Soul Hosts

by Joseph Isaacs

  Chapter 11

  The Princess and the Mouse

  If you were as old as me you would come to realize the folly of mercy- the truth of bones. –Asgaroth

  --

  The Glimpse hurt, more than it usually did. Wayden gritted his teeth as he felt his mind stretch. Was it different because Verica was a wraith?

  The world swirled around him. The Glimpse sucked Wayden deep into Verica’s mind. He…no she… felt so dizzy. It was the poppy his father had given him...no, not his father...not Kelsen...Verica's father....Lord Healer Berik...Papa... had given her. It was so cold. She hurt badly. The leaves dulled the pain, but made her feel fuzzy.

  She lay on a table in the lab. Why did Jazlyn dare me to go into the lab? Why did I listen? The last thing she remembered was reaching for her ball underneath the table and knocking it over. The red and black materials spilled and the burner fell onto them. Purple smoke billowed through the room and while a shrill noise pierced the air. There was a tiny pop. Then the room exploded, sending her flying into something hard. She hit her head against something sharp.

  She drifted in and out of consciousness, waking to see papa standing over her. Her father was a tall, bald man with a beak-like nose. From this angle his nostrils appeared cavernous. Verica wanted to giggle, but her ribs hurt.

  A voice like a cold wind moaned. “Release me… I can help."

  Papa said to an acolyte Healer, "I must open the sarcophagus,"

  The acolyte's face paled. "Is that wise, My Lord?"

  "What other choice do I have?” he asked. “She's dying, Source save us."

  “That Source has nothing to with what’s in that sarcophagus.”

  “Perhaps it does. Now stand aside.”

  Papa disappeared from Verica’s line of sight. She tried calling him back, but her parchment-dry throat refused.

  A creaking filled the room and her father spoke into the copper sarcophagus: “You’ll help save my daughter?”

  “Only if you free me,” the cold voice moaned.

  “If I do, will you promise to save her?”

  “I promise.”

  The acolyte muttered, “What good is the promise of a wraith?”

  Her father twisted a stone dial on the side of the sarcophagus: left, right, and then left again. The coffin opened and something black-tar like flowed out. The wraith blended with the shadows. If Verica hadn’t been staring so intently, she would have missed him completely.

  She tried to scream, but it just came out a whimper.

  “Don’t worry, sweet flower,” Papa clutched her hands. He must really be scared. He rarely called her affectionate names or gave her any sort of physical contact at all. “This is Lukor. He’s here to help.”

  "Wraith..." Managing the single word exhausted her.

  "Do not believe the stories. Not all wraiths are bad, and not all humans good."

  The last part she knew to be true. She thought of the Dracon’s Fire-Whisperer forcing her father to leave his experiment unattended, despite her father’s ardent protests. The lab had been left unlocked. She’d rolled her mumbly ball into the crack and Jazlyn goaded her into fetching it by calling her a coward. It was all the Dracon’s fault.

  Lukor’s fingers, if they could be called fingers- more like shadow knives- raked her skin, chilling her to the core. Verica’s scream froze in her throat.

  Lukor’s hands explored her body methodically, settling upon her forehead. “There is your entryway. Every mortal has a different one. Berik, If I do this, it means I’d be inextricably bonded with your daughter until the day she dies.”

  Verica closed her eyes, too tired to speak.

  “Is that the only way?” Papa asked.

  “Yes,” Lukor said.

  Bonding with a wraith? Verica would be a monstrosity. She willed herself to flee the lab, but her legs remained stiff as stone.

  “You would do this?” Papa asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How would it work?” Father trembled.

  “We who you call wraiths can cohabit with other souls. Your Immortal, Raylar, learned the secret. He used it to obtain soul mists from people’s bodies, but the practice has less aggressive uses. It can be a tool for peaceful co-existence. When I am inside her, my properties will heal her."

  “Would you stay with her until she dies a natural death? Do you swear it?”

  “I do.”

  “There's no other way?”

  “None. You must decide quickly. If she passes through death’s door, I cannot bring her back.”

  “Do it,” Papa said, his eyes red and moist.

  Lukor’s hands pressed against her forehead, as if jabbing his fingers through it. Her head grew hot, followed by the sensation of a waterfall pouring into her skull. At first it was bearable, but the burning commenced. She howled in agony and slammed the back of her head against the table.

  “You’re hurting her!” Papa squeezed Verica’s hand.

  “As a Healer you know that sometimes pain is necessary to preserve life,” Lukor’s voice resonated around the room. “Like your Weaver, I knit her back together. Verica? Can you hear me?” As Lukor spoke his voice switched from external to internal. His words sounded warmer now, no longer a cold moan.

  “He’s inside me Papa!” Verica cried out.

