The Consortium leader became deathly still. Ainslen could make out where his soul strained against the barrier and failed. The king chortled.
“Laugh all you like, you don’t have them.” Certainty rose in waves from Delisar.
“Oh? What makes you so sure?”
“I don’t smell them on you.” Delisar tilted his head, for the first time his deep amber eyes staring into Ainslen’s own. “Which means they escaped. Go after them now, and you die.”
King Ainslen shrugged. “You, sir, are correct. Luckily, I won’t have to chase after them. I have you.” He stroked Delisar’s hair before gripping it tight and pulling. “I will milk you for all you’re worth.”
As he spun and left the cell, King Ainslen’s mind reeled. Delisar had confirmed his suspicions. The mess of scales and blood he’d consumed at the man’s home that night after Jemare left had belonged to Elysse the Temptress. The king had stumbled out, overwrought with power after gorging himself. But they had never found Tharkensen.
The idea of capturing the Lightning Blade made him grin. The grin grew into chuckle that became a cackle echoing through the halls. He had the perfect bait.
R eturn of a Blade
T harkensen felt when the raven broke the barrier. Its caw sent a shiver down his spine. Moments later, two people also crossed his ward. One was massive, his soul leaving an impression as if it would swallow the night. The other was lithe, faster, running with an animal’s precision among the trees. He drew his brows together as he contemplated the first one. After glancing over to make sure his charges were asleep, he stepped outside the cabin.
The night air was alive with the sounds and odors of the forest. Each told its own story, some more than others. More people were traveling through the woods. He couldn’t see them or tell their exact location, but the subtle difference in the calls of the hunters and hunted within the night gave him a general idea.
Wings flapped and the bird alighted on his shoulder, smelling of carrion. He removed the paper wrapped around its leg. The bird pecked lovingly at his finger, then flew off, melting into the shadows as if it were one of them.
Using the illumination from the lone lamp, he read the paper’s contents then pursed his lips. Part of the message was no surprise. The other bit made him exhale slowly.
With his sintu already stretched, he called on sera and lumni to project it even farther. The other two were within the treeline some thirty feet away. He smiled to himself. They so liked to test an old man.
The interlopers stopped at what they thought must be his maximum range. He considered using the last cycle to send them a jolt. He could see them now, leaping and hollering like two schoolboys. The image made him grin.
His mind drifted back to the message and immediately, he sobered. Sighing, he strode down the steps and headed toward them. As he crested the first shadows cast by the trees, he cut off his soul, duplicated an absence of light, and hid himself.
When he was within range of their senses, he whispered, “Why did you bring him here?”
A guttural voice, more growl than speech, answered from the smaller man. “He helped me in a fight. If he hadn’t turned against his own, I might be dead.”
That said a lot.
Thar focused on the other man whose shadow encompassed everything around him. “Why?”
“One I once held in high esteem betrayed my people.”
Thar assessed the man’s soul as he spoke. All he saw was truth and steadfast determination. They would have to do. “Is it true that Cardiff is now king?”
“Yes,” the big man replied.
“He brought Farlanders with him,” the other said.
The larger man hissed.
Tingles shot up Thar’s body. He let them rove unabated. “I also received word that he plans to execute Delisar on the Day of Accolades.”
Two gasps sounded.
“It’s an obvious trap,” said the giant.
“Yes,” Thar replied, “but it also tells me he knows I’m alive. Why else would he not kill a Dracodar and ingest its soul?”
“Maybe he’s already done so with another. It’s the only way I could see him defeating someone who held the Soul Throne.”
“Possibly,” Thar said.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“You two return and continue as you are. Ainslen wishes for me to come to him, then that’s what I will do.” With those words, Thar allowed his scales to harden under his skin. They threatened to burst through. He was going to fulfill Ainslen’s dreams.
M usings on Soul
E xcerpt from Etien’s Compendium
T rying to quantify all the aspects of soul is an impossible undertaking. Mysteries abound that cannot be resolved, and would require the original creatures that we call the Gods to explain exactly how our magic works. Even then, I’m not sure we would discover all the answers. Why? It appears that when the Gods crossed the Great Beyond, they did so because of some cataclysmic event among their kind. As with any such catastrophe, there’s sure to be lost knowledge. There’s evidence in the archaeological digs in the far west, past the Fringes that support my theories. Drawings, glyphs, paintings, ancient bits of architecture, as well as unexplored ruins that would have taken abilities beyond what we possess to create. At times I’m tempted to visit them and then continue on to the Pillars of Dissolution in search of a way past its barrier. There’s a wealth of information and power to be gained on the other side. I’m sure of it.
What we do know of soul magic is limited by what has been passed down from the Dracodar and our own discoveries through experimentation. I will chronicle what I can here. And fill in more as I learn.
Soul or spirit as the Heleganese call it, is energy or essences stored within every living being. It flows around the body in definitive patterns, much like blood. Much the same as the heart and veins control the flow of blood to our body, so does a man’s thirty-two vital points for his soul. Controlling those points and manipulating that energy is what we call melding. However, there are certain criteria that must be met to be considered a melder.
