CORRUPTED SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 2)

by Amanda Twigg

  I could take one of you out, maybe two if I’m lucky. What then? Turgeth had his sword drawn, and he was swift. Her situation was hopeless, and she’d had enough.

  “Forgive me,” she said aloud, but the apology was for Dannet. May the mist save us all from what I do now.

  She targeted Preston’s eye socket. If she could only take out one of her captors, it had to be him. He was the leader, the corrupter, and the worst kind of traitor. As she prepared to maim her tormentor, the swamper’s eyes flickered open.

  Please? The thought intruded Landra’s mind. End me quickly. I can’t go on.

  A gasp parted Landra’s lips. She hadn’t guessed the woman had strength left for reasoning. She met her gaze, an unspoken request for confirmation in her eyes. The swamper nodded, making a puss-heavy sore beside her nose break open. Landra’s throat convulsed from the offensive smell and the woman’s obvious suffering.

  A kindness? Not murder.

  This was what the swamper wanted, but Preston should be the one to die. Landra lifted her knife toward the Warrior traitor, relishing the panic showing in his wide eyes, but then diverted her aim at the last moment. The knife plunged into the swamper’s belly.

  “For you,” Landra said, her gazed locked on the swamper’s slack face.

  The Collector didn’t have the guard like a stabbing knife, so it slid all the way in up to the hilt. It was a quick and silent end, yet it seemed like an eternity before the swamper slumped in Preston’s grip. Warmth shocked Landra, and her stomach convulsed beyond control. The wretch’s body burned with fever, and hot blood spewed from the wound.

  “I refuse to believe this is our future,” she said. “No wonder Templers exiled us to this dying swamp. This is what we deserve.” She staggered back against Mendog, abandoning the Collector in her victim and wanting it gone. Feeling vile in body and Soul, she heaved vomit. If only the memory of murder was as easy to expunge.

  Oakham had died, but Landra hadn’t killed him. This death was different in a terrible, guilt-binding way. Her eyes stung, her head throbbed, and her heart hurt. She turned an accusing glare on the Warrior. Wide surprise graced his face now, and she realized he hadn’t expected her perform the kill.

  His features twisted into a slow smile. She wanted to slap it away. Rather than let the swamper slide into the mud, he wedged her jacket remnants onto a metal rivet and left her body to dangle like a prized trophy. The Collector’s handle remained on prominent display, making Landra retch again. Knowing she’d saved the poor woman from a slow, tortuous death didn’t help. She huddled in Mendog’s grip, believing his company was all she deserved. She was no better than him—not worth a decent life.

  Radiance flickered about the corpse as the aura drifted free. It spread to the underlevel in a thin wisp of color, holding less substance than Oakham’s departing Soul had. A moment later, the wisps stretched beyond seeing. Gone to the mist? I don’t think so. Spread to oblivion, more like.

  “I don’t like it down here. Can we go?” Turgeth asked.

  Thick hands dragged Landra away from the swamper, but she struggled. “My knife?”

  “Leave it,” Preston ordered.

  Part of her railed against the abandonment, but a stronger part of her relaxed. That damned knife had brought nothing but misery. She began her forced climb up the ladder, resigned to never seeing the Collector again. It had been her connection to Gallanto, but he would have to stay in the mist for eternity.

  Better you don’t know what I did. I’m a murderer now. Have to bear this alone.

  Chapter 11

  The Collector came back to haunt her. Landra hadn’t expected that. She didn’t know how Preston had retrieved it, only that he returned to the cavern one day waving it above his head with his particular brand of smug. He set it onto the game table, not an arm’s reach away from where she sat. A current newsletter went down at its side.

  No mind games today. No setting the sheet upside down and taunting her until she flipped it over. She closed her eyes rather than look. If he wanted her to read the contents, they couldn’t be good.

  This is it. I’m done. She’d clung to hopes of reclaiming her soldier life throughout captivity, illness, and beatings, but that felt out of reach now. Self-disgust coursed through her like a raging beast. She eyed the Collector. If she could reach out before Turgeth reacted, if she could grab the handle before anyone interfered, she could just…

  Suicide? The only escape. She was an embarrassment and Preston’s tool against her father. What good could her life bring? There’d be no rehabilitation after killing the swamper. Only darkness filled her future. Did she really want to participate in the traitor Warrior’s machinations? Shelk, no.

