Soul Seeking

by R. Michael Card

  He gathered her in a soft embrace then, thanking the gods he hadn’t lost her. But that was only one part of what he needed to say to her.

  And some part of him told him he needed to tell her now. He had a sudden feeling, some strange premonition like something was horribly wrong. There was this hard, cold feeling in his gut telling him that somewhere out there, things were falling apart. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He needed to get home.

  But before he could do that, he had to tell Alnia about Caerwyn’s request.

  “There is something else I wanted to ask you.”

  “Oh? What?”

  How could he possibly say this? Yet that sensation of distant panic insisted he find a way. Perhaps if he worked his way to it. “The two southerners, they’ve been really helpful, fighting off several krolls, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Of course.”

  “They didn’t have to, they owe us nothing. They were just passing through, but they did help us. That deserves a reward, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, I would say so. Have they asked for something?”

  He grimaced. “Yes.” He pursed his lips trying to find the right words.

  “Jais? What is it?”

  “They have asked for something, but they have asked it of me only. I’m the only one who can give them what they want, but I don’t know if I can do it. I… don’t know if you would want me to do it.”

  Alnia was concern, confused. “What is it, Jais?”

  The sensation of something horrible happening intensified. It was like a scream inside his head. He needed to be home… Now!

  He shook that off for the moment. “Remember what I told you about… what I am?”

  “A drahksan?”

  Jais winced and made a hushing sound. She hadn’t been that loud, but he’d hoped to avoid mention of the word all together.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, but, well… that woman, Caerwyn, she is one as well.”

  This seemed to sink in slowly for Alnia, but after a moment she nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “And… she wants me to—”

  “You’re drahksan? That explains why you’re so strong!” The voice came from behind him.

  Jais spun, terrified.

  Erid stood just inside the alley, eyes wide.

  Jais looked back to see if Alnia had known the other man was there, but she seemed just as surprised as he did.

  “Erid, you—”

  “You’re the spawn of a demon. No wonder I can’t beat you at grip-wrestling.” Erid wore a nasty grin on his face. His gaze flicked to something behind Jais… Alnia. “And you knew did you? You’re a sympathizer with a demon?”

  “Erid, no.” Alnia tried to help. “You know he’s not—”

  “—Human? Yeah, I can see that now. We’ll have to burn him to ensure all the shadows are purified from his soul.”

  Jais was stuck between fear and uncertainty. Was Erid really threatening him or just playing with them.

  “Erid, you can’t believe that. I’ve only ever helped this village.”

  “All a ruse, apparently.” The man sneered.

  Jais had had enough, he stalked forward, getting in the other man’s face. “What do you want? I can’t believe you’re callous enough to want me dead. So what is it?”

  Erid straightened emphasizing that he stood head and shoulders above Jais, and glared down at him. He wasn’t stronger, but he was intimidating with his sheer mass. Jais had learned long, long ago that he had nothing to fear from Erid, but he was a little worried for Alnia.

  Erid’s voice, when he spoke was a lethal whisper, venom dripping from every word. “I want you to go. Leave this village and never return. Stay up in that hut of yours and never show your face around here. Tell everyone you’ve contracted some nasty disease that even your aunt can’t heal and…” He trailed off, the look on his face changing from loathing to a dawning comprehension. He nodded to himself after a moment. “Your aunt is one too isn’t she? That makes sense. So for your sake and hers, leave us all alone.”

  Jais was growing more and more furious. Erid knew too much and Jais couldn’t risk him telling anyone else. But he also wasn’t going to let the man dictate the terms on which he lived. He was still formulating a response when he felt Alnia behind him, having drawn closer, pressing herself to his back, hiding from Erid. Her voice came from over his right shoulder.

  “It’s well, Jais. I’ll go with you. We can live in peace away from these nasty people.”

  Jais wasn’t sure what to think of that either.

  Erid said, “No. You stay, Alnia. It sickens me to think of a beautiful woman like you living with a demon-spawn.” Erid’s gaze fell back upon Jais. “That’s another of my terms. You stay away from Alnia… forever.” The man grinned.

  “You can’t—” Alnia cried.

  “I can, and if you don’t both agree I’ll tell everyone what you are.”

  Jais had had enough. “Alnia step back.” There was death in his voice.

  “Jais?”

  “Just step back.”

  He felt her go, never taking his eyes off Erid. Erid too backed up a few steps, shaking out his arms. He knew a fight was coming. He had to know he couldn’t win.

  Apparently he did know.

  He’d backed up far enough that he’d cleared the end of the alley… then ran.

  Jais swore.

  He knew where Erid was going and knew he’d not catch him in time. But he had to try. He sprinted after Erid. His legs were still sore from his run this morning, but he pushed them as hard and fast as they would go. He caught Erid just inside the door to the Ox and Axe, tackling him to the ground, crashing through a table. Ale and food went flying, covering them.

  He rolled Erid over, it was far too easy. After dealing with the inhuman strength of the krolls even the strongest of humans was little challenge for him. He drew his right arm back.

  Erid flinched away, closing his eyes.

  But Jais didn’t let his fist fall.

