Legacy of Souls

by D. Wallace Peach

  “Well, we shall ask our questions first,” he assured her. “I’ll write Nallea inquiring if Azalus plans to attend.”

  “A son for a son.” Athren sank into her seat, her temper soothed.

  He pulled his chair around and sat before her, knee to knee. “I have a gift for you.” He reached into his pocket and drew out two tiny boxes, both jewel encrusted, both priceless. Her gaze followed his hands as he placed them before her.

  “What are they?” She searched his face, and for a fleeting moment, he beheld the woman she’d once been—beautiful, vibrant, filled with joy and a future of possibilities. She’d loved his brother, delighted in a child toddling around her legs, relished a life untroubled by slavers and politics, bitterness and strife. He could have loved her then too.

  “Open this one first.” He nudged one forward with a finger.

  She lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of black velvet lay a ring, a blue diamond nestled in a spray of sapphires. Her hand rose to her throat, and she stared at it in silence.

  “Do you like it?”

  “You’ve stolen my words away. It’s worth a fortune.”

  He laughed. “But do you like it?”

  Tears welled, and she wiped them away. “It’s exquisite.” She smiled and pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing a repeat of his question. “I love it, Benjmur. Thank you, but…”

  “Will you marry me, Athren? Unite our provinces; let us help each other.” He’d proposed once before, but his approach had been all wrong—a rational negotiation, a deal coerced. He picked up the ring from its velvet nest. “I feel as though I’m plucking a star from the night sky.” He slid it onto her finger. “I love you, Athren. Will you marry me?”

  She inhaled. “Yes, of course. I’d be honored, Benjmur.” Her focus shifted to the other box. “May I?” At his nod, she opened the lid. Inside three tiny glowing spheres the size of pearls nestled in a bed of pink satin. Soul-catchers. She frowned at him.

  “Before you refuse,” he whispered, “let me tell you who they are. One is Amila.”

  “Your wife.”

  Athren’s frown entrenched, but what he proposed wasn’t unusual or offensive. Ezari monks claimed the practice deepened the love and commitment of a couple. Amila had died with her second child, their bodies enshrouded and surrendered to the sea. He had loved her indeed. In fact, he’d swallowed her soul shortly after her death.

  “You remember her. She was beautiful, kind, generous, and brilliant, all qualities I see in you. I offer her soul to you, not to Nallea, not to another. To you.” He glanced at the box of glimmering pearls. “Another is my mother, a wise queen with the heart of a hero. She built Avanoe with my father, his source of strength and a gracious ruler. One day, the Vales may bow to the queen in you.”

  She peered up at him, forehead knitted. “You told me Nallea sold your mother’s soulstone when she fled.” Benjmur shook his head, partly at his own stupidity. Nallea had bolted from her betrothal to Laddon and sold the stone for fare to Ezar. “That one belonged to Amila’s mother, a terrible loss, and a mistake I struggle to forgive. This one is my mother, one I’m thankful I can present to you.”

  The frown on Athren’s lips shifted into a timid smile. “And the third?”

  “The least sentimental,” he admitted, “but the costliest. As precious as ten rings. Chazra, Ezari royalty from the Nagiz Empire, famed for her leadership, wisdom, and intelligence. She was the architect of their expansion east. An old soul.”

  “An Ezari.”

  “Swallow her soul, and you are royalty on both sides of the sea.”

  She picked up the box and rolled the spheres from side to side, studying them as she decided. He’d weighed telling her the third belonged to Laddon but rapidly decided against it. A fictitious Ezari royal was also a risk, but more appealing than a random soul from the Vales, no matter the qualifications.

  “Are you certain?” she asked.

  “Certain I love you, Athren.”

  “Do you know which is which? I wouldn’t mind skipping the Ezari. I loved Amila and your mother.”

  “My dear, I apologize for my carelessness. My mistake in removing them from their soulstones.” He shook his head, chagrined. “I wanted to present them in one box, like the ring. They looked ethereal, and I imagined…”

  “It’s all right, my love. They’re a special gift, precious.” She poured them into her palm, paused, and then placed them between her lips, sipped her tepid tea and swallowed.

