Soul Survivor (Spirit Shield Saga Book 0)

by Susan Faw

  Chapter 14

  Helga

  Helga skirted around the splashing waters of Thunder Falls, anxious to get away from the cold mist rolling off the surface of the pool at its base. She clutched the satchel with the precious potion to her breast, afraid that she might drop it in a sudden slip on the damp path.

  The mouth of her cave, disguised by a ribbon of water from the falls, parted as she approached. She passed through the waters untouched and into her fortress home.

  She had chosen the location deliberately, as the falls masked the sounds of her experiments and other than the occasional Primordial pilgrim no one came to the remote location. She was able, therefore, to conduct her research without needing to constantly fend off intruders.

  And now as she entered the cave, an unnatural heat met her. She smiled as the warm air enveloped her, chasing away the chill. The damp and musty cave smells of living underground also faded away. She placed the palm of her hand on a rune, cast into stone just inside the entrance, and a glowing strip of light as bright as a window to the outside world appeared down the center of the ceiling. A tunnel resembling a hallway was revealed. She walked down the smoothed stone floor following its natural twists and turns until it emptied into a cavern, open to the sky.

  A railing of chiseled stone steered to the left to a stone staircase that clung to the side of the cavern, spiralling down on a gentle incline around the circumference of the walls until it spilled out onto the cavern floor. The walls faded from grey to a glossy black, the pumice stone giving way to smoothed obsidian.

  Great curls of smoke twisted and rose from a deep pit that glowed ruby with the reflected light of lava, flowing at great speed past the breach, a great underground river of flame.

  Helga glided down the curving staircase, intent on her destination. As she entered the lower half of her descent, her image danced across the dark mirror and she studied her reflection out of the corner of her eye as it slid across the glassy surface. Tall and slender of build, she knew that she was by far the most beautiful of the godling sisters. My radiance should not be dimmed. Soon the world will acknowledge me as the supreme godling, or they will perish. I will have their obedience in life or their souls in death. Either way, they are mine. My dear brother, Caerwyn, will kneel to me before the solstice is finished or he will die, forever.

  At the base of the cavern, she walked across the pitted surface, her destination a tunnel in the far wall. Before she reached the dark smudge, the smudge moved and hooded figures detached themselves from the wall, sliding forward to hover a few paces from the wall. The Charun bowed its head in acknowledgement of its mistress and then glided over to her side.

  “What is your command, my mistress?” it hissed, the sound of its voice the rasp of a file. The sound raised a shiver along Helga’s spine, a delicious shiver of anticipation. A second Charun slid out from a crack and followed the first. As Helga reached the opening, three more joined the first two, drifting along impossibly above the floor.

  The Charun looked identical, except for the one who spoke. A circle glowed in the middle of its forehead. Tattooed between its eyes was a rune, the image a golden sickle blade on a sea of blood. The circle dripped between the deep ridges as the Charun’s face crinkled the leathery grey reptilian skin reptilian of its brow.

  “Time grows short. The solstice approaches and Artio has erected healing stones. This will undo all our hard work. The animal souls we have been enslaving may be snatched away from us before we can complete the circle. Come!” she snapped “We must make final preparations.”

  She entered the tunnel and with a snap of her fingers, a compressed ball of flame flickered to life to float over her outstretched palm, lighting the path for her feet. She strode along at a pace just short of a run, skipping down the stairs with light steps. The staircase wound down and around and twisted this way and that but finally leveled out and into the rock. After about a half hour of walking, it spilled out into a long cave split down the middle by a giant fissure. A ribbon of lava slipped along its course, flowing swiftly by and tumbled in molten splashes down into a widening pool at the end, which eventually breached into a waterfall of lava. Intense heat and foul fumes rolled and twisted against the ceiling, which stretched so far above that it could not be seen. Yet Helga knew that a thin crack carried the roiling smoke into the cavern above and eventually out a natural chimney to the mountaintop.

