“Your master sent a weakling of your level to guard one he or she owes a favor to?” The essence practitioner cocked his head, considering my words. “What kind of master has such weak servants?”
“It shames me to say it, but I am far from being my master’s most powerful disciple,” I answered carefully. “I am merely the one fortunate enough to find my master’s friend. Should she and I die though, I can swear with a Sourcevow that my master will work to avenge us both.”
And, I thought but did not say, who are you to call me weak? You are not far enough above me to be proud of your power.
“If she was truly strong enough to do such a thing, she would already have slain my master,” the large man said levelly. “And if your master was truly strong, she would have taught you the language of power instead of the weak words you throw from your mouth.” The muscled practitioner took another step forward. “I am going to kill you, unless you move aside right now. In fact, the only reason I haven’t killed you at all was because I wish to know why someone so weak is trying to guard someone else so obviously doomed. One last question before I kill you, whelp: did your parents drop you when you were born, or did they raise you to be this stupid?”
My mind was a place with dark, dark thoughts, the small, recent amount of hope I had found notwithstanding. But his callous insult flipped a switch in my mind, lighting up yet another room I had forgotten as I hungered and despaired back on Earth’s slums.
“Who guards the guardians, when they lay down their shields and sleep?” I asked out loud, repeating the question my mother had given me oh so long ago. “Who heals the healers, when they lie broken and alone? Who protects the protectors, when they are surrounded by foes they cannot overcome alone? Who rescues the heroes, when they have already given everything, and need saving themselves?”
My Soulscape shifted, as if my words had jolted it awake. It began spinning, venting atmosphere over the ship and exploding star orbiting around it
Acknowledged, a voice said from inside of it. Subject is hereby recognized as a component of protocol 001, codenamed Apocalypse Denied. Commencing preparations necessary for Anchor Knight transformation.
Far behind me, the dying old woman gasped.
“Rider,” she whispered. “It cannot be... they all failed...”
The bloody practitioner had a different reaction.
“I see,” he finally said, his voice full of pity, and all the odder for it. The mask of contempt he had been wearing over his face finally slipped free, and his unfocused eyes now shined with sadness instead of hate. “You have embraced the wrong madness. I am sorry.” He waved at his wolves, but did not advance forward. “It is not your fault. Everyone goes mad in some fashion. They must do so, if they are to survive at all under the night sky. But not all insanity rewards. You have been cursed with a lesser disease, one that has betrayed your loyalty by giving you greater and greater obligations, when it should have given you greater and greater strength. My pets will free you, and grow the stronger for it. For your part, you will receive the peace and sanity of death. It is unfair that you were never offered more. Kill him, Blut and Fleisch. We must free our mad brother, before we can claim our proper meal.”
The two wolves advanced forward, flanking me effectively. Their movements were careful, steady, and sure, and something in their eyes told me they had assessed my power well, unlike the last pack I had battled. These two were more experienced creatures, wolves that had probably brought down practitioners in the past. And when my eyes turned to follow them, I caught their tamer move forward as well. The practitioner was not going to make the mistake of leaving the fight to them.
No one was underestimating me, and that alone made this most dangerous fight of my life.
With one exception: all three of my foes made the mistake of underestimating the little mouse by my side.
A multicolored flash of fur leaped through the air and danced across the open cheek of the wolf on my left, then flew through the air to tear at the second wolf’s ear. As both wolves yelped and snapped at my bonded companion, I activated my speed charm and activated my fire spell. I ran my line of fire all along the open flank of the undead wolf, burning as much area as possible. As the creature collapsed on its side, I spent the last bit of my empowered speed to fire a bolt of mana into the exhausted monster’s skull.
There were at least a hundred-hundred different stories on Earth regarding the walking dead and how to deal with them, but I remembered that most of them agreed on two things: the walking dead were frail against fire, and defeated by the destruction of the head.
My first spell had been sufficient to cripple and drain the monster’s protection, and my second had managed to shatter whatever magic in its head animated it. The creature shuddered as my bolt entered its rotting brain, and then went completely still, expelling a cloud of its three Source energies.
