Forest of Souls

by Lori M. Lee

“What do you miss most about your home country?”

  “Why are you asking me this now?” she asks, voice breathy with barely leashed panic. She ducks a tree branch that is nowhere near her head.

  “Because you’re going to start hyperventilating if you don’t calm down,” I say.

  She scowls, but she also draws slower, deeper breaths. Long seconds later, she replies, “The sunflower fields.”

  “They must be a common sight in an Empire that worships the sun.” I speak steadily, despite the racing of my pulse. I don’t want my fear to infect Phaut.

  “They weren’t yet blooming when I was last in the Empire. Have you ever seen them?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve only seen sunflowers in the markets in Vos Talwyn. How long have you served Ronin?”

  “Countless decades. The golden fields are a rare sight now.” The furrow between her brows deepens. “My sisters and I used to sit in the oak tree that grew in front of our house, eating sunflower seeds until our fingers went numb from the late-autumn chill.”

  Behind the nervous energy in her voice, I hear the melancholy, an ache of yearning that never really goes away. It tugs at my own. Although Phaut seems happy to be in Ronin’s service, I can’t help but think that Spinner’s End has been her prison for far longer than it’s been mine.

  Although the conversation helps to distract her, Phaut isn’t a runner. Eventually, she has to stop speaking in order to breathe.

  We run until her legs give out. She collapses, palms scraping over dirt, her chest heaving.

  “I can’t,” she wheezes. “I can’t … keep … running.” She drags in lungfuls of air as I haul her back to her feet. It’s dangerous to allow the roots such easy purchase. “Give me … a moment.”

  “We have to be near the Kazahyn border by now. We should be able to slow down, but we can’t stop.”

  Phaut groans but doesn’t argue. We trudge on, much too slowly for my comfort, but Phaut just barely keeps up. Before long, the crackle of bark grows louder, more frequent. Her breaths come even thinner, weighted by both exhaustion and fear, but she can’t seem to make her body move any quicker, even with my help. I eye her height and weight, wondering if I could carry her the rest of the way. But with her on my back, I don’t think I’d be fast enough to outrun a determined root.

  I stop. Phaut wavers, her legs nearly folding again before I can steady her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. Her hand squeezes the hilt of her sword.

  “We can’t rely on steel.” I remember the disaster of my last foray into the trees. My craft is my most effective weapon here. Heart thundering, I look up through the twitching branches to the velvet black sky beyond and whisper a prayer to the Falcon Warrior.

  “Sirscha.” Phaut breathes my name, barely audible, as a tree shudders nearby. I shush her.

  I close my eyes and roll my shoulders. My boots slide through the loose earth. My fingers flex as I search for that spark within me, waiting to be roused into heat and light. It’s the same light that exists at the glowing core of all people—their souls, the source of their magic.

  Something heavy drags across the ground to our right. It’s joined by the snap of splitting bark and the high whine of air sliding through crevices. Something scratches my shoulder. I inhale sharply but don’t move.

  The trees creak. The wailing grows louder. My palms feel clammy, but there’s nowhere to run this time. A root tightens around my ankle. A branch tears through my sleeve. I hiss as something whips across my cheek, breaking skin. Phaut draws her sword, breathing heavily, muttering words under her breath. Prayers to her gods.

  Magic stirs in my blood. The warmth is a gentle and reassuring counterpoint to the chill of battle that finally settles over my nerves. This is as much a fight as our scrape with the guards had been, because I can fight the souls here. I am not helpless.

  The heat within me sharpens, a burning coal trapped beneath my ribs. Branches gouge the backs of my hands as the light of my craft scorches through me, brilliant and painful and perfect.

  I open my eyes and gasp. All around me are lights.

  They are innumerable, a forest of souls so ancient that their original forms, whoever they might have been once, have long since withered. They are shapeless beings now, warped by the magic that binds them here, by the decay of long years and their own nurtured wrath.

