“Quickly now,” Talon said impatiently.
Robert swayed his head in indecision then stepped forward, stopped down, and entered the shaft. He climbed down about ten feet when the ladder abruptly ended and he was on solid ground. Talon came in after him.
He stopped halfway down and pulled the shaft’s covering back into place above him. What little light there was vanished. The soft taps of boots on steel continued until Talon reached the bottom of the shaft.
A scraping sound preceded a spark that lit a torch a few feet away. Talon’s grizzled face flickered in the orange firelight.
“This way,” he said, pushing past Robert leading them down a rough-hewn underground tunnel only about six feet tall.
“Talon?” Robert asked.
“What?” he replied.
“Where’d you get a name like that?” Robert asked.
“It’s more of a title than a name,” he said, and left it at that.
“We’re off the streets,” Robert said. “Will you tell me where we’re going now?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Talon said.
Robert was getting annoyed with the way Talon danced around topics and avoided his questions. As they walked along in silence Robert had time to process what had happened. John was dead. Will was dead. His mother would be heartbroken.
His mother.
Oh gods, he thought, closing his eyes and sighing.
They hadn’t told their mother they were going anywhere. She would have been worried sick when they didn’t come home. It had already been nearly two weeks. What was he going to tell her? “Sorry, we forgot to tell you we were attempting to overthrow the king, oh, and by the way John and Will died doing it and we failed?”
Robert shook, half with grief and half with rage. But he was never one to let emotions get the better of him. He wouldn’t weep or lament his brothers’ loss. At least not Will’s. It was his own stupidity that got him killed.
Why was he so bitter toward his brother? Will was dead. Robert tried to forgive Will.
Tried. It didn’t work.
After all, it was his fault Robert now had to return home and tell his mother what happened. Or did he? As much as it would pain her, Robert decided he wouldn’t return home until he had something to show for it. Be it the king’s death or his own attempt to achieve it. He would avenge John’s death. He would make it count for something. Anything.
Robert and Talon came to a stop outside a rusted iron door whose frame filled every available space in the tunnel.
“We’re here,” Talon said.
Shaw ended up back in the market three times before he found the road he needed. He remembered Harrison saying something about a girl and a basket of flowers. He knelt down and picked up a pink flower petal from between the stones in the street. He was on the right trail once again.
Harrison had also said something about a bunch of coppers in the street.
Fat chance of finding one of those left around, Shaw thought.
Shortly after, they’d lost track of him.
Now what? he wondered.
Shaw guessed that Will had doubled back and found a place to hide, but the chances of him still being there were slim. Top that with the innumerable places to search, and Shaw felt all hope vanish. If he didn’t find Will, he was a dead man.
He allowed the hate and pain to bubble to the surface. He grabbed a crate of apples from the back of the nearby cart and tossed them to the ground, screaming out in anger.
The owner came around and said, “Hey, that was my—”
Shaw pulled his sword from his belt and held it out at the man. The man backed away, raising his hands.
“…your apples,” the man said. “They’re yours. Yes? Take what you want, please, just don’t hurt me.”
Shaw stumbled away and into an alley out of sight. He plopped against the wall and slid to the ground.
This was hopeless.
To the depths with him, Shaw thought. I’m getting some ale. If I’m going to die, might as well die happy.
Shaw stood and made his way to his favorite tavern down at the south end of the harbor. He pushed open the door and sat down at an empty table in the back of the room.
One of the serving girls, Wendy if he remembered right, came by and took his order then waltzed off to get his drink. Shaw sat back and draped his arm over the back of the bench and surveyed the room.
There were the usual patrons. It was no more crowded than normal, with a few empty tables scattered around. The bar itself was about half full. An older man with a beard he’d never seen before sat at one of the stools. By Harrison’s account, the man he was looking for was in his fifties and had an unkempt beard.
Could it be? Shaw thought. No, can’t be, why would he be out in public?
Yet the more Shaw thought about it, the more he began to wonder. Why wouldn’t Will go out in public? It’s not like anyone would recognize him. He just had to dodge the patrols. No one else paid attention to the poor old drunk.
Wendy returned with his drink. He accepted it and took a drink. She stood there, waiting for something. Shaw waved her away and she left with a scowl on her face. He kept his eye on the old man at the bar.
The man stood and Shaw sat up a little straighter. He turned to head for the door leading to the outhouse in the back and spotted Shaw staring at him. The man’s eyes went wide. He spun and ran out the front door.
Shaw jumped up, the table groaning as his leg shoved it out of the way, and he gave chase.
This had to be him. Shaw’s hope soared and adrenaline coursed through his veins. As he exited the tavern, he glimpsed the man turning down a side street. Shaw ran like he’d never run before. His very life was on the line.
Shaw turned the corner, pleased to see that he’d gained on the man. They turned right, then left. Each time Shaw gained on him. He was almost there. He was so close he could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath.
Jumping into the air, Shaw’s arms closed around the man’s waist, bringing him down. The man flipped over, holding his hands up in the air.
