CORRUPTED SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 2)

by Amanda Twigg

  A stretch, but I’m interested.

  He emptied the fluid into the bag, making the water inside turn a light pink. Some of the dye pooled into sticky lumps, but a portion seeped through the membrane to form a pink cloud around the outside.

  “Oh!” Landra said, and everyone looked. “Sorry.”

  The visual demonstration of an aura extending beyond a body’s physical limits made absolute sense to her, but she couldn’t share that with the group. “I always wondered how it worked,” she said, offering a shy smile. “Good demonstration.”

  “Glad you appreciate it. There are obvious deficiencies with this model. You have to imagine the clear water is air and the colored section is your Soul.” He tugged the ball through the water, and the pink cloud travelled with it before settling.

  “What happens if the body leaves the Soul behind?” an old man asked.

  “They up and die,” Dennark said.

  “Split personality,” a young boy chipped in, and an interesting amount of laughter came from the group of people who had so recently escaped a miserable death.

  “Candidate Dennark is right, in part,” Chanda said. He nipped the bag’s corner and pulled it out of the tank, allowing the water to run free. Landra stared at the pink cloud, which still hung together in a vague ball shape.

  The Templer lifted the flaccid bag high. “See, this physical body is dead. Without the Soul, it can’t survive.”

  “But the Soul lives on,” Landra said, almost to herself. Gramps’s did. Then she remembered Baylem, thinning out of existence, and the swampers she’d killed, and… Shelk. Best not go there.

  “We believe so,” Chanda answered, his thin gaze penetrating her aura.

  “Believe! Don’t you know?” Jex asked.

  “Religious texts suggest this happens and we have faith, but current scholars postulate that separated Souls are lost forever.”

  Landra’s spine stiffened. The Templer didn’t know what he was talking about. Gramps was no hallucination. Knowledge made her doubt Chanda’s credibility. In Oakham’s Soul memory, deep red auras had shrouded every Templer who’d lit the arch, with only flashes of blue. This fake temple lord looked like a negative image. She’d watched all the true Templers depart, leaving… Only Warriors in exile. Shelk.

  Any residual glamour Chanda’s voice had exerted on Landra fled. She’d never known how magic worked. Now, it shocked her to realize that Templers here were no better off. They might cobble together magic training from books, but it was a sham. You’re pale imitations of Jethran Templers—frauds.

  Chanda leaned on his staff. “What I can tell you with certainty is this: The Soul can be grown, produce energy, and trained to answer our commands. This is what forms the basis of our magic.”

  “Where do lost Souls go?” Landra asked, remembering Baylem and the others.

  Irritation showed in Chanda’s twitching cheek. “You’re the one who claims to see Souls, Candidate Bexter. Maybe you should tell us.”

  Shocked murmurs unsettled the group, and everyone’s attention fell on Landra. Her ear throbbed from rushing blood working its way through the damaged lobe. Discussing her flaw had always been impossible. She guessed it always would be, so she wanted to avoid attention. Too late.

  Tension locked Chanda’s face. “While you’re explaining, please be kind enough to describe my Soul to the group. Is it gloriously red and stretching to fill the room? I would love to know from someone so talented.”

  Jealousy? Disbelief? Resentment, for sure. Heat rose in Landra’s cheeks. She could have told the temple lord that his aura was mostly blue, ringed with cerise, but she knew baiting when she saw it.

  Guess I really am talented—at making enemies.

  “Yeah,” Dennark said. “That one thinks she’s above us all because she’s a Hux. Ain’t that just typical?”

  Oh gods. Deny or Deflect? She wanted to hide, but she had to respond. “Last time I looked, a Hux didn’t end up in the underlevel, you crazy, old man. And I’m just like the rest of you. I would have claimed anything to escape into the temple.”

  “And that’s clearly the truth,” Chanda said, sounding somewhat mollified. “Seeing Souls is a homeworld myth. Have you finished with your distractions now, Bexter?”

  She nodded.

  “Good,” Chanda said. “Awakening training is now complete. You may go.”

