In a slow, strange accent, he said, “Going somewhere, Sebastian?”
Will stared at Scarface, dumbfounded. His companion appeared to be in his late teens. He kept clenching his fingers around the knife, adjusting his grip.
Who was Sebastian?
“Think you can get away without paying, Alexei?” asked Scarface. He continued without giving me time to respond, “We watch you all day. First, you run around city like chicken with no head then—”
“Head cut off,” Will interjected.
He scrunched up his face. “What?”
“It’s ‘like a chicken with its head cut off.’ You said—”
“I don’t care what I said,” he replied. “Point is, we follow you to temple and then library. Then, we catch you trying to leave city. Alexei says to me, ‘Andre, keep an eye on him’ he says. ‘He has until evening’ he says. ‘But, Andre, if he tries to leave, don’t let him get away,’ he says.”
Will walked back slowly then turned and ran—right into another one of this Alexei’s goons. He tried to scream for help, but Andre grabbed him from behind and held his mouth shut.
He whispered in Will’s ear, “You scream, I kill your wife. You run, I kill your son.”
Will had no idea if he was bluffing or not. As far as he knew, Sebastian might not even be married. Then, for the first time, he noticed the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Not wanting to risk lives, Will gave in and let his body relax.
“Smart.”
They put a sack over his head and moved him around from building to building. He was pushed up stairs and down stairs, through doors and down hallways. They doubled back a few times. Will could tell because a man and a woman were arguing outside one of the buildings and he heard them on several occasions.
Lotess?
Still no response.
He probed his mind, searching for her again. The blackness stood firm, an impenetrable wall separating him from the goddess.
Will’s breathing grew heavy and ragged, his breath making the sack hot and wet. Sweat poured from his brow. As they walked by a lamp or torch, the firelight would seep in through the fabric and disappear again a moment later.
He wondered, not for the first time, what he did to deserve all of this. What cruel alignment of fates brought these events upon his life? Just two weeks ago he led a quiet, albeit basic existence. Then word came of the Soul Render reaching Celesti and everything changed from there.
They entered a room and Will could hear someone whimpering. The thugs shoved him into a chair and pulled off the sack.
“Sebastian!” a woman cried.
“Papa!” said another voice at the same time.
Squinting through the firelight, Will could make out two shapes in the corner of the large, empty room. They came into focus as his eyes adjusted. A woman with shoulder-length brown hair mixed with strands of gray and a few small wrinkles around her eyes sat next to a boy about the age of the knife-wielding goon. Their hands were bound behind their backs around a support beam.
“It’ll be okay,” Will told them.
Why do I keep saying that?
“Will it, Sebastian? I don’t think so.”
Will turned his head to see a man he could only assume was Alexei on the other side of the room. He was a large, burly man dressed in finery too lavish for an ordinary citizen, but neither was he nobleborn, that much was apparent. He wore rings on six of his fingers and his hair was neatly groomed, but slick with oil. He had a bodyguard with him. He wore a leather armor vest atop a simple brown tunic. A dark rust colored cloak was draped around his shoulders. He cracked his knuckles with a devious smirk.
“I have shown you more mercy than most, and you try to run? Now, where is my money?” Alexei demanded.
“I… I don’t have any money,” Will said.
“Sebastian, please!” screamed the woman in the corner.
“I’m sick of your lies, Sebastian,” Alexei said and then turned to his bodyguard. “Search him, Tomas.”
Tomas came over and patted him down. He found the map in Will’s pocket.
“What’s this?” Alexei said, curious. He took the map from Tomas, unfolded it, and read it. “Where did you get this?”
Will didn’t answer. This wasn’t his first interrogation. The last one also didn’t turn out so well so he thought he’d try a different tactic. Will didn’t know how he kept finding himself in these situations. This time, though, he had a plan.
Alexei continued, “It doesn’t matter. You won’t be needing it anymore.”
He folded it back up and handed it back to Tomas who pocketed it.
“Consider your debt repaid,” he said. Turning back to Andre and his sidekick, he said, “You know what to do.”
The woman’s erratic breathing and whimpering slowed at his words. Alexei and Tomas left without another word. Andre came over to Will and moved as if to untie him, then swung his elbow into the side of Will’s head.
The woman screamed again. The boy just stared at Will, sympathy in his eyes. Andre laughed and slugged Will in the stomach with his fist followed by a left hook to his cheek. Something wet and metallic filled his mouth. He spat and a splatter of blood sprayed over his clothes.
“Stop, please!” the woman cried incessantly from the corner. The sidekick gagged her. Her muffled cries continued through Will’s beating.
Andre called over the younger thug.
“Me?” he asked raising his eyebrows, pointing at himself.
“Yes, you, Victor, who else? Idiot. Alexei says it’s time to get your hands dirty. Kill him.”
More cries from the woman. The boy let out a gasp of surprise.
“Whoa, whoa. Hey, now,” Will said. “I thought Alexei just said I was forgiven.”
“No. He said debt was paid,” and Andre nodded to the woman and boy. “Nothing about forgiveness.”
Victor drew his dagger and approached Will, his hand shaking, hesitation in his step. He stood still, as if trying to decide what to do.
