Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1)

by C. M. Estopare

  But who was she to come to that conclusion? Destroying the Crux would take magic from their world—how then will humans take on beasts? With rods and spears? True, the south had done quite well for itself without the protection of sorceresses, but how about the north? From what she knew, they were quite dependent on magic...

  But what did the north matter to her? The north—those that forced the Southern Reaches into shackles? If she truly wanted to prove to the Sonants that she wasn't a traitor to her people—she'd cleanse her mother's soul and find a way to destroy the Crux, if removing its taint didn't prime it for destruction already.

  Would she have to kill the sylph? The Keeper of the Crux?

  Kat widened her eyes and shook her head before halting. Opening her palms, she brought them to her face.

  What was she thinking?

  What in the world was she thinking? This journey, these decisions—everything she has been a part of...it was...changing her. And not for the better, either.

  If she saved her mother, she'd go on to find Horace...yes. Damn the south—the north—the Crux—her family is what mattered right now. Yes, her family...

  When had she changed so much?

  A pitter-patter of wings caught her eye as a large raven stretched its ragged feathers near the face of a darkened window. Kat approached the window as the raven began to preen. Slowly, she approached it, hoping she wouldn't be seen.

  Pressing her hands against the stone windowsill, the raven snapped its meaty neck towards her. Its large beak tapping the glass as its pebble-like eyes twitched this way and that, the animal surveying her. Studying her.

  “You aren't going to speak to me, are you?” Kat teased, holding her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow against the stones. “It seems like everything has something to tell me nowadays.”

  “Do you regret walking with the Chaperon?”

  Kat gasped—taken aback. Had the creature truly talked to her?

  Its voice was feminine...smooth. “Do you regret losing your way? Finding yourself here and there...do you regret ever being brought to Montbereau? Losing your mother? Do you sometimes wish...”

  Heels clacked against stone, the sound gradual and slow as the speaker paused.

  Kat held her head in her hands—of course the damned raven hadn't been speaking to her.

  It was Clara.

  “Rosetta told me everything.”

  Kat turned.

  Holding out slender arms draped in crystalline lace, Clara inclined her head. Acting as if she were about to hug Kat. “It is paramount for me to know all about my hetaera.”

  “I'm not hetaera yet.” Kat bristled, leaning against the window-face as bird wings beat against the air outside.

  “But you've come to a decision?”

  Kat cut her gaze away. Felt the warm hum of the gem nestled deep within her trouser pocket. “Yes.” she hadn't expected Clara to come looking for her—she wanted more time. More time to think things through, to enjoy this bit of normalcy. This little pause in her life.

  “When shall we begin the Change?” she began, clasping her hands behind her back. “It is a tedious process. We'll need to begin immediately if you hope to cleanse the Crux within the week.”

  Kat crossed her arms as she refused to meet Clara's sharp gaze. “I won't be doing that.” she told her, her voice meek. “None of it. I've...found another way.”

  “Oh,” Vidonia murmured, her voice barely a step away from her. “have you, now?”

  Her voice was laced with poison. A threat.

  You'll forgive me for this.

  Robin's voice—Kat brought her gaze up to meet Clara's as smooth palms felt their way up her back. Vidonia breathed down her neck, lilac pervading her senses as the woman grabbed hold of both her shoulders.

  I'm so sorry, Katell. But this is for the good of the world.

  She felt the gem hum warmth in her pocket.

  Snatching her gaze from Clara's, Kat stole her hand down her trouser pocket, searching for the source of the warmth.

  “There is only one way to right the balance of things, Katell Maeva. You were born to complete the cycle, and complete it you shall.” Vidonia hissed into her ear, digging her nails deep into Kat's skin.

  Kat bit her lip against the pain—the burning sensation that slithered up and down her shoulders.

  Closing her hand around the gem, she yanked it out of her pocket.

  “See!” she almost screeched, holding the thing up for Clara to see. “I can use this to right things! I don't have to kill her!”

