The Fragment of Water (The Shattered Soul Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  “You are beautiful,” Jeric said.

  The sudden shift caused her to blink in surprise. “I don’t . . . why would you . . .”

  “Do your lovers know that your beauty hides a vile soul?”

  Pink rose into her grey skin, and then her features contorted with anger. She lunged at Jeric. Water restrained the dark elf before she could break her bonds but she fought against him, forcing Lira to catch her other arm.

  “I’ll kill you,” Melora snarled.

  “I guess they don’t,” Jeric said, amused. “And your family? Do any of them know your secret?”

  Melora strained against them and refused to speak. But her silence only served to delight the elf, who leaned back and folded his arms, tapping his chin in thought. After a moment he nodded as if he knew the truth.

  “Do you crave death?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a snort. “I’m just—”

  “But you support Wylyn,” Jeric reasoned. “And she wants to destroy what Ero and Skorn created.”

  “Your thoughts are meaningless to a member of the ancient race,” she said. “And I look forward to the day you kneel before her. When that day comes I will be the one to cut out your heart.”

  “You’re an insect,” Jeric said, his tone mocking. “She would never tell you her plan.”

  “I know enough,” Melora retorted.

  “Like how she’s building a Gate?” Jeric asked.

  “It’s only a matter of time until the tower is lifted again,” she sneered. “Then you will discover your place.”

  “The krey seek dominance, and you wish to provide them with slaves.”

  “They are the dominant race,” Melora growled, heat touching her cheeks. “They deserve their slaves.”

  “And the Order?” Jeric asked. “Will they not be slaves?”

  “Never,” she growled. “Wylyn has issued a decree and we accept. When the world is hers, we will command the slaves—we will command you.”

  Melora’s chest heaved and her eyes spit fire at the impudent elf. Then Jeric stepped back and brushed off his sleeves as if he’d just completed a difficult labor, his smile becoming wry when he turned to Water and Lira.

  “The Order has made a deal with Wylyn,” he said. “They are to serve them, and believe the krey will accept them as slavemasters, servants to the new world order.”

  Melora flushed as if realizing how much she’d said. “I never said—”

  “The Order numbers over five thousand but less than ten,” Jeric continued. “Her claim about them surpassing the rock trolls is an exaggeration, but based on what we saw, it is not too far off.”

  Melora sputtered, her eyes wide in disbelief and shock, the truth evident in her dismay. Water hid a smile and glanced to Lira, who seemed to have gained a measure of respect for the elf. But Jeric wasn’t finished. He motioned to the ground at their feet.

  “Her older sister probably doesn’t realize Melora is part of the Order. Melora is too impulsive and quick to anger to be in command of the Order, but not resentful, meaning whoever is in command has a high rank or a great deal of power, someone she would respect.”

  “And the tower?” Lira asked.

  “I cannot say,” Jeric said, and Melora looked relieved for a moment. Then Jeric met her gaze. “But I wager she speaks of an ancient structure, and there cannot be many capable of rising.”

  “You know nothing,” she snarled.

  “You told me everything,” Jeric said.

  His smile practically dared retaliation, and she lunged at him, breaking free of Lira’s grip and knocking Jeric to the cave floor. Melora struck at him with her bound fists, her fury only heightened by his mocking laugh, causing her to scream even louder. Water and Lira hauled her off—but she pulled a knife from a sheath on Jeric’s chest and sliced her bonds. She slashed at Lira before sprinting back into the tunnel. Water took a step after her but heard the whistle of a blade and raised his hands, catching the knife in his palm.

  He winced and retreated, and when he looked again she was gone. Grunting in irritation, he yanked the knife from the wound, spilling blood down his sleeve. He turned back to Jeric. The elf stood and dusted himself off, his expression pleased.

  “That was more fun than I anticipated,” he exclaimed.

  “You let her go,” Water accused.

  “Of course,” he replied. “I did give her a promise.”

  Lira frowned. “You have a strange sense of honor.”