  Benjmur stood and lifted her into an embrace as she shuddered, her skin fevered as the souls of three slavers consumed what remained of her damaged mind.

  ~5~

  Raze woke to the dawn’s filtered light, slightly cramped, long frame unable to stretch to its full length. The bed in the tinker’s wagon spanned the vehicle’s narrow breadth, and even if he slept at an angle, his feet poked over the edge. Eventually, he’d beg Belizae to move into his room, or he’d finally build those quarters off the barn. He let his discomfort fade alongside the night. For the past few weeks, her private lair had served their urge to explore each other’s bodies with abandon.

  Bel somehow managed to sleep in the wedge he’d left her, curled on her side like a cat. Her sable hair waved over the rumpled sea of blankets, golden skin aglow compared to the pale whiteness of his Ezari complexion. He kissed the night from her eyes and rearranged his body to lend her a sliver of additional room.

  A halo of contentment circled his heart at the sight of her sleepy smile. She released a languid hum as she molded to his shape, her body warm. If she intended to sleep the morning away, she would be sorely disappointed. Skinny shafts of light speared the interior, in truth the time for rising long past. Head propped in a hand, he ran a finger from her chin, down her neck to her chest.

  She gazed up at him. “Good morning, Lord Raze.”

  “That’s plain old Raze to you, my love.”

  “I suppose, plain old Raze, we might face our snickering audience.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “When will they stop?”

  “When you quit blushing.”

  “Hm.” He kissed the hollow of her throat, once again struck by her lack of a pendant. “Have you ever considered a soulstone to replace the one your grandmother sold?”

  “For a book,” she reminded him. “A gain far outweighing the loss.”

  He smiled. “I’ll purchase a new one for you. As a gift.”

  “Your concern is sweet, but nae.” She stared at the painted ceiling and its winged horses. “I wonder about all those souls trapped in glowing pearls in the Temple. For centuries with no guarantees. And what if I’m swallowed by a sour old grump or a dull-witted noble or a slaver. I’d be stuck sharing their company forever.” She shuddered beneath his fingers. “Nae, I’d rather wander the world as a ghost.”

  He rolled onto his back, her words conjuring up fresh questions. He’d spent years fretting about his mother’s soul forever tumbling in the weeds at the bottom of the sea. Was she truly trapped?

  “What about children?” he asked. “They may want your soul.”

  She shifted and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Out of love or duty, I suppose. But I’d be content if they grew up to be themselves and simply remembered me fondly. My grandmother said that all of life exists in a state of constant stir. There’s a world of souls around us we can’t see or know. And if we are blind and ignorant of them, what else escapes us?”

  “Did she ever tell you what happens to unbound souls?” Talaith and Mirelle lingered in his thoughts. Had they found peace in the mountains or in listening to the steady song of wind-curled waves? Or did they wander alone and lost for eternity?

  She raised herself up onto an elbow and peered down at him. “They enter the mystery that I won’t grasp until I join them. There are people who see and hear them, a fortunate few who glimpse the beyond. They say souls are reborn and wheel through many lives, gaining experience and knowledge. They become old souls, the wisdom gleaned a
long the way not as pointed, but not as muddled either. The true beauty is that each person’s soul is wholly their own.”

  “Talaith talked to souls.”

  “Everyone knows the Ravenwood is haunted.”

  He bobbed his eyebrows at the common superstition that, at times, he was inclined to believe. Lanya loved warning the children of ghosts and witches lurking in the mountains. “Talaith heard voices at the pool. I had the distinct impression that most of them taunted her, but one sounded different from the others. Talaith called her Echo.”

  Bel let go a sorrowful sigh. “I would have liked to meet Talaith and her Echo.”

  “A monk at the Temple suggested that she’d swallowed too many souls, like Sajem, but I can’t imagine where or how she would have found the silver to acquire them. Perhaps she’d experienced the same madness as he.”

  “Did you talk to her souls?”

  “Only Echo and not directly. I had the impression that Echo didn’t reside in Talaith’s head but somehow accompanied her, a companion soul of sorts. She seemed to access a pool of wisdom much like another woman I know.” He eyed her.