“Please,” he said. “Oh, please. I beg ye. I din’t mean it. My family’s starvin’, yeh don’t understan’, I’ll give it back, tell the king I’ll give it back.”
“What are you blathering on about?” Shaw asked, confused.
The man blinked. “What? The king din’t send yeh to kill me?”
Shaw began to wonder if Will was playing him, or if this man was truly not the person he was looking for. Before he could make sense of it, something strange and terrifying happened. Color drained from the world and everything around him turned black and white save for the purple glow of his own body and the blue of the man beneath him.
It’s not him, Shaw heard the king’s voice say in his head. Shaw’s eyes went wide as he lost control of his body and watched in horror as his sword slit the man’s throat.
Will had tried to get more information out of Merle, but the man was rather tight-lipped after the gaunt man had returned.
He now had two objectives: Learn more about the soul stones and find Raven and his Revenant. He only had one problem: his stomach was rumbling for the second time. He didn’t feel like stealing again and he was hoping he didn’t have to.
That gave him an idea, a way to solve both of his problems. He waved the barkeep over.
“I’m not from around here,” Will said. “Where might I find the temple?”
The barkeep raised his eyebrows and said, “Nor’east of here,” indicating the direction with a nod of his head while cleaning a mug. “Along the cliff face at the bottom of the escarpment. Can’t miss it. Big ole’ spires.”
“Thanks,” Will said, standing to leave.
It was early evening and the sun had begun to set. Even so, the streets were still crowded with people of all ages, professions, and positions. A group of urchins lingered in a nearby alley, pilfering passersby unawares. Ladies in finery walked by in a cluster, gossiping about the latest
fashion.
A few guards patrolled the streets looking for trouble—looking for Will. He slunk into the darker shadows of the nearest building. One of the guards approached the alley where the little thieves were hiding, but they’d already scattered into the wind by the time the guard arrived.
Will turned and went down a different street to steer clear of the patrols. The last thing he needed was to be recognized. Avoiding them proved to be rather difficult, as it forced him to double back a few times and take the less traveled routes. Will was certain he’d passed the same smithy at least three times. Half an hour later, he still had no idea where he was.
East would take him closer to Drygo’s palace, a place he did not want to be anywhere near, and west would take him back to the docks. No, it was either north or south, so Will settled on north for no other reason than it was closer to the city’s only exit and that thought gave him comfort.
Walking through several more streets, he passed more businesses and more people hurrying to and fro. He was about to give up his search when he saw two spires jutting into the sky straight ahead, marking his destination.
The massive temple was just a short walk away and, before Will knew it, he made it up the steps to stand before the large, wooden doors. Carved into the doors were symbols, one for each of the twelve gods and goddesses of Aralith. The first was a leaf representing Erintos, god of nature. A key stood for the goddess of secrets, Merva, and a fiery heart represented Iket, god of death. There were many others as well, but the last was the goddess of life, Lotess, which his family worshipped. Her symbol was a rising sun.
Every day is a new day, Will thought, and now a new day has dawned for me.
He grabbed the thick iron handle and pulled the heavy door open enough for him to enter. Closing the door behind him, Will entered the main sanctuary to find rows and rows of pews just like in Celesti. People were sprinkled throughout the room, praying for whatever it was they wanted the gods to do.
Will needed food, and he didn’t think he would get that by praying. He worked his way down the aisle. Ornate gold embellishments decorated the grand architecture within. Filling the half-dome ceiling above the altar was a hand-painted mural of thirteen men and women sitting around a table feasting together. Supposedly, this represented the gods.
It was said that there used to be only one, all-powerful god. Growing weary of his immortal life, he gathered together his greatest followers and bestowed on each of them a portion of his power. He lived the rest of his days as a mortal man.
Regardless of the story’s validity, the painting had Will’s mouth watering. Roast beef drenched in thick, brown gravy, freshly diced cucumber and tomatoes, and bread baked so recently it still steamed.
Below the dome, twelve small alcoves each contained a shrine to one of the gods. Some of the shrines were lit and adorned with coins, flowers, and various trinkets gifted by patrons seeking favor. Two of the alcoves, however, were dark and bore no gifts. These shrines belonged to Daldre and Qirrut. It was said that the other ten destroyed them in the War of the Gods a thousand years ago.
As Will approached the front, a woman in the robes of a priestess approached.
“Hello, sir, from which of the gods do you seek assistance this day?”
“Bessie, the goddess of fat, juicy steaks.”
She didn’t appear amused, so Will made up a story on the spot and told her that he suffered from amnesia, had no money, and had nothing to eat.
“I heard that the temple provides food for the homeless,” Will said.
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she said, “The refectory is this way.”
She turned and strode away. Will followed her through several narrow passages until they reached a rudimentary dining room. Several long tables covered in gray tablecloths lined the room. At the far end of the room, a man wearing an apron was dishing out food to those who stood in line. The room was not full, but quite a few people filled the seats.
“Here we are, sir. The men in the kitchen will get you something to eat,” she said. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“Yes, could you point me in the direction of the library? I’d like to read up on my amnesia.”
