The Soul Monger

by Matilda Scotney

  “That’s genocide! The League say they have no idea who is attacking.” Laurel didn’t know what to think. She looked up at him. “You say it’s documented?”

  Gabriel inclined his head. “Perhaps the League prefers to protect its secrets.”

  “Couldn’t they have just resettled them?”

  “The Canonical family would then have had witnesses, although…” Gabriel shook his head, his brow drawn in bewilderment, “it has been a source of puzzlement to me, that some Inikamarans were spared only to endure the nebula.” Then he spoke quietly, as if trying to draw some sense from the horror, “It may be that someone discovered the Canonical family’s plan, forcing them to change their tactics.” He gave her a small, humourless smile, “Perhaps some of it is lost in the retelling, though to hear the Duke speak, you would think it happened to him personally. Many of his predecessors dreamed of returning to their homeworld.”

  “How was such an undertaking, a removal on such a scale possible? And to do it secretly?” Laurel shook her head in disbelief.

  “The Canon of today is seeking to dampen the effects of this war, is he not? Does he not withhold the truth from the rest of the League, professing only a skirmish? Secrecy is within his power and his character.”

  Laurel scarcely believed the League capable of such blind indifference; she searched Gabriel’s face for even a hint of a justification for their actions, but she found none, only complete honesty. “Surely someone knows what happened?” she said, her voice catching with emotion. “That this war is a direct result?”

  “Canon Akkuh knows,” Gabriel’s tone hardened. “But his dilemma is two-fold. He can’t admit the sins of his ancestors, not now when the League has become a force for good, and secondly, the origin planet still yields the mineral, and it belongs to his family. If the recompense rule is still in place, he is mightily well recompensed. The Canon will not let it return to the jurisdiction of an overlord who is hostile to everything the League stands for.”

  Laurel tilted her head to look directly at Gabriel. She was going to say the two sides needed to talk, but for a moment, she was struck again by the violet of his eyes, how could she have ever mistaken them for grey? She took in an almost silent breath as once more, briefly, she felt him inside her mind.

  “Overtures were made before we came across.” Gabriel returned her gaze; silent and appraising, the moment hung between them. Then he turned away. “The petition made by the Duke went unheard.”

  Laurel waited, searching for his presence in her thoughts, but he’d left.

  “Did the Duke want to negotiate or was it a demand to return?” she asked.

  “I will concede more of a demand,” Gabriel agreed, “but a dialogue could have been opened.”

  “How did you get communication through in the first place?”

  “Through the trader, we know there’s a path across the nebula. He’s not a whole soul, and it’s sealed into a place in his mind I can’t access.”

  Being in possession of the facts brought so many questions to the surface. A trader that could move through the nebula? Canon Akkuh knowing why the war started but withholding the information from the League? Or does the League know and is in cahoots? And why? And violet eyes? Laurel’s head buzzed. Go back to the story, she told herself.

  “What part did the whole soul slaves play?”

  Gabriel gave a hint of a smile. “I’ll answer that with a question. Are you drawn to the nebula?”

  Not the question she expected, but at the very mention of it, her mind filled with drifting colours, threads of a rainbow… She stopped herself. “Yes, as it happens, I am. When I first saw it…” she held her breath, releasing it in a gentle, audible sigh. “I couldn’t stop staring at it.”

  “The nebula is not hostile to whole souls, Laurel; it’s not hostile to you.”

  Laurel lifted her shoulders, puzzled. “No human can withstand the nebula.”

  “Ah, that is true,” he smiled. “But you may need to ask yourself; are we human?”

  Laurel looked down to her hands, folded in her lap. Not human? She couldn’t even find a sensible reply to that. All she had would have to do.

  “What else could we be?”