Like many things, the ability to touch your soul and melding can be learned. They can also be induced by a master, but that comes with its own set of risks and a price, the least of which is lesser power, the worst: death. A person’s ability is like any other physical or mental gift, spanning from those who cannot sense their soul to those who have a talent and thus can achieve extraordinary feats. While everyone possesses soul, not everyone can open their vital points enough to activate the cycles, which are effects that govern what you can accomplish with soul.
The detriments to melding are numerous as it affects the internal organs, often in adverse ways. The more violent and active the melder, the shorter their life span. They essentially burn out or destroy their insides. Some tear apart their brains and their ability for coherent thought. It’s not uncommon for a melder to become an invalid before eventually dying.
As of now, there are ten known cycles. The first three are outer cycles, the next three are median cycles, and the last four are the inner cycles. A person must master the first six cycles to become a melder. People can influence others or have a basic skill, but that happens naturally without actually being a melder. Attaining the title of melder means the ability to control all that you do with soul. Here is what we know of the cycles thus far.
1. Sintu – The ability to hold one’s soul steady, making it flow evenly. It stops soul from leaking, creates a nimbus. The nimbus is sort of a container and a shield and helps protect against mental attacks, but not physical. Only those strong in soul can see another person’s nimbus or sintu. It appears in a wavy, white haze like mist.
2. Koren – The ability to stop one’s soul energy, thus hiding it. Helps with aging and fatigue.
3. Tern – The ability to take soul energy from one part and apply it to another, creating less or more soul. When combined with sintu, it can help protect against physical attacks but not mental.
&
nbsp; 4. Sera – The ability to mentally project one’s soul energy onto another person. Can influence a person’s mind if the user’s will is strong enough.
5. Hyzen – The ability to move all of the soul to a specific body part.
6. Shi – The ability to create a physical or mental effect by distributing one’s soul outwardly. This gives a person a unique skill or a melding. Can also be used to determine if what another person is doing is a meld or simply an effect of a cycle.
7. Lumni – The ability to expel the majority of one’s soul from one’s body.
8. Entope – The ability to steal someone else’s soul energy.
9. Baltus – The ability to take soul energy from something dead.
10. Jin – A combination of sintu, sera, and lumni that allows a person to stretch sintu to incredible distances.
Many of the cycles can be combined in different forms to bring about unique skills. The full extent of this is unknown and relies on a person’s individual emotional state, persona, and bloodline.
To go along with the cycles are the types of melders. Often a person’s type is discovered through a plethora of vigorous and at times dangerous exercises. Since soul becomes active for a normal person only when faced with an extreme situation, such exercises are used to bring about a faster reaction. A person’s strongest cycles dictates their type.
In essence, there are five main types of melders:
Casters – They can project their soul and expel it from their bodies over short distances. They often carry minor Alchemist abilities, which allow them to apply a property to their essence, like fire, ice, lightning, or almost anything else that exists.
Magnifiers – As the name might suggest, magnifiers have the ability to change the substance of their souls and apply it physically to their bodies or to increase the natural state of an item, depending on what the situation requires.
Manifestor – Manifestors can recreate any physical item they have ever possessed, giving it similar or better properties. They are able to change their soul into the actual item. However the manifested item is restricted by a life span of anywhere from two days to a week.
Mesmer – These are to be feared. They are adept at mind control. Ever thought to do something and suddenly decide otherwise? There might be a Mesmer in your midst. A Mesmer usually has to have some type of physical contact with their victim. Rumor has it that some can project their thoughts for communication or even influence another mind without touch.
Alchemist – Alchemists are the most diverse among normal melders. They can copy properties of anything and apply it to their soul. They generally have incredible control over tern, to the extent that they can take a piece of their soul and attach it to inanimate or animate objects and still have control over it at short distances. Alchemists usually make the best trackers.
Having the use of two types is a common trait. Restrictions apply depending on strength and weaknesses in the corresponding cycles. Having three types at once is rare. This brings us to the special half-breeds and the actual original melders. Their ability to combine various cycles and possibly use cycles not known to us, makes them the most dangerous and coveted of creatures.
Philodar – They possess three types at once, and have mastered 7 cycles.
Aladar – These have four types and eight cycles.
Finally, we have the Dracodar, a race unto themselves. They possess all types, and known cycles. The effect of this is reported to be a shortened life span and stunted reproduction. Some remain in a perpetual combination of sintu and koren, which can extend their lives. During the Thousand Year War, it was discovered that ingesting anything from a Dracodar increased a human melder’s powers by incredible amounts. Since then, Dracodar have been hunted almost into extinction.
I believe some original Dracodar still live, hidden behind the Pillars of Dissolution and the magical barrier that protects the legends of the Ten Purgatories. I have made up my mind to find a way beyond the Pillars. My answers to bypassing the barrier lies with the Dracodar remnants enslaved in the Farlands. I leave in two weeks.
******
The story continues in Soulbreaker.
S oulBreaker
H unting
K eedar Giorin ran. Not out of fear, not for training, not because of some urgent mission, but for the simple joy of it.