  “My grandmother says...” Bel giggled, her cheeks dimpling.

  “Ai, I’ve no doubt your grandmother has something to add.”

  “She’s talkative in addition to wise. My grandmother says each of us is graced with a soul’s companion who journeys with us along life’s path, one who shares our every inspiration and emotion.”

  “I wonder if Talaith—”

  A horse nickered and stomped in the yard. Many horses. Raze jolted from the bed and hit his head on the bowed ceiling. Blood rushed through his veins and his heart sped off at a gallop. He scrambled into his trousers, thrust open the door, and jumped to the yard.

  He stopped short, and Bel bumped into his back. If he didn’t count the horses, nearly thirty pairs of eyes turned his way. In addition to a score of guards and the residents of the freehold, four others blinked at him: Terrill, Nallea, Azalus, and nearest of all, his father, Lord Rydan, the censure on his face etched in stone.

  “Good morning.” Raze bowed and glanced at Bel, her hair and clothes disheveled. She laughed and leapt back into the wagon. His chest and face burned with an inevitable flush.

  “It’s nice to see you with a little color,” Terrill said and roared with laughter. Azalus joined in and Nallea giggled, any attempt to stifle her amusement pointless. Raze’s mortification surrendered to a grin, and when his father closed his eyes, smiled, and shook his head, Raze sighed.

  “Welcome to the freehold.”

  ~

  Raze strolled his father around the garden and barn, the new paddock and sheds, pointing out repairs and sharing dreams of expansion. The horses put on a show, cantering in from the pasture’s far end. His father loved horses, the pride of Kestrel’s province since the old days when it was a kingdom and Rydan its king. The horses bred and trained in his stables could compete with the finest of equine splendor in Ezar.

  His father leaned on the fence, winded from the short walk though he tried to hide it. The arrow he’d caught in the lung had aged him, his dark hair and beard sporting a whiter shade of gray, the hollows around his eyes stained by fatigue. “You’ve done fine work here. I’m sorry I never visited earlier. I would have enjoyed meeting Briyon.”

  “You’re here now. For a long time, the place looked as though a puff of wind would topple it over. When we arrived, we were lucky we didn’t find trees growing through the floorboards and out the roof.”

  “Plans?”

  Raze rested a boot on the fence’s lower rail and adjusted his cowl against the sun. “Besides growing the herd, adding help, and putting a room on the barn? One day, I intend to wed Belizae, a common goatherd and beautiful soul who makes me happy.” He peered at his father out of the corner of his eye, uncertain what he’d find.

  “You’ve always known your heart and mind.” Rydan placed a hand on Raze’s shoulder and squeezed, a small gift of affection, though colossal in light of the years of indifference. Raze accepted it for what it was.

  “I assume the thirty of you didn’t ride here to inspect my barn.” Raze dropped his foot from the rail, and they angled for the cabin.

  “True,” Rydan said. “We’re on our way to Avanoe for a wedding. Benjmur and Athren appear to be uniting their provinces. I’m here to invite you to travel with us. And Bel, of course.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Father, and your inclusion of Bel, but I don’t see the need. No disrespect meant, but the mantle of lord hasn’t burdened my shoulders for a decade. I’m a horse breeder from a modest freehold. I like who I’ve become. And Benjmur isn’t a man I care for despite his relation to Nallea. His support of bondage and the free rein given to slavers is abhorrent.”

  “I agree, more now than ever before. You aren’t involved in the Vales’ politics, but you can’t disregard its impact on your life, on Bel’s life, and the lives of every person in your freehold. You can’t fully escape your name either, my son, despite how much you might wish to. And it’s a name with power.” His father paused at the garden gate and lowered his voice. “I believe it’s in your best interests to accompany us, and in the best interests of your brother. I don’t trust Benjmur or the Ezari or Athren, for that matter. I fear Benjmur might have disposed of Laddon.”

  The suggestion of murder cut grooves in Raze’s brow. “How? Why?”

  “It’s merely an impression,” Rydan whispered. “Benjmur bent to Nallea’s desire to wed your brother the way frost cedes to fire. Considering the difficulty he’s endured with Athren over the years and his apparent affection, I would have expected him to refuse even a discussion of a new betrothal. His willingness to abandon her son struck me as hasty. He’d already written the young man off as if he no longer existed.”