Activating three special abilities in tandem was exhausting, but I kept my attention focused on my remaining foes. My human enemy had drawn back in surprise, but the other wounded wolf was facing off against Nestor.
The little lifemouse faced off against the undead beast a hundred times his size with his fluffy fur bristling all over, constantly changing colors in a distracting pattern.
Fight-you! my little friend challenged, lashing his tail and baring his tiny teeth. Not-scared! Save-save!
He leaped up and darted across the wolf’s snout, and the two tumbled to the floor as they twisted and snapped and fought.
I realized that despite their difference in size, Nestor was at least at the same level of his opponent, and that I had best turn my gaze to the strongest foe.
“Essence and mana,” the bloody-eyed man intoned, cautiously moving forward. “You are a bi-practitioner, perhaps the most attractive of all the false paths to power. I will respect you for your discipline, and your killing of Blut, if not for your choice in power.” He circled me as he moved forward, not choosing to attack me head-on. “I am Elag Okenbrand, tribesman of the Blood-hungry Bear, the future high king of this world. I request your name before I take your Source.”
“Jasper Cloud, of Earth,” I replied sadly. “And by revealing my own identity, I have forced myself to take your life.”
“If you can truly do so, then I have misjudged your might,” Elag told me, and cleared the distance between us in the blink of an eye.
I had just enough time to activate my speed charm and leap backwards, so I was only struck by the full extension of his knuckles. The force of the glancing blow still knocked its way through my qi shield and reinforced robes and made my bones shudder painfully. I forced myself to concentrate through the pain and retaliated with a qi-shielded kick to his stomach, hoping to force a bit of distance between us. My enemy grunted in surprise rather than pain, then reached down to grab at my leg, a depressed expression on his face.
Focus on what’s important! my mother’s voice snapped, and I swung my other leg in the air and threw a dangerous amount of raw mana, qi, and essence into the kick, aiming at my enemy’s face with as much raw power as I dared to put in. I need to learn more skills, I caught my wandering mind thinking, before I refocused it towards striking my enemy’s temple.
He twisted his head in time to take my attack on the cheek, then he flung me away before I could follow up the attack with another overloaded strike. My leg burned painfully. Spare Source energy was best used as part of a technique, spell, or charm. Trying to use it to work like the Source energy permanently ingrained was dangerous in large doses. But right now, I had no choice.
I managed to land on my feet in a crouch, in spite of the pain in my leg and the force of Elag’s throw. I recklessly burned my speed charm a third time and fired off another fire bolt into my enemy, pulling the energy from my battery ring as I started to feel taxed. That in itself was a bad sign, and it further reinforced my opponent’s words that I had spread myself too thin.
But what happened next was even worse. Elag suddenly ro
ared and grew several inches, his muscles expanding as fur appeared all over his body. He ran right through the fire, moving even more quickly now, and drawing the long, broad knife in his belt, a weapon more resembling a broken broadsword than anything else.
His free hand saw right through my dodge as he grappled me, lifting me off of my feet and pulling me within stabbing range, not reacting at all to my furious punches and kicks. The useless part of my brain took the time to note that he actually was close to my height, that before his new transformation, I had probably been a finger-width taller.
The more useful part of my brain pointed out that I had just been stabbed in the side by an essence-crafted Sourceweapon, and that I was currently in a lot of pain.
“You have lost,” the beast-man grunted, sounding in control, despite his still-unfocused eyes and newly fanged maw. “I will bleed you now,” he said as he stabbed me again, this time in the leg. “But know I do this without malice. It is out of respect for my totem, and for suffering’s sake itself.”
He had pulled me a hair closer, and then, like he said, the fight was over.
I gripped his temples with my hands, and summoned out my two spiritual knives, so that they blasted out of my palms blade-first.
They barely penetrated his essence-infused hide, to my horror, but not surprise. Vessa had instructed me to expect this difference in strength, that I should feel fortunate if I was able to injure an opponent at all that was a full stage of Advancement above my own. That was why I had Nestor gather those large rocks earlier.