  Jazlyn has Asgaroth and she had Lukor.

  Wayden gasped and opened his eyes.

  He sprawled on the staircase, head aching, mouth dry, and limbs numb.

  “Verica?” he said, but the half-wraith was gone.

  --

  Jazlyn

  Jazlyn paced the scullery, tears racing down her cheeks.

  “My mother might be alive,” she thought for the thousandth time since Verica delivered Night’s information. “She might be imprisoned somewhere all these years.”

  Her scalp itched, a sign that Asgaroth was preparing to speak.

  “Or she might be dead.” The bone-tearing Immortal’s voice pealed like thunder in her head. “Your father might have killed her.”

  “I refused to accept that, until there is no other option.”

  Jazlyn bumped a haunch of salted meat, which swung into another, creating an endless series of reactions. Mouse, as Jazlyn affectionately called Verica, perched with folded legs upon the lid of a closed barrel. She kicked her feet in the air carelessly, delivering the news emotionlessly. Did Mouse not care that Jazlyn’s world had been turned upside down? Did she not understand how it felt that her mother might have been alive all these years, while Jazlyn grew up motherless cared for only by an interchangeable array of nannies? All the nights she’d cried herself to sleep, wishing she had a mother to love her. Not just the cold fish of a Draconess, her stepmother, or her heartless father who placed her in the care of various nannies but never allocated a moment of his own time or love.

  Ec, a Mantu chef, with bulbous golden eyes and jade skin, leaned over the caldera hearth, stirring a steaming cauldron.

  "I can't believe this," Jazlyn said, in common speech.

  "Use the Red Tongue, Jaz," Mouse said, using the ancient dialect herself.

  Jazlyn normally loved the thrill of speaking in the Red Tongue, but now Jazlyn found the multisyllabic words burdensome. She wanted some new language where she could speak fiery words straight from the heart.

  Ec took a batch of the pastries out of the oven with a long, wooden paddle. She slid them onto a cooling rack. Mouse reached for one, but Ec said, “Too hot, mistress.”

  “Do you think..." and then Jazlyn remembered to switch to the Red Tongue. "Do you think my mother could still be alive?"

  Mouse’s eyes never met Jazlyn's. Instead, she stared at the cooling pastries. She shrugged. "Not sure. The Dracon might have done away with her."

  Jazlyn fought an impulse to throttle her friend. "How can she be so cold? Doesn't she realize this is tearing my heart out?”

  Asgaroth, the Immortal in Jazlyn’s mind, thought, "She doesn't care ab
out you. Why should she?"

  “You’re manipulating me,” Jazlyn thought. "You don't have a sword so you attack me with words." Jazlyn took a deep breath. “It’s not Mouse’s fault. The wraith part of her doesn't understand human emotions.”

  "Wraiths are an enemy," Asgaroth said. "But Verica has never truly been your friend. The scar gives you a glimpse into her true self.”

  "Oh, stop it. Mouse isn’t my enemy. It's my father," Jazlyn thought. "He's the one who locked my mother away somewhere, and told everyone she was dead."

  "Yes, it's your father's fault. Use my power. Tear the bones from his traitorous body."

  "Why is it always bones with you? You're four-thousand-years old, and all you can think of is tearing the bones from people’s bodies?”

  "Enemies need to be dealt with, not coddled. If you were as old as me you would come to realize the folly of mercy- the truth of bones."

  An image coalesced in Jazlyn’s mind: Asgaroth holding the tip of his black sword beneath Darius Dragonking's red beard at his neck. The light of the huge green moon glinted off the blade that normally, couldn’t kill an Immortal. A Three Moons’ Night amplified magic. Asgaroth hesitated. Darius had been an ally. They had fought together against the Wraiths, the Shadow Queen, and the Weaver during the First Dark War.

  “I’ll spare you this time, Darius, but cross me again, and I shall be less forgiving.”

  The memory shifted, and Jazlyn saw a beautiful blonde woman on a stone slab, her face pale and her eyes closed. Asgaroth stood by her side, clutching a silver bracelet upon her wrist. “Lyssa...no...no...I won’t let you die.”

  The image faded quickly, as if Asgaroth yanked it from her.

  "I'm sorry you lost her," Jazlyn thought.

  "Save your precious pity."

  Mouse took a pastry, blew on it, and nibbled its edges. She had a system for eating her desserts that took a long notch of the sundial. "These... are... delicious!”

  Ec curtsied. "This one is glad to please, mistress."

  Mouse switched to the Language of Whispers. “Oh by the Heart Stone, Jazlyn you have to try one.”

  How can she think about food at a time like this?

  Through the window, the sky darkened over Deep Woods, gray clouds canopying the forest.

