Curse of Souls (Warrior of Souls Book 1)

by S Mays

  “You know,” Sverre said, rising from the couch, then slipping his shoes back on, “I think this is pretty awesome, and I’m glad you guys are out there kicking monster butt every night.”

  He slowly moved toward the door. Reaching it, he turned to face them.

  “But I think I’d best be going. My friend Josh is probably worried about me, and you know, college and all that,” he said, turning the doorknob. “Thanks for the hospitality and all…oof,” he exclaimed as he bumped into a hulking figure that stood on the other side of the doorway. He reeled backward into the room, off-balance. The large form stepped through the door frame. It had to duck slightly to enter the room.

  “You stay for dinner!” it bellowed.

  Sverre started at the feet and worked his way up. It was about six feet eleven inches and probably a good three hundred and fifty pounds. It wore tight stockings, an apron, and a maid’s uniform. The ample bosom visible at his eye level looked as if it could conceal a small child. His gaze moved upward past the thick neck, strong jaw, and the large cheek mole that looked like a tadpole growing fur. Higher up was a unibrow that looked like one of those spiked caterpillars he’d seen back home in the basement. Above the brow was a small maid’s cap, white and ruffled, which contained an unruly mass of dirty blonde hair.

  It pushed past him, bringing in a cart full of silverware and dining implements. Delicious aromas wafted from the cart as it rolled past.

  “Ah, Hilda. I see you’ve met our guest!” Bilford said, rising from his desk.

  Hilda cast a cursory glance at Sverre as if she had just noticed him and hadn’t bowled him over. “Sit. Eat,” she commanded in a deep voice, pulling the lids off various dishes. She began preparing plates.

  “Hilda has been with us a good thirty or so years,” Bilford explained. She looked at the old man and spread a wide smile of crooked, yellowed teeth. “After an incident in Switzerland, she chose to remain with us.”

  Sverre cast a wary glance at Hilda and sat back down. “She’s a stunning vision of Swiss beauty, to be sure,” he muttered.

  “I believe she had similar praise concerning you after she was done changing your clothes and cleaning you up last night,” Jessica remarked.

  Hilda looked at him, smiled, and turned away, her cheeks reddening. A small noise exploded from Jessica’s direction that might have been a sneeze or a snort. Sverre grimaced, fighting like mad to prevent himself from blushing.

  ***

  After the delicious dinner, Sverre decided it was time to see what Bilford’s plans were for him. Dusk approached, and he didn’t want to spend another night in that uncomfortable cell. He couldn’t believe he had slept so long. The worldwide conspiracy theory seemed far-fetched, and if it was true, he wasn’t sure he liked the implications. Were they planning on erasing his mind — or worse?

  “Okay, so why are you telling me this? I’m a civilian. You wouldn’t tell me all of this just to mindwipe or imprison me.”

  “Blunt and to the point. I like that. To be honest, I want to offer you a position with us,” Bilford explained, lighting a ridiculously large pipe.

  Jessica leapt to her feet to protest. Bilford continued, not giving her a chance to speak.

  “This organization has many special agents within it. These ‘enhanced’ humans may be telepaths, scryers, telekinetics, warborn — they represent the epitome of human evolution. Despite their abilities, they remain human at their core. We believe such gifts come about through divine will, to aid in humanity’s war for survival with the otherworldly forces allied against it. Such gifts have proved invaluable to our success.”

  “Why me? Do you understand what is happening to me? How I did those things last night?”

  Bilford looked to Jessica, then back to Sverre, inhaling deeply before replying, “I believe I do. One of my many abilities is communication with the dead. I’m able to parlay with spirits in the immediate area. You’ve probably heard the term ‘medium.’ I’ve spoken to thousands of spirits in my lifetime. Not for the brief moments you see on TV, but for hours on end. I’ve spoken to philosophers, politicians, scientists — even those called witches, warlocks, and sorcerers.”

