What kind of deal? What kind of power does Sinteler possess over Grim?
“Call off your soul hounds. If I happen to catch even the slightest waft shadowing my Novice, I will call off the deal.”
Soul hounds? What are they? And why would they bother with me?
Sinteler laughs. “Oh, Ernest, you amaze me. Do you think you can extract yourself from the deal? Are you ready to risk more souls? Densys here tells me she is eager to please, isn’t that correct, Den?”
“Yes, my lord, she is.” The voice is familiar. I suck in a breath. Schulz?
“You are going soft, Ernest, trying to be like humans.” Sinteler pronounces the word ‘humans’ like they’re beneath bugs. “It is up to you to make sure she does her job. Thirteen months is a long time to wait for something that could be done tomorrow.”
The temperature in the room drops. “Are you going to stand there and tell me how to do my job? She is my Novice. I set up the conditions as I see fit.” Grim’s voice has lost any trace of civility. “If you feel inconvenienced, take it up with the Fates.”
Silence stretches. Feet pace the tiled floor. What’s happening?
“Heed my warning, Ernest,” Sinteler says. “If your people set foot in Mirrorlands, they are fair game.”
I duck my head slightly, and my heart stops. I forgot my heels. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Black familiar shoes appear in my line of vision and kick my heels subtly aside in a corner.
I’m so in trouble.
From the silence filling the air, the face-off is over. I wait until the footsteps fade and the door whispers shut before pulling from my hiding place.
“What kind of idiot are you?” Schulz snaps. I shriek and leap away, knocking my elbow on a shelf.
I’m too shocked to think about the pain. “I—” Think, think, think. “I was meant to meet Grim in the library.”
“Of course,” he says sarcastically.
I let the sarcasm slide and cross my hands over my chest. “You and Sinteler seem quite friendly.”
Schulz glares and snaps, “Follow me,” then spins on his heel. I scramble to shove my feet in my heels and follow. “I won’t keep you long. I have no intention of raising suspicions as to your whereabouts.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I heard you—”
“Not curious to know about the marks, are you?” He smiles, and I wish I wasn’t desperate for information. “Follow me.”
Outside the castle, he shifts us back to my world. He turns a corner and heads inside an international cuisine restaurant on the Marc-Aurel Strasse. At the door, he nods to the guy at the counter—who is positively not human given his neon green eyes with scales along his hands—and goes through a curtain ‘door’.
“Who’s the guy?”
“Draangel.”
As if I didn’t know that. “Where are we going?”
“Patience.”
If only my hunger to know what was going on wasn’t so strong, I’d turn and stomp away. Schulz has me at a disadvantage.
We walk down the fluorescent-lit hallway, flying past locked rooms with white doors. The air feels cooler and heavier like underground space.
Finally he slows to a stop in front of one of the white-door rooms and twists the doorknob. It flies inward and immediately lights flicker from the ceiling and walls. I follow him in, taking in the rows and rows of shelves lined on the four walls, laden with flour, vegetables, and cooking pots. Other than that, the room is plain. I wrinkle my nose. The room smells like onions and unaired space.
I turn to ask what we’re doing here, but stop as he pulls out something resembling a pen from his jacket pocket. He crouches and starts tapping the floor. Seconds later, bright blue lines flash across the floor in crisscross patterns. My skin prickles the way it did the first time on top of World’s Edge. I fall two steps back, staring at what looks like geometric and astrological signs. A circle encloses them, gleaming like white fire.
“Ley lines. They’re safe. Safer than shifting.” His voice is no longer gruff, but his expression is still the same as always. “With shifting, one can be traced through the wisps that magic leaves behind. Take my hand. I would like to show you something.” Zig already explained to me about being tracked by magic. My need to know pushes my feet forwards. I place my hand on Schulz’s and step inside the circle of white light. The lights flicker. I blink, and we’re standing in an underground room. He drops my hand and waddles away. I hang back for a second, squinting at my dimly lit surroundings. The walls glitter, as if made of jewels.
“Where are we?”
“Someplace safe.” I hate these vague answers.
We pile inside a cube room made of glass. He presses his hand on the glass wall. Immediately, it lurches upward, taking my insides with it. It halts abruptly with a soft whish, yawns open, and we step out. My breath catches in my throat, as I spin a slow 360 degrees on my heel, taking in the star-studded sky. Up ahead, a structure, which looks like it’s made of pure glass, is illuminated by two massive floodlights.
Around us, everything seems to be made of steel, marble, and glass. And very deserted, like the place has never been inhabited. Schulz strides forwards on the marble path scattered with leaves and vines. Overgrown grass and flowers flank the path. Every few steps, there are marble statues mounted on columns. I squint closer but can’t make out the images and words engraved on them. We dash past a marble bridge, with gleaming, rushing waters below it.
I trot after a galloping Schulz, trying to absorb everything at once. “What is this place?”
His body tenses as he says, “Home.” We halt in front of a building shaped like an hourglass, covered from top to bottom with blue and red mosaic glass.