“Just do it already,” said Andre.
The dagger soared for Will’s stomach.
10
“Hello!” Shaw said to the empty library. “Is anyone here?”
A door creaked from somewhere in the library and a wiry man with glasses came bumbling to meet him.
“Oh, dear,” the priest said, wincing. “I must ask you to clean up, sir, before handling any of our books.”
“I’m not here to read your worthless pieces of paper,” Shaw said.
“Oh, of course, sir,” the man said, bowing. “My name is—
“Don’t care,” Shaw said, holding up a hand.
“Yes sir, how can I be of assistance to the crown today?”
Shaw described the man he was looking for.
“Yes, sir,” the priest said. “He’s here. The poor man, suffering from amnesia. Came here hoping he could discover a cure.”
Shaw’s pulse increased. He had him. This would all be over soon. “Take me to him,” Shaw said.
“Right this way,” the priest said, leading them through the aisles of books. “He’s right here in the medical sec—”
They rounded the corner and found no one.
“Where’d he go?” Shaw asked in alarm.
“I… I don’t know,” the priest said. “He was just here. I don’t know where he’s gone.”
“Are you sure he wanted to know about amnesia?” Shaw pressed.
“Yes, sir,” the priest said. “I directed him to these shelves twice.”
“Twice?” Shaw asked.
“Well, yes,” the priest explained. “He had mistakenly found the books of history and I redirected him to the correct section.”
“That was no mistake,” Shaw said to himself as much as to the priest.
“Then what did he want?” the priest asked.
“What indeed,” Shaw said. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any detail, you never know if it might be important.”
“Yes, sir,” the priest said. “Well, he came in and asked about amnesia. I led him back here. Oh wait, he did ask about the restricted section, but no one has gone in there, it’s locked. Then I found him at the—”
“Restricted section?” Shaw asked.
“Yes, where we keep all the old books too delicate for circulation,” the priest explained.
“Show me,” Shaw said.
“As I said, no one has—”
Shaw closed his eyes and said, “Don’t make me ask again.”
“R-right away, sir,” the priest said. “Follow me.”
The priest led Shaw to a closed door along the side wall. He pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. The lock clicked and the priest pulled the door open, allowing him to enter.
Shaw stepped into the dimly lit room and paused to let his eyes adjust.
“As you can see,” the priest said, “nothing is missing.”
Nothing you can see, Shaw thought. What could he want in here?
“Do you have any books on the soul stones?” Shaw asked.
The priest blanched, taken aback. “What would this man want with such a book?”
“Do you have any or not?” Shaw asked.
The priest walked over to a shelf and knelt down to pull the book off the shelf. He reached his hand out and paused. “That’s odd,” the priest said. “The dust has been disturbed. None of the temple staff have touched this book in at least a year.”
“Get it out,” Shaw said. “Let’s see it.”
The priest pulled the book from the shelf and set it on the table in the center of the room. Shaw shoved him out of the way.
The priest said, “Hey, you can’t touch that, only temple staff can—”
Shaw cast him a glare.
“Of course, exceptions can be made,” the priest said.
Shaw flipped through the pages. He didn’t know what he was looking for.
“Careful, that book’s older than your great grandfather,” the priest said.
Shaw ignored him. As he was flipping, something caught his eye. He turned back to see the jagged stump of a page attached to the book, but no page.
“Has this page always been missing?” Shaw asked.
“Preposterous,” the priest said. “No one would tear a—” His eyes settled on the book. “By the gods, who would commit such a heinous crime?”
“What was on this page?” Shaw asked.
“I don’t know,” the priest said.
Shaw asked again, enunciating each word with force, “What was on this page?”
“Uh… I, uh,” the priest fumbled and closed his eyes. “Uh, a map. An old map of the whole country. That’s all I know, I’m—”
“Thank you,” Shaw said, slamming the book shut.
Will was leaving the city, and Shaw would have to hurry if he was going to catch him.
Victor hesitated and pulled back on the dagger slightly as it pierced Will’s flesh and went about an inch deep. Will grimaced in pain. The woman’s cries intensified. The boy looked away. Victor withdrew the blade and stabbed Will again with more force, driving the blade in to the hilt.
Victor hissed, tossing the dagger to his other hand and bringing his finger to his mouth. He shook it out and then switched hands again. Blood dripped from the knife, the same blood that now soaked through Will’s shirt, pouring from his abdomen. Each breath that Will took coursed fresh pain through his body. He had never felt anything like it in his life. Even losing his head had been less painful than this.
Victor’s arm shot out again, the blade sinking deep into Will’s chest, piercing his heart.
“No!” the woman shrieked.
“Papa!” cried the boy at the same time.
Victor pulled the dagger out and tossed it aside. He ran to the corner of the room and vomited. Will’s head drooped and the pain faded, his vision once again sliding into that bluish-purple spectrum. The two blue souls belonging to the boy and his mother behaved erratically. Fear, grief, fury.
