Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1)

by C. M. Estopare

Opening the door a sliver, Robin gasped slightly before trying to nudge it closed. Despite shoving his shoulder against the deep oak, a force on the other side shoved it open with a gentle flick of agile fingers.

  “What do you want?” Robin hissed, blocking Kat's view of the door with broad shoulders. “None of us here—,”

  A bony hand pressed upon his shoulder before Robin stepped sideways, his pale eyes glaring daggers at the jovial face of a mismatch eyed stranger.

  “Katell Maeva.” the stranger smiled, approaching her with open arms, “I've come to offer you...help.”

  ~~~

  Taking the strange man out into the hall, Kat brought her hand to the handle of Robin's door.

  “I'll be right here.” he whispered, halting the movement of the door. “You want to give your ear to a demon? Fine—but whatever you do...whatever he says...,”

  “He says I called him here.” Kat murmured, cupping her hand over her mouth. “How could I have done that? I don't even know his name.”

  “Southerners have the Night Lady, northerners have their own folktales. He's a devil, Kat, whatever you do—don't trust him.”

  Kat tilted her head. “I'll at least see what he has to say...”

  Robin nodded. “I'll be right here.” he repeated, bringing the door to a slight close. “Send him on his way as soon as you are able, Kat. Don't trust him.”

  Kat gave him a curt nod before closing the door completely. Turning on her heel, she met the stranger's prickly glare before his mismatched eyes of blue and green widened with laughter as she cut her gaze away.

  “Truly? You don't know who I am?” he laughed.

  “No.” she told him, crossing her arms. “But you said you could...help me?”

  The man cut his laughter before steepling his fingers before himself. “Let us walk, Katell Maeva.”

  She grimaced. “How do you know my name?”

  Crooking his head in a gesture to follow, he began to stalk down the dark hallway. Kat followed, shuffling forward meekly.

  “What matters now is that you have a very important decision to make tonight.” he told her, the hunched man coming to a halt before a high spire window of stained glass. His voice echoed down the hallway as he talked, a sour glint in his mismatched eyes as he turned halfway towards the window originally at his back.

  “And how would you know that?” Kat asked, narrowing her eyes. “How have I called you and what do you want?”

  Could he truly...help her with this decision? She didn't want to give up her humanity to get rid of the Night Lady. She wanted to fix the Crux, sure, but she was becoming increasingly unsure of the effects of offering another soul to the Power's Crux. Could it truly fix things? Or would it make things worse?

  As if reading her mind, the smiling stranger tilted his head knowingly. “It matters not who I am or how I've reached you. What matters is that there is a terrible imbalance in this world—one you could easily fix.” steepling his fingers before himself, the sleeves of his dark robe trailed upon the ground as he spoke, “The Power's Crux is tainted, no? As one who relies on the Power, I can feel it. You can feel it. I've come here to tell you that if things are not fixed soon, every mortal will lose command of the Power. Magic, as you well know it, will disappear. How, then, will mankind protect itself against the beastly scourge, hm? If the Power becomes severely unbalanced, how then will you prevent another Cataclysm, Katell Maeva?”

  Her eyes became wild as they widened. “I—I don't—,”

  He held a palm up to silence her. “Sacrificing a soul to the Crux has caused the imbalance—has caused all of mankind to be cut off. The Crux hungers for another soul, and in exchange it will grant Power to whomever satisfies it. But, how long will it be until another soul is required by the Crux? And another? How long can the Crux be satiated by the soul of the Night Lady, Katell Maeva? Will the Crux ever lust again—thus cutting mankind off and threatening to extinguish magic from this world forever? How long?”

  She didn't know. With wild eyes, she watched his lips twist into a smirk.

  “I've come to offer you a choice, Katell. I've come to offer you help.”

  She forced her voice to work. “Who are you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “What have you come for?” she demanded, her heart hammering in her chest as his mismatched eyes caught hold of hers. “Why have you—,”

  “Do you want to become a monster because this world is broken? Don't you want another way out? Another way to fix the Crux?” he asked her, eyes burning. “Do you want to kill your own mother?” he hissed, inclining his head towards her. “If there is another way—will you take it?”

  Of course—of course she would.

  But help never comes without a price.

  The man grinned. Digging into the thick pocket of his black robe, he yanked out a triangular gem which gleamed scarlet. Attached to its pointed head was a chain of silver, the links jingling as he ripped it from his pocket, took her hand, and placed it in her outstretched palm.

  It felt warm there, like it belonged. It felt as though it would melt right into her skin.

  “This will offer you a second path. One, where your mother could become human again—normal, again—wouldn't you want that?”

  She was frozen—pinned on the spot by his unwavering eyes of green and blue.

  “The Crux will be no more. The Power shall be freed.” he told her, closing his hand around hers. “Just as it ought to be.”

  Kat swallowed, the gem pressing into her skin as he squeezed her hand. She felt no heat from his closed palm. She felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  “Is this not what you want?” he asked. “Another way?”

  “Nothing in this life is free.” she found herself saying, though she refused to let go of the jewel. “What do you want in exchange?”

  He smiled. “This gem will swallow your mother's soul. It will cleanse her and allow her to live again as she once did. It will rid the world of its boundary—its 'Crux'.”

  “And what will this cost me?”

  He let his hand drop. “Nothing.” he smirked. “As of yet, nothing at all.”

  She found that hard to believe.

  “It is your choice—use it or not. Murder your own mother, fix the Crux—for a time; or free her. Free yourself. Free the world—,”

  “And your price for such a gem?”

  His lips stretched, his grin going from ear to ear. His eyes unblinking. Unwavering. “When the time comes,” the stranger hissed, his voice silver, “your help.”

  SIXTY

  Would she take it? Would she free her mother and ignore the Crux?

  Would she take it?

  Time seemed to freeze as she held the gem in her palm, the stranger looking down on her like a rabid wolf.

  “I will...” she swallowed, “...consider it.”

  The stranger's smile faltered, one of his mismatched eyes twitching as he opened them wider. “Very well, Katell.”

  Yanking his robe's hood atop his head, he turned upon his heel and walked off.

  Just like that.