  I turn my palms. The branches clawing at Phaut crumble. The roots trying to drag me into the earth shrivel into dust. Only the souls remain, orbs of light that waver like the slightest draft might blow them out. My heart squeezes with unexpected emotion. Then, at last, they vanish.

  NINETEEN

  Without drakes, it takes us three and a half days to reach Sab Hnou. We avoid Kazan patrols by keeping as close to the trees as we dare.

  I manage to summon my craft twice more when the branches over our heads grow bold, but each time leaves me exhausted. I don’t trust my burgeoning skills to keep us safe if we try heading directly to Spinner’s End.

  We send word to Ronin once we’re safe, and to my relief, he agrees to retrieve us from Sab Hnou. From there to Spinner’s End is a four-hour walk. After the last few days, we’re exhausted and hungry. But we’re also eager for a bath, a warm meal, and a soft bed, so we march the last leg of the journey through the Dead Wood in tense silence.

  Saengo greets us inside the gates. She looks pale and anxious. When she sees me, she releases a long exhale. The same relief rushes through me, easing muscles I hadn’t realized were clenched tight.

  She’s trimmed her short hair so that the ends are now even. I hope it means she’s feeling more optimistic. She’s dressed plainly, with a high-collared tunic and loose pants, but the sash around her waist is knotted in the distinguished style of a reiwyn lady.

  The moment we’re back in our rooms, Saengo claps a hand over her mouth and mumbles, “I went snooping.”

  I pause in shucking off my travel-worn shirt. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  She lowers her hands, looking quite pleased with herself. There’s a giddy sort of energy to her that fills that pit in my gut. “I sneaked out through the library window and found my way back to Ronin’s study.”

  My brows rise. “Are you vying for the job of Shadow?”

  She gives me a sly grin. “Are you frightened?”

  “Terrified. Go on, then.”

  She sits on her bed while I finish undressing. “Apparently, if I’m wearing a spidersilk gown and rushing about the castle like I belong here, no one questions me.”

  “It’s also the way you walk,” I say.

  “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just that you carry yourself the way all the stuffy reiwyn ladies do. Like you know you’re more important than everyone else.” I duck into the bathing chamber, laughing, as she throws a pillow at my head.

  “Anyway,” she calls out, louder so I can hear her as I fill the tub. “Ronin is an excessively organized man. Finding his ledgers was rather easy.”

  “Anything important in them?” I lower myself into the tub. The hot water is pure bliss on my aching muscles. I lather up a wedge of soap and begin the work of washing off nearly a week’s worth of dirt and sweat.

  “The usual stuff, like the expenses of running multiple estates. Apparently, he earns quite a bit of income from the spidersilk he exports all over the world. He absolutely has a Spinner or two. That’s the only explanation for where he gets his supply of spidersilk.”

  Confirmation that Ronin is in possession of a Spinner. That’s something, I guess.

  “Also, I found a piece of correspondence with the Evewynian seal. It wasn’t signed, but it must have been from Queen Meilyr. All it said was: ‘Arrangements have been made. Please ensure accommodations for the additional staff.’”

  I frown, watching water sluice over my knuckles. “It sounds like preparations for the gathering in the north.”

  Ronin had said that leaders from all over
Thiy are journeying to his northern holding. If every leader brings their own soldiers, drakes, and staff, then it makes sense Ronin would supplement his own staff to ensure everything runs smoothly.

  After a time, I rise from the water and pull the drain. As I dry off and change into a clean set of clothes, I tell Saengo everything that happened in Vos Gillis.

  “Can’t Ronin do anything to help them?” Saengo asks as I emerge from the bathing chamber. She gestures me over to the chair and picks up the brush.

  “Ronin can’t interfere with how the queen runs her own kingdom, no matter how unjust her laws are.”

  Saengo’s lips purse. Her hands work gently but efficiently, smoothing out the tangles in my hair. “Millie came back last night. I put her in the aviary so she wouldn’t fly off. I’ve decided on what to tell my father. I plan to send the letter this evening, but I’ll amend it to ask if he knows anything about what the queen might be planning.”

