Soul Survivor (Spirit Shield Saga Book 0)

by Susan Faw

  “I know. It’s not just people.” Alfreda plucked a loose thread in the tapestry of the chair. “I came across a meadow as we travelled this way” she said softly. “It was littered with thousands and thousands of dead butterflies; so many that they carpeted the grass. I wept at the sight. So many fey lives lost. Crushed out of existence!” Tears welled and one escaped, sliding down her cheek. “I was not in time to save them.”

  Caerwyn stood and strode around the room, boots clicking on the tiled floor, restless with the need to act. At that moment, the door opened and Caerwyn paused, turning to see who had entered. Hud limped inside, hugging an object wrapped in cloth to his chest.

  “My lady, sire.” He bowed at the waist and then approached them, pausing beside the table.

  “Hud. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “Of course, sire. How may I assist you?”

  “I need your help. Do you remember the patrol three months ago to the base of the Highland Spine at the ford of the river Erinn?”

  “How could I forget, sire?” Hud resisted the urge to massage his bad leg, twinging sympathetically at the memory. “It ended my career as a Kingsman.”

  Caerwyn frowned at the shared memory. “This time, we must penetrate the spells cast around that mountain. Something stirs in its black depths. We must know what it is, if mortal existence is to be preserved.”

  Hud’s grim smile met Alfreda’s clear gaze. He bowed deeply to her. “My lady, you will be our guide?”

  Alfreda nodded her head in acceptance and turned back to her brother. “I will assist in your search and offer what protection I can. The creatures of the mountain’s slopes are yours to command if they may be of assistance,” she replied.

  “Then may I suggest you make use of this?” Hud placed the wrapped bundle on the table. Caerwyn watched while Alfreda bent over and unwound the parcel.

  As the wrappings fell away, a box was revealed. Midnight blue, it was so dark that it absorbed all light surrounding it, making it difficult to define the edges. Magic leaked from the box, peeking out the sides of the lid as though it strove to push back the cover and expand the darkness held at bay. It gave off a faint hum that set Caerwyn’s teeth on edge.

  “A balance box! Where ever did you find it?” asked Alfreda. “Our father used to speak of them. I thought they were all destroyed.”

  “This box has been in my family for generations,” said Hud. “It has been passed down from father to son for as long as anyone can remember. And now it is my son, Mordecai’s. He is the keeper of the box. He has the magic to control it.”

  Caerwyn backed away from the humming box, unnerved by the power emanating from it. “Why have we not heard of this before?” he asked harshly, his tone sharper than he had intended. “Bring your son to us that we may speak to him of it.”

  “Of course, sire. I will be but a moment.” He bowed, then turned and limped back to the carved door, disappearing through it. It closed with a thud behind him.

  “I do not like that box,” said Caerwyn. “It is a god-killer.” The box shuddered and rattled. It whispered to him, so low that he could not catch its words, but the words shivered and stroked at his soul.

  Alfreda ran her hands briskly over her arms in an attempt to smooth the goosebumps pebbling her skin. “Nor do I, but if what stirs in the mountain is what we fear, this may be the only hope we have. We will keep it safe and secure with Hud’s son. He must be a wizard if he is able to handle the box. He will be able to control its powers. It is but one challenge we face.”

  Alfreda stood up and took over Caerwyn’s pacing, while he sank into the chair opposite the box and stared at it, refusing to take his eyes from it as though it were a wild beast about to spring.

  “The truth is, I believe Artio and Helga are behind the disruptions in the natural world we see around us,” said Alfreda. “It might not be intentional, but the effect is the same. The last time I spoke to Artio, she was running off to experiment with the moon, chasing a wild theory of her own making.” She paused by the window, eyes caught on the nearly full moon that shone palely in the noon sky. “She believed that slowing its progress would give longer growing days as it exerts gravity on the earth. And Helga, well she never looks much beyond the rock beneath her feet, preoccupied as she is with her tending to the condemned. She never considers the living world. What could possibly bring them together I cannot imagine...if they are indeed working together. We don’t actually know that is the case.”