  Jazlyn spun on her heels, facing Mouse. "I must ask you something that might put you in grave personal danger. Would you use your shadow form to find out where my father is imprisoning my mother?”

  Mouse frowned. "What am I? Your personal spy?"

  Jazlyn ran her hand over her friend's scar. A cold emanated from the dark abyss. "I feel terrible for what happened to you. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from daring you. I wish it more than anything. Can you ever forgive me?"

  Mouse sighed. "There's nothing to forgive, it was an accident. But Jaz, spying on the Dracon...that's serious business. Treason, if I'm caught. I took an impulsive chance, rushing into the lab and now look at me. I'm a monster."

  "You’re not!" Jazlyn said, grabbing her hand. "You’re beautiful. There’s no one like you in the entire world."

  "Lucky for them."

  Jazlyn stroked Mouse's cheek. "Lucky for you. Who else can perform such an amazing feat?"

  Mouse's lip twitched, not quite a smile.

  Thunder rumbled outside. Jazlyn looked out the window at the gathering clouds. "It's going to be a big one."

  Mouse nodded, the shadows lengthening across her face. "Then we best get ready for it.”

 

  --

  A scream erupted from outside. Rif yelled, "H-h-help! Help! He's dead!"

  Wayden raced down the stairs, wondering who was dead. When he got to the main room, the front door was wide open and the cool air blew in. The orphans gathered outside in the yard. He approached the Dariuses, trying to see what they were encircling, but he couldn’t get through. A sense of frightened excitement electrified the air.

  Frog-faced Darius turned to Wayden, his face pale and shaken. When Handsome moved, Wayden caught a glimpse of Big Darius lying prone.

  “Is he-”

  “Dead," Frog-faced Darius whispered, "Rif found him."

  Had Rif done it? Maybe Arth had taken over his mind. Rif leaned over the body, crying, pumping at Big Darius’s chest.

  Blond Darius shook his head. “It ain’t no good, Rif.”

  Handsome Darius turned to Wayden. "Rif did it. You saw what he did to the scagazi. Big Darius and Rory were right about him. We should have turned him over to the Guard.”

  “And me?” Wayden hissed. “You’ll turn me over too?”

  Handsome hesitated. “Well, you didn’t murder anyone.”

  Cursed Darius grunted. "Yet."

  Wayden’s mind whirred. Big Darius had become involved delivering messages for Gior, the man who sucked souls in alleyways for money. Could Gior have something to do with the murder? If he did, proving it would be crucial to proving Rif's innocence.

  "I don't think Rif did it," Wayden said, "and I think I can find out who did."

  The next day, Wayden hid behind kegs in the alleyway near the fishmonger's cart. He wiped cobwebs away, and crouched in the shadows. Water dripped from a gutter, pooling between the cracked cobblestones. He waited, watching the sun arc across the sky.

  “Gior’s a dangerous man,” Kolram said, “If he spots you, he won’t hesitate to use violence.”

  “I can slip away if needed.”

  The barrels were positioned near the crack between two buildings. Viper-Tattoo was too big to fit through it, but Wayden could.

  His legs cramped, and he almost gave up, when footsteps approached. Wayden peeked through a crack between the barrels. Gior and Viper-tattoo arrived. The acolyte who paid for soul-stealing slunk alongside. His face was pale. Wayden held his breath, not daring to make any noise.

  The acolyte handed Gior a single silver coin.

  "One silver? Where’s the rest?" Gior asked.

  "I don't have it," the acolyte said. "Please. I need it."

  "One coin, will buy you one pull." Gior gestured with his hands and chanted: "Pull the mist for our young friend, one silver, one pull, and now it ends."

  “I'm better at rhymes than that,” Wayden thought.

  “It is times like this I miss having my own eyes, so I could roll them,” Kolram said.

  The acolyte's soul mist emerged from his lips. He purred in delight, "Yes! Yes!" Then Gior let his soul mist slide back into his mouth and the acolyte's face fell. "A little more, please. Just a little more."

  "Come back with more coin and I'll oblige," Gior said. “Now get.”

  “But…

  Viper-Tattoo towered over the acolyte menacingly flexing his muscles. The acolyte scurried off.

  Could Big Darius have witnessed something like this and tried to blackmail the acolyte? Then the acolyte, already broke and desperate for money, might have killed Big Darius to silence him.

  “But there was no mark on Big D's body,” Kolram pointed out. “It had to be a Soul-stealer.”

  That really only left two suspects: Rif and Gior. Three if you wanted to count the Dracon.

  The big man stared in Wayden's direction.

  "Does he see me?" Wayden asked.

  "Time to get out of here," Kolram said.

  Wayden moved towards the gap between the two buildings, but too late. Viper-Tattoo’s big hands squeezed him in his iron grip.