“Alexei says you are month overdue,” the man continued.
“B-b-but I—I—don’t… have the m-m-money yet,” he said. “Give me another week, p-p-please?”
“You have twenty-four hours. And don’t think you try to leave town,” the gruff man said. “Alexei find you, and gut you like pig.”
Flesh collided with flesh followed by the dull thud of a body falling to the ground. The other thugs laughed. Robert moved away from them, not wanting to be near if the guards came to investigate.
He stepped up onto a stoop and his eyes scanned the crowd. Men, women, and even children were there. They all had come out to watch his brother die. A burly sailor, a blacksmith, a nurse, a girl holding a basket of flowers, a grisly man staring back at him, and the poor drunkard unconscious where the thugs left him.
Robert did a double take. He looked for the grisly man again, but he was nowhere to be seen. Before he could search any further, the executioner arrived with the prisoners—with Will.
Robert had conflicting emotions. He was helpless to affect a change. There was nothing he could do to save his brother. Not here. Not now. At the same time, it was Will’s fault John got wrapped up in their plans. He told Will John wasn’t ready. John was dead because of Will.
He felt like a monster for even thinking something like that. His insides twisted into knots as they led Will up onto the raised platform.
The executioner drove Will to his knees and placed his head on the chopping block. Will stared forward, lethargic, as if he’d given up hope.
Another guard brought in a second prisoner and placed him at an identical block to Will’s right.
“No, no, no, please. I’ll do anything,” the prisoner cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please. Please!” he said, breaking down into sobs.
Will’s eyes lazily wandered until they came to Robert. He blinked rapidly, as if begging Robert to help him. Robert glared at him, resentment bubbling forward once more. Will winced, clearly pained by Robert’s coldness.
Cries and gasps filled the air from the other side of the square and the crowd parted in a rush. The royal guard marched into the square in full ceremonial attire, Drygo following in their wake.
What’s the king doing here? Robert thought.
Kings don’t bother to attend the execution of criminals.
Robert stood up on his tiptoes and leaned in a little closer, as if doing so would grant him insider knowledge. Something important was happening. This wasn’t just a simple punishment.
Drygo stomped up onto the platform and walked around its perimeter, looking out into the crowds. He came to rest in front of Will and pulled something from his pocket.
A blue gemstone.
Drygo knelt down and placed it in front of Will. A spike of adrenaline and fear ran through Robert.
The Soul Render? What’s he doing with it?
The king gave a lazy wave to the executioner as he stepped away. The burly man, dressed all in black, sauntered over to stand beside Will. The crowd hushed as if they’d rehearsed it, their attention turning to the platform.
The executioner grunted as he hoisted his massive axe into the air. It must have weighed as much as the man himself.
A small mercy, Robert thought.
As the blade began to descend, panic and regret filled Robert’s heart. Will was going to die. His brother was going to die. So what if he caused John’s death, Will was his brother regardless of what he’d done.
Robert reached out his hand and called out, “No!”
But the cries, gasps, and cheers of the crowd drowned out his words as the blade bit into Will’s neck and severed his head from his body and blood spilled forth.
Robert sank to his knees, no longer having the strength to stand. He stared forward in shock. He’d lost both of his brothers. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. They’d always thought themselves invincible. This hadn’t been their first strike against the crown, and Robert had no reason to think it would be their last.
But as quick as his resolve shattered it hardened again. Anger—pure, unadulterated rage—filled his heart. The throne had taken his brothers from him so he would destroy the throne if it was the last thing he did. Robert stood and began marching through the crowd, pushing people out of the way as he made his way to the platform, grim determination etched on his face.
Before he even took a couple steps, a firm hand took hold of his shoulder.
Robert jerked his arm up into the air and spun on his assailant.
“Easy,” said the grisly man Robert had seen staring at him earlier. The man raised both hands in a non-threatening manner. At first blush, Robert guessed he was in his late forties. The roots of his beard were graying and his chiseled features were accented with creases and crow’s feet.
“Back off,” Robert spat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man warned.
“Do what?” Robert asked.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you,” the man said, narrowing his eyes. “Your reaction. The pain. The anger. You’ll get yourself killed.”
“What of it?” Robert said. “I’ll do as I please.”
“Quiet,” the man said, drawing up the hood of his brown cloak. “We don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”
“Who are you?” Robert asked. “What do you want?”
“Not here,” the man said. “Come, there’s nothing more for you here. Only death awaits you if you continue forward.”
Robert glanced back to the platform.
Drygo approached Will’s body and knelt down beside his fallen head. He picked up something from the pool of blood and wiped it off to reveal a dull blue stone.
The king uttered a string of curses and kicked Will’s head. It rolled over and came to rest in front of the other prisoner.
“Gods. Oh, gods. My head,” the prisoner cried out. “Sweet Lotess, I’m dead!”
The prisoner screamed and sobbed.
The executioner’s blade flew down a second time.
The older man was right. If he hadn’t stopped him, Robert’s head might have been the third to grace the platform that day.
“Come,” the man said again.
Robert turned and followed the stranger from the square leaving the cheers of the crowd behind. Leaving his brother behind.