  Aside from providing the kingdom’s best falcons, Saengo’s father also oversees much of the northern orchards. A considerable portion of the Royal Army resides on his lands as well. If he’s willing to share whatever information he might have with his heir, it can only help.

  But in truth, I’m not convinced her parents won’t use the queen’s claims for their own benefit. They’ve never approved of Saengo’s friendship with me, and they’d welcome the chance to rid me from their daughter’s life for good.

  But I don’t tell Saengo this.

  “Will your father be upset with you for not writing sooner?” I ask.

  Saengo weaves my hair into a thick braid. At the Company, we’d been accustomed to braiding each other’s hair every morning. Her hands linger in my hair where she would have secured the feathers if we’d still been wyverns.

  With a sigh, she says, “Maybe. But he’ll be glad to hear from me as well.” Her mouth twists in amusement. “I’ll include reassurance that you haven’t coerced me into being your accomplice.”

  “Or have I?” I ask, turning to waggle my brows at her.

  “If only he knew you’d been Kendara’s pupil,” she says, before suddenly growing somber. She reaches up to tug at the short ends of her hair. “I’m sorry you didn’t find Kendara in Vos Gillis.”

  “She’s missing,” I say, frowning. “Look at this message she left me.”

  I rummage around in the pocket of the pants I’d discarded and pull out the folded slip of paper. I hand it to Saengo, who quickly reads the odd message.

  “What does it mean?” she asks, handing it back.

  “Let’s find out.”

  Phaut has been given the rest of the day off, so only Saengo’s dour guard follows us to the library. I wave at him as I shut the door in his face.

  Death and rebirth. Aisle 15. Case 34. Bottom right corner.

  Spinner’s End is a place of death and rebirth. The castle had been long abandoned when Ronin claimed it and gave it new life.

  We count the aisles first and then the number of bookcases. When we’re standing in front of aisle fifteen and bookcase thirty-four, I crouch to peer at the spines on the bottom shelf.

  The last book on the right reads: A Matter of Soulcraft.

  My heart skips a little as I pull it out. When I flip it open, a letter tumbles to the floor.

  Tentative, I reach down. The old parchment feels brittle. The wax seal is stamped with an unfamiliar symbol: a pair of crossed swords against a sun.

  Saengo gives a reassuring smile. I break the seal and unfold the parchment.

  The writing is Kendara’s. Tucked into the crease is a smaller square of paper, thicker than the parchment. On it, my name is written in an unfamiliar hand.

  I stare at the card, a rushing sound filling my head as the walls of the library fall away. Something wrenches inside me. It feels almost like I’m observing the moment, looking down at myself as I hold up the same card tucked into my pocket the day my parents abandoned me to the monks, when I was two.

  “Sirscha, what is that?” Saengo asks.

  Wordlessly, I hand the card to her. My lips can’t seem to form any words. My fingers tremble as they smooth over the letter to read what’s written inside.

  If you’re reading this, then you are exactly where you shouldn’t be. Still, I expect you’re prepared to face the challenges ahead. I made a promise to your mother that you would be taken care of, which means ensuring you’re equipped to take care of yourself. Trust no one, especially those who would use your magic. Whatever you decide, know that your mother loved you. As do I.

  “What does it mean?” Saengo asks quietly. When I don’t respond, she touches my shoulder.

  The words blur on the page. The parchment slips from my fingers. I draw a slow, uneven breath and press my shaking hands to my face.

  Kendara has always known what I am. In my earliest memory of her, I’d been practicing my sword forms, unaware that she’d been watching from the shadows until she made herself known. I’d always believed it to be a chance encounter, but it couldn’t have been. Everything she’d fed me about potential and greatness—had it all been a lie?

  She hadn’t selected me as a pupil because she believed I could do great things. She chose me because she’d made a promise to my mother. Had she ever intended to make me Shadow? If she’s always known what I am, then it seems unlikely.

  Saengo brushes the letter aside as her arms circle my shoulders. I feel hollow, everything I am and everything I was scraped out.

