Legacy of Souls

by D. Wallace Peach

  “You’re worn out, my love.”

  “Tired of the battle.” He pressed his hand on her tickling fingers. “Life is hard enough, isn’t it? Full of frailty and suffering. We live in our secret inner worlds, and despite the bridges we build to others, no one truly glimpses all the hidden corners of our souls.”

  “Thus, the desire to explore.” She rose to her elbow. The color of his eyes receded in the wagon’s dim light, a single candle casting soft shadows on the walls. “Love is an art form, Raze. Crafted of curiosity, kindness, and forgiveness. It’s a lifetime’s practice.”

  “Wise words.” He smiled. “But you are so easy to love.”

  “My grandmother said that the ancient ideals of truth and love are how we bridge the distance from solitude to intimacy. We all long to be embraced, seen, and heard.”

  “What about Sajem, Benjmur, Johzar? There’s a deadly certainty about them, Bel. Even Johzar, whom I don’t understand at all. Their art is in using people for their own purposes. Their hunger for wealth and power feels boundless.”

  “A fear of nothingness, perhaps. They stuff their hearts with something they perceive as valuable. Even if it’s all illusion.”

  “Hm.” He stared at the ceiling.

  “I know this all feels hopeless.” She kissed his neck and curled beside him. “It’s easy to define life by all we wish to avoid, rather than hunt for hidden possibilities. You must be sure about who you are, including all the tangled mess that entails. I’ll do the same, and in time we’ll find the peaceful rhythm of our lives. Good things will happen of themselves.”

  She waited. “Raze?”

  No reply but the soft murmur of sleep.

  ~19~

  Vax departed at dawn in the old wagon. A solitary traveler would be vulnerable to attack by slavers, but two rode at no less a risk. The freehold’s children took precedence, and until someone purged the land of Sajem, Raze would stay close to home. He shoveled silver chits into Vax’s palm. Lanya and Rozenn handed the old man separate scraps of paper with their inked lists, and he disappeared into the gray milk fog that drifted like a somber wraith over the pastures.

  Raze split wood while the mists burned off, eyes roaming the stretch of visible roadway with every rest. That a single slaver could terrify the Vales demonstrated how puny and defenseless the provinces had become. They’d once called themselves kingdoms, and even then, the divisions had rendered them effortless targets for Ezarine ambition. Nothing had changed but the source of the threat.

  Perhaps Benjmur chose a wise path after all, to seek closer alliances with Kestrel and Ildus, to placate Ezar. If only it weren’t Benjmur. Nallea insisted that her father, as governor, would deal with the slavers and the havoc plaguing the countryside, but Raze had less faith in the man. Benjmur wore the slippery skin of a traitor or a manipulator, a clever flatterer or a fool. And Raze doubted he was a fool.

  He stacked the logs in the shed except for those he’d split into kindling for a shoulder-high tower built over a bundle of straw. If Shara’s freehold couldn’t see the beacon, it’s because they were asleep or already dead.

  The cabin door creaked and banged. Lanya marched down the steps with a basket hanging from her arm and two folded blankets over a shoulder. She toted her burden to the log pile. “For the cave. I’m thinking a couple of blankets wouldn’t hurt with the frosts coming on, and the jars should keep until spring.”

  Raze wiped his sleeve across his sweaty forehead and hesitated, reluctant to leave even for a hurried trip to the pool.

  “There’s no such thing as a good time,” Lanya said, as if reading his mind. “It’s the middle of the day and quiet. Just don’t get distracted by ghosts.” She winked, and he accepted the burden, leaving it by the shed as he headed to the barn to fetch an armful of straw and tell Samoth the plan.

  Rozenn, Bel, and the children knelt in the garden, pulling carrots and harvesting greens. Raze waved at Bel, mildly chagrined for falling asleep in the middle of her “grandmother’s” advice.

  In the barn, Samoth mucked the stalls. His soldier’s sword, the one he’d kept hidden in his room, lay atop an old chest, another sign of the wariness thickening the air. Raze grabbed a loose bale. “I’m off for a quick delivery to the cave and a scrub. I’ll build the signal tower as soon as I’m back.”

  Samoth dumped a shovelful of dung in a cart. “I’ll feel better when we have a couple of extra hands.”

  “As will I.”