Oh, gods, I died! Will screamed, staring into his lifeless face staring back at him. I’m dead. That’s my head. I’m dead. Oh, gods, I’m dead.
You’re not dead. Quit your whining, Lotess’s cool voice reassured him.
I’m still alive? he asked
He was alive—he was alive in that other guy’s body.
He didn’t know what he was now, though. The executioner’s blade came down, everything pinched together and he remembered a swirl of blue and purple. He felt as if he’d be blown by a strong gale and then slammed into a stone wall, the color of the world returning to normal.
Then the executioner’s axe fell again, once again the pinching and all the color of the world turning blue.
Will lay there for a minute as realization dawned on him. He no longer felt the bindings around his body. The noise of the crowd sounded muffled, still there, but not as clear.
He sat back on his knees and held out his hands. They weren’t solid, but weightless and transparent. His whole body, if it could be called that, glowed a dull blue and Will could see through it. The outline of his form was soft and blurred around the edges. It was lined with what appeared to be fire, yet there were no flames. It lived and moved like fire, yet it did not burn.
Will lifted his eyes and beheld the crowd. He first noticed the myriad of colors: blue, purple, red, and every shade in between. Each person appeared slightly different, yet each one of them glowed as he did, some brighter than others, some calm and subdued, some erratic and energetic. Beyond the people towered buildings and mountains, now a monochromatic blue. They didn’t glow, not even the trees, and the
y were hard-edged, outlined like a type of painting.
The glow, then, wasn’t representative of life, otherwise plants would glow. At Will’s feet lay a body, his body, or rather the prisoner’s body. It was dull, like the world around him. People glowed, but not the lifeless body before him.
He had seen this before, weeks ago, back in Celesti. He looked down at his “body” once more.
Is this my soul? he asked.
Yes, she replied.
How is this possible?
You have much to learn about what you are capable of, she said. The Soul Render does more than tear asunder.
You said I was in danger, but I can’t be killed. Will said, then he laughed. I can’t be killed.
You cannot die by mortal hands, but the man on the platform is no mere mortal, she said. This is no time for mirth.
Drygo was on the platform.
Will spun around to see his reaction. The king’s monstrous form was black. It sparked and writhed erratically like a giant serpent on the sea. The king stared right at him, or so he thought.
Will began to move around, but the king’s eyes didn’t follow him. He waved his hand in front of the king’s face, yet Drygo didn’t seem to notice.
He cannot see you, Lotess said. At least not without shifting into the soul realm, and he has no reason to believe you to be here.
What’s wrong with him? Will asked.
Such is the power of corruption, and Iket is a master manipulator.
If he is such a threat, maybe I should just kill him now like we did those soldiers in the abbey, Will said.
Stretching out his arm, Will’s hand closed on Drygo’s shoulder.
No! Lotess cried.
It was too late. A shock like lightning coursed through Will. He tried to rend the king’s soul free, but couldn’t. Will grunted and pulled again, his arm shaking from the power of the king, but the result was the same. A tendril of Iket’s black magic grabbed onto Will’s arm, detached from Drygo and slithered into him. Will pulled again, but his soul held fast. A wave of energy rolled down from the king and in return pushed back on him, ejecting him into the air. He flew away, tumbling off the platform.
Will struggled to stand. The strain had drained his life force and left him weak. The flames that once roared around him barely flickered as he struggled to breathe. The crowd that remained stood transfixed on the platform.
Will turned his gaze to watch the royal guard swarming upon it, moving to the aid of their king as he knelt, clutching his chest, heaving in ragged breaths. Drygo seemed otherwise unfazed. The king’s head jerked and he peered around the courtyard. His eyes found Will, and this time, there was no denying that Drygo saw him.
Drygo raced to the edge and jumped from the platform, landing on one knee. He lifted his head again and his eyes, black once more, focused on Will with a thirst that would only be quenched by the destruction of his soul.
Lotess, what do I do? he asked.
She didn’t respond. Will probed his consciousness for her, but only met a thick, black wall. Fear rose within him again but it felt odd, different. He had no beating heart or uneven breath. He could not feel fear, it simply was.
Will scrambled backward and away from the king as the demon-man stood and slowly stalked toward him. What remained of the crowd dispersed, but it was not Will they ran from.
Will’s legs moved as if covered knee-deep in mud, his soul draining of energy with each passing moment. Intuition told him he needed a body, and fast.
A few feet in front of Will, the homeless drunk he saw from the platform lay motionless. He was unconscious, unaware and unprepared, and the slow pulse of his blue soul seemed to reflect this fact.
Will’s vision dimmed. He had no time to think. He reached out a hand and took hold of the drunk’s foot. No pain shot through him. The man’s soul felt soft and pliable, like a pillow beneath Will’s fingers. As he ripped the man’s soul from his body, the man jolted awake, eyes staring directly at Will. A heartbeat later the man’s eyes were Will’s eyes.
Drygo’s advance faltered as he beheld the transfer. The wall of black receded from his eyes, returned, and then left once more.
“By the gods,” he muttered. His pace quickened as he pointed at Will and yelled, “Guards, arrest that man.”
