Soul Sanctuary: Book Two Of The Spirit Shield Saga

by Susan Faw

  Fullmer did as he commanded. When his eyes focused again, everyone was there, pair by pair, staring at him in a puzzled manner.

  “My lord!” Fullmer gasped. “Where were they hiding?”

  “They were right behind us, all along. The illusions are strong in the trees. It is part of the warding of the mountain. It is designed to keep strangers away. The Primordials would say non-believers, but what they really mean is non-Primordial folk. Come.”

  Cyrus guided his mount back to the trail and continued on up the path, a nervous Fullmer riding tight to his side.

  They rode in silence for a period of a half hour or so, the forest oppressive and forbidding.

  The evergreen trees grew taller and widened until six men linked hand to hand could not encircle the trunks. The lower limbs, long-shorn by age and a lack of sun light rose higher and higher until they were riding clear under the great trees, devoid of any brush and thick with pine needles and cones of every shape and size. Sticky resin ran down the trunks and along the branches, and brown ropes stretched from the tree limbs, drifting softly in the silence.

  A soldier riding three rows back brushed against one of the dangling cords as he rode under a tree. With a violent thrash, the tree came to life and the resinous ropes snaked around the rider, jerking him and his horse into the air. Shocked, his partner grabbed for his horse’s hoof, a gut reaction, attempting to hold him down as more resinous ropes twisted around him and his mount. Additional ropes dragged the screeching soldiers higher and higher into the trees, and then they vanished.

  The shocked soldiers froze, afraid to move a muscle. Resinous trailers swayed innocently, seeking the next victim.

  “Touch nothing!” spat Cyrus harshly, then jabbed his mount into motion.

  Frightened of attracting the attention of the great trees, the men cowered in their saddles.

  “Let’s move!” Cyrus heeled his snorting mount and pushed on deeper into the forest.

  Signs of the passage of their quarry surfaced as the great forest thinned. Cottonwood and birch saplings sprouted here and there in the soft soil, and burgundy ferns thickened and replaced the pine needles. The air moistened; humidity increasing as the sound of running water reached their ears. The horses pulled eagerly at the reins, hoping to dip thirsty muzzles into the approaching stream. Their riders, however, kept a leery eye pasted on the trees as they passed.

  The trail led straight to a bubbling brook, tumbling over rocks and splashing into tiny rapids. Smiles broke out on the men’s faces, and they slid gratefully to the ground and dropped down to their knees at the water’s edge, cupping the crystal-clear liquid in their hands and splashing it over their faces and hair, allowing it to drip back into the swift stream. The horses’ muzzles sank into the froth, and they drank deeply from the cooling waters.

  Standing back up, the first batch made way for the second set of soldiers, who happily splashed into the water, knee deep.

  “Look!” A soldier named Billy motioned frantically to his partner urging him over to where he stood. “There is gold in here!”

  “Where?” Billy’s partner splashed over to where he pointed. Sure enough, scattered on the bottom of the brook was a glittering ribbon of gold with nuggets as fat as a thumb.

  “Good Lord!” Billy plunged his hand into the water, and his fist closed on the largest nugget he could find.

  Suddenly, he jerked and was pulled into the clear water. His fist was pulled into the bottom of the bed, and his arm was swallowed. With a strangled scream, his head was pulled underwater, followed by the rest of his body. Before their very eyes, he disappeared under the surface. A stream of bubbles broke the surface and then they too, stopped.

  “Billy!” his partner called and began to scrabble amongst the shallow waters. His hand brushed up against the glowing nuggets. Suddenly, a great jaw rose up from the bottom, the gold sparkling off knobs on its pebbly head, and a pair of glowing green eyes blinked once at him before the jaws closed on his arm. His shriek of pain and panic ended abruptly as he was pulled under the water, the creature sinking back into the stones, pulling him with it. A stream of blood pooled on the surface of the water for an instant when it stilled then was swept downstream by the current. Within the space of few seconds, there was nothing left to show anything had occurred, except for the fact that both men had vanished.

  “I said, touch nothing!” roared Cyrus from the shore. He drew his sword and spun around to the men, brandishing it at their faces. “The next one of you lump-heads that touches anything in this accursed forest will die by this! Mount up!”