  Raze dropped the straw in a pile by the scattered logs, grabbed Lanya’s provisions, and scaled the fence. Sucking in a breath, he hurried along the shortcut across Shara’s pasture. In truth, he appreciated the excuse to visit Talaith’s cave even if for a moment. Her death still stung, a failure for the freehold and for him. He’d avoided the shelter since he and Samoth had barricaded the entrance. Now that it lay clear, would a wisp of her essence linger in the air? Did the space she called home embrace a remnant of her soul?

  Before ducking into the forest’s shade, he paused for a view of the freehold, its picturesque tranquility intact. He’d need minutes, no longer. Shaking off his misgivings, he bent beneath the trees and hiked up the path along the stream. The heat of midday abated under the boughs, and sunlight speckled the tumbling water. He scaled the ledges, wrestling the supplies up without creating a calamity. Stray leaves floated on the pool’s surface like fairy boats, and the fall’s white veil splattered the rocks at its feet. He stripped and splashed in, scrubbed his skin with sand, and with no time to linger, scrambled out and dressed.

  The entrance to the cave, though cleared of rocks and brush, remained invisible to the eye unless one knew of its existence. He edged sideways through the narrow opening and peered at the dimly lit space, finding no lantern, no blankets, nothing of the strange woman who’d lived there.

  ~

  A horse nickered and hooves stamped in the yard. Bel’s head snapped up. She froze, listening. The silence broke with lightning speed. Shouting voices propelled her to her feet, and she scurried toward Rozenn and Lanya. Fear clanged in her ears. “Run. Don’t think. Just run!”

  Rozenn swept up Aryn and grabbed Thanelan’s hand. “Chellai, hold tight to Lanya. We’re going to run to Shara’s.”

  “Nae,” Lanya heaved herself up. “I’ll raise a fuss while you hurry off. Bel and I—”

  “Nae, come with us,” Rozenn pleaded.

  Lanya shook her head. “Just once! Don’t argue with me.” She grabbed Chellai’s hand. “You hold tight to Thanelan, and you run.”

  “Why?” Thanelan asked.

  “Just go as fast as you can.” Bel feigned a smile. “I’m going to find Samoth, and we’ll race you. Get a good start!”

  “Come with us,” Rozenn begged.

  “Go!” Bel said. “We’ll follow.”

  The flagrant lie hung in the air. Rozenn fled through the back gate, the children tugged behind her. Lanya hugged Bel. “Set the barn on fire. Quickly.”

  Bel hitched a breath and nodded.

  “Then go, run!” Face set in a grimace, hands planted on her hips, Lanya marched to the gate.

  Bel darted to the garden’s rear fence, scrambled over, and dashed to the barn. She flung open the doors. No sign of Samoth, she smashed a lantern, and hands trembling, flinted a fire. The summer hay ignited, and the flames leapt up. She grabbed a pitchfork and bolted through the barn’s back door, leaving it ajar for stray chickens.

  Lanya’s scolding voice changed into a wail accompanied by the sound of laughter. Bel flattened her body against the barn’s rear wall and clenched the pitchfork, her limbs jittering like a wind-lashed tree. A hundred reasons to flee screamed in her head. No talent for a fight, she could crawl into the pasture, her escape over the fence concealed by the barn. She could disappear into the forest, sprint along the stream, and find Raze. They could hide in the cave.

  And abandon everyone else.

  Rozenn and the children had crossed the path, and they struggled through the meadow toward
Shara’s, Chellai and Thanelan tiring and dragging on Rozenn’s hand. Bel peeked around the barn’s corner. Sajem, a leering hulk in his saddle, laughed at Samoth who stood alone in the dirt yard, sword raised. Half of the man’s slavers had dismounted and circled the solo horseman. Someone looted her wagon. She gasped at Lanya’s prone form lying twisted in Rozenn’s flowers.

  “Fire!” one of the tattooed women shouted.

  Sajem’s crimson eyes turned, scanned the barn, and flickered beyond Bel to the figures escaping through the tall grass, scarcely a third of the way to the other side. He pointed with an outstretched arm and bellowed, “Run them down!”

  Three mounted slavers spun their horses toward the meadow. Her time for decision up, Bel darted into the dirt track, planted herself in front of the charging animals, and aimed the pitchfork. Two riders veered around her. The third, flanked by the other steeds, barreled into the prongs. She screamed as the long handle ripped from her hands. The horse slammed her to the dirt. Hooves pounded by, and she scrambled up, elbows stinging, and the side of her face bloodied.