  ~~~

  Kat still held the gem in her palm. Her thumb rubbed its smooth surface, as her skin enjoyed its otherworldly warmth. Finding her way back to Robin's room hadn't been much of a pain, the stranger hadn't walked off with her far. But as she kept her eyes to the ground, it was easy to get lost. Especially since she was swimming in her own thoughts. Her own decisions.

  Now that she had a way around killing her mother—but would she take it?

  Was that man truly a devil?

  How had he known to find her here? How had he known her name and the decision she had to make?

  When did things become so complex?

  Kat had the strangest feeling that she had just communed with a god.

  “Katell!”

  Kat jumped. Bringing her head up, she caught sight of a door slightly open. Looking inside, she spotted Robin standing. His curved chin jutted out in anger as he
crossed his muscular arms over his bare chest.

  She looked him over with dull eyes. “Who was that?”

  “And here I thought I was important.” he grumbled, pulling her into the room before throwing the door shut behind him. “Does the name, 'Dunstan Riche', ring a bell? Hm?”

  She shook her head. “He wouldn't tell me his name.”

  “Of course he wouldn't. The less you know the better.”

  Kat shook her head before sitting upon the bed. Bringing her hands into her lap, she opened the palm containing the scarlet jewel and stared at it. Her eyes transfixed as she bit the inside of her cheek.

  “He comes when mortals are in need, or so the saying goes. Always in the form of some sort of merchant. He offers deals in exchange for servitude and souls.” Robin paced, arms tightly crossed. Snapping his gaze towards Kat, his eyes spied the jewel in her lap. “Is that what he offered you?”

  She nodded, eyes still glued to the gem.

  “Then you've already given yourself to him.” Robin murmured under his breath. “Or...have you?”

  “I haven't given anything in exchange...I said...”...I'd consider it...