  “That’s it?” one of the criminal types called Lindart asked. From his distorted arm tattoos, he’d had fighter muscles at the time they were drawn.

  “Awareness involves gaining an understanding of our inborn magic’s nature,” Chanda said. “Did everyone understand the demonstration?”

  The candidates shuffled on their chairs, no one daring to admit ignorance.

  “Good, then we’re done. Take a break and reassemble on the half hour in the Enlightenment testing chamber.”

  After they all left, the door closed and Landra heard the lock click into place.

  Chapter 26

  “Seems like god-starved, mist-splitting shelk to me,” an old swamper woman said, true to the Grumpy Gail title she’d earned from other swampers. She rapped on the door marked “Testing Chamber,” her aura heaving with shots of pink and blue. “I’ve been around a long time but never heard such drivel. Where’s the way out?”

  “That’ll be door to the pit,” Jex told her. “So you’d best make the best of this opportunity or leave. Your friends seem happy to stay.” He nodded to the senior candidates in the group.

  “Bah! Don’t lump me with them. Most of them are addled enough to wander into the underlevel by mistake. Not a clue where they are now. Some temple army we’re building here.”

  “Army?” Landra said. The notion hadn’t occurred to her, but it did seem possible.

  Her question was ignored.

  “Not all of us have lost our senses,” a stooped man said.

  “Yeah! Then what’re you doing here?” Gail asked.

  “Anything’s better than senior barracks, and that includes the underlevel. Hey, you, Dennark. You came wearing robes, so you must know the routine. What’s inside this testing chamber?”

  Dennark leaned on his stick, his pale blue aura jumping.

  You don’t know, Den. Bet you’re going to lie.

  “Well,” he said, “the tests change from time to time, so I can’t say for sure. But this is what you have to do to get into the main temple. Where we are, it’s a holding place. If we want our lives back and pins to boot, we need to pass whatever test they set.”

  A nothing answer. I knew it. You’re more of a fraud than Chanda.

  “Why are you taking the test?” a giant-sized swamper asked. “Seems to me someone wearing robes should have gone straight through.”

  “You the one they call Edge?” Dennark asked. The large man nodded.

  “Well,” Dennark said, his wrinkled mouth crumpling, “I had time away, so I need retesting.”

  “You didn’t just have time away. You were sent on the exile train,” Jex said.

  Dennark gave a gap-toothed snarl. “So? Is anyone here any better? If we were upstanding citizens, we’d be up top with pins and food in our bellies. Don’t get high and mighty with me, Leeman Jextan. You’ve not told us what crime you committed to land here yet.”

  “I didn’t commit a crime. I’ve been working on engineering designs but couldn’t figure out the magical power connections. My research didn’t go down well with my chief, so this was my only chance to discover more. Here in the temple.”

  “Gods of the mist, you shelking fool,” Dennark said. “You’re doing research? You could have died in the pit. Still might.”

  Landra sighed. Oh, Jex, you’re the best of us, but no less deluded.

  “Show us some magic,” a wraith-thin boy asked.

  Good trick if you can do it, Dennark.

  “Nah,” the old man said. “Won’t put a show on for some junior-barracks runaway. I’m saving my magic for when it counts.”

  Tal
es of how these soldiers had found their way to the temple distressed Landra, and she couldn’t let Dennark gain a following amongst the swampers. He’d use them to cause her more trouble. “Maybe you can’t do magic, Den.” The challenge prodded the rift between the two of them.

  “Glory me. The Hux speaks.”

  “Will you stop that? Everyone knows my name’s Bexter.”

  Lindart folded his arms and gripped his tattooed biceps. “Says you. I did illegal cage fighting out in Fourth City. Took on a Bexter once. Green eyes, dark hair, and the biggest nose you ever saw. Nothing like you.”

  “We’re not all the same, and my family came out of Fifth.”

  “How did a Fourth City criminal like you end up here, Lindart?” Jex asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to find a temple nearer to home?”

  Was that a diversion to help me? Thanks, Jex.

