The Third Soul Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Wait,” said Rachaelis. Something dark started stirred in her thoughts. “You…said that Arthain had told you that he killed me.”

  “He…did,” said Aramane. “His story would change. Just to torment me, you see.”

  Rachaelis stepped back from him. “I don’t think I’m here by mistake. I think this is still part of the Testing.”

  “Rachaelis,” said Aramane, his voice full of anguish. “Every day for twelve years I have thought of you, thought of how I failed you. Don’t leave me here in this dark place. Lend me your power, let me into your mind. Help me to escape…”

  “If you really are my father,” said Rachaelis, lifting her hand, “then you won’t mind if I prove it?”

  Silver astralfire lashed from her fingers, washed over her father.

  “Rachaelis!” he screamed, his tone ripping at her heart.

  And then he vanished. In his place stood a long-dead corpse, rotting skin stretched tight over yellowing bones. A red glow flickered in the empty eye sockets, and a horrible sense of malevolent hatred radiated from the thing like heat from an inferno.

  A ghoul, a demon-possessed corpse. Worse, a greater demon, one powerful enough to cast illusions, and to pluck the details of Rachaelis’s father from her mind.

  “It would have been easier, fleshling,” hissed the ghoul, its voice echoing inside her skull, “if you have given me your body voluntarily.” It stalked towards her. “But what you will not give, I shall take.”

  Rachaelis should have felt terror.

  Instead, rage enveloped her. She had visited her father’s beside almost every day for the last twelve years. And this creature, this miserable thing, had stolen his face.

  And even worse, it had made her feel hope that she might speak with her father again.

  Azure fire blasted from her clenched fists and slammed into the ghoul’s chest, throwing it the base of the dais. Blue astralfire could not harm the demon, not really, but it would damage the corpse. The ghoul howled in rage and sat up, its hands moving in the beginnings of a spell. Rachaelis was faster. White astralfire lanced out, stabbed into the ghoul’s chest. It flopped back against the dais with a tearing shriek of agony.

  “Mercy!” wailed the ghoul, white astralfire crackling through it. “Release me and shall return to the astral realm, to trouble you no more.”

  “No,” hissed Rachaelis, and threw all her power and all her rage into the spell. The astralfire redoubled, burning like a shaft of molten steel. The ghoul’s body ripped apart as the astralfire rebounded against the demon’s power. The demon’s form itself rose from the shattered bones, writhing in agony, a hooded shape of smoke and red light.

  And then the astralfire tore it to shreds. A final scream echoed inside Rachaelis’s skull, fading to nothingness.

  She dropped to one knee, panting, fresh sweat pouring down her face. Her head throbbed and spun. She had pushed herself too hard. That was it. She had no power left.

  Silver light flashed, and Thalia Kalarien appeared next to her.

  She was smiling.

  “You did it!” she said, and she almost bowled Rachaelis over in a sudden hug. “I knew you had it in you. Didn’t I tell you that you could do it? You did it, you did it, you did it!”

  More silver flashes. Magisters Arthain and Nazim appeared, followed by First Magister Talvin. Nazim was smiling ear to ear, Talvin looked impressed, and even grim Magister Arthain seemed thoughtful, as if reconsidering his opinion of Rachaelis.

  “I,” said Rachaelis, as Thalia helped her to stand. “I...that was a trial? Part of the Testing?”

  “It was,” said Talvin. “To face a greater demon is the final trial of the Testing. Skill with astralfire and telekinesis is well and good, but a demon is the most terrible foe any Adept must face, both in might and guile. The ultimate purpose of our Conclave is to guard the world of men from the demons. An Adept must be able to overcome a demon. And you have done this.”

  “And you have done it amazingly well,” said Nazim. “Most Initiate only banish the demon, or destroy the ghoul it inhabits. You…destroyed it. You actually destroyed it.” He smiled. “An auspicious start to your career as an Adept.”

  “It…that was a cruel test,” said Rachaelis. She was shaking now, whether from exhaustion or pain, she could not say. “It took the guise of my father. I thought…I thought for a moment that I might speak with him again.”

  “That is how a demon operates,” said Arthain, voice grave. “It offers you what you desire most, so you will let it into your body. And then your body and your magical strength belong to the demon, to do with as it pleases.”

  “But you have shown yourself able to resist these temptations,” said Talvin. “Tomorrow, you shall take your rightful place as an Adept of the Conclave.”

  Rachaelis bowed her head, still shivering. The Magisters had wanted her to kill that gladiator. The Magisters had summoned demons to kill her, even if it was part of the Testing.

  What would they want her to do, she wondered, once she was an Adept?

  Thank you for reading The Testing. Turn the page to read an exclusive preview chapter from the next volume in the series, The Assassins.

  The Third Soul II: The Assassins

  Rachaelis has survived the terrible ordeal of the Testing, and is now a full Adept of the Conclave. Yet even with her newfound magical power, she still faces danger. Assassins prowl in the shadows, daggers in their hands.

  Yet they do not seek to kill her.

  For the assassins’ dark master wants Rachaelis taken alive…

  Chapter 1 - An Adept of the Conclave

  The morning after the Testing, Rachaelis put on the gray robe of an Initiate for the last time. The ordeal had left her exhausted, with a headache that would not go away. But her hands still did not shake, and she felt…lightheaded. Surreal. As if this were a dream, perhaps. For so long she had been certain that she would die during the Testing.

  And, yet, here she was.

  What would become of her now?

  She left her room and went to the grounds within the inner Ring. Marvane and a deputation of black-armored Swords waited for her, along with Thalia and Magister Nazim.

  “Well,” said Marvane, a faint smile on the old soldier’s face. “Guess you didn’t run after all.”

