She drives the end of the sword into the ground, her slim fingers wrapped tight around the hilt, and a wave of energy pulses through the dirt beneath me. The earth begins to shake and shudder, and rocks splinter, crack, cascade down the steep cliffs of the mountain pass behind me. I almost lose my footing and fall at Vanth’s feet, make myself look even weaker and more pathetic in her shadow than I already do.
Vanth doesn’t speak until the ground stops trembling, and when she does, she speaks in English. Or, more accurately, she speaks in Etruscan and uses some kind of magic to force my brain to translate. It’s like streaming a video with an audio lag, where the words coming out of a character’s mouth on the screen don’t quite match the words coming out of the speaker. A disorienting experience, made worse by the intense pressure in my skull caused by the spell. It feels like somebody is squeezing my head with a vice.
Vanth says, in the same mild tone she used with Tuchulcha, “So, young warrior, you wish to buy that thief’s life”—she nods at Cooper, slumped on the ground next to Charun—“with your own? Is this the way of it? You would put your neck at my sword to spare the life of your comrade? No trick? No lie?”
My heart is racing in my chest, and my throat has gone dry as desert sand. A frightening mantra of don’t want to die, don’t want to die, don’t want to die repeats over and over and over inside my head, and my tired muscles tighten up with the urge to run as fast as I can, tail between my legs, screaming at the top of my lungs in utter terror. But I refuse to let myself back down. If I falter, even for a moment, Cooper will die.
I roll my shoulders and lift my chin to project as much confidence as I can manage. Then I reply, to the gatekeeper of the Etruscan Underworld, “Yes. I want you to judge me instead of him. He’s not the thief you want. I am.”
“Oh?” She raps her short nails on the hilt of her sword, scrutinizing me with deep brown eyes, a golden glow ringed around her pupils. “My brother Charun assured me the fair-haired one is the thief I seek. Are you calling him a liar?”
“No.” I don’t waver, not even for a second, even as nervous, cold sweat drips down my forehead, even as I shake in my boots under the demon’s heavy gaze. “I am saying he doesn’t have all the facts. He wasn’t present when Cooper acquired the key, from me.” I recount to Vanth the same story I told Tuchulcha, repeating again and again how I forcefully took the key from Jack Brendon, whereas Cooper was gifted the key, through no fault or will of his own. All the while, I pray, from my mind, from my soul, that Vanth will allow my logic to prevail, that her fury is righteous and controlled, unlike Charun’s catastrophic, rampaging nature. That she truly is his counterpart, compassionate and just.
“So, please, Lady Vanth,” I say as the closing statement of my tale, “free Cooper Lee. Let him live. Allow him to return to Earth. He played no malicious part in the theft of your key. His role was minor, as minor as could be, and wholly accidental. The true final thief, the last person to steal the key from another…was me. Therefore, I should face your judgment. Not Cooper.”
Vanth doesn’t reply for the longest time. She stares at me like her eyes have the power to strip my skin, my bones away and reveal the true nature of my wildly beating heart. Then, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours later, she half-turns toward Charun and speaks with him in detail. This time, she doesn’t translate for me, so I have no clue what they discuss, but whatever it is they decide in the end—whatever makes Charun shake his head and scowl at me—leads Vanth to appeal directly to her boss. She fully turns to face Aita, who stands unmoving beyond the gates.
Vanth doesn’t say anything to Aita. She doesn’t have to.
The god passes his verdict without delay. He speaks with what is less a voice and more the sound of a thousand trumpets, a symphony of brass, a train of syllables so loud and all encompassing they rattle my bones to dust. Blue, burning orbs focus on me as he speaks, and it’s like a car drops onto my head, tons of solid metal bearing down on my fragile frame. My knees start to bend, inch by inch, the strength of Aita’s words driving me into the dirt. Forget magic. Forget weapons. Forget Charun’s bulky muscles. Aita, I realize in this moment, could kill me with a wayward glance, could kill me with an angry shout. For that is the might of the king of the Etruscan Underworld. That is the power of a being that rules a realm of the Eververse.
Vanth, unaffected by her ruler’s voice, seems satisfied with what he says, and she rounds back on me, tugging her sword from the ground. “We appreciate your honesty, young warrior, regarding the theft of my key. But I must ask, one last time: Are you willing to take the dishonor of the theft on your shoulders, take the blame for the shame brought upon me, upon Charun, upon my King Aita, upon Tuchulcha and the other helpers of our realm, upon the shades that reside in the fields of peace beyond the gates? Are you willing to trade your life for that of your comrade, name yourself the guilty party? Are you willing to kneel before me and accept the justice of my sword?”
This is where it ends, Kinsey. It’s been a wild ride, huh?
If only it was longer…
“Yes.” My tongue struggles to produce the words. “I am willing.”
Vanth observes me, curious. “You are afraid, young warrior.”
“Of course I’m afraid!” I choke out a nervous laugh. “I’m about to die. Everyone’s afraid to die, whether they admit it or not.”
“Yet you will not back down in your quest to save your comrade?” She wipes the dust off the tip of her sword using a fold in her skirt. “Even in the face of man’s ultimate fear?”
“No. I won’t. Because my fear doesn’t matter.” I nod my head toward Coope
r, who’s now curled up in a quaking ball. “His fear is what matters. His life is what matters. He’s an innocent, and my job is to protect innocents, at any cost, at every cost. Even if that cost is my life. Even if that cost is eternity in your realm.” I pull back one side of my coat to reveal the DSI badge clipped to my belt. “That’s what I swore to the world, my world when I joined DSI. And I’ll stand by my word, here and now, here and forever.”
“Very well, young warrior. Your plea to exchange yourself for the fair one is accepted.” Vanth closes her eyes and dips her head. “I will dispense justice on you, as commanded by my King Aita, for the theft that has dishonored us all. Kneel before me.”
I don’t have to kneel. My knees give out, and I drop to the ground, barely able to sit upright. My pulse is erratic, heart hammering against my ribcage, and I’m on the verge of vomiting again. It’s all I can do not to cry in front of the woman about to behead me, not to cry when I look past her to see Cooper Lee, crumpled on the ground, scarred for life, who will no doubt be traumatized, haunted for years, not to cry when I think of the stupid college kids, who were led to their slaughter by Jack Brendon, who never knew what powers they were prodding until long after they’d signed their own death warrants, not to cry for all this death, destruction, pain, and suffering that could have been avoided so easily, so simply, but wasn’t because a few misguided souls were too greedy, too arrogant, for their own damn good.
Vanth lifts her sword and reels it back, aims for the center of my neck. “You are valiant, warrior. A shame you have to die.”
Soul Breaker Page 23
