CORRUPTED SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 2)

by Amanda Twigg

  One day, Preston sat beside her on the living platform, and she felt a change in his Soul. He swept his thick, blue cloak over his shoulders and took out a pocketknife. His ceremonial uniform was of modern design, laundered beyond standard expectations, and smarter than any he’d worn until now. Not a strand of hair escaped the band at his neck, but the lines of his aura wavered with excitement.

  What thrills you, traitor? What’s going on?

  The potential answer made her feel sick. She watched him draw out the Collector, not daring to speak. His fingers worked the pocketknife to nick the larger knife’s handle.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Recording your latest kill.” He blew dust from his work and ran a manicured fingernail down the knife’s fresh notches. There were seven new marks, one for each of her murders.

  What must that look like to Father? The Collector turning up in bodies. And how is Preston bringing it back? Surely, Dannet should own the knife now.

  She discarded that thought as soon as it came. The Collector meant killing, and she didn’t want that for her brother. No limit on my sacrifice. Gone too far to back out now. Gone to the depths of fear and depravity.

  “Our next job’s in.” There was too much glee in his voice.

  Here we go.

  The old bastard liked to call what he did a job, but she refused, insisting on calling it murder. She eyed the artery in his neck. Landing a knife there would end him quickly and then she could go…

  Where? Not home. You made sure of that.

  She was a wanted criminal. If the Collector wasn’t proof enough of her crimes, the witnesses he’d arranged would seal her fate. Hadn’t the Warrior said there was no exile train for murder? Shelk.

  “You’re disgusting,” Preston said. “Before we go anywhere, pay a visit to the waterfall and clean up. I’ll leave you a new uniform, and Mendog can...”

  Too many thoughts ran through Landra’s head: longing to be clean, wondering if there was any point washing up for an underlevel trip, and feeling breath-stilling dread. Anxiety overrode all other considerations, and the sound of her abuser’s name made her jump from her seat.

  “Stop,” Preston said.

  Landra stilled, too afraid to disobey.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you got over this? It’s been months since I left Mendog with you, and he won’t touch you now. He follows my orders.”

  She eyed the Warrior, noticing dark lines of doubt in his aura. Can’t lie to me.

  “I was going to let him shave your hair,” Preston said, “but this will go faster if we let Turgeth do it. He’s not as good, but he can do a fair job. I need you presentable because we’re going to the midlevel.”

  Landra’s body stopped working, but her mind raced. You drop that in. So casual? So confidant? Don’t you know what I’ll do?

  Then, she realized he couldn’t predict her reaction because she had no idea herself. I’ll probably be arrested. At least it will be over.

  Preston’s steely gaze gauged her reaction, so she settled her features into a calm mask. Only the dark lines of turmoil running through her aura gave her away, and he couldn’t see that. She’d become skilled at hiding emotions. She’d become skilled at many things, few of them reputable.

  “Marvelous,” he said. “Turgeth, mark her up as a third-year cadet.”

  Chapter 13

  Turgeth afforded Landra decent respect during the preparations, allowing her to arrive to the exit ledge feeling almost comfortable. She stared past the twins to the door, her aura swirling, her body twitching, and her heart beating out a rapid song.

  The midlevel? Don’t believe it ‘til you get there. Just as likely to end up in a mud swamp.

  She wiggled her toes inside her new boots. Instead of protecting her feet against discomfort, the unyielding leather chafed her toes and heels. She wriggled inside her crisp uniform, experiencing the same problem with its rough fabric against her soft skin.

  How long since I’ve worn new kit? Feels like years.

  Preston’s arrival stiffened her spine. He stopped before them to perform an inspection—his achievement-decorated cloak, Warrior Third insignia, and ceremonial uniform, making him look like Landra’s father.

  But no. You’re a traitor. A Warrior traitor. Bastard.

  He appraised her turnout first, seeming satisfied until his gaze reached her hair. “Black? Couldn’t you have used a lighter dye? That looks wrong against her skin.”

