Soul Seeking

by R. Michael Card

  He blinked away his tears, his defeat forgotten for a moment by an acute curiosity. He rose from his seat and approached the three stone figures, making out more details as he neared them.

  The one man held a harp and a staff, depicted with long flowing hair and a lean, prime physique. The second man held up a cup with one hand and the other seemed weighed down with an orb, which, though cracked now, looked like it had been made of glass with a smoky interior, billowing clouds trapped within it. This man was less well defined of body, more rounded and a little taller in general. He had a bald head and a jovial, laughing face.

  The woman… was a depiction of beauty. Both of her hands were raised above her head and her face turned upward, long hair cascading behind her as if she was worshiping the sun itself. The statue was portrayed in a loose gown which, though it covered the front of her torso and swayed in a skirt from the waist down, still somehow left little to the imagination. She was some artist’s rendition of the perfect woman and even now, with pits in the stone and small chunks missing, she was still captivating.

  Jais walked around the three of them, clustered together in the center of a ring on the floor which matched the hole in the top of this room. It looked like there was even a trough for run-off, if rain happened to fall through onto these stone beings.

  Jais knew them now. It was fairly clear once he’d seen all the details and the fact that they were depicted together. They were the Ylsovan Gods, the three children of Ylvana and Sovana, the Virgin and the Matron, two of the three gods of creation.

  The man with the harp was Thadros, god of music, inspiration, and healing. The one in the middle with the cup and orb would be Berem, god of celebration and revelry. The woman would be Asavi, goddess of beauty, love, and pleasure.

  Now the open area at the front of the hall around the statues made sense. Jais had heard of such places as this, an Ylsovan Festorium. A place for great revels that would put the celebrations of Klasten’s Green to shame, if the myths were true. There would be a solemn time to pay homage to the gods, then a wild party of music, drinking, and passionate encounters. The myths said these celebrations sometimes lasted for days. It was perhaps where traditions such as Beremus had come from. But those stories were of the ancient peoples, who lived in the Age of Wonders, when the gods still strode the lands in physical form or rode dragons like men rode horses. If so then this cavern was… thousands of years old.

  The gravity of that sank in slowly. He was in an ancient place and… he could feel it. More than just the knowing of its importance and age. There was another feeling here. Something that called to him in a way he couldn’t describe. Perhaps there had been something about his drahksani nature which had pulled him to this place.

  A smattering of pebbles cascaded down from above. Tumbling over the three statues.

  “Jais?”

  Was that Caerwyn’s voice?

  He looked up to find her looking down at him, standing next to the hole in the ceiling.

  “Caerwyn? What ar—?”

  “Oh, thank all the gods it’s you!”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I can sense you. It’s a drahksani thing. I knew you were somewhere under me, so I went looking for caves to climb down into. I found one, but it was too clogged with roots, so I kept looking and found… this.” Before he could say anything, she turned away from the hole, and he heard her yelling, “Hold on I’m coming down!” A moment later a rope snaked down from the gap, though it ended still about fifteen feet from the floor.

  Caerwyn appeared a moment later climbing down the rope.

  “Your rope is too short,” Jais called.

  “I don’t much care,” Caerwyn huffed as she lowered herself. He supposed if she reach the end and stretched out she’d only have less than ten feet to drop… but before she could get there, the rope shifted up above, and another cascade of stones fell on her.

  She coughed and… let go of the rope.

  Jais stepped in to catch her. Luckily, she fell in the gap between two of the statues, otherwise it would have been much harder to reach her. She landed awkwardly in his arms, and he stumbled backward, managing to keep hold of her, going to his knees with a twist of his ankle.

  “Hi,” he said, blinking dust from his eyes, then coughing.

  “Hi.” Then she coughed at that same dust. “Just thought I’d drop in.” She grinned, her dark eyes gazing at him with something he couldn’t place. Her smile faded quickly. “Jais, I’m sorry, but Alnia is dead.”

  He almost dropped her then. His arms seemed to turn to water. Since he was already kneeling he simply put her on the floor. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  He hoped he hadn’t heard that right, but the words had been clear enough.

  “What…? What happened?” He asked as Caerwyn rose to her feet. He couldn’t look up; not into those dark and penetrating eyes which seemed to see his soul.

  He heard Caerwyn’s sigh and watched her feet as she stepped away a short distance. “I… don’t really know what came over her, but she died saving me. She lured the krolls away from where we were hiding so I could escape.”

  “She… died for you?” That didn’t sound right. Alnia was no warrior, not anyone who would ever run into a fight. “Shouldn’t you have been the one to die to protect her?” The words were harsh, and a part of him knew it, but he still couldn’t quite understand how he’d lost the woman he loved.

  “I should have. Yes.” The shame in her voice was clear.

  That only made him feel guilty for his words and even more ashamed for his own cowardice. Alnia had died to help another, and yet he hadn’t stayed to fight the krolloc. He might have died, but that was the sacrifice that heroes made. Alnia had never been a warrior, but she had been a hero. Somehow that made his disgrace so much worse.