  “Did you feel a burning sensation when he left? As if someone were branding or tattooing you?”

  Her eyebrows rose in confusion as she snapped her fingers over the jewel in her lap. “No...nothing...”

  Robin paused, clenching and unclenching his fist nervously. “Then, he's given you something for...nothing?”

  “He told me this jewel would save my mother and the Crux.”

  “It's not possible.” Robin snapped, pale eyes narrowed. “Perhaps Clara has done something. Perhaps...”

  “Perhaps I need to use it...” Kat whispered, eyes meeting Robin's. “...and then he will take something from me.”

  Robin approached her then. Falling to his knees, he placed his hands upon her thighs. “Then you mustn't. Whatever you do—Dunstan Riche is a trickster, Katell. Whatever he told you about that thing—expect the exact opposite to happen...or worse. Whatever you do...”

  “It could save my mother—it could save her.”

  “Or, it could take her from these plains forever.” Robin whispered back, fingers digging into the cloth of her long tunic. “Please, Katell—don't take his bait—,”

  “Either way, I lose.” she breathed, her fingers tightening around the jewel as she met his gaze with a sharp glare. “Either way, my family is no more and the world will go on as it ought to.”

  “Are you truly willing to trade your soul with this devil in exchange for your mother's? Are you truly willing to trade your life—your freedom?”

  “I have never been free.” she hissed, standing. Brushing his fingers away from her thighs.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Horace felt something wither within the pit of his soul.

  Leaning with his face pressed against the black iron bars of his cell's tiny window, his gaze wandered towards the grassy plains bowing beneath a howl of sultry wind.

  Something was coming. The animals sensed it, birds fleeing to the skies as trees bowed. Brown bark suddenly fading to gray. Gray becoming a stygian black.

  Something was coming. And with the howling wind, blew death. A black haze of fog rolled in from the east. A roaring funnel of it followed a tiny figure mowing its way towards the west. Towards the two citadels of Safrana.

  The roaring funnel of black left a trail of graying grass and animal carcasses. Brittle white bones thrown haphazardly between hay-like stalks of dead grass.

  From somewhere within Horace's bleak cell of slimy stone and rat infested cracks, water tapped upon stone. It was an incessant dripping which robbed him of sleep and sanity. But with the darkening of the sky came an eternal dusk that allowed him to slip in and out of consciousness.

  How long had it been since the Rose's men had quartered him? Days? Weeks? Months, even?

  Would he ever see his kinsmen again?

  He watched the figure with keen eyes as it moved. The graying of the grass and trees reminded him of an ocean calmly receding. The waves pulling themselves towards the center of the world as beaches grew and sand shifted.

  Like a candle being snuffed out in the darkness, below him, life was being snuffed out.

  Something was coming.

  Going—he corrected himself. Something was going.

  But where?

  Carrying the south's life-force on its shoulders—where was this thing going?

  His mind jumped to his cousin—jumped to the Sonants and their mission. Could it have something to do with the Senior Sonant? Could it have something to do with Katell—if she was even still alive? Could it have something to do with the north's envoys...how the Sonants planned to slaughter them all at Labassette to send a message to the north. Could that thing down there have something to do with them?

  Or...was it something completely different? Around him, the world was vastly changing. From the glowing of the leaves in Baate Noir, to the sudden death buzzing around the blackened forest. Something was changing. The air seemed to crackle with electricity—with life being snuffed out. The crackle falling to a deathly silence which rattled around in his bones.

  What was happening?

  What, in this world, was changing? Was it something drastic?

  Wasn't this how Gran described the coming of the Cataclysm?

  Fantastic events—the ending of the south's eternal winter. Night turning to day and day becoming night once more. The sun hiding. Dying.

  Was this world about to experience a second Cataclysm?

  Horace hoped not. Locked up in some Rose Fort at the hands of the Rose's men—Horace sourly hoped not. If a second Cataclysm were underway, he wanted to have some sort of part in it. Not be locked away in some tower awaiting something worse than death. A man stuck on the outside—he wanted to be a part of things!