Schulz grunts and gestures for me to follow him through an arched doorway, and into a courtyard full of intricately decorated cream marble columns. My breath catches, and I stop. Before us is a majestic castle-like building lined in dark marble. We go through a doorway, climb up a flight of marble stairs, and step inside a plain, white room scattered with musical instruments.
“Sit.” He points to a seat by a window.
I glance at the seat covered with doodles and little hearts carved on the wood. I cross my arms on my chest and lock my jaw. “I need to know what’s going on.”
Schulz studies me for a moment, before weaving his way between the rows of instruments. He returns with a honey-brown violin, which looks like it’s made of spun glass I’d once seen in Murano Island. “You will in a few minutes. I need to demonstrate something. Please, sit.”
I trace a finger on the carved drawings on the seat, before lowering myself on it and turning to face Schulz.
“Those marks were done by a child whose dream was to make my life a living hell.” He chuckles. He stares at the desk in front of me with a look I have never seen before on his face. I can only describe it as pleasure. “She was as talented as she was mischevious.” He shakes his head, handing me the violin.
My eager hands take it, and I feel complete. It’s beautiful, and seems so fragile. I wrap my fingers around its neck, praying it won’t slip from my balmy hands.
“Don’t worry.” His lips twitch. “It’s tougher than it looks. Are you in possession of the ballads book?” How does he know about that book? I stare at him wide-eyed. He raises his eyebrows, and I nod quickly. “Good. Guard it well. You will need it if we are to pull through what is coming.” He slips a ring I hadn’t noticed before from his index fingers and dumps it on the table, causing it to tinkle as it spins then settles. “Play.”
“How do you know about the book?” I ask, my head reeling at all this information being forced in my head. “What is coming?”
“I put the book in Rolf’s path,” he says, scowling further. “We do not have enough time for explanations. Someone is bound to notice your absence. Besides, telling you everything at once isn’t very advisable. You need to absorb the details in minimal quantity. Play.” He jerks his chin to the violin.
I glance at the bow in my hand. “What should I play?”
“Anything. If you can remember a verse from the book, that’s better.”
I sigh. Better get this over with so I can get my answers. After positioning the violin on my chin and shoulder, I let my eyes slip shut, and concentrate on a ballad I’ve been perfecting the last week.
The notes flow sharper, sweeter, and stronger, completely different from my violin at home. It’s everything and nothing. It’s Heaven, birds’ songs, spring, and summer all rolled into one. It’s the smell of rain in summer. It’s autumn and winter, the gusty storm of a desert. It’s chocolate and pepper. It’s air. It’s fire.
And it’s pain.
I scream and snap my eyes open. Through tears, I see Schulz doubled over, veins bulging on his neck. But I can’t stop myself from playing. He drops to his knees, blood leaking from his ears and nose. The scars on my wrists and fingers burn bright white. I watch as another line appears, carving itself on my skin.
The pain stops as abruptly as it appears, replaced by a heady feeling. It rushes through me, acting as balm on my assaulted body, healing me and something else. I want to finish this. Finish Schulz off. Kill him.
No! I have to stop. God, I’m killing him! He stretches his hand and snatches the ring from the table. With trembling hands, he slips it onto his finger. And just like that, he stops thrashing around.
He tries to smile through the grimace. “I’m fine.” He stumbles forwards, snatching the violin away. “Control is what you need. You have done it before. You will learn again.”
The feeling coursing through me scatters. I slump forwards, and the bow clatters to the floor. Surprisingly, it doesn’t shatter. “Please keep that thing away from me.” He places it back with the other instruments and turns to face me. “What—what was that?”
Schulz pulls a stool to sit in front of me, then leans forwards. “It’s not about what. It is who you are.” That pleased look is back on his face. “You, Ana, are the one who will set us free. The violin and music are your weapons. You are the—”
I leap to my feet, my hands raised, and shake my head. “Just give me a few minutes.”
“You have to face it soon.”
“Please, Herr Schulz.” I walk to the window. What kind of thing am I? “I could have hurt you. You knew what I’m capable of. My God, what were you thinking?”
Schulz stands beside me. “Would you have believed me if I told you what you were capable of?” I shake my head. “There’s your answer. Seeing is believing. Now, I will tell you a story. I hope this will clear things up for today. It’s more than a story. It’s real.” He gives me a sidelong glance before turning to look out the window. I wait, my body coiled so tight I’m afraid if I move, I’ll snap into pieces.
“Once there was a race, a happy race of people whose peace was the very air they breathed. The Urayah Empire,” he says while he gestures around with a sweep of his arm, “is a universe parallel to ours. I mean, where you grew up. The leader, the emperor Arkayden, was a man loved by everyone, and rightly so. He was everything a good leader should be. As usual, fate has a way of snatching the best things in life. He succumbed to illness and was forced to choose his successor between his two ambitious and competitive sons. Sinteler and Elias. Arkayden gave his sons twelve months to demonstrate their ability to rule. The majority favoured Elias, and so he was chosen as the new emperor. Having chosen his successor, Arkayden passed away in peace.