  He couldn’t kill Erid, as much as the man was being annoying and childish. He couldn’t kill a man. He could kill a kroll, they weren’t human. But the thought of bashing in Erid’s skull, as much as that would satisfy his rage, wasn’t in Jais. And if he couldn’t kill him he was stuck. Even if he broke the other man’s jaw Erid would still be able to communicate what Jais was to someone at some point. The secret was out, and there was nothing he could do.

  He leaned in close as Erid tentatively opened his eyes, probably wondering why Jais hadn’t hit him. “Do not tell a soul. You understand?”

  Erid met his gaze, terrified. But after a moment his gaze moved to Jais’ poised fist. The look in his eyes changed to something else… superiority, defiance. He laughed in Jais’ face. “You can’t do it, can you? You won’t hurt me.” The man sniffed, grinning. He knew he’d won. “So what’s to stop me? My offer still stands. I won’t say a word if you leave this village — and Alnia — behind.”

  Jais slammed his fist down… into the floorboards next to Erid’s head, breaking them, his fist plunging through easily.

  “Last chance,” he said to Erid, hoping his bluff would work.

  Erid had flinched away, but now was even more defiant. “No, Jais, it’s yours. What will it be?”

  Jais growled, grinding his teeth.

  His decision was made for him as Erid, taking advantage of his hesitation, shouted, “Jais and his aunt are drahksani!”

  The words rang in Jais’ ears.

  The next words hurt even more. “So is that woman warrior passing through. She and her southern pet probably summoned these krolls so they could act like heroes!”

  Jais did hit him now. He couldn’t’ help himself. Erid’s words cut too deep. Caerwyn and Barami had only ever tried to help this village. The blow wasn’t to the young smith’s face, but to his shoulder, his off hand, and Jais pulled it enough that it would hurt like blazes for a while, but he wouldn’t break any bo
nes.

  Erid cried out as other men hauled Jais off him.

  There were several men on him and though he knew he could probably throw them all off, he didn’t struggle. He was pulled to his feet and brought to face Erid’s father, Damick.

  “When you were boys I could stand you rough-housing,” Damick bit out, obviously upset, more red-faced than usual. The man was well respected in the village, one of the ‘elders’ along with Alnia’s father and a few others.

  Jais couldn’t help himself. “That’s because when we were kids Erid always won.”

  Damick slapped him; a meaty hand hitting him hard with the full force of the smith’s not-insignificant strength.

  Jais hardly felt it.

  Damick looked at him closer then. He didn’t say a word for a moment. “Is there any truth to this?” Damick searched Jais’ eyes. “You a drahksan, boy?”

  Jais said nothing, thinking silence would be best.

  “Ask her!”

  Everyone turned to Erid, who was sitting, massaging his shoulder. He pointed to the doorway, and everyone’s gaze shifted again… to Alnia. Her eyes were wide, her face flushed.

  It was Danz who hurried over to her. “Alnia, is any of this true? What do you know of it? Is Jais a drahksan?”

  It seemed she didn’t know what to say either. She flushed even more, her cheeks a deep crimson. She swallowed hard, her eyes finding Jais’, searching them.

  Danz grabbed her arm, more forcefully than he should have, his knuckles white. She gave a sharp cry, but Danz shouted over it. “Tell us, Alnia! Is Jais a drahksan? Did those foreigners summon the krolls to plague us, so they could extort us after they ran them off?”

  “You’re hurting me, Danz.”

  “I’ll hurt you more if you don’t answer me!”

  “Why would those two summon the krolls? They wouldn’t. Jais, tell them!”

  Danz shook her, hard.

  Jais had had enough. He couldn’t see Alnia hurt like this, not for him.

  It was far too easy to throw off the men around him tearing himself from their grip. They toppled around him, losing their footing. He rushed to Alnia and pried Danz hand from her arm, the skin underneath was bone white.

  “He’s a drahksan, surely!” someone shouted from behind him.

  He cursed himself. He’d just given them the proof they’d wanted.

  “Run,” Alnia breathed with urgency.

  He did.

  14

  Caerwyn swam to shore and climbed out onto the muddy banks of the Eresvan River. She removed a drying cloth from her pack and patted herself dry before dressing.

  The splash of water on her face when she’d first come to the river side had felt good, but not enough. She’d been sweaty and dirty and just wanted a bath. So she’d found a spot a little farther upstream behind a clump of bushes and stripped down for a swim.

  As she emerged, dressed and ready, from behind those same bushes, she found Barami rushing toward her.

  “Everything’s gone black as Holn. We need to leave this village now!” The immediacy in his voice startled her.

  “What? Why? What happened?”

  “They know!” It was his look, the intensity of those dark eyes boring into her that told her everything she needed to know. The village had found out she was drahksani.

  “Jais?” she asked.

  “On the run.”

  “Seven Shades of Holn!”

  “I know. We need to go. Now.”

  She sighed. She was tired of running. She’d run from her parents as a child, run from her adopted family a year ago. She wouldn’t run anymore. She was fairly certain the wrath of this little village would not be as bad as the entire Afgenni Empire after her.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Jais and his aunt will need our help.” She found herself quite calm in saying so. Perhaps it was her calm that halted Barami from responding right away.