  They mounted again and crossed the stream, continuing down the trail, towing the two empty-saddled mounts behind them. The forest thinned and a sheer rock face came into view, forcing the trail to swing around its base. Another rock rose on the left, and the trail narrowed until it was impossible to ride two abreast. They dropped into a single file, keeping nose to tail, every soldier afraid of being left behind. The last soldier in line glanced back over his shoulder so many times that he mimicked a metronome.

  The walls of stone pressed ever closer until their legs brushed both sides as they rode. One barrel-bellied mare caught her rider’s leg against the stone, and the man swore and lurched in his saddle, dragging his opposite leg up across his saddle just in time to keep his legs from a dual crush between horse and rock.

  With a growl, a grey-and-white sabretooth, the size of a small pony, launched itself from a cleft in the rock overhead and landed on the final rider. Great jaws with long fangs that extended well past the lower lip sank into his throat and, with a shake of its head, the unfortunate soldier’s neck snapped. With its second bound, the cat launched off the back of the panicked horse, which reared and came down on the horse and rider in front of him. His partner’s scream was drowned by the screams of the crazed stallion, and he was trampled under its hooves. His mount kicked back at the deranged horse and the rest of the mounts also panicked as more snarls and yowls echoed down the passage. Cyrus kicked his horse savagely, driving it forward, and it raced down the narrow passage, heedless of its rider. The panicked legionnaires heeled their mounts, and the narrowest stampede in history ensued. Cyrus glimpsed other cats of different colours with long dripping fangs, swishing tails, and yellow eyes picking out their prey. He did not stop to see how the others faired. He gave his horse its head and let it run.

  Suddenly, he spilled out of the cleft into a grassy bowl, and his mount plunged three-quarters of the way across before Cyrus could pull it to a quivering halt. It hung its head, sides heaving, eyes rolling, as the surviving men gathered around him, some calming bucking mounts. Cyrus’s eyes scanned the survivors. Horses with long, ragged claw marks shook with shock. One limped, favouring a rear leg dangling from a flank with a chunk of rump missing. Equally bloodied men, whether from direct injury or from their wounded mounts, he could not initially say, staggered around, eyes darting in every direction in search of the next attack.

  Half. Cyrus counted half of his original force. He swore loudly, shook his fist at the mountain. “You will not defeat me!” he screamed at the skies.

  The wind chuckled as it swept through the valley, carrying the collective laughter of all creatures mythical and magical, who called the forest home.

  Cyrus was not amused.

  Chapter 30

  Friend or Foe?

  ACHAK TWISTED OUT OVER THE EDGE of the trail, leaning precariously to the side to peer around the edge of the curving rocky slide blocking their path. Craning his neck, he saw that the ledge was blocked for a good two hundred paces, to a height taller than his stature while mounted on his horse. There was no possibility of crossing it, even walking the horses.

  “We must go back,” he said, taking his reins back from Avery’s hand.

  Avery’s stomach rolled. Reluctantly, her eyes slid over the side of the mountain. She hated the thought of passing by the bloated carcass of her father’s dead horse. The odour of decaying flesh was heavy in her n
ose, coy and clinging. Not for the first time, she wondered where Gaius was and what had happened to him. Although she knew he was her mortal parent only, it did not stop her from loving him. Fear pricked her heart. Surely Marea would not have killed him! If she has harmed him…!

  “Then we must go back,” she sighed. She dismounted and leading her horse, doubled back to where the cliff-side path split into a Y, the trail zigzagging down the hillside a little more than a goat path. She led her horse, testing her footing as she descended. Loose shale and tenuously anchored vegetation made it too treacherous to ride, as she knew by recent experience. They picked their way slowly, stones slipping and sliding underfoot, the temperature of the air increasing the deeper into the depths they travelled until, an hour later, they reached the bottom. A hot wind gusted down the ravine, carrying with it the odour of putrefying flesh.