I blasted the rocks out next, my arms searing as the missiles exited my Soulscape and body. They slammed against my daggers like a hammer slamming against nails. There was a spurt of blood from both knives, but I wasn’t finished. Nestor had collected a good-sized handful of stones nearly the size of my fist, and I blasted every single one I had left right out of my body, dividing them evenly between my palms, driving both the knives and earlier rocks deep into Elag’s skull.
My arms and chest screamed in utter agony, but my enemy dropped me and slumped down to his knees. That still horrified me. There were knives and rocks inside his skull. He should have already died.
But as I readied to try and finish him off, I saw him give me one last nod, as if in grudging respect, and then the rest of him crumpled to the floor. A cloud of essence, as well as faint, miniscule trickles of qi and mana, floated up from his body. The rocks and daggers in his skull crumpled apart completely, dissipating into the air instead of returning to my Soulscape. Apparently my desperate attack had overspent them somehow.
I turned to see the remaining wolf monster let out a short scream as its entire head erupted in a flame that began at the wound in its throat. As it fell to the floor and released its own Source energy, I saw Nestor leap clear of the monster’s neck, shaking himself in disgust.
Yuck-yuck, the little rodent muttered. Bad-thing. Glad-dead.
Nestor, I asked, did you just cast one of my mana spells?
Who-cares? my bonded companion sent defiantly. Check-her! he shouted as he ran back to the blanket-wrapped woman further in the cave. Save-save!
We found her staring at us, trembling on the floor as she watched us.
“Rider,” she gasped. “Anchor Knight.”
“I have no idea what you mean by either name,” I told her. “But I must return to my job of making you as comfortable as possible.”
“No!” she hissed, pulling out of the blankets and reaching for me with trembling hands. “Tell me! How did you survive? Your kind was supposed to be lost with my own!”
“You are reacting to my earlier speech,” I guessed, watching her carefully, trying to guess whether she was dangerous or fragile right now. Probably both, I quietly told myself. “You are referring to my quoting my parents’ lessons.”
“Your parents taught you, then,” she gasped, eyes wide. “Then your parents passed you the brightest and heaviest of torches, rider. I take back my earlier rejection of your help. I take back every angry word I told you, save for those directed at your parents’ murderers. I curse them a hundred times over. If you but answer my next request, then I will swear with a Sourcevow to spend whatever time my part-soul has left blessing you, and haunting your enemies’ dreams. Answer my next request, and I will use my power to linger beyond death, helping you achieve all the power and vengeance a being of your line is due. I will help you grow strong, spend all my knowledge reinforcing your master’s teaching, and improve it wherever I know of greater secrets. I will protect you from the onslaught of other souls, so that no other spirit will harm you. I will share knowledge of every treasure I have hidden over the years, save the few I have reserved for two others. And, when you have gained everything I have left to offer, I will go and haunt the dreams of your family’s murderers, those brainless, godless clusters of maggot-dung whose unworthy paws took the lives of those that almost single-handedly saved every light in the night sky. And once you have achieved all of your vengeance, I will haunt your enemies’ ghosts with my own, tormenting them wherever they go, so that the wretched things never steal even a shred of undeserved peace. I will swear by a Sourcevow to do all of this, for all the thousands of years my part-soul will last, if you but agree to my final request.”
“I have yet to learn from my master what exactly a part-soul is,” I told the now-passionate old woman. “But tell me of your request, so that I may consider it.”
“My daughter’s eggs, rider,” the old woman breathed, coughing and shuddering as she battled her wounds. “If you are truly an Anchor Knight, you can save them. Your Soulscape is built to store, rescue, preserve, refine, even heal. I know, because I saw you use it in battle, rider. It should look like a planet, probably a tiny one at your level, yes?”
“That... is completely correct,” I said, startled. “How did you know?”