  “I tried,” Turgeth said. “The brown color worked on her hair but wouldn’t take on her eyes. The gold flecks still showed through.”

  Preston nipped her chin in his fingers and tilted her head. “It’ll have to do. At least no one will think Hux when they see her.”

  Not third-year cadet, either. How do you think I can pass that off? She clamped her teeth, loathing the Warrior’s touch.

  He moved on to check the twins and sighed. “This is a risk.”

  No kidding.

  “The knife is a useless weapon,” Preston said. “One throw and you’re defenseless. Poisoning might be better.” He paused, as if considering other options, but then shook his head. “We have to do it this way. Blades hold a sacred place in Jethran psyche, and a knife execution sends an unforgettable message. Your reputation will add to the impact, Hux.”

  Landra didn’t want to know about her reputation. Thinking about it made her aware of how she’d totally lost her life. It didn’t seem like any amount of hair coloring could prevent her arrest, but a reckoning was overdue. She imagined Father ordering her punishment and dropped her face into her hands. The shame would destroy his leadership.

  Is that what you want, Preston?

  “Final instructions,” the Warrior said. “There’s not much time. Our people arrived from the Jethran homeworld eighty years ago. Some idiots think it’s a reason to celebrate, so the temple concourse is barricaded and ready for a procession to come through. Getting close to the target is impossible.” He pointed across to an overhanging rock. “Your throw will need to reach that far, Hux. Can you make it?”

  The concourse. Oh gods. She set her face into a practiced mask of calm, not believing the Warrior’s arrogance. Don’t you realize I’ll expose you as a criminal? Execution means nothing to me now.

  “Hux? Pay attention.”

  “Yes, I can make the throw. Who’s the target?”

  “Later, when it’s time. Mendog has the Collector and will pass it across just before the kill.”

  “Not Mendog.”

  “Deal with it. I have ceremonial duties, and Turgeth’s assigned as Dannet’s personal guard. He’s the only one left to help you.”

  Help? Bastard. So, that’s how you’ll control me, with threats overhanging me and my family.

  “Once you’ve done the job, Mendog can bring you straight down the shaft to safety,” Preston said.

  Safe? With Mendog? This is going to be bloody.

  Preston unlocked the door, and she prepared to commit murder.

  Chapter 14

  Warm air brushed Landra’s skin, firm wood clanked beneath her boots, and she was home. She licked her cracked lips and rubbed her newly shaved scalp.

  The midlevel’s just a place. Don’t fall apart.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Mendog said under his breath. “We’ll be noticed with yer flappin’ like that.”

  Noticed, ha. She felt like eyes followed her every move. Dread quickened her steps, but Mendog’s fist tightened on her jacket.

  He spread his arm around her waist, as if on a date. “Going somewhere?”

  She sucked in a horrified breath. Don’t touch me.

  He didn’t let go, but he kept her moving. “Boss says we need to be early so you can be in a good position to…” A cock of his head indicated the far end of the curving corridor. “You know.”

  Landra did know. Steel shot down her spine at the feel of his fist on her waist. It frightened her more than his blade, which pressed against the skin of he
r stomach. She winced and clenched her jaw to keep the discomfort from her face, but there was no disguising her revulsion. Despite the thug’s grip threatening violence, he grinned like an amorous lover and nuzzled his bent nose to her ear.

  If I scream, will you kill me? She enjoyed the notion before succumbing to her outrageous need to see people she knew. Everyone attended these celebrations, and her heart raced when she thought of who might be there.

  They joined the procession route at the point where it crossed the temple concourse. Mendog pushed her up against the barrier, so she had a view across the expanse.

  “Gotter wait here. Boss wants us up front.”

  Of course he does. The bastard wants me seen. She tried angling her elbow into Mendog’s flabby belly, but edging him away proved impossible and his panting breaths brushed foul air onto her cheek. This was her reality now, so she tensed and stared out.