“The decision spurred Sinteler’s wrath, and he vowed to make the people pay for rejecting him. After amassing his own army of followers, he went on killing those who opposed him. The only way he could be the new emperor was by killing his younger brother, Elias, along with any of his children. So, he decided to go after Elias. When word finally got around to Elias about what Sinteler was up to, it was already too late. Most of the population had already been decimated and his army reduced in half by deaths and defection. The only way to save the rest of the people was to escape. That is how we ended up on Earth. We came through portals similar to the one we used when we came up here today. Since then, Sinteler has been prowling the Earth in search of Elias, as well as Elias’s son.
This was definitely not what I was expecting. I stare at him with a hand covering my mouth. “What has that got to do with me?”
“Your previous involvement with his nephew has everything to do with it.” He measures me with a gaze. “You are capable of killing Elias’s son, or saving him and restoring our race.”
I shudder at his words. “Kill him?”
He nods. “You were betrothed to him and bonded to one another. Your souls recognise each other. In your previous lives, both of you died before you even knew each other.”
“Previous lives?” I jerk around to face him, my mind reeling with this new information. “What am I? How many lives have I lived? Why can’t I remember anything?”
“Restless Soul.” He faces me. “You are reborn every time you die.” He folds his hands on his back and moves away from the window. “When Elias realised what Sinteler was up to, he selected a group of dedicated young men and women who would lay down their lives for his son. The Elite Seven were born. You are part of the seven. Each had a gift, which would come in handy in case they had to fight. The linking ceremony was performed to bond all of you. The only way either of you could die is if any one of the seven killed you. One Elite can kill another Elite. But no one outside this circle has the power to kill any of the Elite. Unless you die of natural circumstances. Your souls are immortal, to be born over and over until you accomplish your mission. The linking between the Elite ensured the reborn cycle continued. And so, here you are. Again. The reason you don’t remember is you are born without those memories. A clean slate. The only person capable of reinstating the memories is the priestess who performed the ceremony.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe, along with Elias and everyone else.”
I stumble from the window and to my previous seat and drop my head on my hands, rubbing my temples. Questions whip my mind, and I’m not even sure where to start. “If we are a race, what kind are we?” I lift my head to look at Schulz. “Why haven’t I ever heard of it before?”
“We fall under the unexplained races. Until Sinteler is defeated, we cannot reveal ourselves to the world.”
I curl my hands to stop them from trembling. “If Sinteler somehow finds a way to capture Elias’s son’s soul, wouldn’t his soul be reborn?”
Herr Schulz shakes his head. “If Sinteler traps his soul, he will not be reborn.” He takes a deep breath. “Sinteler will place the soul in stasis—a state where time ceases to flow until the magic is removed.”
Splaying my fingers on my lap, I stare at the scars glowing from under the tattoos. “The scars. What do they mean?”
From the corner of my eye, I see him squeeze his eyes shut, as if in pain. “They represent the number of lives lost by your hands.” He takes a breath, and he says, “They are your mark. Now, are you ready to know who you are?
I shake my head quickly. “No. Maybe later.” I’ve had enough information overload to keep me awake for a long time. Knowing what I am, someone who can easily take someone’s life is something I’d rather stay without knowledge of. For now anyway. I gulp a few breaths and look at Schulz. “Whatever that was, has never happened before. Not when I played my violin.”
“Because it isn’t the right weapon.” He points at the cursed thing lounging with the other instruments in the front of the room. “That there, and the ballads book, is you. You wrote that book. Please keep it safe. You might need it soon. Have you spoken to your parents?”
The topic change catches me off-guard. “No. I can’t break their hearts like that. I love them too much.”
“Love?” Schulz scoffs. “Love makes the strongest of us weak. The most cautious, reckless. The cleverest, stupid. It humbles even the proudest.” He stares at me. “You flaunt love like it’s an evening gown. Love made you we
ak and is what got you here. Shove it back where it belongs, into your chest, and zip it.”
“What do you know about love?” Anger uncoils in my stomach. “Have you ever risked your heart, your life for someone you love?”
Schulz flinches. “You do not know what love is until you lose it all. Not only your family, but your very essence.” He looks up. “Your duty now lies with your people.”
“My people? Surely if you understand about love, you won’t expect me to drop my family and friends for people I’ve never met?”
“You have met me, Schuster, Zaynab. Why do you think I told you the story?” He glares at me. “When the time is right, you will find them.” I open my mouth, but he raises his hand to halt me. “The time is coming for you to decide your actions. Today’s revelation is enough. I am bound, so I cannot tell you what you should do.” He holds my gaze with his. Some of the harshness melts away, replaced with what I can only call gentle expression. “I promise you this, Ana. I will tell you everything you need to know, but not tonight. You need to rest.”
“My parents,” I blurt out. “I mean my other parents. Are they still…?” I wait, for his reply, praying under my breath that they are.
Schulz shakes his head once. “Your father is alive and with the rest of the people from Urayah. Your mother died, never made it through the portal. She died defending your father.”
The news slashes through me. I’ll never know my other mother. I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold. “Is Rolf one of my people?”
His body goes rigid, and his expression shutters. He nods curtly, lips pressed in a thin line.
Interesting reaction. “How did we end up in the same vicinity?”
“I need to get you back to the castle. Follow me.” He turns abruptly and heads the way we came.
Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) Page 23