“It was common,” the woman grunted, pushing past her pain. “Back when our races worked together. We fought to save those who once saved others, the heroes that sailed between the lights in the night sky. All the worlds have forgotten them by now, and none but our peoples came to their aid in the end. Their deaths drove my husband into such a rage that he ascended immediately, Advancing beyond the night sky itself, that he may grow strong enough to return one day, to avenge them all, and protect the worlds in their stead. I would have followed him, but for my daughter’s grief.” The old woman paused, closing her eyes tightly. “She had been pregnant with my grandchildren, and the foolish thing had still tried to fight. I should not blame her, for the rest of my family was no different. We all fought to save those who had saved us all of our lives before. But when the vessel-saints burned and burned, we went mad with grief. The Sourcevows we had sworn to our own souls were broken all at once, ravaging our bodies and souls. The wracking caused my daughter to go into labor early, releasing my grandchildren as eggs not ready to exist beyond the womb. When her own husband saw this, the rage took him as well. He ascended next, the young fool, probably so that he could go to the heavens beyond and throw down whatever devil, immortal, or false god had allowed such horrors to come to pass. My daughter wept, then ascended as well, hoping to find an answer both for her comatose eggs as well as for a night sky that had suddenly lost its protectors.”
The woman took a breath, opening her eyes, staring at tragedies far beyond the distant past.
“I had hesitated, binding my own rage in a desperate attempt to hold my family together, to reason with them while I still could. By the time I had failed, the window had passed. The night sky now hangs much lower and heavier, on account of the not-things that gnawed upon its edges. I could not break through it to follow them. I could not ascend with my family. Wherever they are, they will forever linger beyond my reach, even beyond death. But my daughter’s eggs,” she added, her eyes shining again. “I had not known a line of Anchor Knights had survived as well. You are too young, and far too weak, to have sworn your people’s oath, but you have been molded in such a way as
to gain their Soulscape. Take my daughter’s eggs, son of my family’s riders. Hide them away in the world that was to prevent the end, and they will be able to grow once more, until they are ready to hatch. Do that, and you will gain two young ones you use your essence to bond with, creatures that will become mighty enough to challenge anything under the night sky. They will protect you in turn that day, and you will have both grown strong by then. Do all of that, rider-child, and my part-soul will serve your growth and your vengeance for as long as it can linger in this realm.”
Passion flecked liquid from her mouth as she pleaded with me. Her story had moved me, and I was inclined to agree. Which meant that I was close to erring greatly.
“I will consider your words further one on condition,” I said, holding up a hand before she could protest further. “I require that you completely explain the nature of a part-soul. Not just what you think you can offer from me. Every part of it.”
“You are shrewd,” the old woman said with narrowed eyes. “That will serve my grandchildren well. Very well then,” she announced in agreement. “I will tell you all I can about the part-soul. Know that even those who have Advanced beyond my stage do not know everything about it, and if I try to be as detailed as possible, I will finally bleed out before you are satisfied. So instead know this: at some point, if you are both fortunate and disciplined, you will Advance beyond what this layer of the night sky can withstand. But long before then, you will refine your soul so that it can exist independently of your body, and in that same time, refine your body further, so that it can withstand the second realm.” She gave me a brief, critical glance. “Despite your past tragedies, you have somehow managed to refine your body well enough to have an excellent foundation for its later stages. But back to the part-soul. By the time you reach the seventh stage of Advancement in any of the three Sources, your soul will begin to gain a small speck of power that can exist beyond its body. In the case of the blood-fool, it will only be strong enough to grant some small level of control over those servant to you, and exert pressure over those who seek to defy you. At the levels beyond that, you will be able to fully project your consciousness beyond your body, allowing you to live for a period of time even if your body is destroyed. During one of the final stages before ascension, your part-soul will become a full-soul, which will allow it to exist beyond your body almost indefinitely, as long as nothing has the power to attack it directly. I was once that powerful,” she grumbled sadly. “But my Advancement was ravaged when I failed both in my attempt to ascend with my family and to uphold the Sourcevow I had made with my own soul.”
Soul Shelter (Soulship Book 2) Page 10