  Avery wrinkled her nose and pulled the flap of her cloak over her face to mask the smell. Anxious to get by the area, she swung up into the saddle, but her mare tossed her head, dancing nervously, balking at the direction she asked her to go. Avery kicked her mare into a trot and then a run, as anxious as her mount to clear the area. They rounded the base of the rock face, Achak riding tight to her side. Avery closed her eyes as she passed past the dead horse, allowing her live mount to choose the path ahead. The horse ran well past the carcass then slowed as the sharp odours faded. Avery opened her eyes…to a wall of Primordial warriors.

  Swords drawn, men and women with painted faces spread out in a wall. Avery hauled on the reins. From the corner of her eye, she spied more men coming out of the trees, circling around behind her and Achak. She recognized the masks, Spirit Guides personal to the bearer, and many of the masks were reflected in the images that covered her body. She pulled her hood tighter around her face to hide her tattooed features. She had no intention of displaying them to the warriors.

  The Flesh Clan warriors tightened the circle and then one stepped forward, separating himself from his companions. He was garbed as a Flesh Clan Primordial priest in leather comprised of dried human skins. Avery’s mind flashed back to the scene she had witnessed during her first journey through this area. The priest bowed deeply. As he rose, a dart gun appeared in his hand. With two quick phuts, he shot a pair of darts at herself and Achak. One pricked the skin of her arm and the other pierced Achak’s thigh.

  Drat, she thought, as she slid off her horse. She was out before she hit the ground.

  ***

  With a jerk of his arm, Hototo ordered several warriors to pick up the unconscious woman and her guard. They slung them over the backs of their horses like sacks of grain. Following Hototo’s lead, the guard led them into the valley at the edge of the Crystal Caves. It was a bowl-shaped, verdant-green clearing with gently sloping sides surrounded by steep cliffs on one flat side, and a semicircle of scrubby brush on the other, before emptying into the trees of the Sacred Forest. The narrow path they traversed was the only entrance or exit. Tight up against the cliff a series of cavernous openings dotted its face.

  They laid Avery down in the shadow of a circle of tall stones, ancient and knowing, that graced the pasture. Her hood fell back, and the Primordial who had carried her yelled as though burned. The stones by which she lay bore symbols that matched those revealed on her hairless skull. Murmuring broke out. The warrior backed away, afraid to touch Avery, afraid to be near her.

  A second warrior placed Achak on the ground beside Avery, and then his eyes fell on her.

  “A goddess! She bears the markings!” he gasped, stumbling backward, and grumbling ignited and spread amongst the circle of warriors. “Is she a goddess? A goddess! Where?”

  Hototo pushed his way through the crowd to the front of the circle and halted abruptly when his eyes fell on the sleeping woman. He walked around her, gazing at the tattoos, and then examined the pillar above her, comparing the symbols. He did not answer the warriors.

  “Pick up her and her companion and follow me,” he snapped, striding off toward the caves. The warriors looked from one to another. No one made a move. “Now!” Hototo roared over his shoulder. The men who had originally carried Avery and Achak gingerly picked them up again and followed the priest.

  Hototo strode well ahead of them and disappeared into a rift running vertically up the face of the mountain. It was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, yet the shade of the bowl disguised the opening. Only by training their eye on where Hototo disappeared could they see the spot. They entered the crack, staring uneasily at the tilted stone that towered above them. After about one hundred paces, the crack widened and flattened into a cave glowing with a soft internal light. The mouth was encircled with jagged stone teeth that caught and absorbed the muted light of the passage, leering at the intruders with a frosted, rocky grin, as they crossed into the cave. The great maw seemed poised to snap shut at a moment’s notice.

  Shivering, they carried the pair to a stone table at the back of the cave, beside which stood Hototo, gesturing anxiously for them to hurry with their delivery. Gently, they deposited the still forms on the slabs of unpolished crystal and, bowing, backed out the cave. As soon as they were past the mouth, they ran, as fast as their moccasined feet could carry them.

  Hototo ignored Achak, his attention focused entirely on Avery. He studied the runes and, lifting a finger, traced the swirls and patterns on her head and over her ears, murmuring to himself. Blue light followed his finger, and the runes glowed. Then with a gasp, Avery sat straight up. Her silvery eyes fixed on Hototo.

  Hototo stepped back, shivering in reaction to her unusual eyes, and bowed, palms pressed together, and arms raised so that his fingers steepled, dividing his face. “I apologize, mistress, for our treatment. We saw intruders. We did not know.”

