Soul of the Blade

by Brenda J. Pierson

Dragana’s reply was to put just enough pressure on the man’s neck to draw blood. It looked black in the flickering orange light.

  We can’t find out what’s different about them if we kill him, Aeo whispered.

  The man sneered at her. “You are a fool if you believe you can stop our masters.”

  “How about I stop you, then?” Dragana said. Her voice was quiet and dangerous enough to make Aeo shiver.

  Rather than paling or becoming intimidated, the man laughed in Dragana’s face. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. The Entana are beyond your reach. Those of us who accept their presence are growing, and growing strong. Even now, we fight a battle to bring more into the service of the Entana. Our numbers will swell and soon spread the Entana to the entire world. Then we will come for you.”

  Aeo felt the shudder race through her. “Was that supposed to frighten me?”

  “It wasn’t a threat. It’s the truth.”

  “And I suppose now you’ll offer me an alternative,” Dragana said.

  The man stared into her eyes without a hint of remorse. “If you surrender the Bok’Tarong and join us before then, you will be welcomed and rewarded. If not, then you will die.”

  “Both options are death for the Taronese,” Dragana said. “So take this message to your masters.”

  With a violent shove, she sliced clean through the -taken’s throat.

  The man never had a chance to scream, but the Entana squealed as its human vessel died. The oily tendrils thrashed and flickered in and out of Aeo’s spirit vision. The Bok’Tarong’s enchantment seared the Entana like a hot iron cauterized a puss-filled wound. It severed the parasite’s connection to the physical world and left it floating, wounded, and dying.

  Outside of its host, the Entana looked like little more than a black, slimy eel. It seemed weak and pathetic out here. Much of its evil had been drained away—now it was just a squirming, disgusting worm.

  In his normal contracts, this was the point where Aeo hated his job. The hunt was thrilling, the fight exhilarating, but the kill was the necessary evil to finish it off. But this … this was different. This wasn’t like killing a person. This was killing a monster that had earned its death a hundred times over. Even the -taken, though still a person, was someone who had allowed a monster to live in them and control their mind. This kill was the first one he didn’t regret in the least.

  Aeo reached out with his spirit-blade, stabbing through the parasite. It tried to squeal once more, but dissipated into oily smoke before it could.

  Without a word, Dragana dispatched the rest of the -taken.

  When all of the Entana were gone, Aeo slid himself back into the Bok’Tarong’s blades. It felt good to be back in the sword, like he was coming home after a long time away.

  They stood in the middle of the carnage, battle-weary and confused. Blood oozed down Dragana’s arm and slid across Aeo’s blades. They’d need to bind that sooner rather than later. Her spirit would need time to repair the Entana’s damage, also, and Aeo was about to suggest they return to camp and get some rest when she spoke.

  “What did he mean?” Aeo knew she was talking to herself more than to him, so he didn’t interrupt. “‘Those of us who accept the Entana are growing.’ Are people allowing the Entana into their minds of their own free will?” She rolled one of the bodies onto its back with her foot. The flickering firelight made its dead eyes looks like glass. “Why would you do that?”

  Aeo stared down at the lifeless -taken. Why indeed? He’d felt the evil of the Entana. Who in their right mind would take something like that in willingly?

  A small insignia on the man’s collar caught his attention. Look, Dragana, he said. That’s the crest of Halkron’s emperor.

  Dragana’s eyes widened. She scanned each of the bodies, and each wore the same clothes with the same insignia. In the darkness and heat of battle, she and Aeo had failed to notice it. “These aren’t their standard military uniforms. But they’re some type of uniform, don’t you think?”

  I do. They look like they’re made to blend in with an army, but stand out enough to mark these soldiers as different.

  Soldiers. Entana-taken soldiers. Both let this information sink in for a moment. “The Taronese leaders sent us here because there were rumors that an increase in -taken was noticed near the frontlines of the war. And the -taken said they were fighting a battle to enslave more to the Entana.”