  Clara's eyes fell, her growing frown darkened. “Is it human?” she asked.

  Kat tightened her grip around the gem, felt the jewel hiccup in her hand as a watery squelch resounded down the hall.

  The sound came from her. Thick mucous, warm and slimy, slid down the length of her hand.

  Black blood dripped to the floor, creating a puddle.

  Kat brought the gem towards herself.

  Her eyes widened. Her stomach dropped.

  It was a heart. A still beating heart twitching in her hand. Spurting someone's life-force.

  How had this—

  No—this was her way to save her mother. The gem—it was.

  Her throat thickened.

  Katell, you'll forgive me. I swear you will.

  Robin. Robin had done this—but how? How had he switched her gem for a...a heart?

  “And your decision, now?” Vidonia hissed into her ear. “You have but one, yes?”

  Could she somehow call Dunstan Riche again? Could she somehow...?

  Kat hung her head.

  The choice was never her own. There was never a decision to make. She was a pawn in all of this. A pawn.

  Kat bit her lip.

  And nodded her head.

  “Good, then.” Vidonia murmured, patting the girl on the shoulder. “What a good girl you are.”

  SIXTY-THREE

  It is a cycle that comes to a head every decade. Every ten years.

  Heat piled up like hot coals behind Kat's eyes as she was strapped down.

  She did not want this.

  She felt her bottom lip quiver.

  Mortals cry out for Power—for magic—and the Crux gives. It gives and gives and gives...

  Kat made it hard for them—kicking and scratching as the women attempted to tie her down with leather straps and brass buckles. They strapped her down to a block of thick wood, tying down her legs first. Then her arms. Her head.

  In exchange for magic, mortals give tiny pieces of themselves. This is called, “Natural Power”, and it resides inside of everyone—even those who claim no connection to the Power's Crux.

  Vidonia circled her, strapping her forehead to the block while wiping globs of saliva from her face. Kat spat—narrowly missing Vidonia's eyes—as Clara worked on her kicking feet. It was a losing battle, Kat knew, but for once in her life—she had a choice to fight. She had a choice—the freedom to do as she pleased. Until they did what they had to to enact the Changing—she had a choice. She was free.

  And in that freedom, she would give them hell.

  Natural Power cannot sustain the Crux. The more it gives, the more it requires. As the Crux dwindles down during the decade, it comes close to being empty. Like a well without water—but even the Crux seeks to preserve itself.

  Vidonia cupped Kat's chin, wrenching her face upwards as the last of the straps were wrapped around Kat's feet and tightened. Kat felt the urge to spit once more—to successfully hit her with something. This woman was her antagonist—her adversary. How stupid she had been to believe that she was out to help her—to help the south and the forest. How stupid she had been!

  And yet...

  It whispers to those desiring Power, urging them to grant it a soul in exchange for godhood. It whispers to the weak and the needy, the hungry and the desirous. It whispers to those that draw too much from it, and to those that draw too little...

  Vidonia's face was a blank mask—not one o
f malice. Not one of spite. She found no joy in this. But her sister...

  Clara paced, chanting in a foreign language. One that Elisedd and Vidonia had spoken before her once...or twice. Somehow, her mind became muddled in a fog of confusion that blurred her vision as her strapped down limbs twitched.

  Pull yourself together Kat—give them everything...everything you've got!

  Kat clenched her jaw as she fought against Clara's words, the woman's voice rising in some sort of eerie song. Vidonia stood near Kat's shoulder. Gently, she shook her head and avoided Kat's gaze. “Don't fight it.” she told her matter-of-factly. “It will only make it more painful for you.”

  Kat's limbs became heavy, weighted like useless stones. She felt a lump form in her throat—choking her.

  Was she...giving up? Giving in to this...? This...cycle?

  No—she couldn't do that. Dunstan Riche had given her a choice—where was that jewel?

  Robin—Robin took it.

  Could he be far? Could she break free from this and find him? Make him give her back the jewel?