  Her captors were all present: Preston, with his slate-colored aura made of hard lines; impassive Turgeth; and Mendog. Ugh, Mendog. It didn’t matter how his ill fate had bent him out of true. What concerned Landra was the threat he posed now. She could escape him. She could escape them all. If only she could reach her knife.

  Preston tipped the ralti pieces out of a bag. “You’re looking well, Chief Elect.”

  A game, after murder? You have no heart.

  She reached for her knife, making it quick before her captors could intervene, and the Collector answered. Familiar air movements roused her to alertness and stilled her hand. Preston was out of his seat and Turgeth raised his sword, but the Warrior held up a hand to stall any intervention.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said to Landra.

  Her hand hovered above the weapon, not in response to Preston’s warning, but because she didn’t want Gallanto here to see her kill. Much as she tightened her aura boundaries, she couldn’t stop the pink strands weaving around the cavern rocks, arrowing toward the blade, and clumping together. I’m not even touching it, Gramps. Why now? Where were you when I needed you in the underlevel? She felt the shape of Gallanto’s Soul form.

  Didn’t call you. Go away.

  Preston eased back into his seat, his lips pinched tight. “Set your pieces out, Hux.”

  Landra wanted to snatch the Collector and end this nonsense, but contact with the weapon could only make Gramps stronger. Her breathing came heavy as she set her game pieces out. Maybe filling her mind with strategy would drive Gallanto away. He shouldn’t know what she’d done. He shouldn’t know what she planned. She was vile, a murderer, not worthy of the Hux name.

  As she arranged the pink pieces in her corner, Preston moved the Collector and newsletter off the board. He set them aside, but within Landra’s reach, and his smirk radiated satisfaction.

  Do you think you have power over me now? It that why you look happy?

  “Same rules apply,” he said. “If you are victorious, I’ll let you go.”

  Not worth an answer. By the time her last piece was in place, Gallanto’s body had fully formed, looking more solid than when she’d last called him.

  His ghostly form sat on a spare chair, his wavering body melding with his gloriously blue aura. At the sight of the game board, his form rippled, and his clothes changed from a training uniform to casual wear made of deep blue cloth. He released a band that secured his hair and let the long strands fall about his shoulders.

  Gold flecks to match your eyes. Do you have to look like Father? It makes me feel so…lost? No, guilty. She refocused on the game board, trying to ignore him.

  Preston made his standard first move.

  “You’re playing wrong,” Gallanto said.

  Landra glimpsed his toothy grin and the cheeky glint in his eyes. She fumed at his casual cheeriness but said nothing and moved a piece.

  “No, really,” Gallanto said. “You really are playing all wrong.”

  “Oh really, Gramps? Do I look like I care?”

  “Tat, tat,” he answered, waving his hands in protest. “I thought you understood. You can’t talk to me when these soldiers are here. They can’t hear me, and what d’you think they’ll do if they believe you’ve lost your mind?”
r />   “Probably give me a job, and do I look like I care?”

  “Testy,” Gallanto said. “If you’re in such a mood, why did you call me?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “What are you babbling about?” Preston demanded, standing up from his chair again.

  Landra knew he couldn’t hear Gallanto’s side of the conversation, but she didn’t care anymore. “Mind your own business, traitor.”

  Both men looked shocked.

  “Steady,” Gallanto said. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  Please go away. Please don’t see me. Please don’t care.

  “This isn’t the time to go strange,” Preston said. “Just when we’re coming to a better understanding and working partnership.”

  Landra bit her lip to stop her venomous hatred from bursting out. She picked up a game piece and slammed it onto its new spot. “Just play.”

  They exchanged moves in a repeat of a game they’d played before. She knew how it would end and that defeat was seven moves away. Sensing Gallanto watching her face, she refused to look his way. With three moves left, she swiped her pieces over in submission. “I lost.”