  The temple concourse evoked more memories than Landra wanted to handle. How simple was the time when she’d visited here with Thisk? No one had known her then, she’d committed no crimes, and her life had stretched before her like an exciting adventure. Different times. Different purpose. Similar outcome? A weighty gasp broke from her lungs.

  Her strengthened Soul sight made the scene even harder to bear. Magic streams coursed through the foliage on the great temple doors, and Souls glowed on the concourse as Warriors and Templers busied themselves with ceremony preparations. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to wake up in Hux Hall, be late for Winton’s training, eat in Barthle’s food hall, and study in the library, but when were her wishes considered? Never. Not since Dannet… Stop. Stop.

  She gripped the rail and felt the Collector call to her Soul. There was no denying the knife’s resting place beneath Mendog’s jacket. Gallanto felt like a beat away.

  Not now, Gramps, please.

  Having her ghostly great-grandfather witness her corrupted deeds felt unbearable, but the strength it took to deny him stole her breath. She stilled her trembling fingers inside tightened fists, sweat from the effort dripping from her short hair. Still, Gallanto’s Soul bombarded her aura edges, like an assault of pinprick-sized missiles. The more her body shook with weakness, the faster pink threads roiled across the ceiling, as if gaining vigor. They twisted, flew in, and congregated around Mendog’s unresponsive bulky shape. The brute only twitched when Gallanto’s translucent Soul grew within him.

  For one glorious moment, Landra thought Gramps would take over the brute’s body, but then the swirling mass drifted free. Gallanto took shape on the empty concourse from the boots up. Training trousers, loose jacket, Hux features, draped hair, and demanding eyes followed.

  Oh, Gramps.

  His appraising scrutiny raised confused ridges in his brow. “The midlevel?”

  She nodded a response.

  “Well, good. You look better.”

  Just clothes. Her venomous glare displayed disagreement.

  “Can you break free and run to the nearest guard?”

  Landra stiffened. Just like that? D’you want me tried for murder? And what will happen to Dannet if I do that?

  “Ack, sorry,” he said, seeming to register her desperation. “There are soldiers about. Can you scream at least?”

  Oh the mist, like I never thought of that. I knew this would be easier without you here. It’s all right for you. No one except me can see what you do or hear what you say.

  Gallanto’s frown deepened at her lack of response. “What’s going on? Why is the concourse fenced off?”

  “It’s the annual celebrations,” she said. “Satisfied? And I probably won’t survive the day, so let’s not do this right now, Gramps.”

  Mendog’s knife pressed into her belly, nicking the skin. “You been drinking scute again?”

  Landra knew other spectators had arrived from the press of auras at her back, so she realized her captor’s comment was intended for them. In the middle of a massing crowd, with Mendog hunkering over her shoulder and with Gramps battering her Soul, she’d never felt so alone.

  “Don’t have one of yer fits now,” Mendog hissed into her ear. “Easier for me to sink the knife into yer guts and face the boss than get killed ‘cause yer crazy.” His blade pressed deeper, and she stifled a wince.

  “I can see you’re in a bit of a bind,” Gallanto said.

  Understatement.

  “Don’t say anything else. I’ll doing the talking and try to help,” he said. “Shall I divert him with a sword strike?”

  You can’t help with this, Gramps. She shook her head. His ghostly blows had caused pain the last time they’d fought together, but they didn’t inflict real damage. She decided to stick to the plan.

  Gallanto’s rippling aura made his image morph. By the time it settled, groomed hair slotted into a band at his neck, a decorated uniform covered his body, and a ghostly copy of Father’s sword swung from his hip. No one looked readier for the ceremony than him. He stood to attention at a noise from a far corridor. “Here we go.”

  Landra shut out the crowd’s rhythmic clapping, weighed down by the burden of the task ahead. More cheers went up when a procession of Jethran dignitaries made their way onto the concourse.

  “Nearly time,” Mendog said.

  “What time?” Gallanto asked.

  Landra’s fingers trembled. “Who’s the target, Mendog? I can’t do the job unless I know who to kill.”