  “Who knows our history?” A faint smile touched his lips. “Apart from my mother, you are the only other whole soul I’ve ever met. We’re mortal, but we’re not human in the same way as half-souls and quarter-souls. The three ships that made it through the nebula intact each carried around 70,000 individuals. The only common element on the surviving ships was the presence of a whole soul, but there was no attribution made to the whole souls concerning the people’s survival. On the other side, a trader picked up their distress call. Not knowing how best to help them and not knowing if the inhabited worlds would receive refugees, he escorted them to the inhospitable, uninhabited Gartrya.”

  “Why is the Duke using a lifeform?” Laurel asked. “Can’t he just order you to guide the troops through?”

  “The Duke assumed, as did history, that whole souls are human. I discovered I could enter the nebula many years ago, by chance, and resolved to keep it as a means of escape if an opportunity arose. The Duke never found out and only made the discovery that whole souls are immune in recent years.”

  “I wonder then if the Canon knows historically that whole souls accompanied the Inikamarans during the Purge. If so, he may already know whole souls can enter the nebula.”

  Small wonder, Laurel thought, that the Canon didn’t want anyone seeing inside his head, just in case the whole souls switched sides and brought his little conspiracy crashing down on him.

  “He may not have made the connection, but he is certainly aware that a remnant of the Purge made it through.”

  “Knowing you’d be safe in the nebula, hasn’t the opportunity to gather your family and steal a ship ever presented itself?”

  “Never.”

  Laurel didn’t want to be accused again of judging, but to escape from slavery would have been a priority. The guards can’t possibly watch them every moment, and a man who can blanket not only his presence but also his thoughts? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Not then, but later, alone, she saw how in fact, it did. It was feasible at least. But the part about not being human? Not that part.

  Chapter 34

  Helen and Marta paced the floor, facing one another, and glaring at Harry. Their mentally projected insistence he come up with a way to rescue Laurel crawled all over him.

  “She’s been gone three weeks, Harry,” Helen wailed. “When are we going in? We’d know if she were dead,” she looked at Marta, “wouldn’t we?”

  “How many times do I need to say it?” Harry’s frustration was evident. “The fortress is impenetrable. And they might have moved her. My hands are tied since Canon Akkuh has been informed Laurel is missing. I can’t organise a rescue party without going directly against orders,” he clenched his fists and eyeballed them. “And I can’t do that.”

  Eli shook his head firmly, “She’s not dead, I’ve been back. I’m sure she’s there, but there’s no activity around the fortress. It’s like a tomb.”

  “Choose your words, Eli,” Helen poked him in the shoulder, hard.

  “Don’t go there again, Eli,” Harry reprimanded him, but understood his intentions. “We can’t afford to lose you as well. Until we find a way to penetrate the fortress; we can’t give up hope she can find a way to escape or send us a message. They won’t realise her value unless she somehow gives it away.”

  “I told you, Harry,” Eli said. “Laurel sensed only one quarter-soul.”

  Harry was thoughtful. “They may be using Laurel as bait. We haven’t been able to identify where they garrison their military if not at the fortress, but even if we could get enough ships through to land a ground force, we could be heading straight into an ambush.”

  “Why? Judging by their attitude to their own troops, why would they assume we would consider rescuing a single soldier?” Marta b
it her lip. The idea of giving up on Laurel didn’t bear thinking about. “Unless they already know about us.”

  Harry didn’t accept that. “Not possible. But they do know we place a greater value on life. We can’t risk it. I’m sorry,” he looked at each of them in turn. “Laurel has to remain with them for now,” he shot a glance at Eli. “At least we know she’s alive. I pointed out the risks to her, and she elected to go.”

  “How can you be so blasé?” Helen’s words stung Harry, but he didn’t show it. “We just can’t leave her there,” Helen pounded her fist on the table, and not for the first time since Laurel left, tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “We have to for now,” Harry completely understood, but…

  “I need your focus,” he said. “We’ve checked the enemies progress on Semevale 8. We’re no longer losing.”

  “Nor winning,” Marta pointed out, jabbing a finger towards Harry, her concern for Laurel getting the better of her, but she didn’t have a plan for a rescue at this point. “Is there any chance there are whole souls on Semevale 7, in service to the Duke?”