  At the edge of the lava pool several more Charun lined up by the razor sharp edge, dipping ladles into the river of molten rock and then carrying them, one by one, to a raised platform. A mould stood three stories high with scaffolding and ramps allowing the Charun to float up the ramps unimpeded to the lip of the mould.

  The mould resembled a large bull seated on its haunches. The nose was pierced with a golden ring and long horns ending in barbed points curled from its massive face. In its front hooves, it held a large golden scythe, the flickering light of the lava flashing across the surface of the blade. The mouth was open in a frozen snarl, its eyes glimmering sky blue as though alive. The darting eyes followed the movements of the Charun and then flickered over Helga’s approach. She shivered at the intelligence reflected in those eyes, the soulful depths swimming in the rounded orbs.

  Of course, there is intelligence. How could there not be? Even the lowest beasts have some form of intelligence. Trapped intelligence. Stolen souls enslaved to my will...and now they will become my greatest weapon.

  She climbed the ramp and circled around until she could look down into the seemingly bottomless vessel, craning her neck to see over the rim. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out the precious vial of potion. She unstoppered the bottle, staring at the shimmering liquid. Then, with a flick of the wrist, swallowed half of the contents. The other half she tipped into the vessel where, it hissed upon meeting the lava. The bluish haze writhed and twisted in the potions vapour and a keening wail echoed up from the depths and then faded away.

  Helga turned and started down the ramp but then stumbled as a piercing cramp rippled across her abdomen, doubling her over in pain. She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to straighten, her hand gripping the stone wall. The Charun by her side flicked its forked tongue across its teeth, sensing her weakness, tasting the air.

  Helga pushed off the wall and walked forward, back straight and head held high. She dared not show any weakness around the Charun.

  Her vision blurred and she swiped the back of her quivering hand across her eyes, attempting to clear them, to no avail. The fog obscured her vision, and a cold sweat broke out on her upper lip. She ran a hand along the inner wall of the scaffolding, feeling her way to the base, blinking frantically to clear her vision.

  The potion...the binding goes both ways. I...must...dominate!

  “You will submit your will to mine! I am the master!” she thundered silently.

  Mentally, she stiffened her mind, forcing the mist to obey. She bore down on the silent collective, pressing her will against the hundreds of souls battering against the walls of her mind and slowly melded them, merging them into the core of her own soul.

  She lifted her head, eyes clearing, to find a Charun reaching for her, slimy hands stretching for her throat.

  Helga lifted a hand and out shot a brilliant white torch of flame that encompassed the Charun. It screamed a high keening wail that rose in pitch as the flames encompassed it, head to hem. With a burst of stars, the Charun exploded and vanished as if it never existed.

  Helga whirled, ready to cast another comet of light at the other Charun, but they retreated into the shadows, melting away into the darkness, until hers was the only living soul remaining in the hot cavern. She knew they would return; they were bonded to this task.

  Unsteadily, she left the cavern. I will rest and assimilate the bond. I must be ready. Time is already too short.

  Chapter 15

  Artio

  “I think you should ask Helga.”

  Genii shook his head, negating the
idea, crossing muscular arms across his chest in emphasis. “I don’t think Helga would be interested. You saw her the other day. She left as soon as she could. She has no interest in the healing circle or how it works. She certainly doesn’t wish to assist.”

  The medicine wheel, while not technically a wheel, still functioned as one. The wheel that best illustrated its operation was actually a spinning wheel. As it wove the spirit of the gods into a thread of healing, a godling could then take that thread and make a blanket of healing for all those within the circle. No form of healing was too complex. The wheel simply wove the right cloth for the healing required.

  Medicine wheels were tricky to create and a gift of the gods. A large percentage of the wheel’s operations directly tied in to the flow of spirit that came from the gods, which had been dwindling lately due to the decrease in prayers being offered to them. It was rare for a human to possess the kind of faith needed to power a medicine wheel. The Primordial high priests and high priestesses came close, but even they struggled to maintain a constant flow of spirit through the wheel.