  There is something much bigger than the Entana going on here, Aeo said.

  Her fist clenched around the Bok’Tarong. “Nothing is bigger than the Entana.”

  These -taken are fighting in the war. Their commanders can’t be oblivious to that.

  Dragana stared at the insignia on the dead -taken’s collar for several moments. “I think this one was the commander.”

  Aeo was silent for a moment. The Halkron have regiments of -taken fighting us?

  “It looks that way.”

  Why?

  “You saw how these guys fought. A fully -taken doesn’t feel pain. They have no fear. The Entana have eaten so many of their thoughts and emotions they can no longer feel anything. If someone or something could control their minds and keep them sane, they would make excellent soldiers. But that’s never happened before.”

  Dread soured Aeo’s thoughts. It looks like someone has figured out how to do it.

  “Something like that would require immense power.”

  And someone with that much power with an army of unfeeling, unafraid soldiers at their call would be a huge threat. They could challenge mages, kings …

  “ …or countries.”

  Aeo paused. You can’t be serious.

  She shrugged. “It makes sense. The Halkron invade after centuries of peace. Arata holds them back, barely. Since then, there have been skirmishes but little more. There was no reason for this war to start in the first place, unless someone had plans of their own.”

  Aeo paused. But how could that someone convince people to accept Entana possession and fight a war for them?

  Dragana was quiet. The entire night had fallen silent, Aeo realized. The animals of the forest knew death had come to visit.

  We need to find whoever’s behind this.

  Her eyes never left the bodies, spread through the camp like discarded dolls. Their blood looked black and alien in the darkness. “I think you’re right.”

  Aeo took little joy in her concession. Like I said, this is much bigger than the Entana.

  7

  Aeo knew Dragana had to be exhausted, from the physical exertion and the spiritual attacks, but she couldn’t afford to sleep just yet. She’d washed the blood from Aeo’s blades and gotten most of it off her arm, though the intricate scrollwork on the carving of her spirit was still crusted with it.

  You should probably take that off, Aeo said. Clean it, make sure—

  “No.” Her voice was hard and final, and her thoughts put up a wall of absolute refusal before he could even finish the thought.

  If that gets infected, you won’t be able to fight.

  “I’ll be fine.” She squeezed more water over it, the liquid running down her muscles pinkish with blood.

  What’s so special about that thing, anyway? The last time I asked about it you shut me out.

  “It’s personal,” she said, her teeth clenched. She was straining to keep her thoughts to herself.

  I’ll keep asking about it until you answer me.

  She sighed, dabbing at the cut. The bleeding was finally starting to slow.

  You know I will.

  “It’s a ritual of my mother’s people,” she said. “My father was Taronese, but my mother was from a small tribe in the jungle east of Taron. When a person comes of age, they are given a stone, a knife, and a drug that releases the spirit. Then we’re locked in a hut until our consciousness emerges enough for us to let ourselves out.” She kept her gaze firmly on binding the cut, blocking Aeo from sensing her thoughts of it. “When we come out, days have pass
ed. We have no memory of them, and we have this carving our spirits did while it was released.”

  So it’s a reflection of your spirit.

  “In part. It’s also a gift, a prize we hold in trust until …” She sucked a breath between her teeth as she tucked in the ends of the cloth binding. “Ow.”

  Until when?

  Silence. He couldn’t read anything else from her thoughts, either. Aeo suspected she might have pinched the wound on purpose, to force her mind away from the topic.

  Dragana?

  “No. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  He was learning when pushing would only make things worse, so he let it drop. Besides, she needed to sleep.

  Try as she might, sleep wouldn’t come. She tried meditation, laying down, even humming to herself, but nothing helped. Her thoughts were a roiling, confusing jumble.

  Finally she sat up, leaning against a thick cedar and fiddling with the ferns and flowers growing at its roots. She didn’t pluck or pull at them like most people did. She stroked them, petting the plants as others pet a puppy. Aeo figured she probably didn’t even realize she was doing it.

