CORRUPTED SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 2)

by Amanda Twigg

  “You sure?”

  Landra ran a hand over her head. “Not rightly, sir. My mamma out in Fifth City, she said I took the look of my father. Rumor goes that he was a cousin of a cousin of a Hux. Neither of them wanted me round, so Mamma dropped me off at junior barracks. Never believed the story myself. It takes more than hair to make a person.”

  She hoped it was a convincing lie, but now it was out, worry set in. What if you ask about Fifth City or junior barracks? I’m sure to give myself away.

  The priest nodded, as if satisfied. “What’s your name?”

  “Lanya Bexter, sir,” she answered, repeating the name she’d given Dennark and Jex.

  “Well, Bexter, do you have magic?”

  The question surprised Landra. Chanda hadn’t talked long with the other candidates. She didn’t know why she was different. How to reply? Seeing auras isn’t normal, but does that constitute true magic? No one except Oakham had shared her skill. The secret she’d held onto—this Soul vision she’d denied—it sat so tightly at the center of her being it was hard to shake loose.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered.

  “What kind? What can you do?”

  “Sir?”

  “Can you make fire from your hands or feed power through plants? How do you manifest magic?”

  Not going well. She squeezed the hat tighter. “Yes, sir, I can do those things.” Shelk.

  “Hrmph.” Chanda bulged his pink aura into her space.

  Landra had experienced such an intimate connection once, and it hadn’t been during Oakham’s memory sharing. Bexter’s aura had melded with hers at the chief elect promotion party. Her body recalled the erotic passion of the connection at once, but knew with her entire being this wasn’t the same. Chanda was in her, thinking he soothed her worries with magic tricks while he rifled her Soul.

  She wasn’t soothed, the throes of passion didn’t consume her, and she definitely didn’t have an open heart. This violation felt worse than Mendog’s groping. Her fingers trembled with readiness, as she wondered how quickly she could reach a knife.

  Before her body moved, Chanda withdrew from her aura and shook his head. The second Templer approached, his boot ready.

  Rejection? How could that be? Landra had held the secret of magic inside for so long, this felt impossible and stupidly insulting. Going to the temple offered her only realistic chance of survival, so she prepared to divulge her secret—all of it. Is sweating in the cold a skill? If it is, I’ve got it down.

  “Wait,” she said, catching the Templer’s boot in her fist. “I see auras, sir.” There. It’s out. Never have to hide again.

  “Hey, Gertha,” Chanda said with a laugh. “We found a candidate from an old-world legend. Not had one of these in months.”

  “Mist preserve us,” Gertha said. “I’ve heard it all now. Here’s a tip, girl. If you’re going to lie, pick one that’s believable.”

  Landra was too shocked to answer. She’d built herself up for this moment, thinking it would tumble her world. Her life could have been so much easier if she’d known her secret wouldn’t be believed. Is this the time to say something about seeing through walls?

  “Should we leave her in the pit?” Gertha asked, extricating his foot from Landra’s grip. Energy built in his staff.

  “Hmm, no. We’re down on quota. She looks healthy for a swamper, apart from that cut lip.”

  Landra licked the offending split, and puss oozed down her chin. Take me or I’m done. She wrung her hat and allowed true begging to cloud her gaze.

  “We can get good work out of her, and she might be good for a laugh,” Chanda said. “No reason not to finish the test.”

  Landra tensed at a second swelling of the Templer’s aura. It brushed against her boundary again with an invading prod. Open your heart now, Lan. Shelk, what does that mean? The concept of letting her feelings loose was foreign and unpracticed. She’d suffered too much. She tried relaxing her Soul, but keeping pain locked inside was her only defense against madness. Who am I kidding? I can’t pass this test. Don’t know what it is or how it works. I don’t have the sort of magic you want. A slimy grave is all I can expect.

  Chanda’s inner blue aura grew larger, and pink streaks slashed through its core. The edges spread over her form as he raised his hand over head. She remained outwardly calm, but her emotions surged with dark passion. She railed against the intrusion, her failure, and her despicable fate. Why am I punished at every turn? Where’s the justice in this?