  The conversation was a sore spot between them. Genii was firmly of the belief that the further they stayed away from Helga, the better the eventual outcome would be. Something about Artio’s sister made him uneasy, and he was reluctant to ignore what made him uneasy. It had kept him alive in the swamp and in the world since leaving the place of his birth.

  “We do not need Helga’s help. The focus is precisely set.” He held up his hands as Artio opened her mouth to speak, halting her response. “Listen, the tremors will stop. The mountain always quiets in time. What could she possibly do that could stop it? Volcanoes are a part of nature.”

  “Yes, but these are not natural. You know this, as well as I do, Genii! You were the first one to note the pattern of the fire fall. She must have some idea of why the eruptions are increasing.”

  “There is no time. The solstice is tomorrow. By tomorrow evening, we must have the stones perfectly aligned. There is only time left to align them, not to research the why of their shifting. If we go chasing off after Helga right now, we will miss our window.” He stepped up to Artio and enfolded her in his arms. “I do not want anything to spoil our plans. The alignment must be right. Perfect. Supreme.” He bent his head and kissed her, silencing her protests. The sweetness of the kiss erased all complaint and discussion and when he lifted his head, she sighed and laid her ear over his beating heart. She would go along with his plans, but still the thought niggled in the back of her mind, that they were missing something...something important.

  The disk in the center of the circle was now surrounded by a broader circle of crushed willow bark. Foxglove bloomed in tall stalks, and monkshood and mugwart was interspaced here and there. Surrounding it all was a wall of faceted amethyst crystals a full span high, fencing in the herbs which had been carefully gathered from the surrounding meadow to focus the plant energies within the medicine wheel.

  All was prepared, except for the final adjustments.

  They broke apart and returned to fine tuning of the stones. Genii took new measurements and with levers of stone, shifted the monoliths by fractional increments, so tiny as to be not visible to the naked eye. Genii and Artio worked long into the night, aligning the stones with the stars, the pale moon’s reflection sliding over the creamy disk, a near perfect reflection on the smooth stone surface.

  Tomorrow night, the moon would be full and perfectly aligned. All was ready.

  They stepped back to admire their work. A slight breeze blew up the valley, smelling of sulphur. Genii shivered, but it was not from the cold of the breeze. The smell of an open grave rode the wind. He was being watched and his gaze was drawn to the tree line. A shrub shifted slightly, then stilled. He squinted at the brush, but nothing moved in the dark.

  Chapter 16

  Alfreda

  Alfreda approached the arranged meeting point above the amphitheatre, sliding off her great cat and scratching it behind her tufted ears. With a rumbling purr, the cat sank to the ground and cleaned her paws, great tongue rasping against the pads between her toes.

  Two of Alfreda’s captains stepped up beside her, short swords in both hands, drawn from harnesses strapped across their chests. They peered warily around at the surrounding tall grasses, but there was no hint that anyone had crossed this portion of land recently. The stalks were tall and unbroken, waving lazily as they passed.

  The main body of warriors remained on the main road and three of them crossed the grassy plain. Flat and level, not a tree broke the horizon so they were on top of the dip of land before they saw it. The amphitheatre was a large natural depression in the plain, as though the gods had scooped up a large handful of clay for some purpose known only in celestial circles.

  They had been preceded by the assassins sent ahead by Captain Enyeto. Alfreda sucked in a nervous breath as the rim of the bowl dropped away.

  At their appearance, a great cloud of ravens burst from the floor of the amphitheatre, flapping and cawing and circling their prey. Captain Enyeto pulled an arrow from his quiver. With an economy of movement, he stroked the arrow to string and loosed. The first arrow was followed by another and another, falling amongst the birds and never missing a shot. Wounded birds flapped and cawed and were set upon by the other ravens, pecking and slashing with razor sharp beaks. In between the flapping and cawing, Alfreda glimpsed the bodies of the assassins, bloodied and unidentifiable except by the remnants of the clothing they wore. Of the high priest, she saw no sign.

