Tefler didn’t have time to shut his eyes. A burning tidal wave caught him up and flung him forward like a spoiled child throwing a doll. The heat exceeded his estimate by orders of magnitude; not just burning his skin but filling his insides like a ravenous ant colony. He begged the goddess he hated to end the pain. He struck something hard, and it did.
Astlin followed the nexic pulse along the deserted dock branch to the Irminsul’s trunk. There, an old airlock door was set into the tree’s living wood. The door was sealed, so she battered it down.
Air thick with decay escaped from the narrow lightless passage beyond. The steep grade slowed her ascent.
Where do you think this leads?
Xander didn’t respond.
Astlin’s thoughts carried her regret. I’m sorry I pushed you so hard.
To her relief, he finally spoke. The fault is mine. I mistook your thoughts for my own.
Hurrying footsteps echoed up the tunnel from behind, followed by sallow light.
It’s the greycloaks, thought Astlin. I can’t outrun them.
Then make them run, Xander said.
Astlin stopped at a bend where the path leveled off. The sounds of pursuit grew louder until four Lawbringers appeared below, wreathed in Void. Two of them advanced on her while the others stood their ground and chanted in Nesshin. Astlin readied herself to loose the Fire, but bitter golden light quenched the flame.
The passage wasn’t wide enough for both greycloaks to attack at once, but the man in the lead fought well enough for two. His scimitar cut through Astlin’s armor, and the icy blade scored the Worked flesh of her forearm.
She glared at her attacker. “I just had this patched again.”
Ignoring Astlin’s complaint, the greycloak stabbed at her face. A steel ring at her shoulder caught the thrust as she twisted aside. She grabbed the blade with her left hand and drove her right fist into her attacker’s side. Bones crunched under her knuckles, and the greycloak collapsed with an agonized grunt.
Astlin cast the sword aside and stared at the next man in line. He fell back to join his chanting brethren, and the bitter cold became unbearable.
Astlin felt Xander grasping for his gift.
Are you sure we should do this? She asked.
Somewhere above, the nexic wave peaked.
We must, said Xander.
Astlin buried her doubts and joined her will to Xander’s. Concentrated by the narrow passage, the pressure wave scoured the greycloaks away like storm-blown leaves.
When her ears stopped ringing, Astlin stood alone in perfect silence. Even the Nexus was still, though it seemed less like peaceful dreamer than a brooding judge.
I think Smith finished whatever he was doing up there. We are too late!
Astlin turned to the upper path but paused. Were those her thoughts or Xander’s?
I’m still with you. It was difficult to tell the thought from her own; like talking with an imaginary friend.
Terror replaced confusion. Sharing her knowledge of the Wheel had nearly absorbed Xander’s mind. His soul’s return to her body and the blurring line between them led to a horrifying conclusion.
You have what I lost, Astlin recalled. My soul is eating yours!
When we use nexism, Xander may have thought.
The floor seemed to tilt, forcing Astlin to brace herself against the rotted wall. Of all her torments, none had made her feel so helpless. Not again. Please.
We must stop Thurif.
It’s over. It’s all over.
No. We would have felt his ship. Find him before he flees.
Astlin wearily stood up straight. Alright, but no nexism.
She took Xander’s silence as consent and trudged upward.
44
Kneeling on the stair at Amargos’ feet, Sulaiman considered the man who’d beaten him—pious in his own deluded way and undoubtedly skilled. But the greycloak captain’s rigid faith in law and method left him vulnerable to unorthodox thought, which Tefler proved when he led four greycloaks into the fires that poured from the Serapis.
The flaming torrent surged halfway to the stairs before it ebbed, and the greycloaks braced themselves against a searing wind that swept over them. The moment’s distraction gave Sulaiman time to call his flaming sword and hold it to Amargos’ throat.
Sulaiman rose. “Surrender your blade.” He tilted his head back toward the greycloak guarding Cook. “And order your man to yield.”
Amargos’ dark eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. “Fear of death won’t buy my betrayal.”