  Kat slumped against the block of wood as her blood suddenly turned to ice.

  No—she could do it. She could break free.

  Vidonia snapped her gaze to her, the woman's eyes vacant. “You must complete the cycle.” she deadpanned. “None of us have a choice in this.” she told her. “None of us.”

  It promises immortality to the mortal. It promises godhood to those that see themselves as gods...

  Kat felt the skin of the roof of her mouth shrivel up as the roof of her mouth turned to cotton. She tasted dust. She tasted dead skin and bone. She opened her mouth to scream as the ice spiking through her veins speared out through her, her bones becoming ice. Her blood becoming dust. She was changing—was this it? Was this it for her freedom?

  Would she have a soul after this? Would she have a soul to give if she somehow found the jewel?

  Would she have a choice in finding it? Was this the last of her freedom?

  In exchange for mortal souls to replace the Power it gives, it turns those willing to parlay with it into Fallen. Mortal devils. Creatures who believe themselves to be gods...and the Crux demands more. Demands souls in exchange for Power, thus cutting off the entire world from magic.

  A soothing chill grew from her chest as her body bucked against the ice encasing her veins, her bones. She fought against the leather strapping her to the block for as long as her will allowed it—the freedom to do so as intoxicating as lovemaking. As powerful as a man spouting his love.

  She bucked and rocked—thrashed against the wood until bruises bloomed all over, purple and blue becoming her. Destroying her skin. Hurting her.

  Exchanging the soul of a Fallen cleanses it—satisfies it—but only for a time.

  Only for a decade.

  In her mind's eye, the great black wings of a raven beat against the stagnant air of the dark chamber as Clara continued to sing. Continued to wail her sorrowful song.

  Black eyes met hers, as a black beak tapped against her chest. Exposing her.

  “Beseech the Night Lady.” it screeched before disappearing. Before becoming the darkness that surrounded her. “Beseech the Night Lady.”

  And would she help her? Knowing she was fated to kill her? And would the Night Lady come to Kat's aid if she beseeched her? If she prayed to her with all of her might?

  And then, the cycle begins again.

  A voice told her—no.

  There is no savior but yourself.

  There is no savior for you.

  A roaring resounded in her ears. A rush of blood. Of life.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  It is done.

  ~~~

  “How long do we have? How long do you believe she will be out?”

  Clara met her sister's eyes blankly. “Everything is coming to an end.”

  ~~~

  Vidonia had been afraid to move the girl, what with the blood and the newfound paleness of her skin. But she removed the straps and attempted to make the poor thing comfortable. Vidonia could remember her first Changing, and at the sudden recollection—she shivered.

  It wasn't something she remembered as being...pleasant.

  Placing her hand upon the unconscious girl's forehead, she felt for a sign of life and shook her head.

  “How long do we have?” she asked again, her tone urgent and sharp.

  “Enough.” Clara snapped back. “How should I know? What signs am I looking for out there?”

  “Darkness.” Vidonia replied matter-of-factly. “Death.”

  “The sky is still black. There is no sun to speak of—next to no light. There's a horrid stink out there—like a carcass rotting in the sun—and it's cold. Too cold for the north.”

  “And there's no person? No figure?”

  Clara visibly swallowed as she stood near the entrance to the dismal chamber. “I hadn't thought to look...”

  “She often appears as a woman.”

  “Does she?”

  Vidonia snapped her gaze towards Clara. “Yes.”

  “Then I...” Clara shifted, her gaze moving towards the floor. “...I've done something terrible, haven't I?”

  Vidonia stood, clenching her fists at her sides. “You've seen her?”

  “I've invited a woman inside...refuge from the cold. It's not in season, sister. She looked old...sickly...”

  Closing the gap between herself and Clara in three quick steps, Vidonia stood level with Clara. Her eyes chilly. “Take me to her.”

  …

  Clara led her to a similar small parlor with a fireplace and armchairs. The room was stuffy and humid with scarlet pressing down on them from all sides. In a large wingback chair sat the stiff body of a woman Vidonia knew quite well.