  Just as she accepted defeat, Chanda snatched his hand away. His mouth dropped open.

  “Anything?” Gertha asked.

  “Something, but I’m not sure what. If she has magic, its well buried, but there’s…”

  “What?”

  A furrowed knot crinkled between Chanda’s eyes. “Don’t know, but we should find out. If she doesn’t work out, we’ll drop her back in the underlevel. It’s not like we’re inundated with good prospects to take her place.”

  Gertha nodded.

  “Welcome,” Chanda said, withdrawing his Soul’s boundaries. “Make your way into the temple, child.”

  Landra’s breath escaped in one gasp, and she wobbled on her knees. She barely fathomed the trial was over, but a lift of her head brought Chanda’s smile of acceptance into view. “I passed?”

  Chanda nodded, so she climbed to her feet, still in a daze. “Thank you.”

  Best get inside before they decide it’s a mistake. It felt like a mistake, but she made her way to the stairs, not caring. This gave her time to find a better future for her messy life.

  Jex and Dennark waited on the top step, so she climbed to join them.

  “Who would’ve thought we’d all make it?” Jex said.

  “Not me,” Dennark answered, glaring Landra’s way.

  And definitely not me.

  She shrank from the old man’s hateful stare and replaced her hat. Pink temple light greeted them as they passed through the door. It wasn’t Landra’s first time in the Central City temple, but it was her first as a disciple, and she wondered what she would face. Magic had been the curse of her life. Now, giving up on the passions and desires of her youth left her numb. This felt wrong, but what choice did she have? With a final glance back, she took in the underlevel—dark, cold, dangerous, and as evil as Preston had ever been. She added it to her list of places to never visit again. I’ll clean it up if I ever become chief. An impossible idea, only worthy of a chief elect, but that wasn’t who she was anymore.

  “Move along, candidate,” a Templer said, and her new life began.

  Chapter 22

  “Swampers bunk at the top of the temple,” Gertha said, leading the recruits up more spiralling stairs. His strong legs took the steps two at a time, so he paused on a landing until everyone caught up.

  Landra loitered near the back of the group, sizing up her competition and performing a head count. Twenty, but most won’t survive. The swampers’ collective auras clumped together in a pallid cloud, making her doubt every Soul would hang together long enough to finish the climb.

  She spotted Gertha, towering over their stooped forms. Shaved hair, lean, conditioned like a soldier, and with the thicker neck and chest of a man who’s trained. I could like you in another life, if it wasn’t for your obvious impatience with vulnerable Souls. He kept a white-knuckled grip on his shoulder-high staff and ground his teeth. Shots of intolerant pink darted through his dark blue aura.

  Handrails, rather than walls, surrounded the next flight of stairs, offering a good view of the main temple. Landra paused, recognizing that she’d seen the wooded expanse from a different angle. The time Thisk had brought her here, a guide had forbidden visitors to enter the buildings that ringed the perimeter. She guessed the corridors and stairways she’d seen then were the same ones she trod now.

  “Get a move on,” Gertha said from high above. “I’ve more important jobs to do than minding lazy swampers.”

  She skirted around two strugglin
g wretches to catch up before coming across Dennark. The old man hadn’t the strength to lift his feet, making him trip on his robe hem and hit his knees on the stone. She stared, expecting helpful instincts to surface. Numbness prevailed. Gone? In a remembered action of the person she’d been, she set her hands beneath the old man’s arms. “Come on, Den. The Templers might throw us out for being too slow.”

  He used the last of his energy to push her away. “More likely to boot you out for being too Hux.”

  Ice ran through Landra’s veins. “I’m not a Hux,” she said, the lie almost feeling true.

  “Don’t give me that, girl. Can’t think why I didn’t see it before. A hat can’t hide your face. You’ll be out, soon as those gold eyes are noticed. And to think I was taking food from you, like we were friends.”

  I gave you food to avoid trouble, old man. Never friends. “Where’s Jex?”