“What of your hands, tongue, eyes, and manhood?” Sulaiman pointed his blade at each location he named. “These I will not take, if you yield.”
Amargos’ face remained defiant, but his scimitar clattered to the ground. The other greycloak’s blade followed. Free of custody, Cook stood and locked the man in a no doubt painful hold.
The clatter of footsteps on the charred dock signaled the approach of Gid and several shipwrights. Each man carried a disused-looking but sturdy pistol.
“The hour grows late for bloodshed,” Sulaiman told the greycloaks. “You’d have taken us prisoner. Now I sentence you to the brig.
“Are you all right?” Cook asked Sulaiman as they marched the prisoners down the steps.
“Frostbitten, perhaps, but time thaws the chill.” He scrutinized the bloody gashes on Cook’s chest and arms. “Your wounds may need bathing in the light of the Well.”
“See to yourself first. Tefler can do mine—if he survived.”
Five men lay sprawled upon the stairs amid the stench of charred flesh. All bore hideous burns encrusted in the ashes of their clothes—except for one man whose raw skin had merely blistered.
“Tefler?” asked Cook.
The man opened his oddly colored eyes and groaned. “I should’ve let them kill me.”
“A winning gambit,” said Sulaiman, “though a rash one.” He released a burst of prana. The white light closed Cook’s wounds and reduced Tefler’s burns from weeping sores to peeling red skin.
Gid strode briskly to the foot of the stairs and surveyed the scene as his men took custody of the two greycloaks. His face fell when he saw the remains of Tefler’s holocaust.
“I wondered what my steersman was up to. Now I regret knowing.”
Sulaiman faced the foreman “Make ready to depart. Shaiel won’t idly bear this defeat.”
Gid’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t we missing someone?”
“Astlin seeks the smith.”
Cook helped Tefler to his feet. “We shouldn’t leave her to search alone.”
“If you’re looking for the Kerioth,” said Gid, “your best bet is the old freight dock.” He pointed through a break in the canopy to a withered branch high above.
“Thanks!” said Cook. “It’s been so long, I forgot all about it.” His brow furrowed. “You’ve known this whole time?”
Gid made a show of cleaning his glasses. “It’s the only abandoned dock on the sphere with basic repair facilities.”
“You hid this from us,” accused Sulaiman. “Why?”
Pushing his glasses back into place with one finger, Gid said, “Pardon me for not implicitly trusting a pirate gang.”
“We’re not really pirates,” said Tefler. “Piracy is just a stepping stone to deicide.”
Gid turned to watch as the last two greycloaks were led onto the ship in chains. “That little stunt you pulled convinced me.”
“So the Lawbringers don’t have the location?” asked Cook.
“Only the first of Shaiel’s people to come here would know about the old dock,” said Gid. “Too bad the latecomers killed their predecessors.”
“Will you ferry us there?” asked Sulaiman.
Gid frowned at Tefler. “I would, but we need to refuel since someone purged the line.”
Sulaiman nodded. “See Tefler to the ship. Cook and I will seek Astlin on foot.”
“You’re heading past my place anyway,” Tefler s
aid, gesturing to the burned rags he wore. “I can change clothes and join you.”
“Do you think it wise in your condition?” asked Sulaiman.
“Astlin can do the heavy lifting,” Tefler said. “And anything she can’t manage is out of my hands, burned or not.”
Cook’s brow creased. “Then why go at all?”
Tefler fixed his unsettling gaze on Sulaiman. “I want to be there when you and Smith bring down the gods.”
Sulaiman turned on his heel. “Come,” he said, stepping over the mingled ashes of dead men and grey cloaks.
The rail encircling the Wheel chimed as Zan’s silver fingers tapped it. His friends had been gone a long time. He was worried, especially for the gold lady.
Your concern is admirable, Malachi said.
Zan kept tapping the rail as he stared at the blue sky beyond the dock. Men bustled about the crew stations below him, making ready to depart.
I made no provision for love in my lifetime, the Steersman said. All the same, I sympathize.
Love? Zan thought.