  “Of course you lost,” Gallanto said. “I told you. You’re playing wrong. For shelk’s sake, don’t answer this time. You’re in enough trouble. What’s wrong?”

  Landra faced his ghostly form, flattened her lips to and angry line, and glared.

  “Fine,” Gallanto said.

  “I think we broke her boss,” Turgeth said.

  “Of course you broke me,” she snapped. “Just look what you’ve done to me. Just look what you made me…”

  During the exchange, Gallanto leaned over to read the newsletter.

  Oh no. No, no. “Please don’t,” she said aloud.

  “Don’t what?” Preston asked.

  She’d spoken too late. The Warrior chief licked his lips, suddenly wincing when his white teeth bit down on his tongue. “Murder?”

  Landra glared at the newsletter, knowing what it had said but not wanting to hear it.

  “How can you be wanted for murder?” Gallanto asked. “Is this a mistake?”

  She flinched from the accusation. Best you don’t know.

  Preston noticed her change of focus. “Are you ready to look at the news now?”

  “Don’t need to.”

  “I think you do. It says guards found a body during an underlevel sweep. She was killed with the Collector, and you’re wanted for stealing the weapon and murder. Do you know what this means, Hux?”

  Landra did. The Warrior had made it impossible for her to go home. Even if she did make it back to the midlevel, the world she knew was no longer there. Disowned. Hunted. “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why did you make me…?” She couldn’t say the word.

  Preston pursed his lips, considering. “It’s good for you to know my plans. Griffin’s authority is damaged when your name is attached to a crime. I need the Hux name disgraced before the council. It’s the only way to oust your family from power.”

  “Soldiers who know me will believe it’s a lie.”

  “No, Hux, they won’t. I made sure.”

  “This is bad,” Gallanto said.

  “You don’t shelking say.” Landra felt dirty, like a murderer and as if she’d betrayed Father.

  “You might as well settle into the cavern now,” Preston said. “Your only other choice is the underlevel, and we both know how that turns out.”

  Landra had other ideas. She couldn’t escape into death yet, not before Father knew of the danger Preston posed. If she pretended to cooperate, there might be a chance to escape. She could head to the overlevel and find the ranger house. She could give Thisk her report. Until an opportunity came, she would follow the traitor’s orders.

  A slump of her shoulders feigned defeat. “I… That babbling before. I’m sorry. I think I’m tired and confused.”

  Gallanto said nothing. She didn’t want to look at him.

  “There’s no time to be tired,” Preston said. “We have another job to do. Put your knife on, Chief Elect. We’re going back to the underlevel to save another Soul from a miserable end.”

  A job? Why not call it murder? If she was going to escape, she wouldn’t do it by aiding him in that way again. “No. I mean it.”

  Preston frowned, but he took the knife away and seemed to accept her decision. He nodded to Turgeth. “Get ready. You and I are going on a trip. If the girl doesn’t want to help, she can stay here. Mendog can guard her until we get back.”

  Snakes wriggled in Landra’s belly, and her head lightened. How many times had Preston threatened to leave her with Mendog? Too many. The deformed thug’s face twisted with pleasure, and his aura swirled in hoops. Dribbles of anticipation leaked through his gapped teeth.

  The panic Landra felt must have shown on her face because Preston offered her a sympathetic glance.

  “Still time to change your mind.”

  She was still considering the possibilities when Preston stood up and left, Turgeth following behind.

  “What’s going on?” Gallanto asked. “You look terrified.”

  She couldn’t get the words out.

  “Can I help?” the ghost chief asked.

  She shook her head. “Go.”

  Gallanto looked ready to say more, but taking in her pleading expression, he nodded, thinned, and his threads chased Preston out of the cavern.

  Alone with Mendog. Landra’s dread soared to a new peak. Shelk. Shelk. Shelk.

  Chapter 12

  Hiding behind dangling foliage, Landra hugged her knees to her chest. She’d been dodging Mendog for weeks—mostly dodging. The times he’d caught her lived in her memory as ugly physical exchanges that hurt her Soul and pooled sick in her throat. Evidence showed on her battered body as ranging bruises, a puffed cheek, and a splinted shin. Deeper damage hid in her heart. She’d fought, but that had only excited the thug more. He’d only completely overpowered her once. It was enough. Never again. The recollection of his meaty paws on her skin sent juddering streaks through her aura.