  “Fool’s gone mist-eyed. Happens to some in the temple.”

  “Last swamper in the shower room won’t eat,” Gertha said, and everyone jumped.

  Landra wanted to feel pity for Dennark or fear for what he might do, but her damaged aura formed an emotional barrier between her and the world. She stepped around the old man and chased up the stairs.

  Gertha ushered her through a door at the top to where a pink-robed woman waited. Hair curling at the temples, no insignia, angry welts marring her blue aura, and a belt nipping her outfit beneath a saggy belly—there was no way the woman could enter the main base without being arrested. She brandished a hose to herd Landra into place with the other swampers.

  Tiled floors and walls made the room’s purpose clear. Shower cubicles lined one side, along with runnels and drains for the runoff.

  “Weapons and pins here,” the Templer said, tapping her hose on a long table. “Heavy-duty items like boots go in the bin, and clothes thrown down the chute. Nothing from the underlevel goes past here.”

  “Except us,” Jex said, a glassy sheen to his brown eyes. He placed a bent stick on the table, and Landra set her main knife alongside.”

  “All of them,” the woman said, turning the water spray on and directing the stream over their feet.

  Landra pulled a thin knife from her boot and a short stabbing blade from her sleeve. Don’t want them anyway. It was almost a relief to be rid of the dratted weapons.

  Jex stared, shaken from his trance. He touched one of the handles. “How many knives have you got?”

  “Enough,” she said, slipping another blade from her waist sheath and laying it down. “But not now,” she added, wiggling her empty fingers. Embarrassed, she left her last two knives in the sack that she sent down the chute.

  Jex’s skin turned pale beneath his orange tinge from the mud. He turned his collar over, still staring at Landra’s weapons.

  Landra goggled at the two midlevel pins shining from beneath his lapel. He unbuttoned them both and set them on the table.

  . “Are those real?” She picked up the two-bar soldier pin, wedged it between her teeth, and bit down. Solid.

  “Yep,” Jex said. “Genuine army issue.” The engineering specialization pin matched the indistinct mark in his hair.

  “What are you doing, Jex? These could get you back into the midlevel and claim credits too.”

  “I know, Lan, but this is where I want to be.”

  Unbelievable. She couldn’t think why anyone would do this by choice. “There are easier ways into the temple than through the underlevel. Didn’t you think to request a posting?”

  “Of course. Got the same reply, all eight times. Too qualified, essential personnel, and all that shelk.”

  “You must really want to be a priest,” she said, searching his aura for signs of magic. His blue shades fell into the even patterns of an organized Soul. Not a trace of pink.

  “I do,” he said, eyes fully clear now. Excitement danced in their dark depths. “It’s hard to explain. The magical power system is fascinating, and I think…” A puzzled frown wrinkled his brow.

  What do you think, Leeman Jextan? What are you up to?

  She held onto the pin. “If you’re so determined to give up on the midlevel, why don’t you give this to me? I need a ticket home.”

  Jex flushed and grabbed it back. “Sorry, Lanya. I don’t know you well enough to do that. I’d fail in my duty to Chief Hux if I gave you the pin.”

  “Why? What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “Kill someone—maybe.” His chagrined glance skipped over the knives and then dropped to his feet.

  Maybe you do know me. “So, you’re a patriot,” she said. Really didn’t think to find one here.

  She glanced around, wondering if the other swampers agreed with Jex’s evaluation. None of them looked like they had the energy to care, but she noted how everyone stepped wide of where she stood and refused her gaze.

  “Do I have a reputation, Jex?”

  The engineer’s face twisted.

  “Just tell me.”

  “Dennark thinks you’re a rogue ranger with Hux blood. He spread the word to everyone.”

  Not far from the truth. She stopped pressing him, consumed with worry about how this might affect her route into the temple. She dropped her boots in the bin and sent her jacket, shirt, and trousers down the chute.

  Still in the training skins she’d worn underneath, she made for the tiled area. Naked, broken bodies confronted her in the communal shower area. They huddled beneath a water spray, the stream breaking open sores that would have been best left to heal. Streaks of blood stained the brownish-orange water gurgling down the drains.