  A rumble sounded in the back of the tall man’s throat. “Don’t you know? This is the only place to come for temple recruitment. Nothing beneath the other cities but shelk, so everyone heads this way. A lot die on the way, but some make it.”

  “Don’t all the cities have temples?” the runaway boy said.

  “Yeah! But not like this one. No trees, platform, training center, or steps down into the mud. Just wooden rooms with a few praying priests.”

  “Talking of priests, when is this shelking test going to start?” Gail asked, pushing on the door.

  Gertha snatched it open. The Templer administrator seemed to be everywhere—finding swampers in the pit, seeing candidates up to the showers, settling swampers into quarters, loitering in Aven’s office, and now here he was in the testing room.

  “Where’ve you all been?” he said. “You’re late.”

  Chapter 27

  Pink shots of intolerance juddered through Gertha’s aura, closing the buds on his staff. “Find a seat, swampers. What’s the matter? You look like you never learned in a classroom before.”

  I haven’t. Landra’s childhood tutoring had taken place in the Hux Hall library, with only Dannet and a few invited children for company. Everyone looked for a spot, so she made her way to a desk in the middle of the room, hoping to avoid attention.

  The front row remained unoccupied, a few criminal-types hurried to the back, and everyone else filled the spaces between. A particularly tall oldster occupied the chair in front of Landra, so she leaned over her desk to hide in his shadow. Of the nineteen remaining candidates, two hadn’t arrived yet, six teetered close to death age, two wore the vulnerability of youth, and the remainder radiated lawlessness like a badge of shame. She included herself in the last group, but was probably young enough to count as an academy runaway. Jex took the place to her right again.

  “Settle down,” Gertha said as he dimmed the lights.

  Landra’s jumpy aura matched the nervous patterns of every other swamper in the room, making sparks dance through the aura haze like fireworks at twilight. The sparks brightened to mid-blue and flashed when Chanda flounced in.

  The temple lord paused, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looked over the wretched group. For a man with a blue aura center, he wore Templer skins with grace, carried his living staff like it was an extension of his arm, and exuded an air of magical superiority. He looked down his long nose and sniffed. “Administrator Gertha, seal the room, would you?”

  “Sir,” a timid swamper voice squeaked.

  An interruption? I wouldn’t chance that right now. Landra glanced to her left and saw a young girl with her hand raised. My roommate from under the covers? Wasn’t sure you could talk.

  Gertha follow Chanda’s order, completely ignoring the disturbance.

  “But, Lord Templer, sir,” the girl said, her voice rising in pitch, if not in volume. “My two friends haven’t arrived yet. They’re just…” The clanking door bolt silenced her plea.

  Chanda levelled his staff toward the group, making everyone sit up. “Ah, Candidate Rhias. We’ve shown you swampers leniency during the recovery period, but that changes now. Magic requires self-discipline.” His gaze lifted to encompass the entire class. “Be late, unruly, rude, or lazy, and you’ll head to the underlevel before the world clock’s next tick. You will have to make new friends, Candidate Rhias. Anyone not here by now is out.”

  Shocked swamper glances proved the lesson had hit home, and Rhias held still, as if not daring to move or breathe. Tears glistened in her eyes. Landra doubted the girl would ever speak ever again.

  So, this is how it is. Brutal. Seventeen of us left and going down fast.

  A satisfied smirk graced Gertha’s face as he retreated into the corner. He arranged the foliage on his shoulder-high staff and then stood to attention, as if on guard. Once he was settled, Chanda assumed a position behind a teaching lectern.

  “This is your challenge, candidates,” the temple lord said, lifting a segment of chain high and dangling it before his face. “You are looking at part of a homeworld artifact, manufactured when magic was widely accepted. It reacts to Soul power by generating warmth. Your test is to connect with the metal and activate a response.”

  Like elite weapons and the hethra? She didn’t know whether to grin or frown at that thought. It seemed likely she was the only swamper with experience of the skill, but it had abandoned her. She couldn’t quite remember when that had happened and had no idea how to claim it back.

  “What if we fail?” Jex asked.