She gave him another curious look and pointed to a door near the serving tables on the opposite side of the room.
“Anything else?”
“No. That’s all.”
“Well, please do come back into the sanctuary when you’re finished. Perhaps Ophi, the god of knowledge, might return your memories to you.” At that, she once again turned and left, leaving Will in the refectory.
He walked up to the serving area and stepped into line behind two others, a man and a woman. The man’s hair was long and shaggy. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a year and several flies called his hair their home. The woman was thin and wrinkled. Her face appeared sunken, her chin wide and protruding outward with her lower lip on top of the upper. She looked at Will and smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth, several of them missing. He turned his head to break eye contact.
When it was his turn, Will picked up a plate and handed it to the server. The man piled several different foods onto the plate and handed it back. Will took it and moved to find an empty seat. His appetite dipped when he beheld his food. Instead of roast beef, he found mystery meat. Instead of fresh vegetables, he received shriveled beans and dry corn. And in the place of hot, soft bread, he was given a bun harder than the stone beneath his feet.
Food was food, though, so he ate it without further complaint. The tip of a tooth chipped when he bit into the bread. He decided not to eat it. Another man walked in and got in line. He was bald and had a scar on his face that stretched from his right eye to his chin. Finishing what was left of his meal, Will took the plate to the kitchen then left the refectory through the door the priestess had pointed out.
The door led him outside where a building was situated behind the temple along the city’s outer wall. He caught a glimpse of a figure wearing a burgundy cloak, hood raised, slipping through the library door.
The flower girl?
The library’s architecture was similar to the temple; otherwise, it was a rather unremarkable building. He approached, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Wooden bookshelves stood in rows of four down the length of the building. The ceiling was considerably lower here than in the temple giving it a cramped feel. Red was nowhere in sight.
This time, it was a priest that greeted Will. The priest wore glasses that made his eyes appear twice the normal size.
“Hello, my name is Jefferson, can I help you find anything?”
Will gave Jefferson the same lie he told the priestess and Jefferson asked him to follow. He led Will to the far side of the room and down the aisle between the wall and the last row of bookshelves. They approached a door as another priest was exiting it. Inside was a dimly lit hallway leading to a dark room with more books.
“What’s in there?” Will asked.
“It is where we keep the oldest texts too sensitive for sunlight. It is off limits to all but temple personnel,” Jefferson told him. They continued past two more rows and he came to a stop. “Here we are. You will find what you need on the shelves to the left.”
Will thanked him, and the man returned to the front of the library. With Jefferson gone, Will searched for books containing any legends of the soul stones. There were hundreds of books and he didn’t know how this library organized their shelves. He needed the books on history. Looking in front of him, he saw titles like Amnesia: Causes and Cures and Memoirs of an Amnesiac. Not what he needed.
He moved on to the next shelf. How to Cook Everything, Release Your Inner Cook, The New Stew. Still not the right section. After ten more minutes, he found the bookshelf containing history titles. There was A History of Aralith, Drygo: Rise to Power—Unabridged, and War of the Gods, but nothing like Soul Stones: Everything You Need to Know or So You Found a Soul Stone, Now What?
Well, Drygo
plainly had some sort of soul magic, so Will decided to start with his biography. He pulled it off the shelf only to find it chained to the bookcase. He tried several more, and in fact, all of the books were chained to the shelf.
They must have theft issues in Shadowhold.
He went back to the book on Drygo and began flipping through, having no choice but to read it there in the library.
Early years, blah blah, got married, how nice. Yikes, his wife became ill after giving birth. Several pages on how he sought a way to save her… no mention of what he found. It only said that, when he returned, his wife had already passed. Then the author noted a change in the king’s demeanor. Everything thereafter seemed biased and not what he knew to be true. Hard to say if any of it was. Will put the book away.
It was possible Drygo found a soul stone during his search, but Will couldn’t be sure. It certainly didn’t give him any information about the stones in any case. He picked up the copy of War of the Gods next. It began with the bit about the gods that every child in Aralith knows. The war ignited as two gods tried to rise above their station.
Apparently, more gods than just Daldre and Qirrut sought greater power, but they were the leaders. Once they were destroyed, the others fell into line. In an attempt to prevent another war of that magnitude, the gods sealed away their powers into gemstones. The book went on to highlight the aftermath of the war, but no further mention of the soul stones. Will flipped back to the part about the stones. There was a footnote at the bottom of the page.
It read, “Little is known about the mysterious stones of the gods. Only the oldest manuscripts still contain information of their mysterious—”
“Excuse me, sir, are you lost?”
Will looked up to find Jefferson staring at him.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Books regarding amnesia are in the medical section of the library. You will find very little information about your problem in the histories.”
“Oh, right. I had forgotten…”
Jefferson turned blue and emitted a soft aura. Will looked away as quickly as he could. Knowing what was coming, he braced himself for the pain and managed to only let out a soft inhale.
Soul Render (Soul Stones Book 1) Page 7