  “You call them up and talk to them? Like a spirit hotline?”

  Bilford shook his head, smiling. “No. It isn’t as simple as that. I can call out to a certain spirit, but rarely do they hear. It is like shouting into an ocean. The majority that I’ve conversed with come to me. They have unfinished business in life — loved ones left behind, or they wish to tell me things that aid our cause.”

  As he explained, Hilda cleared away the leftovers and dishes, attempting to not disturb the conversation. It was like watching a moose attempt to tiptoe through a nursery.

  “So, you know if there is a heaven and a hell?” Sverre asked.

  “I can merely state that there is an afterlife. There are realms beyond ours. Perhaps two, perhaps two billion. Many of us in the Order are devout Christians of various denominations. We hope for the Lord to reveal Himself to us one day, but for now, we have our faith. Just as I am a medium, you have similar abilities,” Bilford explained. “You too have a connection to the afterlife, but yours is far more complex. You are, for lack of a better term, a Soul Warrior.”

  “A Soul Warrior?” said Jessica. “You’ve never mentioned that descriptor before.”

  “That’s because there has never been an officially recorded incident of such a being in all of the history of our organization,” her grandfather stated excitedly. “There is one mention about three hundred years ago by another high-level medium, in his diary. The being disappeared before he had a chance to gather much information.”

  “What is a Soul Warrior, exactly?” Sverre inquired, unconvinced.

  “From what I’ve been able to determine from our instrumentation, and from the moments we spent in communion, along with the transcripts I’ve gathered, your body is host to numerous souls in addition to your own,” Bilford exclaimed, seemingly unable to believe it himself.

  “Sooo…I’m like, possessed?” Sverre asked, looking at his hands as if they would suddenly strangle the nearest person without any input from him.

  “No. You are yourself. Your soul is in control, and it will remain so. Think of it as: you are the bus driver, and everyone else is along for the ride. Except they are not merely riding. They also assist you. If you become stuck in the mud, they can help push the bus out. They augment your knowledge, your abilities, your power,” Bilford said.

  “What do you mean, ‘power’?”

  “Your chi. Your life force. Your soul energy. Some people have trained for years to be able to channel their chi. Doing this, they can perform remarkable feats. Precognition, lifting a car off a family member after an accident, breaking bricks with bare hands, being run over by a vehicle without injury. The most elite warriors within our organization have focused theirs to the utmost of human ability. You have your own chi, and you also have access to those of the souls within you. They can enhance your own strength, will, and abilities. Jessica stated you had several injuries from last night. They are not as noticeable now, are they?”

  “I guess not,” Sverre admitted, working his wrist around, then rubbing his ribs. The pain was almost completely gone.

  “In addition to enhancing your abilities, the power may block pain or help offset injuries. Our scanners showed us that you had several fractures last night, but by morning they were reduced to mere hairlines. While you slept, your recuperative energies worked impossibly fast. They focused almost entirely on healing your body, resulting in healing injuries in sixteen hours that should have taken sixteen weeks. Of course, while you are awake, they work far more slowly. I believe it’s why you slept so long.”

  “So, I can’t die or be hurt?” Sverre asked hopefully.

  Bilford chuckled. “Oh, no, my boy! Quite the opposite. You are hardier than most people, but a gunshot or knife wound would end you like anyone else. It’s just that if you are injured, a
nd the injuries aren’t too severe, the souls will mend you in remarkable time if you allow them the opportunity.”

  Sverre walked to the window. A fog had rolled in after darkness fell, creating a glowing shroud in the moonlight.

  “Who are these souls within me? Just random people?” he asked, his voice cracking. He wasn’t sure if he was buying this mumbo-jumbo, but he was reminded of the impossible things he had done and the new emotions and feelings flooding him. He didn’t feel like himself. He felt more reckless and confident. It was both exciting and terrifying at the same time.