  Caerwyn stood up and walked over to Alfreda, gripping her shoulder with his left hand and squeezing it in comfort. “We will figure this out before it’s too late, you and I together.”

  They both turned to the sound of the door reopening. Hud limped back into view and at first it appeared he had come alone. Then he shifted slightly. A young child trailed in his wake, brown hair falling in curls to his shoulders around a cherubic face. “This is my son, Mordecai.”

  The child appeared to be no more than seven summers in age. A big smile wreathed his face at the sight of the king. He ran over and climbed up into the chair beside Alfreda. “I’m hungry!” He settled into the oversized chair then grinned over at a bemused Caerwyn. “Can we have lunch, now, sire?”

  Chapter 3

  Helga

  Helga strode along the narrow path that ran along the sheer cliff face with an ease of long practice. The midday sun shone directly down, and she pulled the hood of her cloak forward on her head to cut the glare.

  She hated the sun. It blinded her to all that moved and made the shadowy reaches of her sanctuary retreat beneath the blazing onslaught. If I had my way, I would never leave my home. But Artio had begged her to come see her latest experiment with the moon. Acch! Who cares about planetary bodies? Cold and remote and eternally boring, like the gods who formed them. For that matter, what good was their useless father, outcast of the gods? She had long since stopped praying to them.

  And then there were the useless twins, the honoured siblings. Favoured by their outcast father and useless mother and pampered by the gods, they were the “golden children” who could do no wrong, at least in their father’s eyes. Even in banishment, Morpheus had seen fit to give them the prime real estate on the earth. They were given dominion over the living. But she? She was stuck with the dead, those unredeemable souls, the castaways. She was also cast out for the smallest of crimes. What was the loss when the transformed soul had been banished in the first place? When thousands had been dumped at her rocky doorstep to rot?

  She was ashamed of their father, if truth be known. How could a god lower himself to rut with a mortal woman? Was he insane? I would have banished him too. She skirted a large bolder and then swerved off to a descending path that led into the shade of some scrubby pines with half their branches missing. Thinking of their father wound her up, her anger bubbling to the surface of her skin and blistering the stone she trod on, leaving a blackened outline of her boot where she stepped.

  Flame leapt to her fingertips and the trailing grasses ignited with the heat of her anger. The smell of fresh burn made her withdraw from her introspection and she tamped down her hatred, realizing she was leaving a literal blazing trail of her passing.

  Helga glanced at the blue sky overhead, peaking through the tree tops. She could just make out the pale shadow of the moon in the sky. Somewhere beyond it, in the celestial realm, was the home of the gods. Their home wandered across the sky, the nightly reminder of their presence now obscured by the brightness of daylight. The home of the gods. Helga snorted. The gods never visit. They ignore us, their half-mortal half-immortal children, preferring to keep themselves pure and untouched by the bastard offspring of one of their own. Helga tossed a wet blanket over her thoughts, her temperature rising once again.

  Now is not the time to dwell on family history, she thought. But there will come a time. Oh yes.

  She left the scrubby pines behind her and followed the winding path to where it parted the stunted brush, barren of gre
en growth in the early spring cold that still clung to this side of her mountain home. The bushes ended, and she paused out of long habit to take in her surroundings.

  The glen was a flattish field, flush with new shoots of growth, the fuzzy sprouts the first signs of the emerging spring. It was nondescript yet stirred like a kicked anthill. At regular intervals, deep holes sank into the ground beside mounds of freshly turned earth and beside each of these breeches lay grey stones of mammoth size. Helga spotted large groups of men, hauling wooden sleds on runners that slowly inched the stones toward the lip of the pits.

  A man stood in the center of the activity, directing the stone’s placement. The man was as close to a god as humanity could produce. He stood in the exact center of the maelstrom, a calm epicentre in the yelling, grunting, sweating ring of humanity struggling to tip the stones into their final resting places.