  After a moment, she took up the Bok’Tarong and placed the blades in her lap. Her emotions, overwhelming exhaustion and confusion and doubt, slammed into Aeo. Are you all right?

  “I don’t know,” she said. Her voice shook. “I’m just … I don’t feel like myself.”

  Your spirit’s still recovering from the Entana’s attacks.

  “What would you know about the Entana’s attacks? Yesterday you didn’t even know what the Entana were.”

  I would know because I watched them attack you. I even defended you from them, though your ungratefulness is making me wonder why I did.

  She took a deep breath, slipping into a meditative mindset for just a moment. “Tell me what happened.”

  It wasn’t an apology for her outburst, or an acceptance of his abilities, but he knew it was the best he would get. The Entana were attacking your spirit while you fought the -taken. You were losing. The Entana were sapping your confidence, making you doubt yourself.

  “I could feel it,” she whispered. She stroked a large, feathery fern through her fingers.

  The -taken would have beaten you unless I did something. So I pulled myself out of the blades. Not much, just enough to give me some room to fight back.

  Dragana’s spine straightened, her focus sharpened. She released the fern. “You did what?”

  I pulled myself out of the blades, he repeated, confused by her sudden interest. My spirit took the shape of my body, holding the Bok’Tarong. I didn’t get all the way out, just to my stomach, but it was the best I could do.

  Her thoughts whirled. One phrase stood out among them like a beacon, demanding her attention as well as his. The Master of the Bok’Tarong …

  “It can’t be possible,” she said to herself.

  Aeo didn’t like the sound of this. It reeked of religious nonsense. What’s the Master of the Bok’Tarong?

  She scowled at him, but didn’t hide the information. “There’s a prophecy about the Bok’Tarong,” she began.

  What is it with you people? As if having some kind of sacred purpose isn’t crazy enough. You have to have ridiculous prophecies, too?

  “You might want to shut up and listen first,” she replied. “If this means … gods, I hope I’m wrong … it might concern you.”

  Right. Like I’ll ever believe some ancient lunatic in another country predicted my future.

  “How else can you explain the prophecy speaking of what you just did? It says the true Master of the Bok’Tarong can create a body from his spirit. Isn’t that what happened?”

  Hardly. I just moved my spirit out of the blades so I could fight. I wouldn’t call that creating a body or anything.

  She stared at the blades for a moment, as if reading Aeo’s thoughts from the metal. “It sure looks like you did, from your memories of it.”

  Well then. Maybe she could read his thoughts from the metal.

  Look, Dragana, I won’t buy into this. You could read it like that, if you want. But all I did was pull myself out to even the odds. The Entana had the -taken and their tendrils. You needed something more than the blades, so I acted. That’s it. I didn’t act according to prophecy. I just did what I had to.

  “But how can you explain it? No spirit has ever managed to do that before.”

  Aeo paused. No one? Ever?

  She shook her head. “Every Taronese warrior in existence would have heard about it as soon as it happened. We would have begun preparing for the prophecy to come to fruition.” She paused, as if swallowing something slimy and unpleasant. “That’s the point. How could you have done that, if the prophecy wasn’t true?”

  How could those soldiers back there have been fully -taken, yet fully sane? Lots of impossible stuff has already happened tonight.

  She scowled.

  Did you ever think that maybe the rules are changing, to accommodate the dangers? If the Entana are -taking people who are willing, maybe the Bok’Tarong needs to adapt in order to fight them. That seems a lot more logical than what you’re saying, if you ask me.

  “I guess,” Dragana said, though she obviously didn’t agree. “It wouldn’t make any sense, though. You aren’t Taronese. You can’t be the Master of the Bok’Tarong.”

  Damn right I’m not.

  Her eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth. Dragana took a few deep breaths, trying to push away her anger. It didn’t work very well. “Look, we’re both stuck with this situation,” she said with exaggerated calm. “We might not like it, but we have to find some way to work together. I can’t do my job if we’re constantly bickering.”