  He didn’t have any words left, and once again, remembering his failure and fear, compiled with the grief of losing Alnia, he couldn’t help but break into tears once again.

  A moment later Caerwyn was kneeling next to him, arm around him. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, her voice choked up.

  And there he stayed, lost in his emotions, with the vague comfort of her next to him, for some time.

  24

  Barami was moving faster now that the sun was up. It was still dim in the forest, but that was enough for him to follow the path Jais and the krolls had left. He wasn’t sure what the villagers had been looking for or where they had gone, but he didn’t encounter them again.

  Instead, he encountered krolls.

  He could sense them before he heard them, their stomping tread evident to him as he remained still. He’d been crouching, looking at a set of tracks, and felt the vibration through the ground. It had to be something big. In this area, that seemed to be krolls, so he spared no extra time or thought and immediately climbed the nearest tree as high as he could. Then he waited, though it wasn’t long.

  He heard them, snorting and crashing through the forest. A moment later they came into view, a stream of them, all fanned out amidst the trees.

  He’d never seen so many krolls in the same place, and they all seemed to be working as a unit.

  Holn! He dared not breathe the word aloud. The name used here for the god of darkness rolled off the tongue a lot easier than the southern name: Buro Hassi.

  He held his breath, but still several stopped at the base of the tree in which he was hiding. They bent low and sniffed around.

  Gods! They were scenting him!

  And yet after a moment of grunting between them and searching the area around the base of the tree, they all moved on. Not one of them had looked up at him.

  He almost laughed and thanked Hakan that the things were no smarter than dogs. They could smell ‘human’ but with their limited knowledge they could only think of humans being smaller than they were and ground-bound, not above them.

  He waited a good while until he could neither hear nor see the krolls before risking the c
limb down.

  That group of krolls caused him two points of concern. The first was, they had probably ruined the trail he was following, trampling all over it. But he could probably follow their trail back to where it started, and he suspected he’d get to the same place Jais had gone. The second concern was for the unsuspecting town of Klasten’s Green. That many krolls would destroy the village and a good number of its inhabitants.

  He felt a pang of worry for them, but it faded quickly. A part of him, the vindictive, self-serving part, said that they were getting what they deserved. Yet a deeper part said this would only ever confirm their suspicions about drahksani. The village already thought that Caer was controlling the krolls. This wave of the beasts would only seem like some form of retribution from the escaped drahksani.

  He should try to stop it… but his life-bond had not been made to that village, it had been made to Caerwyn. His life for hers, his repayment after she had saved his life so many times now. So, he would go onward and hope that wherever Jais was, that too was where he would find the woman he needed to protect.

  Caerwyn held Jais, feeling uncomfortable the entire time.

  She wasn’t one who consoled others, she was a commander, not a confidant. She gave orders not sympathies. To compile her discomfort, she’d been the one who, in some ways, was responsible for the death of the woman he loved, hence responsible for his grief. She knew he shouldn’t have to go through this alone, but had no clue what to say or do to make this any better for him. So she just waited for him to have his time.

  Yet even as she waited, an urgency grew within her and started to itch at her. Jais’ aunt had been clear that there was great danger here, that needed to be dealt with… quickly. Caerwyn knew of the existence of krollocs, but not much more than that. They were supposedly bigger and nastier than regular krolls, but there hadn’t ever been many of them. So it was hard to separate the hearsay from the truth.

  Jais sniffled a soft, “Thank you.”

  She wasn’t sure the correct thing to say so went with a simple, “Whatever you need.”

  “I’m glad you were there. I’m glad she didn’t die alone.”

  Well, in some ways Alnia had been alone, running frantically away from Caerwyn, but she wasn’t going to tell Jais that. She had been with Alnia up until those final minutes.

  “Where are we?” she asked. She’d had a little time to look around the large chamber they were in while Jais had his moment. “What is this place?”

  He rose slowly. She relinquished her hold around him and stood as well. When he faced her his eyes were red and raw. His gaze moved past her to the statues next to them.

  “It’s a Festorium, I think.”

  The name seemed vaguely familiar. It had an old sound to it, like something her adopted father would have studied. “Oh?”

  “See those three figures?”

  She turned and looked at the statues. She’d noticed them before but not taken any lingering look.

  “Those are the Ylsovan gods, Thadros, Berem, and Asavi. This was a place to celebrate life and create new life.”

  “Oh.” It seemed like an odd concept. She’d never studied the gods much, though she knew them enough to curse the correct one if need be. Why would someone create a place to celebrate? Couldn’t you do that anywhere?

  “It’s really old,” Jais went on. “Perhaps thousands of years.”

  That was intriguing. This really was something her adopted father would have loved to study. “It’s in remarkable shape.”

  “It is.” She heard him making noises for a minute, like he was trying to say something but not finding words, “I think… I think magic was involved.”

  “Magic?”

  “Can’t you feel it?”

  Feel…?

  She took stock of herself. She was tired and sore and dirty. Her wound seemed to be doing well, but still she didn’t want to risk removing the bandage just yet. Other than that… did she feel anything else?