  Helga studied him. Even though it was early morning and the dew was not yet gone, he had discarded his overcoat and wore a sleeveless linen shirt tied loosely at the front. Dark chest hair curled through the drawstrings, and his heavy shoulders bulged as he lifted a corded arm to illustrate a shouted instruction. His chin was square and shadowed by a trimmed beard that travelled down his throat. His nose was sharp as an eagle’s beak, but it only added to his stature, accenting piercing chestnut eyes, framed by jet black lashes and hair that curled thickly to the nape of his neck.

  Genii spotted her standing at the mouth of the glade and waved, motioning to her to come down, flashing a huge smile full of white teeth in her direction. Helga mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile in acknowledgement.

  Artio, who she had not noticed until now, rose from the side of one of the stones where she had been instructing the worker on an adjustment to the slip of the sled, brushing dirt from her knees and hands. She wore her favorite sleeveless leather vest and pleated skirt studded with tiger eye cabochon over a chestnut tunic. Her matching lace up boots ran to mid-thigh and fit like a second skin. Tawny brown and sun streaked, her hair tumbled to her mid-back and a long fringe fell over her green eyes. She shoved it back out of her youthful face as she stood up, checking the progress of the other stones. She was the epitome of a young godling, strong and proud and free. She turned toward Genii. Seeing his gaze focused on a point at the entrance to the bowl, she turned and spotted Helga. Artio’s smile was as broad as Genii’s. With brisk strides, she climbed the short hill to meet Helga.

  “What do you think?” Artio yelled over the din of the hammers and the grunts of men, bodies straining to move the fingers of stone.

  Helga’s eyes strayed back to Genii. Marvelous form. Quite delicious, really.

  “What is all this?” Helga flicked a hand in the general direction of the glade. “Another temple to the gods?” Derision seeped through in her tone.

  Artio did not seem to hear it, for she gushed on, “It’s a focus, a radiant focus. It will harness the moon’s rays and harvest the latent energy, allowing for the moon’s rays to be transformed into a pulled power stream that...”

  Helga’s eyes glazed over as her mind drifted away from Artio’s explanation and back onto Genii. He had left the epicenter, and his long muscular legs carried him over to a slip that was caught up on a rock impeding its forward motion. The runner had dug deep into the soft soil and churned up a large rock just beneath the surface, which was now jammed up against another stone.

  He is the epitome of the poetry of the gods. I really must have him for myself.

  Genii bent down and, with the strength of three men and the assistance of two, lifted the skid over the offending stone and placed it back down on the clear path where it shot forward by several inches as it was suddenly freed.

  Genii walked to the other side of the stone across the landing pit and pulled an instrument from his pocket, checking the alignment of the rock. When he was satisfied, he checked the other eight’s bearings. He went from group to group and stopped their work as the stones’ alignment was verified. The seventy-odd men who’d toiled the morning to pull the stones into place put down their ropes and slumped wearily, grateful for the rest.

  Artio, noticing Helga’s glassy-eyed vacant stare, turned back to the valley and with exclamation of “Oh, never mind!” ran back down to Genii.

  Genii watched her come, an even wider smile on his patrician face, eyes crinkled with caring. Artio skidded to a halt in front of him and grabbed his muscular arm to stop her slide, and Genii’s hand grasped her waist to stop her motion. He held her for a moment and his gaze was so tender, so smitten, it was impossible to miss.

  Jealousy and a pure white rage spiked within Helga’s chest. She carefully masked the emotions and, pasting a smile on her face, regally descended into the glade.

  She approached the couple and they broke apart, oblivious to her jealousy. “It’s time to set the stones. Come look!” Artio grabbed Helga’s hand and tugged her over to examine a large stone lying on its side. At least twenty feet tall, the massive stone was freshly chiseled with likenesses of the gods, the elements, and the living creatures inhabiting the earth.