  He took a moment, perhaps to see if she was joking.

  “You’re serious.”

  “I am.” She drew forth Davlas and her short sword.

  “What are you going to do, slay this village? These are innocent people.”

  “Not if they’re trying to kill me they aren’t.”

  “Oh, by all the gods, you’re serious. This is crazy!”

  “Let’s go.”

  A certainty filled her entire being, but deep down she surged with rage. All her life she’d been cast out of whatever existence she’d had because of what she was. As a child she’d had no power to change it. When exiled from the Afgenni Empire she’d had little choice. To fight would be to die. There were thousands of warriors, even some she herself had trained, who would hunt her down. To have this little village in the north up in arms over what she was — what Jais was — was the last straw for her. She wasn’t going to run, and that certainty of direction made it that much easier to act.

  Barami caught up to her and readied his shield and bastard sword as they headed through the city.

  Oddly the first man they encountered seemed happy to see them. Caerwyn didn’t know him, but he was poking through what remained of the mill, so she guessed he was the miller. He waved to them as they passed and thanked them for helping his family.

  Her emotions were too confused by this to respond kindly so she simply nodded to the man. It seem so peculiar that perfectly normal and polite men like that could turn into hate filled monstrous shadows of humanity when they thought someone was different.

  The real challenge came as they approached the middle of the town.

  Caerwyn didn’t want trouble. She wasn’t aiming to encounter people. She needed to reach Jais and was taking the most direct route to do so. This took her near the center of town, but not directly into it. Still, she drew close enough to garner attention.

  Someone shouted about ‘the foreigners’ which seemed to be repeated several times. It didn’t take long before there was a crowd gathering, following them.

  Then a group came around some buildings to block their way out of town. Caerwyn didn’t even stop walking. She kept her pace even and moved toward them, cold and calm.

  She called out to them, “I seek only to help Jais. Let me pass. This is your only warning.”

  That caused some to back up, especially those she was heading directly for.

  There were mutterings among the group before them, growing more concerned the closer she got. They backed up farther, but then apparently the braver, or stupider, ones among them stepped in.

  “What are you going to do? Kill us like the demons you are?” one shouted.

  She spun Davlas around and threw it. The man was close enough that even throwing the spear the wrong way around was no issue. It bonked off his head, and he fell in a heap.

  “Davlas,” she said softly, and the spear returned to her hand before it hit the ground.

  There were other mutterings now of “demon” and “demon weapon.” Four larger men stepped out in front of her. Two had swords, though only one of the weapons was in decent shape, the other hadn’t seen use or care in years. The other two men had staves.

  “Barami, don’t kill them if you don’t have to.”

  She heard his grunt from behind her. He was very skilled with using his shield as a weapon, bashing and bludgeoning. It would prove less fatal than his sword.

  She adjusted her short sword in her hand so she’d be using the flat of the blade if needed.

  The four men didn’t advance, holding their ground.

  She threw Davlas at the man with the nicer sword, calling it back with precise timing just as it hit the shoulder of his sword-arm. The wound would be nasty, but not fatal. It would hinder his ability to use a sword greatly. After that, she was in melee and let her battle senses take over.

  The man with the other sword swung clumsily at her. She blocked the blow, moving with far greater speed, and thrust the blunt end of Davlas into the man’s belly. He doubled over, and she brought the pommel of
her sword down on him, dropping him. The man with the wounded sword arm tried to punch at her with his off hand. It was a solid swing. This man was an experienced brawler. She batted the fist away with the flat of her sword and slapped him in the side of the head with Davlas. He staggered to the side. She had a quick moment to sheath her own sword and pluck his from this grasp. She then spun around behind him and slapped him hard on the arse with the flat of his own blade before kicking him back for Barami to deal with.

  Now the other two with staves were backing off, but still kept themselves before her. She tossed her newly purloined sword to the ground in front of them as she drew nearer. As expected, one of them thought it would be a better weapon than his staff, a silly move since they were probably much more adept at using their staves. She lunged forward and bashed him on the top of his head with Davlas as he bent over for the sword. He went down yowling. She moved past him for the last man.

  He fled.

  There was no real resistance after that, people still followed along behind them or a ways to the side, but no one got in their way.

  Caerwyn sensed a problem though. She was on her way to try to help Jais, but all she was doing was leading a mob, angrier by the minute, straight to him.

  “Barami?”

  “Still here.”

  “How do we get rid of our friends?”

  “You could run.”

  “You’d be stuck here with them. I don’t know if they know you’re human. They might try to lynch you once you’re alone.” She’d lowered her voice for this, not wanting to give any ideas to the crowd.

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Like you did in Numedia?”

  “That was against a group of Blood Warriors, not peasants.”

  “True.” She was conflicted. She wanted to run off and help Jais, but Barami was a solid friend and companion, she didn’t want to abandon him. “You could run ahead, and I could keep these folks from following?”

  “I’ve had enough running for one day. Holn, I’ve had enough for a week. I’m no longer the warrior in his prime you met all those years ago. You go.”

  She had a bad feeling a cold gnawing fear in her gut that if she left him she’d never see him again.