  Gallanto grimaced.

  “Shh.” Mendog nuzzled her ear again so he could whisper. “Soon, Hux. Didn’t realize you were so keen.”

  Her throat dried to the point of discomfort. A public murder was nothing like the furtive executions she’d done before. Those Souls had been ready to go. She shuddered as the ceremonial procession came into view. “I thought the party would be bigger.”

  “That’s the first group,” Mendog said. “Ain’t you been to this before? Soldiers come from the six cities to join in. Not for the ceremony nonsense, mind. They come for the free scute.”

  The group of marching cadets passed by, so she turned to the sound heavier boots. Warriors led the main party onto the concourse, and she gasped when Dannet strode into view. Short, gold spikes sprouted from his head. Warrior hair? She squeezed the rail tight to steady her emotions, but when Thisk appeared at her brother’s side, sickening jealousy ambushed her mood. Dannet wore her life like a displaying cockerel. She’d chosen to save him, but that didn’t help now. Her loss hit her like a training blow from the ranger. In another life, she’d be in Dannet’s place as chief elect, with Thisk as her protector. Her brother’s cloak bore ribbons, making him look grander than she’d ever seen.

  That could have been me.

  All she had to show for the past years were body scars and a corrupted Soul.

  Mendog’s knife pressed tight when her brother came close. She saw effort in the straightness of Dannet’s stride and in the jut of his chin. She also saw Turgeth track close behind, as part of his soldier guard.

  Shelk. No good outcomes. Thisk, can you see me?

  She wanted to be noticed, but not by Dannet. If anyone could help, it was the ranger. He melded into the ceremonial group today, barely rating a glance from the cheering onlookers. His smart uniform, tied-back curls, and displayed Fourth’s insignia made him look more Warrior than ranger.

  Thisk, can you feel me? I need help. I need…

  The Warrior ranger’s aura twitched, but he never looked aside. Neither did Dannet. Only Turgeth’s glance rose to meet her eyes, and then he turned his calculating scrutiny on her brother. The warning sent shivers through her body.

  Finally, Chief Hux’s group approached, with Chief Templer Vellion walking at his side. The party presented in high ceremonial fashion, cloaked and beribboned as only leaders could display. Landra soaked in her father’s healthy countenance and powerful presence. His uniform’s azure shades disappeared against his similarly shaded aura. By contrast, elaborate folds decorated the Templer’s blood-red robes, so they stood
out against his pink aura.

  Can your Soul feel my misery, Vellion? Is it left to a Templer to save me?

  Ready?” Mendog whispered in her ear. “Your target’s the Chief Templer.”

  Shelk, Vellion. What did you do to rate a death sentence from the Warrior Third? Signed the treaty? Galvanized your people to action? You’re a Templer. In the traitor’s eyes, it doesn’t take anything more. Is this your endgame, Preston? She knew it was.

  “Make this quick, and you might live through today.” Mendog slid the Collector from its sheath and pressed it into her hand. His other blade still dug into her skin, and blood moistened her clothes.

  Couldn’t she have worked this out before? Preston wasn’t wheeling her out to rehabilitate her into society. What better way to destroy Chief Hux than have his daughter murder the Chief Templer in front of the armies of the six cities. Bile stung her throat, and her certainty of Mendog’s misguided belief made her tremble. What chance did she have of surviving this day?

  She looked for Preston and found him hanging behind Chief Hux’s left shoulder like a depleted shadow. Why there? Too hidden and dangerous. Want you in my sights.

  Her sad eyes turned upward to Mendog, almost willing him to push on the knife at her ribs, but she had work to do. Preston had trained her for this moment, and she had to follow predetermined actions.

  The main party reached a distance equivalent to the range from the cavern’s outcrop to her living area, just as Preston had said they would. The Collector dangled in her fist for a moment. She rubbed a finger over the carving, breathed deep, and readied her courage. After one last glance, taking in Dannet, Thisk, and Father, she prepared to commit murder—for the last time.

  Chapter 15