  Sajem dismounted. He bared a jagged smile and his eyes flared at the sight of her. Behind him, Samoth fought, the cabin’s porch protecting his back. His sword carved the air, slashed flesh, arced, and lunged in a terrifying dance that intimidated his opponents.

  The muscled slaver stalked toward her, a salivating wolf hungry for his wounded doe. She refused to surrender to that fate, backed up, and pivoted into a run. The rider of the stabbed horse barred her way with the flat of her sword, her inked face flushed and teeth grinding.

  “You’re mine.” Sajem laughed and grabbed Bel’s blouse at the shoulder.

  “Nae, never!” Jaw clenched, Bel swung around. The fabric of her blouse twisted and tore. She clutched at his clothes and armor, grunted, and drove her knee into his groin with every scrap of her strength. His eyes bulged, and she headbutted him as he bent. The slaver roared as he crumpled, faced bloodied. Something smashed into the back of her head, and her legs gave out.

  ~

  Lanya’s supplies left behind, Raze slipped from the wall of moss, brushed his hair from his eyes, and started down the path at a hearty pace. When he broke from the trees, his eyes alit on the freehold, the barn on fire.

  He sprinted down the path beside Cully Lake. Fear rampaged through his veins but no mightier than the fury propelling him toward the fight. Movement to his left caught his eye. Rozenn and the children lurched through the meadow for Shara’s freehold. Two tattooed slavers on horseback pounded after them with such speed that their only motive could be to trample them down.

  A flicker of darkness speared the air. The nearest rider toppled backward from the saddle, and the horse veered. The woman staggered up, and this time the arrow spun her. Somewhere, Shara or one of her brothers had aimed well. The other slaver drew a sword, his horse throwing up clods of grass. Rozenn glanced back, screamed, and blundered on, dragging the children toward safety. Chellai tripped. An arrow plowed into the horse, and the beast stumbled. The rider leapt from the saddle, landed hard, and rolled through the autumn flowers. When he stood, the next black shaft felled him.

  Raze hurtled on, lungs gasping. Ahead of him, three mounted slavers trotted from the freehold and disappeared at the curve of the road. He dashed through the pasture, attempted to jump the fence, and tumbled over. Scrambling up, he drew his knife. The flames consuming the barn roared out the doors and windows. If the horses and goats weren’t in the pasture, they’d have burned alive. Shara and her brothers howled and sprinted through the meadow.

  The roar of voices and clash of swords met Raze as he sped into the freehold’s dirt yard. Lanya lay in the flowers, blood staining her gray hair. Samoth stood amongst a throng of assailants, his back to Bel’s wagon, a blade in each hand. Three slavers circled him with swords eager to lunge. The others taunted and cheered them on.

  Raze barreled into the first man blocking his path, knife stabbing as they fell. The entertainment broke apart. He rolled and found his feet, stumbled back from a man with a sword. When the slaver’s swing missed, he charged in and pounded his fist into the tattooed face, his knuckles breaking teeth. All Briyon’s sympathies he banished to the cheerless furnace of his rage, and he drove his knife between the man’s ribs.

  A slaver lunged at Samoth, lurched, and slammed to the dirt, screaming, an arrow in his back. The horseman turned. His sword arced and blocked. He ceded to another opponent’s strength in a feint and circled back with a bloody gash.

  Raze ducked a slaver’s blow, parried a strike with his knife, and sliced his hand on the man’s blade. Samoth spun in and shoved Raze aside. His sword flickered, whirled over his head, and carved a shoulder in a downward slash. Three slavers pressed him, ordered on by Sajem. The huge man was unmistakable—hairless, broad as a bear, and painted with a tapestry of shattered art. Someone had bloodied his nose, and his body bent forward from an injury to his gut or groin.

  Samoth leapt to the freehold’s stairs, swayed out of the cut, and jumped back into the fray, arms thrusting open like wings and cutting flesh on both sides. He lunged and slashed a neck on the retreat. Blood sprayed from the wound. Red hair flashed in the corner of Raze’s eye, Shara’s brother Harper with a hunting knife. An arrow sliced into another slaver’s back, Kace closing in with his bow.

  Raze snatched his staff from the wagon’s wheel. He punched the end into a man’s back and smashed another slaver on the head. Sajem shuffled toward him, savage eyes blazing and lips peeled back in a snarl. “I waited for you.”