  Jeric smiled and reached out to accept the knife from Water. “Shall we?” he asked. “I suspect it’s time we regrouped with Elenyr.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he said.

  Jeric grinned and swept his hands wide. “Just because my interests are aligned with that of our purpose, does not mean I have nefarious intent.”

  Water snorted and called out to Light, who flitted to their side in an instant. “What would you have me do on such a fine day?” Light asked.

  “It’s time we part ways,” Water said. “Light and Jeric can find Elenyr and inform her of what we’ve learned.”

  “You’re not coming?” Light asked.

  Water motioned to Lira. “Lira and I should return to Erathan and speak to King Numen about the Order.”

  “Do not forget that Melora said one of the kings is part of the order,” Jeric said. “Perhaps even its leader.”

  “We can trust King Numen,” Water said. “And hopefully, he will have some answers.”

  “Then this is farewell,” Jeric said, clasping his hand.

  Water looked to Light but he was already crafting a boat out of sunlight, the hull taking shape on the water. Obviously eager to depart, he clambered aboard and cast a sail of light, one that brightened and shimmered.

  “Be cautious, Light,” Water called, but the fragment had begun to sing, his voice so loud that it was impossible for him to hear Water’s warning.

  Jeric grinned. “I’ll take care of him.” He then inclined his head to Lira and jumped aboard. In moments the ship sped away, Light’s laughter carrying across the surface of the lake. When it died Water abruptly felt shy, and swept his hand to Lira.

  “Shall we?”

  Her smile was faint. “We shall.”

  Suddenly conscious that he was now alone with his beautiful companion, Water reminded himself to keep his senses, and then followed her up the slope. Their foes were gathering, but right now the problem seemed distant, and Water only had eyes for Lira.

  Chapter 21: The Strange Master

  Lira pondered the ramifications of what they’d learned as they worked their way south. She’d come to Lumineia hoping to put an end to Wylyn quickly, but now the path to victory was murky and fraught with unseen foes.

  Despite her worries, her heart was light, and she often found herself examining Water’s profile. The more she knew, the more she was drawn to the fragment, and she frequently had to remind herself that when her assignment was complete, she would be leaving Lumineia.

  A day’s journey from Heth, the road curved down to the beach, where a long bridge connected the mainland to an island on Blue Lake. Backed by water to the horizon and just feet from the kingdom of Erathan, the island was not owned by Erathan. Rather, it contained a village outpost of the Azure people.

  The thousand islands of the Azure nation dotted the center of the great Blue Lake, and the Azure people had called it home since the Dawn of Magic. Dark skinned and formidable on the water, they built ships for every kingdom, and were renowned as the greatest artisans of wood.

  The village contained a shipyard, with four great vessels under construction. All bore the seal of Erathan, and Lira assumed the village did most of their work for King Numen, or the people of Erathan. As the sun set, the pair crossed the bridge and entered the village.

  Instead of walls and a roof, huge tree trunks leaned against each other to create homes and halls, forming the supports for the structures that were all roof. Finely crafted shingles lined the
roof all the way to the ground, broken only by recessed glass windows. A dozen such structures circled a giant gathering hall, the tavern becoming the meeting place of the village. The blacksmith, shipbuilder’s hall, and farmer’s hall ringed the main structure, all having their main doors pointed to the great center building. Finely carved wooden sea creatures adorned the outer wall, and great beams extended above to carry the flag of the Azure nation.

  Legendary for their hospitality, the Azure people welcomed them through the gates, which were built of large poles that sank into the walls, the gears clanking to permit them entry. Soldiers smiled, and the chief himself met them at the gathering hall.

  “I am Chief Barbith,” he said, offering a bow. “Welcome to our village.”

  “You have beautiful homes,” Lira said.

  “Not as beautiful as our ships,” Barbith said with a hearty laugh. “But then, little compares with the curves of a sleek vessel.”