  Chanda’s green gaze drilled the engineer. “See those doors at the back?” Everyone twisted to see where his finger pointed. Two plain panels blended with the wooden wall. “The exit on the left leads to the main temple, ongoing training, and new lives. Failure means heading through the other exit. And before anyone gets any ideas, they can only be opened with magic. If you gain enough skill to manage that, please choose the door to the temple.”

  It didn’t take a Soul master to guess where the right-hand door led. The underlevel and death. Landra refused to contemplate taking that route. She had magic, didn’t she? Barring slip-ups, everything should work out, right? If anyone could pass a magical test, surely it had to be her?

  “You have until our next recruiting cycle to complete the task,” Chanda said. “Watch what I do.” His eyelids relaxed, and his cerise Soul limit grew well beyond the confines of his flesh to encompass the chain.

  “It’s glowing,” someone whispered.

  Once the artifact throbbed with power and radiated red light into the dim room, Chanda opened his eyes. “Make your chain glow like this, and we’ll welcome you into our world. Now, step up in an orderly fashion, examine my links, and then take a chain of your own from the box.” He kicked a crate near his foot.

  Landra joined the candidate queue, slotting in behind Grumpy Gail. One by one, the swampers touched the chain, claimed an artifact, and moved away.

  It came to Gail’s turn, but the old woman stuttered to a halt. “Not sure about this. Scary stuff, magic.”

  Chanda angled one rebuking eyebrow, asking the silent question, then why are you here? At Gail’s persistent dithering, he grabbed her wrist and laid the chain across her palm. “See. Not so difficult. If you’re scared to touch magic, how do you expect to train?”

  The old woman tugged free. “I’ll manage.” She stooped to claim a chain from the box and shuffled off toward her seat, still muttering.

  That left Landra at the front of the queue.

  “One moment,” Chanda said, stalling proceedings with a raised finger.

  One moment? One moment! What did I do now? Surely, I can’t have failed before I start. She mentally checked her condition, hoping her dread and prejudice weren’t on show. Aura display calm. Fingers weak, as if they’re not under my control, but they’re not trembling. I should be good. She squeezed her next breath tight. Three heart thumps later, Chanda nodded toward Gertha.

  The administrator set into motion, thrumming white rays brightening his staff. He homed in on Gail, nipped the old woman by one elbow, and dragged her t
o standing.

  “What are you doing?” Gail asked, sudden panic widening her eyes. Fear distorted her aura, but slivers of fury overlaid the pattern.

  Gertha grappled his prisoner toward the back of the room, lacking all the gentleness required for old bones.

  Fighting made no impression on Gertha, so the old woman unleashed her temper on her tongue. “Get your hands off me, you son of a shelking mud-slug orgy.”

  The administrator’s calm façade didn’t slip, but his aura tightened like a vice around Gail. He approached the right-hand door, his magic probing ahead to pop the panel open. Blackness filled the void beyond, and a blast of underlevel cold rocketed through the room. Filth stench carried in, delivering a reminder of the infection-ridden underlevel, like an invitation of death.

  “Put me down, you corrupt son of a whore and demon mist reject,” Gail said. “You’re glider shelk joined with piss in a shit chute.”

  Gertha forced Gail into the darkness, but Landra caught the old woman’s final panicked stare. It was horrific—haunting.

  “Save me,” Gail screamed.

  No one moved, not even Jex. Landra twitched, but what could she do? Share an eviction? How would that help anyone? She didn’t think Gail should have to perform magic to live, but the old woman had… No. There was no but. No Soul deserved to wallow in underlevel filth, no matter what they’d done.

  Blood heated Landra’s cheeks. She hunched small, ashamed to stand by while the old woman went to her predictable death. It didn’t matter that other swampers refused to protest. They had excuses. None of them were…

  What? Chief elect? I’m hardly that. I have no power here. No power anywhere. Gods, what have I become? She remembered how Thisk had judged her as being too nice, and she almost spluttered. Nice, Thisk. Nice! What were you thinking? There’s nothing nice about Landra Hux.