Will struggled to his feet and ran as fast as he could. His senses returned like a deluge in a storm. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. A burning sensation pulsed through his lungs as he sprinted through the streets. The footsteps of his pursuers, hot on his trail, were suppressed by the pounding in his ears from each breath.
The chase took Will down many of Shadowhold’s streets and alleyways. He passed a blacksmith, an apothecary, an armorer, and through a market. He tried to mark his route, but the streets blended together in his mind.
He snuck a blurred glimpse over his shoulder. Turning back, a young woman wearing a burgundy traveler’s cloak, hood up and head down, was walking right at him. Will tried to get out of the way, but couldn’t stop his momentum as he stumbled into her.
“Oh!” she said in surprise, dropping a basket of flowers. Her hood fell back to reveal long, ash brown hair.
“Sorry, I—”
“There he is! Get him!”
Will left her with flowers scattered all over the ground and ran. Turning down another street, he saw a woman emptying her coin purse into a man’s hand in exchange for a box of fabrics. He angled over and dashed between them, pushing the man back into the street. The coins flew into the air. Passersby crowded the streets to collect them, whether to keep them or return them, Will didn’t care.
The distraction gave him enough time to break line of sight with the guards chasing him. He doubled back and put some distance between them.
When he was sure he’d lost them, Will found an abandoned building and slipped through an opening in the boarded up door. He ascended a flight of stairs and entered a small room. Sinking to the floor with his back against the wall, Will let out a sigh of relief.
6
What now? Shaw thought. I wasn’t even at the execution. He can’t possibly blame that on me.
He reached the wide double doors outside the king’s audience chambers and paused with his hand an inch away from the handles. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then gripped the iron bar and pulled.
The king paced along the wall by the windows. He stopped when he heard the door and turned to regard Shaw as he entered.
“There’s been a situation,” the king said, not wasting any time.
“I heard about what happened in the square,” Shaw said with caution.
“Then you know a prisoner is on the loose,” the king said, his tone even, unwavering.
Shaw furrowed his brow. “By all accounts, the prisoners are dead.”
“No, not all of them.” The king turned to look out the window. “Come,” he said, waving Shaw closer.
Shaw approached and stood next to the king.
Without turning, Drygo said, “How much do you know of the Soul Render?”
“As much as anyone else, I suppose,” Shaw said. “Stealing souls and all that.”
“It’s not what you think,” the king said. “It can remove souls whole, tear them to shreds, or swap them.”
“Swap them, sire?” Shaw asked.
“Indeed, the Soul Render allows for more than stealing souls,” the king explained. “It can steal bodies as well.”
Shaw said, “So the drunkard…”
“…is actually the infernal youth who stole my stone,” Drygo said, punching the wall beside the window.
Shaw blinked in wonder. How was this possible? How was any of it possible?
“I know what you’re thinking,” the king said.
By the gods, can he read minds, too?
“And no, I can’t read minds,” the king said.
He could have fooled Shaw.
“You’re having a hard time wrapping your head around the supernatural,” the king e
xplained. “As did I the first time I learned of it. Years ago, before…” He sighed. “That’s beside the point. The truth is, there are ten such stones in existence. Each one bearing its own unique power, the power of the very gods themselves.”
Drygo’s odd demeanor had given Shaw a bit of courage to continue prying. “Forgive my ignorance, my lord, but what does this have to do with me?”
“I need that power, Shaw!” the king said through gritted teeth. “I will have it. And you’re going to get it for me.”
“Me, sire?” Shaw asked, taken aback.
“Yes, you,” Drygo said. “This is your mess. You are going to clean it up. Need I remind you of the consequences of your failure?”
Shaw gulped.
The king spun and clutched Shaw’s throat.
Oh, dear gods, sweet Lotess spare me, Shaw thought.
A line of black power ran down Drygo’s arm and into Shaw. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain, but it never came. He blinked them open again and Drygo let go of him. He had no idea what just happened, but he was alive.
“Find him,” the king said. “I don’t care what you have to do. I don’t care where you have to go. Just find him and bring him back to me.”
Will’s adrenaline wore off a few minutes later. A throbbing headache was the first thing Will noticed, likely a side effect of his host’s late night drinking. Then the pain came. Sore muscles, bruises, and an ache in his bones he’d never felt before. His new body wore a shirt that was more brown than white, dirt covering almost every inch of it.
Crawling over to a puddle on the floor, he stared at the face of a man in his fifties. He sported unkempt hair and a scraggly beard, matted with dried alcohol.
Looking at the face he had only one thought on his mind: he had killed an innocent man.
Maybe he isn’t dead, Will thought. I’m now him.
Yet the man’s soul was gone. What happened to his soul after Will tore it from his body? He didn’t know, but the man might as well be dead. Whoever he was, whoever he had been, was gone.
Lotess? he asked again.
Still no response. He closed his eyes and delved into his consciousness once more. The black wall stood strong. He battered it with his mind, but it did not waver. He opened his eyes again and crawled back to the wall. Pulling his knees in, he sunk his head down into his hands and let out a sigh.
Soul Render (Soul Stones Book 1) Page 5