  Barbith ushered them inside the gathering hall, calling for food and drink. The room was fifty feet across, the sharply angled walls ascending to the peak above. Other logs supported the second floor, the beams carved into runes and stories, the wood stained with a dark oil. A long counter fronted the kitchen while a set of stairs ascended out of view.

  “Welcome to Fishhook Shipyard,” Barbith said. “Will you be staying long?”

  “I wish we could,” Lira said, “but we must depart for Heth in the morning.”

  “Then please,” the chief said, “enjoy our fare and the warm beds above. We make our coin from the ships, and have no need to charge the people that visit.”

  Barbith motioned to a young woman and she approached with a pair of keys. Lira accepted a key to her own room and nodded her gratitude to the giver, a girl that couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Unlike the other barmaids, she wore pants instead of a dress, and carried both a bow and a curved sword on her hip.

  “Are all Azure youths so well armed?” Lira asked.

  The young woman shook her head and walked away. Seeing the exchange, Barbith approached and lowered his voice. “Rune lost her parents in a winter gale,” he said. “Since then she cares naught for our craft and instead trains with the old weapons master, Sentara.”

  There was a note of disapproval in his sad tone, and Lira wondered how much was due to the girl’s craft, or her disdain for the work of her people. Rune obviously disliked serving in the gathering hall, her expression one of stoic resignation as she carried drinks to the fishermen and families sitting about the hall.

  Rune then appeared with plates of rice and fish fried in butter. Herbs had been added and the scent made Lira’s mouth water. She’d sampled fare throughout the Krey Empire, but little compared with the flavors of home. She and Water expressed their gratitude and approval, but Rune simply left, drawing a sigh from Chief Barbith.

  “The girl will be the death of me.”

  “How well does she fight?” Lira asked, her eyes on the way the girl moved. Lithe and graceful, she moved like a predator among the peaceful flock of villagers.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Barbith said. “It has been some time since we have known combat, and I’ve never seen her train.”

  “You said there is a weapons master?” Water asked.

  “Sentara,” Barbith said absently. “But she is old and her mind is in shambles. I wish my grandfather had never taken her in.”

  “She is not of your tribe?” Lira asked.

  The chief shook himself as if he’d just realized how much he’d spoken. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to speak so frankly. Please, enjoy your evening.”

  He left them to their food, but when he was gone Water lowered his voice. “What do you see in the girl?”

  Lira turned to him. “Do you feel the isolation?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We call it the Curse of the Ageless,” she said. “We see the world turn but we do not turn with it, and so we feel alone.”

  “An uncomfortably familiar sentiment,” Water said.

  Lira looked to Rune. “It is easy to forget that many feel as we do.”

  “But she has a home,” Water said, motioning to the room, “and family. Why would she feel alone?”

  She flashed a sad smile. “Too often we hide our true self from those we call family, and live a life of loneliness.”

  “And what do you hide from the Eternals?” His smile was soft, a quiet challenge to the share the truth.

  “I’ve known you for a month and you wish me to reveal my deepest secrets?”

  “You’re right,” he said with a firm nod. “I’m a day early. You can tell me tomorrow.”

  She laughed and settled in to eat. As they talked and ate the delicious fish, Lira found her resolve weakening. Water may have been a being of magic, a fragment of a powerful guardian, but he had a soul, one she found attractive. He had an appealing sense of humor, and his sense of honor was without peer.

  Shortly after they finished, a bard made his way to the fireplace situated at the rear of the hall and began to sing. Gifted with the magic of music, the man sang with an inviting quality, and Lira was drawn into the tale of battle and love, of a warrior departing from home to join a crusade.

  The song rose and fell, becoming a crescendo that gradually filled the room with images of mighty war steeds charging a battlefield. The cavalry rode through the room, leaping a table to the delight of the children huddled beneath. Lira knew it was all an illusion created by the magic of song, yet could not deny the stirring of excitement.