  Finally, something that makes sense.

  She grumbled before taking another long, deep breath.

  I’m not asking for much. Just stop judging me and accept that I’m the one in here.

  “I can’t accept it. You still don’t understand what a sacrilege it is to have someone like you in the Bok’Tarong.”

  Someone like me? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t see me as anything other than a monster, can you? Dragana’s pursed, stubborn silence told him everything. Fine. If you won’t at least try to understand, I’ll have to make you see.

  Aeo dug deep into his memories, pulling Dragana’s mind with him. He was a young man, brought before the king for his accomplishments. The Mage General had taken him and poured his magic into Aeo’s mind, unrelenting. Months. Years. Training with the sword during the day, his mind torn apart by the Mage General’s power at night. He was molded into his role like a lump of wet clay. By the time he’d been named the king’s personal assassin, he was hardly recognizable as the man he’d been.

  Aeo felt a pang of sympathy from Dragana. It spurred him on, and he pulled her deeper.

  He was in battle, fighting a man whose face and features shifted between his targets. He was there, working his blade, sweating and slashing as if he was back in those moments. And yet a small part of his consciousness remained behind, with Dragana. It was a strange dichotomy, watching himself fight, like he wasn’t sure if he was the dreamer or the dream itself.

  His heart hammered with excitement, not exertion. He was testing his skills, proving himself to be the best once again. He was hunting, stalking, winning—the thrill never got old.

  Their surroundings changed just as the man’s features did. He was in a large dining hall, surrounded by stone and tapestries and horrified nobles. A moment later the walls melted away, revealing a forested clearing not unlike the one he’d so recently fought in as the Bok’Tarong. In the blink of an eye he was in a tent, deep in the midst of a Halkronian war camp.

  Still he fought, consumed in a duel between master swordsman and a dead man.

  The elation of battle intoxicated him. He grinned like a madman as he fought. This feeling was what drove him. The satisfaction of victory was what made life worth living. What else could compare
to it?

  It felt like hours he fought, never tiring, always prevailing. His targets fell. And the moment came.

  Sour regret twisted his gut as he leaned in for the kill.

  It was something he knew Dragana hadn’t known. She thought he’d reveled in death, when every one of his kills was regretted. He didn’t try to hide his revulsion. He let it fill him, let Dragana experience it as profoundly as Aeo did.

  He had to fight off a violent sickness as he watched himself—felt himself—plunge his blade into his target’s heart.

  Aeo let his mind wander away from battle, to his life between contracts. It hadn’t been all about killing. He’d had plenty of time to enjoy the finer things of life, the travel and women, the joys he could buy with the king’s gold. It was a good life, and Aeo showed Dragana all of it.

  You see? The life of an assassin isn’t as distasteful as you think.

  A wave of disgust flowed over him. Dragana sneered. “Do you know what I see in that?”

  Aeo saw the same images, from Dragana’s perspective. This time, they weren’t glamorous. He saw evil in the heart of the king and fear in the eyes of his targets. He pictured the families left fatherless and destitute, the cities torn apart by greed when a usurper took over a dead man’s rule. His “honor” seemed hollow as he watched himself murder nameless faces for a handful of coins, ignoring his convictions that he could—should—be better than this. Even his personal life was filled with strangers, as he saw the women he’d taken to his bed without even knowing their names, often paying for their company with the very same gold he’d won with blood.

  The voice of Aeo, the tiny conscience he’d buried long ago, screamed through his mind. He could have been better than this. What he could have done, who he could have been, were questions he’d long since stopped asking. But now they pounded in his thoughts like a drumbeat. He told himself he’d done the best he could, but … had he?

  This man he’d become, the man the Mage General had conditioned him to become with torture and magic, wasn’t an honorable assassin. He was a heartless killer, willing to play god with others’ lives in order to finance his own. In that aspect, he was no better than the men whose lives he’d taken.