  “I’d have known, Marta,” Eli snapped, his anxieties surfacing. “I can sense that much. It’s just Laurel and the quarter-soul unless they’ve discovered a way to turn themselves invisible.”

  “We’ve been through this,” Harry said, not wanting simmering tension to get the better of them. “You are the only whole souls, apart from my father.”

  “What about a whole soul child?” Helen suggested.

  “Again, not possible. Whole souls don’t reproduce with other whole souls.”

  “We do on Earth.”

  “There’s never been a record of one here,” Harry’s expression made it clear he considered the discussion ended, but Helen had to have the last word.

  “You’d better be certain,” she spat, “because you’re a dead man if you’re wrong.”

  Harry let the threat go. “Something convinced Laurel that whatever goes on inside the fortress is crucial to ending the war. You are all positive she hasn’t been killed, and she knew any rescue would be out of the question in the event of capture. Laurel is resourceful; she may still yet find a way to bring it down.”

  “With her inside it?” Helen’s voice hissed.

  Harry didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter; rescuing Laurel while she was inside the fortress was as remote as them miraculously discovering a weapon capable of penetrating the building.

  Gabriel visited most days, his mind still virtually unreadable, but at least he stayed out of Laurel’s head. Usually, he’d spend time teaching her Seera mathematics or increasing both his and her—probably never-to-be used—knowledge of Mentelci and Semevale geography and topography. Other times, he showed her architectural forms within the royal compound on Gartrya or sat on the bed while she occupied the only chair and told her about where he lived in the palace with his mother and son. He spoke of the hallways and gardens, often granting her limited access to his mind to visit the secret places he’d discovered as a child while sneaking into the throne room, and how his mother would scold him when she came upon him in places he was forbidden to go.

  They didn’t seem like sad memories to Laurel, but when he talked of his home, his voice was strangely empty of emotion; a striking contrast to his clear affection when he spoke of his mother and son. She wondered why the Duke favoured him, allowing him the freedom of the palace, and why he now exacted a price for that favour by exploiting Gabriel’s abilities to win the war, and threatening harm to his family if the Duke’s wishes were not met.

  She listened to his stories, not because she was a captive audience, but because he was a masterful storyteller, easily painting for her a picture of the Gartrya homeworld, the passageways and rooms of the Duke’s residence, the guards, the grand wall that embraced the boundary of the palace grounds. He encouraged her to ask questions.

  “Do your people consider themselves as Gartrya or Inikamarans?”

  Gabriel considered the question, pulling up one of her pillows to prop himself on. “Gartrya is their homeworld, but for the Duke, the League stole his birthright. He pledges no allegiance to Gartrya even though his forefathers adopted it as their home. In time, the planet and its environment absorbed the people, and their history became anecdotal. They forgot.”

  “But not the Duke?”

  “The Duke is a madman, Laurel, with a rage inflamed by legends and that single document he uncovered. It is the way of the people to follow whoever leads and a matter of honour for the army to do the Duke’s bidding; including whatever is necessary to retake Inikamara. I can tell you; like your League, they hide the reasons behind the war because the Duke knows the people view Gartrya now as their ancestral home.”

  “So personal reasons drive him. Perhaps someone could twist the loyalty of his people. Use it against him.”

  “Their secret opinions are one thing, but their loyalty to their leader is what defines them,” his voice became thoughtful, “There is someone who feels differently, and in a position to bring change.”

  “Who?”

  “The Duke’s eldest child, his daughter, the Princess Shumuyi’beh. She is ashamed of her father, ashamed of her society. The throne will fall to her when he dies, and there will be a renaissance.”

  “Will the people accept her?”

  “She is the rightful heir, and the people traditionally follow their ruler. Shumuyi’beh is a visionary; she will be a light to her people. Considering her father’s revelations, she will seek admission to the League and repatriation to one of its uninhabited worlds, to secure a safer, more productive future for her people. She wishes to abandon slavery and leave behind the troubled past. But she cannot overthrow the Duke.”