  “My boy, that is the most remarkable thing about this. They are not random people. They are, as far as I can determine, the greatest heroes who have ever lived since the dawn of man. From great leaders, barbarians, martial artists, soldiers, gunslingers, and military minds to a simple farmer who died protecting his homestead from invaders. From what I can gather from those I spoke to, after a great injustice befalls a people and a hero is cut down before he is able to right the wrongs he feels he was destined to stop, his soul wanders the globe in torment. The ones with the most desire, love, and” — he paused before continuing, as if breaking bad news to someone — “rage and hate continue to search for justice for many years. They may give up eventually and pass on. However, at some point, a receptacle came into being that cried out to these despairing spirits. They were drawn to this being, and this being has always gone on to strive to right the injustices in our world, appeasing the souls within.”

  “So, why have we never heard of this superhero running about doing superhero things?” Sverre asked.

  “We have. From a soldier protecting his platoon singlehandedly from twenty enemy, to firemen running out of buildings carrying two or three people at once when most men would have died. However, you have to realize the nature of the beast. The vessel that attracts the souls will be enticed to the most dangerous lines of work. Death comes early and often, despite whatever assistance the souls provide. Usually, the host is struck down just as the power begins to manifest,” Bilford continued, crossing the room to stoke the fire.

  “Why me? Why now?” Sverre asked, searching for meaning from the elderly scribe.

  “I believe you were born as an heir to the souls. The souls sensed greatness within you. The souls travel together, as a group. True, new ones may be added, perhaps once a generation, but none leave. I believe the ability to receive them is passed on at birth. When the original host dies, they may travel to his progeny. If there is no heir, they wander until they find a worthy host. You most likely inherited the abilities as a child, but they lay dormant until last night. When you were in mortal danger, the souls awoke and worked through you to combat your enemy. It may even be a self-defense mechanism. Of course, that is just my theory,” Bilford explained.

  “So, you are saying my dad or mom must have had this as well?” Sverre asked.

  “Yes, according to what I have determined thus far.”

  “Then I know your information is bad, because my dad is a foreman, and my mom is a teacher, and neither one did anything remarkable, and not only that, but both are alive and well today,” Sverre countered.

  Bilford shuffled slowly over to the window. Placing a wrinkled hand on the young man’s shoulder, he said, “I know that is what you were led to believe. I wish I was not the one telling you this, but it is time someone did. I’m sorry, son. Your real father was also a host. My suspicions were raised while communing with the spirits within you. While you slept last night, I ran some queries on your family. According to our data, your mother remarried when you were very young. Too young for you to remember.”

  Sverre looked from Bilford to Jessica, then back to the fire. “I — I’m having a hard time believing all of this.”

  Bilford retrieved a folder from the desk and handed it to him. Sverre sat on the edge of the couch and began flipping through the pages. “No. No, this can’t be true. My dad wasn’t...”

  For long minutes he read, becoming more distressed the deeper he delved. Finally, he stated, “I want to be alone for a while.” He walked through the door into the kitchen, then out the back door into the night, rage and uncertainty burning within him. Jessica rose to follow him, but her grandfather motioned for her to sit.

  “Let him be. We must earn his trust. We’ve just destroyed everything he was — everything he thought he knew about the world. We must be here to help him rebuild himself into the man he must become.”

  Jessica looked once more toward the door, then walked toward the hidden elevator, heading for the surveillance room.

  “Jessica — wait. There are important matters to discuss concerning him.”

  “Yes, Grandfather?”

  “His gifts are remarkable. There is only one being like him on the planet, and he would make a powerful agent for the Order.” Bilford paused, considering how to continue. “But his power is also a curse. The previous soul warriors did not merely die from their occupations. In addition to gaining parts of their strength and courage, he will gain their vanity, their desire for combat, and... their fury. Thousands of years of pent-up rage caused by the injustices suffered by all in the world. Part of what makes a person a hero is his courage. Another word for courage is arrogance. To have the self-confidence that you can succeed where others will fail. Heroes can be wild and reckless. These emotions are being channeled into him constantly. It will be worse on the battlefield. It is one thing to believe in yourself and your mission; it is another to be foolhardy and die needlessly.”