Surrounded by the chatter and songs of wildlife, fallen leaves piled underfoot like a brown and orange quilt, he darted past the trunks of great white ash trees. Lances of sunlight that pierced the thick canopy were his guides; the brightness ahead was his goal. Neither grabbing branch nor wormy roots could stop him. The salty taste of his sweat offered an odd counterpoint to the rich scents of wet earth and detritus, but the world was as it should be. He was one with all around him. They shared a single heartbeat, the same soul. Here, near the eastern edge of the Treskelin Forest and the meandering River Ost, he could almost forget about the thing that dwelled deeper inside the woods, the thing that lived within him. Almost.
He banished the thought and willed his legs to pump harder, grinning as the rhythmic pad of boots announced his brother’s presence. Keedar glanced over his shoulder. Tanned skin glistening, Winslow sprinted, brow furrowed, green eyes intent, his face looking for all the world like a bushy-maned korgan cat as it chased its prey. In the months since their rescue, Winslow had sworn not to cut his hair until his father was freed from King Cardiff’s dungeons.
A stab of melancholy threatened to override Keedar’s good spirit. Unlike him, Winslow was handling the change in fortunes well. At times Keedar found himself envious of his brother. With how far Winslow had fallen, from courts and balls, people bowing before him, to becoming a criminal, an outcast lower than a commoner, Keedar had expected his brother to be at a loss. Instead, Winslow embraced his new life, smiled more than Keedar remembered him doing as a noble.
Still studying his brother, Keedar realized they’d broken from the shadow of the dense canopy a moment too late. The toe of his boot clipped a root, and he lost his footing for a few heartbeats. All the time Winslow needed to pass him. Before he could right himself, Keedar pitched forward into the mattress of humus at the forest’s edge.
“I win!” Winslow exclaimed as he leaped off a rocky outcrop and landed with a splash in the murky pond below.
Groaning, Keedar rolled onto his back. Winslow would never let him live down this defeat. In the trees above him, two gomerans hung upside down from a branch, pointing at him with their bony fingers, teeth showing as they screeched in what seemed too much like delight. He made a face at the furry creatures before he sat up, got to his feet, and followed in his brother’s footsteps, soaring off the outcrop’s edge, and out over the muddy water.
He took a breath a moment before he splashed into the pond’s cool embrace. When his downward momentum slowed, he pushed back to the surface and burst from the water, shaking his head from side to side, sandy hair flying. The pond tasted of mud and whatever else they’d kicked up from the bottom, but he didn’t care. It felt good to be out of the Treskelin’s constant heat that beat down like a metalsmith’s forge. A flock of ducks swam away, protesting the disturbance in a cacophony of dissonant quacks. On the shore, a few deer stared toward the young men before resuming their drink.
“That’s a silver round for me, dear brother,” Winslow called, merriment dancing in his eyes. “I’ll be looking to collect as soon as we’re home.”
“Curse my luck,” Keedar said, scowling.
“Was nothing lucky about it.” Winslow treaded water, hair plastered to his face. “Not only did you lose focus, but you also forgot that you don’t have eyes in the back of your head.”
“Bah,” Keedar said, “admit it, I had you beaten.”
“Me? Beaten?” Grimacing, Winslow pointed at himself. “Last I checked, the victor would be decided in the pond … not at the clearing’s edge, or on the shore … in the pond. I distinctly recall hitting its surface first.”
“Fine
, fine, gloat now. Next time, you’re mine,” Keedar said.
Winslow glanced all around them, brows furrowed. The concerned expression made Keedar freeze.
“What is it?” Keedar whispered, heart rate increasing. He scanned their surroundings. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He refocused on his brother.
Winslow shrugged. “I was simply hoping to meet this young lady you intended to make yours, but it seems she’s eluded us both.” He offered Keedar a wink and a grin.
“Bastard.” Keedar charged through the water.
They wrestled for a bit, laughing and submerging each other before they tired. They swam to shore and flopped back on the gravelly sand, staring at the expanse of cerulean blue above them. Keedar had grown accustomed to the recent storm clouds. To see the sky this clear was a good sign.
“Now … I’m starved,” Winslow said.
“Same here.” Keedar’s stomach growled as food came to mind. “Fashion a few spears and catch some fish?”
“Or, we can use only our hands and soul, see who gets the most.”
Keedar smiled. His brother liked to prove himself whenever he found the chance. “Not much of a challenge with me being a melder now.”
“Perhaps I’ll get lucky again.”
Keedar snorted. “Let’s make it reasonable, shall we? I’ll snag an adult yellowtail before you can catch two of their babies.”
“That’s an insult,” Winslow declared with a shake of his head. “You’ll scare them off just getting to their breeding ground. By then, I’ll have caught mine.”
Smirking, Keedar nodded at his brother’s boast. “Be that as it may, I still insist. All I ask is that you allow me to get a reed before you begin. Three silver rounds this time.”
Winslow sat up. “Fine, your coin to lose.” He rubbed his hands together. “I can live with two victories over you in one day.”
“I bet you could.” Keedar stood and strode down the shore to where reeds populated one end of the pond.
The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series Page 26