  But, on the figure went. Trudging through fields of dying grass. On the figure went, towards Safrana.

  Should he beseech the Night Lady? Ask her for help like so many of his kinsmen did before they were slaughtered by the Rose's men? Should he just end things now and pray the Fates will let him look upon his changing world as a spirit?

  He didn't have the strength—the audacity.

  He still had to live—for his cousin—he still had to live.

  Could Kat have a part to play in this?

  Horace had always believed the eagle-eyed girl was special. A little off, but important to something big. Something...cataclysmic. He couldn't put his finger on it—what with the constant dripping of water from the corner of his cell and the eternal hunger stabbing his belly and weakening his body—but he just knew. Somehow knew, that Kat had her nose in this. Had a part to play in this.

  Perhaps she would die because of this. Perhaps the entire world...

  Horace shook his head and shut his eyes tight. Clapping his hands to his ears, he violently shook his head from side to side as the water continued to drip.

  Drip...drip...drip...

  Perhaps he had a part to play in this as well. Perhaps he...

  Perhaps he could speak to Kat—warn her? But how?

  Horace brought himself to standing as best he could, his joints ached as they popped and crackled. His mouth felt like cotton as he licked his cracked lips.

  A bird flew by his window. A raven. It came to perch on the lip of the stone encrusted hole in the wall. It looked at him. Tilted its head of midnight feathers.

  Horace jumped—gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth. Was he dreaming?

  The creature looked at him, its eyes sparkling with intelligence. With value.

  He found himself wanting to eat it.

  “Tell her,” he croaked, his throat burning, “beseech the Night Lady.”

  He hadn't heard his own voice in sometime, and he gasped at the sound. At the noise. He was surprised he could still speak—still make some sort of sense of words.

  The bird cocked its head to the right before turning its head haph
azardly. The creature seemed to nod before setting off. Before melding its midnight feathers with the blackness of the inky sky above.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Kat had a decision to make.

  Would she pledge her soul to the hetaeras and become hetaera herself? Would she kill her own mother and use her soul to cleanse the Crux?

  Or...would she use Dunstan's gem and save her mother's soul in exchange for her own? Would she forego the Crux—ignoring it for her mother? Would she outright ignore the demands of that sylph—the Keeper of the Crux?

  Kat felt as though she were walking into a trial. Dragging her feet through the halls, sneaking a peek through a window, she couldn't tell night from day anymore. The sky stayed black, the clouds bubbling as if they were concealing a storm. The sun did not shine, it was almost as if the sun itself had died out. The stygian black of the clouds sucking away its orange shine, devouring the orb's bright light.

  Pressing her fingertips against the stained glass of one spire-topped window, she felt a chill grow from her fingers to her elbows as a flock of black birds soared past. One bird dropping out of its formation like a rock learning to fly.

  Kat turned away, determined to get to her destination. She told Clara she'd speak to her in the morning and of all the things she'd messed up or outright ignored—she wouldn't be going back on her word. Kat would meet her and tell her the decision she'd come to. And that would be that.

  She dreaded Vidonia's face—the older sorceress's ire.

  Kat could almost imagine what Vidonia would spit at her, the woman's face going ruby red—Then we've come here for nothing? No—I've come here for nothing! You insolent—

  Kat clenched her jaw—this was her decision, and her's alone. Though Vidonia had helped her tremendously—she had no part to play in what ultimately would be the matricide of her own mother. Vidonia had no part to play. And if Kat decided to ignore the Crux in favor of saving her mother—then so be it. What had the Crux ever done for her?

  It turned her into a witch. It made it so others could blame women for the Cataclysm and burn them. It spawned hatred in their world—so what if the Crux would possibly stay tainted, or fall apart all together? If anything, the Crux was the reason their world was so broken right now. The Crux is what made her mother into what she is now—the Crux. And, in all honesty, Kat would rather see the damned thing destroyed.