  The horses galloped through the far wall and the song changed, gaining a mournful note as a lone soldier returned, his weary horse carrying him over mountains and through valleys. He boarded a ship and stood at the prow, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Rain fell, so realistic it seemed to patter across the tables before the sun shone again, and a house rose up in the center of the gathering hall, the golden walls rising to fill an empty section of floor. Fireflies appeared to flutter around the room, glimmering in a room suddenly growing dark.

  The soldier approached the door and it was flung open, his wife and children leaping into his arms. The song swelled and Lira realized tears were in her eyes, the scene so moving that she instinctively reached for Water. Their hands intertwined, and suddenly the hope was not an illusion.

  The soldier entered his home, a triumphant arrival accompanied by friends and family, the song becoming an invitation, a challenge that couples in the gathering hall accepted. They leapt through the illusion and began to dance, spinning as the bard sang of a life shared with a love.

  “Would you care to dance?” Water asked.

  She turned to find him on his feet and shook her head. “I haven’t danced in ages.”

  “Then it’s overdue,” Water said.

  He caught her hand and pulled her to the floor, spinning her into an embrace. The music swelled anew and she was caught up in the enchantment. A part of her knew the moment was just an illusion, but not all of it, and as she looked into his deep blue eyes she marveled at the heat in her chest.

  A burst of thunder echoed but the storm sounded distant, and she smiled, feeling a sense of home she had not felt since her youth. She wrapped her arms around Water’s neck and drew him close, a smile on her lips . . .

  The door crashed open, startling the bard. His song faltered and the illusions evaporated, all eyes snapping to the figure standing in the opening. The storm had arrived and rain poured on her form, but she didn’t seem to care. Slight of figure, she looked ancient, her white hair tied back and layered down her back. The old woman glared at the room, her eyes searching, hunting.

  “Sentara?” Rune called, threading through the crowd to reach her. “Is something amiss?”

  “There are guests,” she demanded, stepping into the hall, oblivious to the pained looks exchanged by the villagers.

  “Sentara,” Chief Barbith said, stepping to her side, his voice conciliatory. “There is no need for such hostility.
”

  “Where are they?” she demanded.

  “Here,” Water said, striding forward with Lira. “Do you need—”

  The woman spotted Lira and raised a hand to Water. She crossed the gap inhumanly fast, a sword appearing in her hand. Lira instinctively cast an air blade but Sentara’s weapon was already on her throat.

  “Sentara!” the chief cried. “You cannot think to attack a guest!”

  “You do not know who she is,” Sentara growled.

  “I’m merely a traveler,” Lira said, subtly casting speed.

  Sentara closed the distance so fast that Lira flinched. “I know who you are,” she spat, and then lowered her tone. “You are an Eternal.”

  Shock bound her tongue, and Sentara took her silence as a confirmation. Water stepped to intervene, but she threw him a look that stopped him in his tracks. Then Sentara leaned forward and whispered to Lira.

  “Do not be so quick to ally yourself with Elenyr,” she said, her voice a harsh murmur that only Lira could hear. “For a dark power lurks in the fragments, and they cannot be trusted.”

  “How do you know of . . .”

  But the woman was already gone. Whirling, she strode from the room and departed into the night. Rune cast a look to Lira before the girl departed as well, leaving Lira to her confusion. The chief approached and spoke with Water, but Lira watched the door, wondering about the identity of the mysterious woman.

  Chapter 22: King Numen

  The next morning, Water met Lira in the tavern for a morning meal. Throughout the breakfast of bread and fish eggs, an odd combination that Water did not care for, they spoke of Sentara. Lira had shared with him what Sentara had said, and he’d admitted he’d never seen the woman.

  “You really don’t know her?” Lira asked.

  “I don’t,” Water said. “But from what you say, I would wager she knows Elenyr.”

  Their speculation yielded no truth, and shortly after, they departed Fishhook for the road. Water half expected the ancient woman to attack them, but neither she nor Rune appeared. Once they had returned to the road, the conversation turned to what they hoped to learn from the king, and Water tried not to think about how they’d almost kissed the previous night.