  There was something, an odd…

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Hard to describe isn’t it?”

  It was. Something akin to mild gas pains, a bit of a ‘discomfort’ in the gut, but with a pull… a sensation that those statues were… calling to her?

  “It’s coming from the figures,” she said softly.

  “Huh.”

  She turned back to look at Jais behind her. “What?”

  “You’re right, but I hadn’t made that connection. Oddly it does get stronger the closer to those things you get.”

  “I’m not sure if I want to get much closer.” They were right next to them as it was.

  His face contorted into a confused and admonishing look. “Really? You’re afraid of magic? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical? You are magic.”

  “I know but, well, even I didn’t know I was magic until just a little while ago. I’m used to how I feel, and all my abilities are… sort of internal. I can’t throw fireballs like the tales of wizards nor hinder people in their tracks like your aunt. Magic from other people is still a bit… odd.”

  Jais shook his head with an odd grimace. “I guess I can understand that.” He crossed the couple of steps to the statues. She stood and watched from where she was.

  “I feel better when I’m closer to them. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe there is something they can do for us if we… pray to them?”

  “Pray?” She believed in the gods, sure enough, but only in a distant sort of way. She didn’t really believe the priests that said the gods were looking down on them all the time and would return in physical form someday. No god had ever helped her. “You think that will do anything?”

  Jais’ shoulders slumped. His entire form, as broad and bulky as he was, seemed to collapse in on itself. He lost half of himself in just that simple act of dejection.

  “Jais? What is it?”

  “I could really use someone to pray to right now.”

  “Jais?”

  He turned and sat on the raised stone circle around the figures. He put his head in his hands and shook it slowly. When he spoke there was a bottomless sadness in his voice. “I failed.”

  She was a little confused by all this. She sat next to him again. “Jais what happened?”

  His words were now choked and interspersed with sniffles and tears. “I tried… My aunt told me I had to kill the krolloc and I tried. I got in a single blow… put my sword in its back… sunk to the hilt.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t enough. I could have kept going. It was distracted. I could have done more, but it turned, and I… I was so scared… I… I ran, and now everything is going to fall apart because I couldn’t face that thing.”

  He’d tried to go up against a krolloc alone? And he was still here to talk about it? That seemed like a feat in and of itself. If any of the legends of krollocs were true, they took out kingdoms on their own, and were only slain by a score of knights or some band of legendary heroes. They weren’t anything that a single man had ever defeated. Well, there probably was some mythic tale, but nothing she’d ever heard.

  “Jais. You tried, and you’re still alive. You can try again.”

  He sniffled. “I don’t think it’s going to let me get that close again. Krolls can smell us, and… last time I came from upwind and surprised it, but I don’t think it’s going to leave that part of the cave unguarded again.” He looked up, cheeks wet. “That’s why I thought, perhaps, if we prayed…”

  “Ah. I see.” Well certainly if the two of them were going to go up against a krolloc on their own, some divine assistance wouldn’t be amiss. She didn’t really believe it was possible, but there was no harm in trying. “Sure we can pray then.” She was about to kneel when Jais got up, turning.

  “I think I’ll talk to them directly.”

  That was also something to try. She approached the three statues.

  The depictions of the gods were in excellent shape for the age of this place, if it was as old as Jais thought. The stone was only chipped he
re and there, a few cracks and pits. The orb held by Berem was broken. It wasn’t stone, however, but some form of smoke-filled glass. Yet even it was only split in two, almost cleanly as if the separate halves could be easily put back together.

  Jais went to the goddess, Asavi, who was certainly depicted like no human woman Caerwyn had ever seen, a little too… perfect in her dimensions and features. If she was meant to inspire arousal for men, she’d probably done that quite well. Even Caerwyn found herself being a little swept up in the ecstasy on the statue’s face. She forced herself to look away and back at the broken orb in Berem’s hands.

  “The orb of dreams,” she whispered. She’d seen one of her adopted father’s texts once with the god depicted with a sphere. It was said that was where all the dreams of all mankind were kept.

  She reached out tentatively and touched one half.

  Everything around her shifted.

  She blinked, her hand pulling away reflexively…

  She stood amidst a billowing mist, gray and thick. She knew she’d been in the hall with Jais just a moment ago, and should still be there now, but this place seemed too real. The mist was wet on her skin, smelling of pine and cedar. It began to fade and revealed a thick forest off to her right, but more than that, before her… was her home.

  She swallowed hard, tears in her eyes. This wasn’t the home she’d known in the south for so many years, this was the home which lingered only in distant foggy memories… the home of her childhood… the home of her true parents.

  She trembled.

  The last time she’d seen this place had been in a hasty backward glance as she’d fled the man killing her parents, a horrible memory, a horrible time. But here and now, all was peaceful.

  The door to the small house opened, and Caerwyn flinched, her heart lurching in her chest.

  From the doorway came… her mother, followed by her father, as they had looked when she’d been young, as she remembered them. She couldn’t even run to them she was so overwhelmed with joy and relief and pain at the memory of their loss. It was too much, and she collapsed to her knees as they came to her.