  “Archmage Ledora.”

  The woman tensed in her seat, her jaw clenching. “We meet again.”

  Vidonia approached her from behind, sliding her hand up and down the back of her scarlet armchair. “Why are you here?” Vidonia hissed, hoping to get a rise out of the woman.

  “I believe we have the same motives.”

  It was Vidonia's turn to tense as she stood behind the woman's chair. “Are you missing...an arm?”

  Ledora appeared disheveled and unkempt. She looked as though she had been sleeping in a forest for these past weeks. Her hair normally kept in a tight chignon at the back of her head stood around her face wildly, like a black halo. Her clothing tore beneath her armpits and at the bend in her legs. She looked like a Lady of the Wood, not an archmage.

  “What happened to you?”

  “That is none of your concern.” her voice was ice. Her tone steely. “Where is Katell?”

  Vidonia raised an eyebrow. “Is it true she spirited you away from me?” she started, walking her fingers along the back of the chair. “Why did you have a need to run, Ledora? What were you hiding from me?”

  Ledora hissed a sigh. “It matters not. Nothing matters now, does it? The Crux is broken and it is your fault, Vidonia. How does it feel to have the weight of the world crush you? To know that this is your fault?”

  Vidonia dug her nails into the chair's upholstery. Never before had Ledora been so good at cutting deep. “How dare you.”

  “How dare you.” she snapped back, refusing to turn her head and face Vidonia. “Insinuate me of things! Pft! Now, I'll ask again,” her voice was unnatural, her stance in the chair—it struck Vidonia as odd. “Where is Katell?”

  “Why do you need her so?” Vidonia hissed through her teeth. “Why did you run all those weeks ago, only to come back like the sniveling dog you are?” Vidonia smirked—that had to do it. Now the truth would come pouring out!

  But Vidonia's remark was met with silence. Had Ledora gone deaf? Vidonia wondered.

  Ledora's head turned like a door squeaking on a rusted hinge. As she met Vidonia's gaze, her eyes became abysmal pits of black.

  Something was wrong.

  The air became thick with tension as Vidonia's breath ex
ited her nostrils as white mist.

  “Where is she?”

  “I knew you weren't her.” Vidonia hissed back, digging her fingernails farther into the chair. Ripping the fabric. “I knew...!”

  Vidonia didn't have the strength to defeat her now—Katell had only recently gone through the Changing. What would she do—what could she do to stop her?

  Vidonia cracked a smirk. “Oh, do you mean you cannot feel her?” she snorted slightly. “Is that not how you tracked her down here? Weren't you following the trail of her soul?”

  Ledora's face twisted, her lips darkening into a scowl. “Tell me where she is, Vidonia—I have no quarrel with you...yet.”

  Vidonia stole a look around the room—Clara was gone. Good.

  Maybe she could warn Katell—get her out and away from Seraphina. Maybe she could take Katell elsewhere and protect her until the girl grew strong enough to finally do away with the Night Lady and restore the Crux.

  Maybe.

  Vidonia avoided Seraphina's black gaze. “I cannot obstruct the balance, Seraphina.” she told her matter-of-factly. “You know that.”

  “Where is my daughter?!” Seraphina screamed—throwing herself to standing with her single arm. “Where—what have you done? Where is she?!”

  “Rest assured, Seraphina,” Vidonia murmured, coaxing the woman to stillness. “we've done away with her ourselves. May her soul rest in peace.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Clara shook her awake.

  Pins and needles speared through her veins as Kat pushed herself up.

  “She's here.” is all Clara murmured before a cry pierced the stony quiet of the chamber.

  Kat's arms trembled as she worked to fling her legs over the side of the wood block. “And what do you expect me to do?” she croaked, her throat raw and dry.

  “Fulfill the cycle.” Clara said, motioning for the girl to stand. “You may be weak, but together we can take her out and you can sacrifice her soul to the Crux.”