  “Problem?” the Templer woman asked, staring at Landra’s clothes.

  “I—”

  “No room for shyness here. You want to go through that door,” she said, cocking her head toward a barred panel on the far side of the room. “Your clothes have to be discarded. No place for swamp filth in the main building.”

  Landra understood the temple’s need for a barrier. Disease ran through barracks quicker than shit after laxatives, but this posed a problem for her damaged Soul. An unexpected hurdle. How many more will I face? She stepped into the stream, still clothed. “I’ll strip soon.” She faced down the Templer’s disgruntled glare.

  “How did you manage to share quarters?” the woman asked.

  Didn’t have to before. The thought reminded her of how privileged her childhood had been. She watched her grime twist down the drain, and by the time she looked up, the other swampers had moved away to dress.

  The Templer raised an eyebrow.

  Landra folded her arms, but her posture was all soldier.

  “There’s a cubicle over there,” the woman said, offering Landra a robe. “But if you don’t pass as clean, the medic won’t let you through and it’s back to the swamp.”

  “Thank you.”

  In the privacy of a booth, she finished washing and exchanged her ranger skins for the white robe. The swishing fabric felt wrong against her skin without undergarments to block its touch. Matching slippers came under the door, so she put those on too. After sliding her old clothes down the chute, she joined the back of a queue that led to a barber’s chair.

  The swamper in front noticed her arrival and gestured for her to move up a spot. She did, and the next swamper moved her forward too. Before she knew it, Landra stood at the front of the line. It had happened before during her previous life, but this was the first time those signaling her to go ahead looked scared of what she might do.

  So, I have a reputation. Take advantage. Safest to own it.

  “Bit of a trim?” the barber said in a jovial voice to his current customer before shaving the girl to the scalp. Without hair to mask her gauntness, the swamper left the chair looking ready for death.

  Landra took her turn, expecting the same banter, but the barber didn’t bother in her case. He shaved her head clean and used a stamp to mark an “S” on her scalp.

  “S?”

  “For swamper. I’d keep your
hair shaved all the time,” he whispered, brushing gold-flecked strands down the drain. “It’s not good to be Hux here.”

  This again. “I’m not a Hux,” she said, falling back into the pretense. Who am I kidding? I’m not playing the part of a swamper. I am one. No Hux about me. She jumped out of the chair feeling annoyed but intent on following the advice.

  A final hurdle came in the form of a medic with a slack-edged, blue aura. He was a burly man who went about his business like a farmhand dosing stock. His routine started at the top, taking in eyes, ears, and teeth. A full skin examination followed, with an extra check between the toes. He administered salves and tinctures before expanding his aura in a quick burst around each patient.

  Landra found herself at the front of the queue again. She gnashed her teeth and bunched her fists through the examination, but the medic was so quick she had no chance to employ a blow. He didn’t notice when she blocked his aura invasion, and before she knew it, he had pinched her nose and poured foul liquid down her throat.

  “You’re good to go. Next.”

  Gertha unbarred the temple entrance and ushered the accepted swampers through.

  It came to Landra’s turn, but she hesitated in front of the door. A new life. Not the one I wanted.

  “What’s the matter, Hux?” Dennark said from behind. “Can’t bear to leave your knives behind?”

  She twisted around to pin him with her fiercest stare. He was weak, pathetic, and a problem. “I don’t need weapons to kill old men.”

  Those who heard gasped, but she turned away from their horror and crossed the threshold.

  Chapter 23

  Entering early gave Landra the opportunity to choose her own room. This temple-barrack floor fell short of Hux Hall in so many ways it was hard to like the place. She wandered down the curved corridor unchecked, poking her head through doors that would open. Every room contained four beds in a cubicle. Nameplates marked the locked doors, with titles that set her on edge—Awareness, Enlightenment Testing Chamber, Meditation, Garden, Music, Power, Workshop, Mist Manifestation. Not one of them matched any room at home.