  Alfreda backed away from the rim and swallowed heavily, striving to not vomit at the smells now wafting out of the bowl on the stirred air. She hurried back to her cat and buried her face in its soft fur.

  Captain Enyeto continued to kill the ravens until most were dead and the balance decided that the meal could wait and winged away over the plain with indignant squawks. Several long minutes passed while the Captains went down into the bowl to inspect the scene.

  “They died quickly as far as we can tell.” Captain Enyeto kept his eyes averted from her grief, not wanting to intrude on her privacy.

  Alfreda gave a start at the sound of his voice and lifted her head from the great cat. She could taste the despair on the air, a tugging at her soul that told the real story, at least from the viewpoint of the deceased. Surprise and denial, pain and fear swirled through the air. Assassins they may have been for this particular venture, but at heart, they were Primordial souls and not evil in nature. Although normally this was Caerwyn’s duty, she gathered their scattered essence and sent them on their way to her brother’s care.

  “What of the priest?” Alfreda asked, her voice harsher than she intended.

  “I am sorry, my lady, but she appears to have disappeared.”

  “She? A high priestess? How do you know?” Alfreda asked sharply. Frowning, she reached out with her senses, searching for the woman and the path she had taken away from the meeting location. She could not sense her presence in the area.

  “They were killed with this.” Captain Enyeto opened his gloved hand to display an empty vial. “They were poisoned, my lady, and that is a woman’s method. Men are much more brutal.” Alfreda reached over and plucked the vial from his hand. “Be careful, my lady!” he protested “We do not know what kind of poison it is. It could be absorbed through the skin.”

  Alfreda grimaced and dropped the vial back onto his outstretched palm. “I do not remember the flesh clans having a high priestess. They have always worked with the male lineage. Why would they suddenly appoint a high priestess to this task? It makes no sense. They have always sent a male to the temple for the choosing.”

  “Yes, but has a male ever been chosen?” he asked.

  “No, not as a temple priest. This has been a major part of the discontent between the two clan factions.” Alfreda paced the floor with short strides, considering the puzzle. “They have not been silent regarding their displeasure, but there can be no accommodation for the sacrificial ritu
als they practice under the guise of appeasement of the gods. They refuse all requests from the spirit clan chiefs to attend their ceremonies, zealously guarding their secrets. Rare is the opportunity to observe or participate in their ceremonies. They are very much a closed society, and the only people who are allowed to enter their realm are those who have partaken in their ceremonies and become one of the tribe.”

  “I have heard that the joining ceremony involves the consumption of human flesh and blood?” Captain Enyeto grimaced at the horrid image, unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword as though by pulling it out, he could slay the offending thought.

  “Yes.” Alfreda walked in a widening circle around them questing with her mind, searching once again for the illusive high priestess. She rubbed at a mosquito bite on her arm, smearing a little blood in the process. Frustrated, she hurried back to her mount and climbed back into her saddle. The great cat stretched and stood, tail twitching, and sniffed the air head swinging to the right to stare and then back in the direction of the amphitheatre. The ravens circled overhead and dived low and disappeared into the bowl with their departure.

  “Let’s rejoin our forces. We will march through the night. I want to join with the Kingsmen by dawn. I sense that Caerwyn is in danger. I must catch up with him quickly.”

  They galloped off towards the waiting Primordial hoard and reaching the head of the column, set a brisk pace for Daimon Ford.

  Dark eyes watched their hurried departure, cloaked in robes that absorbed the background image and bent the light so that the eye slid right past. Standing close enough to hear every word, the cloaked figure chuckled. The narrowed eyes followed Alfreda, then dropped to the hand in front of its face and smiled. It was holding a needle and the needle was dripping with blood.

  Alfreda’s blood.

  Chapter 17

  Caerwyn

  The journey out of the swamp was a long and arduous one, filled with buzzing insects and biting flies, but worst of all, were the tall broad-leafed plants that blocked their passage. Every branch was covered with fine, transparent hairs that hung from the stems like moss, but it was unlike any moss Caerwyn had ever seen.