Yes, said Malachi. It is plain to all but yourself that you desire your female counterpart.
Despair weighed down Zan’s heart. She loves the bald man.
He is dead.
I know, thought Zan, but she still loves him.
She wastes her affection on a memory. Would you have her forget?
Zan found the question disturbing, but also a little intriguing. Who are you?
I was a Master of the Guild. The Serapis was my flagship. I led her into battle against an ancient entity that punished my sacrilege; trapping my mind within her crippled hull.
You remember the time before the Great Fire? Zan asked.
I learned much in my short life, said the Master. I am glad to share my experience if you will learn.
Zan hardly noticed that his tapping had ceased.
Astlin stopped where the passage forked into a set of widening tunnels. She wished the strong nexic current she’d followed would start flowing again. Guided only by the tree’s dim heat, she was left to choose a path on her own.
Well, not quite, she thought. Xander’s presence lingered in her soul.
Examining both branches left Astlin at a loss. The dirty, decayed wood lining each tunnel spoke of long neglect, and she imagined worms the size of corvettes burrowing through the Irminsul. Neither way seemed especially inviting. As she pondered which route to take, a sudden draft stirred her hair.
Behind you! her subconscious warned. Or was it Xander?
Despite its unclear origin, Astlin heeded the warning. She turned just as something large and heavy swept across her shoulder. Sharp pain blazed at her neck, and molten brass poured from a deep cut above her collar.
Astlin pressed a hand to her throat—shocked at being wounded, but grateful that her head was still attached.
Hazeroth stood before her. He wore a short leather coat, and a strip of the same material bound his eyes. He held two swords—a large one that made his single-handed grip look almost comical, and another like a straightened greycloak scimitar.
Before Astlin could move, the demon plunged the smaller sword into her chest. Heat and light erupted from the wound.
“You did not escape your death,” Hazeroth said as he twisted the blade. “You only prolonged it.”
The demon yanked his sword free, causing pain that dropped Astlin to her hands and knees. Hazeroth moved to one side and hefted the larger sword for a second try at beheading her.
Use my gift, Xander seemed to whisper.
“No,” she rasped.
Astlin released the Fire, shaping it with Irallel’s skill. Flames engulfed her, and a burning sphere burst outward from her with a small thunderclap. The fiery orb slowed Hazeroth’s momentum. His blow slammed her face into the ground but didn’t pierce her skin.
Astlin lurched to her feet. Hazeroth was running his hand over his sword’s glowing, warped edge. She backed away, buying time for the flames to mend her wounds.
Hazeroth turned his ear in the direction of her retreat. A scowl twisted his face. “You’ve gained some control. This would please me were you my prey; not a mere diversion.”
He’s after Smith!
Surprise became dread as Astlin realized that retreat wasn’t an option. Even if she could outrun Hazeroth, letting Smith fall into Shaiel’s hands would be as bad as leaving him with Thurif.
Have to hold out till the others get here.
Sallow light surrounded the demon and chilled the air. He charged, slashing with both blades. The golden glow snuffed Astlin’s flame, and she raised her arms in defense.
Cold steel parted Worked leather and bit into the living brass beneath. One blow cut halfway through Astlin’s arm with a bitter cold jolt of pain.
A small voice reached Astlin through her torment. Join your will to my gift.
It might kill you!
Xander’s voice was faint, but his sad resolve said everything. Hazeroth already did.
Rage fiercer than a sun storm burned away Astlin’s fear. Liquid brass ran down her arms and dripped from her clenched fists to sizzle and smoke on the ground.
“Know what souldancers really are?” she asked the demon. “Under the shell, we’re just gates to other Strata.”
Hazeroth paused, his posture wary.
“I’ve never opened my gate all the way,” Astlin said. “I was crazy, but not so crazy that I didn’t fear what might happen.”
It was hard to keep her voice even, so she stopped trying. “Until you murdered the man who kept me sane!”