  He scuffed around the pod tunnel entrance, unable to see her in the gloom. Gaps between the magic glowing tendrils gave her a view of him. She held her breath and gathered her robe hem, ready to run. Not down the tunnel. Stones blocked that way, but she could sneak behind the pod train and escape for a while. After a long search, Mendog abandoned the pursuit. She breathed deep, watching, listening, and ranging with her Soul.

  Dark thoughts came often now. Her head nodded and she jerked awake, an image of Bexter forming in her mind. Hethra visualizations had started invading her moments before sleep, but they didn’t belong here. She’d crossed a line, and there was no going back. That life had gone.

  Don’t want to see people I love. Not like this.

  She yanked a vine down and tied it around her shin to strengthen her homemade splint. She couldn’t be sure the bone had broken, but every step elicited a scream. Best to be certain. Best to make sure it mended straight. Breath whistled through her teeth when she tightened the knot. She needed sleep as much as air, so she leaned her face against the wall and settled her cheek with care. Fresh bruises over week-old mottling, made it hard.

  Creaking wood brought her fully awake. The door?

  “Check in with Mendog, then restock supplies,” Preston’s voice said.

  They’re back, or I’m dreaming?

  She peeked through the vines and saw Turgeth’s muscled back. He strode to the stone stairway, carrying a large sack. Not a dream, then.

  “Hux,” Preston shouted across the cavern. “Meet me on the kitchen platform.”

  Why there, in Mendog’s domain? She wouldn’t let that man touch her. Not again. There was no disobeying the Warrior, though. He’d shown her the price of disobedience. After a quick glance around, she made her way down. If it had seemed like a tough climb before, it was near impossible with her damaged leg, but she’d hung vines and trained her ar
m muscles to make it an easier climb.

  A bridge later, and she shuffled onto the kitchen space.

  “There you are,” Preston said, ignoring her bruises, splint, and blood that matted her hair. Mendog stood at his side, looking equally damaged. His ear remained swollen, and a deep wound gaped on his cheek.

  What you deserve. Shame you took the mirror shard, or I’d have cut you again. Maimed you or kill. Murderous thoughts came like a double-edged sword through her heart.

  Preston slapped a newsletter on the counter, bringing her back in the moment. “You ready for the next job now?”

  Shelk. Gained nothing. She didn’t want to pick up the stained paper, but this was Preston’s method of delivering news. Why couldn’t he just talk? Because I wouldn’t believe. Her fingers trembled when she read about the chief elect, Dannet Hux, who was taking a break from duties due to a training accident. The establishment lie was clear. This was Preston’s proof that he delivered on threats. The sheet crumpled in her tightening grip.

  “Well?” Preston asked.

  She nodded her head.

  “Should we let her heal first?” Turgeth asked, shock and revulsion plain on his face.

  What’s the matter? Don’t you know what your brother’s become?

  “We can’t wait. The girl needs to learn this lesson now, while she still feels the cost.”

  He hauled her down to the underlevel and chose another swamper at random, bringing the Collector out just before the kill. Rather than call Gallanto, she used her limited magical strength to keep him away. Doing Preston’s killing made her feel dirty enough without Gramps watching. The murder proved simple, and the wretch was ready to go.

  Do I ease Souls to the inevitable or destroy futures?

  She had plenty of time to reflect because Preston took her to the underlevel five more times in the following months. Each time, he gave her the Collector to use. As long as she obeyed, Mendog stayed away and newsletters reported on Dannet’s progress as chief elect.

  She’d nearly balked on her last mission. The victim had looked stronger and was wearing an underlevel guard’s uniform. She’d considered refusing or taking her own life but couldn’t work out how that would that help. She couldn’t afford Preston’s attention to turn to her brother. Society needed Dannet above fulfilling the chief elect role, so she’d done the murder then vomited down Mendog’s chest.