  Artio chatted away about the various methods the stones would harvest and channel the moon’s energies. “See this picture?” She placed a hand on a carving of a bear. “This image rune can bring forth the spirit bear! The spirit bear is my favourite! I wish I could be a spirit bear. They are so regal and intelligent. Did you know...?” Helga’s eyes glazed over once again, distracted by the form of Genii who had unfurled a parchment and was now consulting the schematic, his arms holding the papyrus at an angle to compare the drawings against the current configuration of stones.

  “...and when all the stones are perfectly aligned, they will be able to heal anything within the circle. It’s a medicine wheel, see? But this one is powered by the celestial bodies, the moon specifically. Did you hear me, Helga?”

  Helga started and then turned back to Artio. “Yes, medicine wheel. Very nice,” she said in a bored voice that dripped sarcasm. She spun around and walked back to the path.

  “Where are you going?” shouted Artio.

  “I have matters to attend to,” said Helga with a lazy wave over her shoulder. “I do not want to keep you from your building.”

  “But I want you to see how it works!” yelled Artio.

  “Call me when you have it working, and I will come back for a demonstration.” The words drifted back into the vale as Helga disappeared into the brambles. As she entered the overhang of the scraggly pines, a thought surfaced. The only way I will return to this vale, is if there is something in it for me...or someone. What a bloody waste of time.

  Chapter 4

  Artio

  They laboured long into the afternoon after an hour’s rest to eat and drink. As the final stones slipped into their berths, the evening’s western rays settled on the clearing. The remaining workers raked the last of the freshly churned soil around the base of the freestanding stones, tamping it into place.

  Artio peered at the angle of the sun and smiled. So many times, she had come to this spot with Papa because of the magical way the sun’s rays lanced through the valley between the mountain peaks. The precision of it thrilled her, and her medicine wheel playset had performed every bit as well as the real thing.

  Artio smiled, remembering the tiny dead sparrow she’d placed at the convergence of the rays, its neck broken. The setting sun triggered the runes on the tiny stones. A liquid flame shot around the circle of little pillars and then converged on the stiff bird. A small tremor quivered under her feet and two stones toppled, but when the flash of light faded and the blinking spots in her vision passed, there sat the sparrow, wings quivering. Then with a squawk, it flashed up into the trees.

  It was then that Artio knew that she would return and build the medicine wheel but on a much grander scale with full granite monoliths that would withstand the test of time. To be able to bring such a gift to humanity made her heart sing with joy. A tiny frown creased her brow. Helga just didn’
t understand. Artio believed that life should be lived to the fullest, and one should die with the fullness of days, not in an accident or due to sickness or ill health.

  She shoved the thought aside and ran over to Genii, slipping her hand into his. His eyes crinkled into a smile in return, his smile a wordless caress to match the feeling of warmth at her touch. He drew her to the side to watch the workers sprawled in the center of the ring. Exhausted from the day’s toil and with various aches and pains from the journey called life, they stood amidst the circle of their own free will, wanting to test the effect of what their labour had wrought.

  The sun settled into its final resting place until its rebirth in the eastern morning sky. The rays touched the guardians perched at the top of the wheel of stone and the deeply carved images glowed, first with the light striking their exterior but then the surface flush faded and an inner light flared in the eyes of the guardians. The columns shuddered and a wave of light spread down lighting the runes internally then flashed around the circle. The ground shook with mighty tremors yet nothing toppled. Outside the circle, nothing stirred.

  With the last gasp of light from the setting sun, the healing light of the medicine wheel whitened and disappeared. Blinking back the light streaks in her eyes, Artio could see the workers peering hesitantly around at each other and then running hands over their bodies, examining hands and old scars and missing appendages which had suddenly reformed. Cries of shock and joy erupted from the circle, but those were not what attracted Artio’s eyes.

  The ghostly forms of animals rose from the meadow, restored to their spirit form from deaths that should not have been. Artio was sure the others could not see them, but they were there nonetheless. She frowned. Someone has been hunting and slaying the animals of the Primordial forests but to what purpose? What could be important enough to deny them their rebirth? I will speak to Alfreda about this. This is her area of expertise.