Hazeroth lunged. Astlin threw her soul wide open and released the Fire’s full wrath. The sheer force that erupted from the rift between worlds caught her off guard. She dug in her heels and clung to the wall to keep herself upright. Wood crumbled to ash in her fingers, and she fell to her knees.
Astlin’s fears about setting the Fire loose came rushing back. White-orange light filled her vision. A constant shrieking roar silenced all other sound. She tried to make it stop, but the gate wouldn’t budge.
Just as panic set in, Xander’s presence resurfaced. He didn’t speak, but Astlin felt his strength added to hers. Together, they forced the gate closed.
The awful roar stopped. Reeking smoke filled the air. As it cooled, Astlin slowly regained her sight.
And saw Hazeroth crouching amid the ashes several feet down the left tunnel. His swords glowed bright. Steam rose from his unburned body and clothes.
Astlin’s hope faltered as he stood. The Void enveloped him once more, turning him into a shadow amid the hot smoke.
“Your wounds have closed,” the demon said. “I’ll savor ripping you by hand.” His warped swords thudded onto the bed of ash.
Like a cornered beast, Astlin blindly threw herself against Hazeroth. She collided with his wiry frame and felt the cold light gnawing on her like a swarm of starved rats.
The demon’s icy claws tore Astlin’s neck. Her attempt to block a second blow laid her arm open again. Inspired by a memory—perhaps hers; perhaps Xander’s—she flung molten brass into Hazeroth’s face. He recoiled as the stench of melting skin stung her nose.
The Void withdrew, restoring Astlin’s sight. With an earsplitting screech Hazeroth tore off his blindfold to reveal eye sockets like burned-out pits.
Astlin slammed him into the charred wall. He clawed furiously at her back, but she locked her arms around him and squeezed with all her strength.
Hazeroth shrieked as his bones cracked. Astlin felt his ribs collapse; then his body started contorting in odd ways. He suddenly grew, bursting free of her hold and leaving his clothes strewn on the floor. A monstrous bat crouched where the demon had stood—its maw filled with dripping needles.
Gaining size didn’t slow Hazeroth at all. His talons plunged into Astlin’s torso. Her blood still burned him, to judge by the acrid smell, but he seemed not to care. He took wing down the wide tunnel, forcing her face into the fire-hardened wood as he sped along.
>
Astlin felt open air on her battered face. She hit the ground hard enough to send up a spray of splintered wood. Slowly she rose to her knees and found herself on a smaller, long-deserted version of the main dock branch.
Sunlight cast tangled shadows on the massive decaying bough. Astlin had just noticed a sleek black ship moored on a nearby pad when something swept down from above and struck her head. She fell prone, spilling her molten blood across the Irminsul’s rotting flesh.
Astlin rolled onto her scourged back and saw a dark shape limned in gold wheeling through the blighted upper boughs. Pain coursed through every inch of her body.
She felt Xander’s dormant power, along with a silent urge to use it.
I won’t lose you again.
The demon bat dove a second time, clawing Astlin’s side and sending her tumbling to the dock’s edge. She could barely open her eyes to see the Serapis docked far below.
Your death is mine, Xander found the strength to cry from the farthest reaches of her soul, but part of me will survive as long as you live.
The rustle of leathery wings announced Hazeroth’s return. He landed astride Astlin, sinking hooked claws into her back and biting down on her head with needle-like teeth. But it was nothing compared to the merciless forces racking her from the inside.
I’m breaking apart!
Astlin’s resolve lapsed for only an instant, but it was enough. Xander’s power tore off a rotten branch the size of a large tree and sent it plummeting from above. Hazeroth released his prey and tried to flee, but the huge bough crashed down on them both.
Grief and panic stirred Astlin’s thoughts. I tried, Xander, I tried not to but I was so scared.
Pinned beneath tons of rotted wood and giant bat, she was conscious of a sensation that hadn’t troubled her in years. She felt hot—first uncomfortably; then painfully so. Astlin struggled out from under the motionless demon and hobbled toward the black ship.
Something’s wrong.
Immolating heat radiated from inside her. The seams in her brazen flesh glowed orange-yellow.
Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) Page 31