  “It sounds as though relieving the Gartrya of the Duke might not be such a bad idea, one you and his daughter support.”

  “Vengeance drives the Duke, he believes his rage is noble, makes him strong and invincible. He declares outwardly he will be triumphant. Privately, to his advisers, he tells them he will damage the League and blow its secrets wide open for all to see,” Gabriel paused, the sadness returning to his eyes. “It is not in the interests of my family that the Duke dies.”

  Laurel didn’t understand. “You don’t want the Duke dead?”

  “I wish for the people I love to wander among the flowers with no fear,” Gabriel said, his lips curving into a wistful smile, “enjoy the freedoms of life. I hope my son will one day fall in love and the children that he fathers know only peace. If the Duke dies,” his smile faded, and his voice became grave as he allowed Laurel to sense his fear, “the Duke will trade my son to the Ferle, and my mother will become a chain slave.”

  Laurel felt the colour drain from her face. She didn’t realise the Ferle also took boys. Poor Gabriel. He didn’t elaborate on the significance of the term “chain slave”. Laurel recovered herself, but the horror of what Gabriel faced stayed with her.

  “Do they have any rights?”

  “They live under the protection of the Duke. He favours them, but they are slaves nonetheless.”

  She was right, his family were favoured, but now, she felt his inexorable sadness. A sense of sorrow that went further than any emotion she believed humans capable of feeling. But then…

  Laurel reminded herself of his comment that they might not be like other humans. Perhaps empaths with highly developed skills like Gabriel’s were able to feel the full depth of emotion, of anger, sadness, love.

  He blinked and turned aside from her scrutiny. “I’d like to hear about your home. I believe I did ask.”

  “You got sidetracked, pulling the stunt with the knife,” she said crisply, then softened. “How is it?” A few nights ago, she’d left him with a remark about him bleeding to death, and now she was checking he was okay. He lifted his palm. There was barely a trace of the cut.

  Gabriel focused intently on her face. “I still haven’t been honoured with a reply.”

  She pointed to the door,
averting her gaze from his eyes. “I’m a prisoner, Gabriel; talking about my home hurts.”

  “Of course, I didn’t think,” he sounded genuinely contrite. “We’re both prisoners, longing for freedom.”

  “You’re the one with the keys.”

  “Only as far as you are concerned. The Duke holds mine.”

  He’d allowed her access to so many of his thoughts; his family, his homeworld. Information useful to the League would be there somewhere; she might just reach in…

  But he would not give her this. One tiny flicker of the curtain across those thoughts and he was there, barring her way. Anything he gave her would only be on his terms.

  “France,” she declared suddenly. Gabriel’s expression moved from guarded to quizzical. Laurel took note of the change before continuing, “is home to some of the most impressive places on Earth.”

  Gabriel’s grief, ever simmering as a backdrop was now layered with a deep curiosity. So, Laurel dredged up memories of her three months spent in France after she finished college. She regaled him with reminisces of the view from the Eiffel Tower, dazzled him with a detailed description of the Louvre and its artwork, and the Gothic beauty of the Notre Dame. Gabriel’s mother had somehow neglected to mention the tale of the Hunchback and his doomed love for Esmeralda. Gabriel listened, impressed, leaning forward to listen more fully, and prepared to trust what she told him as truth, even though she feared her abridged version strayed far from the original story. She included the Andrew Lloyd Webber version of Phantom of the Opera for good measure because that was the only version she remembered, but it mattered little; each of the stories thrilled him equally. Laurel even managed to give a robust account of Les Miserable, as she’d read the book several times. She hadn’t visited all the places mentioned in the book, but Gabriel’s smile told her he didn’t mind; that she knew these stories from his mother’s birthplace seemed enough. In truth, it wasn’t so painful to speak of Earth, after all. It seemed remote to her now, history, as if remembering details from a novella she’d read, as fanciful as the Phantom or Jean Valjean from Les Miserable.