  The pathetic part is that I still miss her. I miss her so terribly that I ache with it. She is the closest thing to a mother I have ever known.

  Sometime later, when I’ve gathered up the broken pieces of myself, I swipe the back of my hand over my eyes and pick up the letter again.

  “We don’t have to do this now,” Saengo says softly.

  “Yes, we do.” I can’t waste any more time feeling sorry for myself.

  I turn the letter over to look at the wax seal again. Who had Kendara been before she became Shadow? How had she known my mother? Had my mother been a soulguide as well? They must have suspected what my craft might be; otherwise, how else would she have guessed I’d end up here at Spinner’s End?

  “It sounds like she thought Ronin would try to use you to maintain his power,” Saengo says. “‘Whatever you decide.’ She wanted you to choose.”

  I shake my head. “There’s no choice to make, and what Ronin wants doesn’t matter. I have to destroy the Dead Wood. That’s the only way to save you. At least now we know why Queen Meilyr would send assassins after me. She must have known what I am.”

  “But the only person who could have told her is Kendara.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.” I rub my temple. Kendara is a master of secrets, including her own. As much as I love her, I know so little about her. How can she claim to love me and then betray me? How very like her to leave me so unbalanced.

  With this revelation, there is little chance that I’ll ever be allowed to return to Evewyn. If I’m honest with myself, I suppose there had never been much of a chance. If the queen has been plotting against me since even before I discovered what I am, nothing I do will sway her. But if I can destroy the Dead Wood, then at least Saengo might still have a home.

  “Who else could it have been?” Saengo asks.

  “There’s no way to know anything for certain. If Kendara revealed my identity to the queen, then why would she be missing now?” Until I hear confirmation from Kendara’s own lips, I have to trust that it wasn’t her. “What would the queen hope to gain from having me attacked?”

  “Maybe she wanted you to awaken your magic?” Saengo suggests.

  My fingers trace over the wax seal, following the shape of the swords. “Ronin said that moments of high stress force a shaman to awaken their craft if a spirit is nearby. But it might not have worked. I might have been killed instead. Why take such a gamble?”

  “It is a peculiar way to go about things,” she agrees. “If Queen Meilyr wants
war, she could hire shamans to attack her borders and claim they were under the Empire’s orders. And if she knew that you’re shamanborn and wanted you to awaken your craft, then why not send you to Ronin to help you do it the normal way?”

  “She wouldn’t do that. She’d never appear to help shamanborn.”

  Saengo’s nose wrinkles. “A fair point. But still, it’s all rather roundabout.”

  “Maybe it’s intentional? She wouldn’t want any of it tracing back to her. If I died in the attack, she could claim the Empire targeted her future Shadow and go to war with them. But since I awakened my craft instead, then she gets to claim I was planted by the Nuvali as a spy.”

  “And go to war with them,” she finishes for me.

  “It’s stupid, but I’d thought stopping a war would win me her favor. A war would devastate the kingdom and cost thousands of Eveywnian lives. I hadn’t considered that war could be what she wants.”

  “It’s not the first conclusion I would have drawn, either.”

  “But why me?” I say, frustrated that I’m missing some vital piece of information. “Hiring shamans to kill any of Kendara’s pupils would have been enough to claim a threat to her future Shadow. Was it for the convenience of getting rid of me as well?”

  “She must not have known about you for long, or why would she have allowed Kendara to take you on as a pupil?” She frees the letter from my grip and tucks the card with my name on it back inside.

  I shake my head, suddenly realizing that we’ve strayed from our immediate problem, which is the Dead Wood. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Since I didn’t learn anything about Ronin in Vos Gillis, I’m going to have to sneak back into that maze and see what he’s hiding. It’s bound to reveal something about his secrets.”

  “Like a giant spider?”

  I cringe. “Possibly. But there’s something back there, something that feels a lot like the Dead Wood. Whatever that is, it must be tied to the trees. Maybe it’s tied to Ronin’s power, too, and if it is, then it might be what’s causing him to lose control now.”

  “I have a theory,” says a low voice.