  “Do you suspect Azalus is in danger?”

  “Another question without a definitive answer.” Rydan flicked an ant from the gate. “Terrill has accepted a position as your brother’s personal guard. He’s adept with a variety of weapons, and your brother is fond of him, but he’s one man. His presence is a patch on a wound, but he doesn’t relieve us of healing the infection. Benjmur has always maneuvered us around the board for his benefit. There is always a plan at play.”

  “The freehold is my home. I’m not returning to Kestrel.”

  “And I would never ask that of you. But knowledge will serve you and Azalus. And a show of family strength may discourage anyone who seeks a weakness in our walls. I’ve come to a conclusion that I’m not destined to reach a comfortably tarnished senility.”

  Raze frowned. “You’re still recovering. You shouldn’t even be on the road.”

  “I’m well enough for now. But life doesn’t always give us everything we want, does it? We must endeavor to keep breathing, learning, and making careful choices as long as we can.”

  “A bit of knowledge, I can manage.” Raze sighed. “I’d be happy to accompany you.” He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t close the door on his father and brother again, not so soon, not until his father recovered enough to shove a boot through the jamb.

  ~6~

  Raze shared a glance with his father, and they bowed to the exquisite creature who descended the front steps of the inn. Bel looked the part, sable hair pinned up in glossy braids, her layered medley of common skirts exchanged for the draped azure silks of nobility. Nallea had lent her the shimmering attire and the sapphire necklace adorning her neck.

  Gratefulness for Nallea’s efforts warmed him. He loved Bel for the depth of her heart and her unique view of the world, but he wanted her to sparkle in a place where the outer trappings of beauty translated into acceptance. She would not feel diminished by those who were blind to the brilliance of her soul.

  She grinned. “I feel like a pigeon disguised in peacock feathers.”

  Rydan barked a laugh. “In that case, Belizae, you are a most stunning pigeon.” Raze eyed his father, the kindness of his comment making the entire trip
to Avanoe worth the trouble.

  They settled into an open carriage for a ride through the city’s curved streets to the Demiris estate. Bel pointed and chattered about places she wanted to explore—the rowdy harbor taverns, round plazas bursting with summer’s bounty, street shows and quaint shops.

  The carriage rolled through the filigreed gates of the hall, and while Rydan mingled with other men and women of importance, Raze offered Bel his arm and toured her through the gardens. She marveled at the exotic flowers crowding their familiar cousins and stooped to inhale a random fragrance, humming sighs of delight.

  When the hour of the wedding neared, Raze steered her to the hall’s grand foyer, the lofty space decorated with garlands. Blooms burst from vases bound in teal and garnet bows, the colors of Ildus and Avanoe. Beauty overflowed, rounding Bel’s eyes. Raze grinned, certain the foyer’s splendor would pale when compared to the luxury of the central ballroom. The stringed melodies of romance waltzed down the long corridor’s polished floor.

  “Can we run?” Bel whispered.

  “Best not.” He eyed her. A season ago, they’d dashed through Kestrel’s hallways, feet echoing in the vacated space, quite late for Azalus and Nallea’s garden wedding. He lowered his voice, “Bet I’d win the race.”

  A violent shove from behind thrust him into the guest ahead of him. Bel gasped, and Athren pushed her body between them. The Lady of Ildus stumbled and spun, thinned lips baring her teeth. “Where is your father? He’s here, isn’t he? How dare he show his face.”

  “Lady Athren…” Raze backed up, alarm hitching his breath, hands lifted to fend off the attack.

  “If I had my way,” she spat, “I’d build a gallows in the garden!”

  Guests formed a human barricade around the spectacle, blocking Raze’s escape, and those in the back craned their necks for a glimpse. Athren advanced, teeth gritted, fingers curled to claw at his face. He didn’t want to touch her, let alone fight her off, and a swell of panic rose in his chest. Then Benjmur swung between them and clutched Athren’s arms, his voice a balm to the crackling tension, “My darling, the Anvrells are our guests. Please, let’s greet our friends kindly.”