  Jessica pondered the matter, thinking back to the changes that had come over Sverre. It all made sense now. He had been timid and boyish at first, but she saw the transformation since the moment of their combat. He was almost a completely different person after the spirits had manifested during their fight. Brash and arrogant, but without the worldly experience to warrant such an attitude. As an ally, he could be as dangerous as any foe if his reckless nature increased.

  Her grandfather followed her train of thought. “Yes, we must convince him to join. Work with him to make him see the good we do. Temper and hone him into a weapon for justice. The alternative is…something I don’t want to consider right now.”

  Nodding in agreement, Jessica continued to the surveillance room. She would have to trust her grandfather’s sage judgment, despite her own concerns.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Outside, Sverre sat beneath a large oak tree. He knew what Bilford had said about his father was true. He’d suspected it for the past few years. The bond he shared with his mom felt different from the one he had with his father. Over the years, he’d attributed that to his theory that men didn’t share emotions as readily as women. Her eyes beamed with tears at his graduation; his dad simply seemed happy. There wasn’t the same level of pride on display.

  He was grateful for the years of upbringing he had received from his adoptive father, but to know that the majority of his life was based on a lie, even if that lie was crafted with love, stung bitterly. He wanted things to continue as they had, but would he still react to his father the same way, knowing what he knew now?

  It became clear that if his mom hadn’t told him by now, she hadn’t intended to. His heart sank at the idea that she considered him too fragile to bear the news. He fought back tears at the thought of her trying to break the news to him. His emotions flipped between rage, sorrow and love in a jumbled mess. He flopped backward, staring into the night sky, feeling more alone than ever before.

  He awoke the next morning lying in the dew-wet grass. The blinding rays of the sun burst through the treetops into his groggy eyes. Someone had put a blanket over him while he slept. The sky was crystal blue with faint traces of white puffs, tinted pink around the edges. The air was crisp and cool. Looking around, he surveyed the area that made up the Farm.

  An immense three-story white farmhouse sat at the center of the plot. A red barn with white trim stood in the background, in stark contrast to the house. Farmhands walked about wit
h purpose, nodding in his direction when he caught their gazes. Each went about his or her daily duties. A standard farm in the country — except for the military compound hidden beneath it all, like a high-tech termite nest loaded with advanced weapons and enhanced humans. His stomach growled at the exact moment the scent of bacon wafting from the house reached him.

  Inside, everyone he had met last night was gathered around the kitchen table. There were two men he didn’t recognize. One was slim, of medium stature. He wore an expensive tailored suit, navy blue in color. Sverre estimated the man to be in his forties. An air of impatience hung about him, as if he was annoyed to exist. Perhaps a high-ranking military officer or government official, Sverre surmised. He instantly didn’t like that one.

  The other man was large, with wide shoulders and a paunch. He might have been in his mid-to-late fifties. The hints of gray hair in his thick black mustache matched the hair on his head, although his temples were completely white. Dressed in a dark uniform, he reminded Sverre of an ornery police captain in the movies. The big man was hastily filling his plate with large portions of everything at the table.

  Bilford sipped coffee while reading from a tablet. He looked up as Sverre entered, exclaiming, “Ah, Sverre! We were just talking about you. I hope you slept well. I instructed Hilda to lead you to your new room last night, but you were so exhausted, she had trouble waking you. She stated you were sleeping like a baby and tucked you in on the spot.”

  Sverre glanced at Hilda, who looked over her shoulder at him from the stove and waved. Her expansive grin was unsettling. He raised his hand slightly to wave, giving her a weak smile in return.

  He pulled up a chair across from Jessica. Observing the bountiful breakfast on the table, his mouth watered. Bilford motioned for him to help himself.