  Avery swung her legs over the side of the stone slab and swayed as the last of the paralyzing dart faded from her system. She slowly surveyed her surroundings. The walls were a smoothed milky white with shallow pockets as though the walls were made of cheese. Inside the glowing pockets, objects of various shapes and sizes were displayed: glass vials and small leather-bound books, carved wooden trinkets, a bracelet of twisted copper strands with charms, and the mummified bodies of what she took to be small animals. Even an ebony box graced one alcove. The box absorbed all light that touched it.

  Avery’s eyes drifted down to Achak and then to Hototo. “You have attacked us. Wake him!” she commanded, and Hototo bowed once again then hurried over to the prone form. He traced his temple in a similar fashion to how he had awakened Avery, and Achak’s eyes drifted slowly open. Groggily, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up on one arm, head hanging.

  “This is the Crystal Cave. Why are you guarding it? And from whom?” Avery demanded.

  “We have always guarded the cave, mistress. It has been our sacred, secret duty for longer than any of us can remember. From the beginning, it has always been so. No one may enter the caverns except the chosen ones. Similar to how the Spirit Clan’s High Priestess is the chosen one for the spirit temple, the Flesh Clan priests serve the Crystal Cave. We guard the cave and keep it safe for the return of the Chosen One of the gods. It is here, look.” Hototo pulled a scroll from amongst the books in the alcove that housed them. He unrolled the parchment and held it in front of Avery. “See here? The prophecies state that the Chosen One will bear the markings of the temple spirits and will be a priest above all High Priests.” He let go of the parchment with one hand, and it rolled back up. He lifted his hand to point at her tattoos. “You are marked by the spirits.” Hototo returned the scroll then tugged at the ties of his shirt, pulling it open to display his chest, covered in tattoos. “And so am I. The prophecies say that when the Prophesied One appears, the gods will be reunited with the people. One has already returned to us, and now you appear, mistress.”

  Avery stood up, frowning. “Who is this other?” she asked, her tone sharp and demanding. “Who else has come to the cavern?”

  Hototo
shook his head. “No one, mistress; the Chosen One I speak of was returned to us by the gods themselves. She has descended from on high. Artio is returned to us, blessed of the goddesses.”

  “Artio!” Avery shot to her feet, and Achak, seeing her alarm, forced his knees to straighten, wobbling over to Avery’s side. “That’s impossible. Where is she?” she demanded, suspicious that a trap may have been laid for her and Achak.

  “She is in her temple, mistress. Surely you know of the Bear Clan temple? I must admit, the knowledge had been lost to us, but with the return of the bear goddess, all is being restored, and the timeline reset, as prophesied.” He frowned at Avery, hesitant to challenge her.

  “Bear goddess?” Avery and Achak’s eyes met and then Avery walked over to the alcoves, letting her fingers trail along the wall as she strolled by them. Some of the objects brightened as she passed, others darkened, but all reacted to her presence.

  Eventually, she paused at the last of the objects. The black box hummed and rattled, as though a beetle scrabbled inside it. She reached her hand forward, but Achak caught her wrist before she could touch it. “Mother, let me retrieve it.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know what it will do. Hototo, can anyone touch these objects? Come on, man, speak up!” she demanded in an imperious tone.

  “We do not handle the objects, Mother. They were placed here by the gods eons ago. They are not for humans. We would not dare.”

  Avery tsked. “You mean to say that no one has ever been tempted to handle these things?”

  “You misunderstand, Mother. We cannot touch them. See?” Hototo strode over and reached out for the black box. Along the vertical plane of the front of the alcove his hand abruptly halted. An invisible barrier prevented his hand from entering the cavity.

  Achak reached out his hand, expecting resistance, but instead, his hand sunk through the barrier. Startled, he stumbled forward, thrown off-balance, and his hand settled on the box. It was cool to the touch and all vibrations ceased. He grasped the box and withdrew it. Behind the box, pushed further back into the cavity was a black leather purse. Achak pulled it out too and slipped the box inside it. The box caught on an object already inside it and would not go in. Achak gave it an extra hard shove, and it slid partway but would move no further. When he looked up, he saw they were both staring at him.