  “Then come and get me.” Raze whipped the staff with all this strength. Sajem grunted at the hit to his ribs and gripped the shaft in an iron fist. Raze yanked and then roared in frustration, unable to break it free. Shara yelled a warning. He let go and ducked as a blade swept so near his face he felt its breath.

  With a thunderous rumble, the barn twisted and the back half of the roof collapsed, the sky erupting with sparks and floating ash. A shocked silence rippled through the stalled fight. Then Shara rushed Sajem. Her knife scored his armor and carved his arm. He rammed an elbow into her chest, and she dropped, gasping. His sword responded with uncanny speed and whirled up over his head for a downward strike that would cleave her skull in two. In a panic, Raze lunged for his discarded staff. He cracked it into the bald giant’s jaw on the upswing.

  Sajem’s head snapped aside, and an arrow pounded into his thigh. He staggered back, ripped it out, and bellowed to those of his crew still on their feet, “Finish it!” He heaved himself onto a horse’s back and wrenched the creature around. Three bloodied slavers mounted and charged their steeds into the road after him. The five left behind grinned. One beckoned to Samoth with a curled finger.

  Samoth staggered down the porch steps, sword relegated to his left hand. Blood coursed in a rivulet down a leg, and his right arm was a crimson ruin dangling at his side. He swung, swayed as if he might fall, twisted, and reversed the arc of his blade, the tip catching a woman beneath her chin. Shara rose from the dirt like a wraith, yanked back the woman’s head, and drew her knife across the exposed throat.

  Sweat stung Raze’s eyes. He slammed the staff into a tattooed face and kicked the back of another man’s knee. As the slaver stumbled, Raze hooked the collar of the battered armor and yanked the man to the ground. With a growl, Raze knelt over him, face to face, blade to the thick throat, primed to slash and yet aching to walk away. The slaver glanced over Raze’s shoulder, and his eyes lit up.

  Behind Raze’s back, a man gasped in pain. Shara cried out, staring beyond him to the porch. Unable to stop himself, he twisted for a look, and the horror unfolding at the bottom of the steps juddered through him. Samoth’s sword fell to the dirt, his undamaged hand wrapped around the blade that pierced his gut.

  What was real stuttered into a strangely blurred nightmare. Raze looked back at the ink-stained slaver beneath his knife, fury clenching his teeth. The man spat blood into Raze’s eyes, lurched, and headbutted him, crunching
his nose. Blinded by the pain, Raze pitched to his back. He blinked at the lights bursting in his head, gripped his knife, and scrambled to his feet. A sword skewered the slaver’s chest, Harper beating Raze to the kill. The last two attackers dashed to their horses and rode. Kace drew his bow and shot an arrow into one of the retreating backs, while Harper rammed a sword between the ribs of a wounded slaver, hastening the man’s death.

  Silence descended, broken by the whisper of rustling leaves. Raze sank to his knees, dizziness overwhelming him and his stomach on the verge of heaving. Samoth slumped in the dirt, propped up by the bottom step, bloody sword across his splayed legs. Raze crawled over, not sure what to do. The man was barely conscious. “Help me,” Raze called to Shara, but Samoth raised a hand and let it fall.

  Shara knelt beside Raze and grasped Samoth’s bloody hand. “Rozenn and the children are safe. They reached my freehold.” She eyed her brothers. Harper gripped a slaver’s sword, and Kace shouldered his bow. They vanished into the trees, jogging for home.

  “What can I do?” Raze leaned close to his dying friend.

  Samoth’s eyelids drooped, breath a whisper, “Take my soul and my sword. Keep my family safe.” His chin dropped to his chest, and the soulstone around his neck began to glow.

  ~20~

  Raze lifted the leather cord over Samoth’s head. The soulstone gleamed with an ephemeral light. He glanced at Shara, and when she nodded, he draped the pendant around his own neck, the soul warm against his chest. With Kace and Harper on their way to Shara’s freehold, Shara and he were two left alive in a litter of bodies. He longed to lay down in the dirt and cry.

  A surge of panic robbed him of his breath, and he struggled to his feet. “Where’s Bel?”

  “I don’t know.” Shara spun and leapt up the porch stairs, knife in hand. She disappeared into the cabin, calling Bel’s name.