Andre ignored them. His soul stood firm, resolute—a deep purple. Victor continued revisiting his last meal, his soul glowing a dark blue. It was shaky and out of rhythm. Before Victor could recover Will leapt out of the seat, the bindings no longer able to hold his soul, and rammed into the sidekick with all the strength he could muster.
Dropping to his knees, Victor let out a gasp, but it was too late. He could not stop the momentum as Will tore his soul from his body.
“What’s wrong?” asked Andre.
Now in Victor’s body, Will just waved him off. He stood, and retrieved the dagger where it lay, the taste of bile still in his mouth.
As Will walked toward him, Andre said, “You did good job. Alexei will be—”
Will thrust the dagger upward, piercing the skin beneath Andre’s chin straight through to the top of his skull. His eyes registered shock before going dim, his brain permanently damaged if he was not already dead.
Will laid his body down and withdrew the dagger. As he moved toward the woman and her son, they screamed in terror as if they were next.
“Calm down. I’m sorry I killed your husband,” Will said honestly and truly, for he killed Sebastian long before Victor killed his body. “I’m going to cut you free.”
Their bodies stilled, cries reducing to a whimper. Will cut through their bindings and backed away. The woman scrambled forward, away from him and toward the door. The boy chased after his mother, but not before turning to Will and spitting in his face.
Will stood there, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He wiped the saliva from his cheek. He guessed it could have been worse. To them, he was responsible for killing their loved one. They couldn’t possibly know he was their loved one who just saved them, and no amount of explaining that to anyone would do him any good. He couldn’t just walk up to someone and say, “Hi, I’m Will, I can steal people’s bodies.” It wasn’t exactly small talk material.
Will left the room through the open door and found himself, surprisingly, in the same alley where he’d been captured. Why they bothered to disorient him if they planned to kill him, he didn’t know. Perhaps killing him was a last resort.
Looking up and down the alley to make sure another of Alexei’s thugs wasn’t watching, he ran quietly toward the city’s entrance. He walked through a grand arch and finally made it out of the city. He would have to watch his back, though. Alexei was bound to piece together that it was Victor who killed Scarface and let the prisoners go.
Will’s journey would first take him north and then cut to the east, following a road that led to Frostpeak Pass and the Wandering Wood beyond. If he could make it to the mountains, Alexei would be unlikely to follow him any farther.
Having little in the way of supplies, Will was thankful to run into a merchant caravan preparing to leave just outside the city gates. A man stood near the front wagon, holding a parchment and issuing commands to some of the workers.
“…and make sure the horses are secured,” he said. The boy nodded and set about his work. His head lifted as he saw Will approach. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Will. I’m looking to head north for a ways and wondered if you could use an extra sword-for-hire during the first part of your journey.”
“Sorry, got my own protection detail,” he said, turning back to his work.
Will frowned and walked away. A man ran past him heading for the caravan leader. Will paused and listened.
The man said, “Leland, Joziah isn’t coming…”
Will couldn’t decipher the rest.
“Iket’s bones,” the leader, Leland, murmured. There was a brief pause and then he called out, “Hey, boy, what was your name? Will?”
Will tried to look surprised, like he wasn’t eavesdropping, and jogged back to him.
“I’ll feed you and can give you three silvers a day. Still interested?” He dismissed the messenger with a wave.
“What’s your destination?” Will asked.
“Derton,”
the man said.
Derton was the capital of a small province called Windhaven. It lay halfway between Shadowhold and Celesti making it about a five-day journey, seven with the caravan. It was a little farther than he wanted to go.
“I can go with you halfway, but then my path leads me east,” Will told him.
“East?” Leland asked. “Nothin’ but the Frosties to the east. What could you be doing out there?”
“Can you use me or not?”
Leland thought about it a moment then said, “I’ll throw in an extra six silvers on top of your daily wages if you’ll travel with us all the way to Derton.”
“I can’t make any promises,” Will answered, “but I’ll consider it.”
“Deal,” Leland said, extending his arm and shaking Will’s hand. “Head to the back of the caravan. Riley will bring you up to speed.”
Will gave his thanks and went to look for Riley. There were four wagons in total. Several merchants busied about them, preparing for departure. Will found three mercenaries lounging around at the back. Two of them, a man and a woman, leaned against one of the wagons. He walked past them and approached a tall, burly man cleaning the blade of a magnificent swordstaff.
“Riley?” Will asked. “Leland hired me and said to report to you.”
A cough from behind drew Will’s attention. The woman pushed off the wagon to stand straight, “I’m Riley.”
She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her blond hair ran down her shoulders with a small lock hanging down beside her right eye. She wore leather armor accented with steel plates and stood about five foot five.
“You?” Will asked. “But you’re—”
“A woman?” she interjected.
“Short,” he replied. “Hey, want to hear a joke? What did Iket say to the dwarven priest?”
“I don’t care,” she said in a deadpan tone.
“Oh, come on Ri, let’s hear it,” said the man still leaning against the wagon, a smirk on his face.
“Fine. What did Iket say to the dwarven priest?”
“Oh thou of little faith.”
The two men let out soft snickers.
“Ha,” she said, unamused. “Want to take the foot out of your mouth and try this again?”
Soul Render (Soul Stones Book 1) Page 9