  “I suppose not,” said Rachaelis.

  “Good morning,” said Thalia, a smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I spent all night hitting my head against the wall,” said Rachaelis.

  Thalia laughed. “It could be worse. I couldn’t walk for two days after my Testing.”

  Rachaelis shook her head. “I don’t understand how you can be so cheerful. I almost died, several times. I assume the same thing happened during your Testing.”

  “We all almost died during the Testing,” said Nazim, leaning on his cane. Strands of his white hair floated in the morning breeze. “There are many things about the Conclave that are cruel, but the Testing…is a necessary cruelty, I think. An Adept who voluntarily joins with demons can wreak terrible harm. Remember Paulus.”

  Rachaelis did. And she remembered her father, lying for twelve years in that tower, rendered neither dead nor alive by whatever spell Paulus had used.

  “And think of how much pain would have been averted Paulus had failed his Testing,” said Nazim. “We Adepts must use our strength responsibly. At least the Testing can show whether or not an Initiate is strong enough to resist the lures of demons.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be cheerful?” said Thalia. “You’re my friend, and you didn’t die. If that isn’t a cause to be cheerful, then nothing is. Now come! Your ceremony awaits.”

  So Rachaelis let them lead her to the towers of the inner Ring, followed by the Swords in formal escort. In the center of the Ring stood the Great Hall, where the Council of Magisters met, and the formal ceremonies of the Conclave took place. Marvane thrust open the doors and led them inside. The arched roof rose two hundred feet fro
m the polished marble floor, and sunlight poured through the high windows. Magisters and Adepts lined the walls, watching in silence, and the First Magister himself waited on the dais at the far end of the hall. The Swords led them to the dais, and Thalia stepped forward.

  “First Magister,” said Thalia in High Imperial, her voice ringing off the walls. “I am Thalia, of House Kalarien, an Adept of the Conclave. And it is with great joy that I announce that Rachaelis, of House Morulan, whom I sponsored, has survived the Testing.”

  Nazim stepped forward, his cane rasping against the floor. “I am Nazim, Magister of the Conclave. And it is with great joy that I announce that Rachaelis, of House Morulan, for whom I have spoken, has survived the Testing.”

  Talvin lifted his staff and smote it against the floor three times. “Then by the authority of the Conclave of Adepts, and by my office as First Magister, I will administer the Oath of the Conclave to the Initiate. Will you take the Oath, Initiate?”

  Rachaelis lifted her chin. “I will.”

  “Do you swear to abide by the laws of the Conclave, as set down from the days of the first Adepts?”

  “I, Rachaelis Morulan, so swear.”

  “Do you swear to guard and preserve the tradition of the High Art, that future generations may learn of it?”

  “I, Rachaelis Morulan, so swear.”

  “Do you swear to forsake forever the forbidden arts, the paths of necromancy, pyromancy, oneiromancy, and blood spells, and to oppose whosoever might wield these arts?”

  “I, Rachaelis Morulan, so swear.”

  “And do you swear to the first responsibility of any Adept, to guard the world from the demons of the astral realm, and to oppose them wherever they might appear?”

  “I, Rachaelis Morulan, so swear.”

  “Then you are welcomed into the Conclave as a new sister, Rachaelis Morulan,” said Talvin, “with all the rights and duties of a full Adept. Take up your robes and sigils of office.”

  “Your robe,” murmured Thalia. “Take it off.”

  “What?” hissed Rachaelis. “In front of…everyone?”

  Thalia grinned. “Tradition.”

  Rachaelis sighed, pulled off her gray Initiate’s robe, and handed it to Thalia. At least she got to keep her shift on, this time. Thalia set the robe aside and helped Rachaelis into the robes of an Adept; blood-colored, with a tight black collar and black trim on the sleeves and hem. Thalia also presented her with a sword belt and a cortana in its scabbard.

  “What’s this?” whispered Rachaelis.

  “Your father’s cortana,” whispered Thalia back. “Technically, you are the Lady of House Morulan now, so you are entitled to wear it. Besides, it goes well with the robe.”

  Rachaelis nodded, a lump in her throat. Her father’s sword. Not that she knew the first thing about using a sword; if she drew it she’d probably slice off her hand. But it had been her father’s. She let Thalia buckle the belt around her waist without protest.

  “And this is well,” said Nazim, passing something to her.

  Rachaelis took it. It was a sheathed dagger, a sicarr, the blade carried by all Adepts. And it was enchanted. She could feel the thrum of magical power when she touched it. But she had seen this blade before…

  “I made this,” said Rachaelis, turning it over in her hand. She had labored over it for hours, carefully working the spells that would make the weapon strong and sharper and lighter than normal steel.

  “You did,” said Thalia, still grinning. “I remember you complaining about it.”

  “It is a traditional gift,” said Nazim. “The successful enchantment of a sicarr is one of the last tasks an Initiate must complete, before he is ready to undergo the Testing. Should the Initiate survive the Testing, he receives the sicarr back, as a sign of his role as an Adept.”

  “Thank you,” said Rachaelis, and hooked the sicarr to her belt.

  “Adepts of the Conclave,” said Talvin. “I present your newest sister.”

  The assembled Magisters and Adepts applauded.

  ###

  “What happens now?” said Rachaelis. She was glad they could speak Callian again. Twisting her tongue around High Imperial grammar made her teeth hurt.

  She stood with Thalia and Magister Nazim on the lawn outside the Great Hall, watching the Adepts and Magisters depart the ceremony. Some stopped to congratulate her, but most ignored her. Some walked away, while others vanished in the silver flashes of astraljumps.

  “Tomorrow, you shall have a banquet,” said Thalia. “It’s more tradition. The sponsor always holds a banquet for the new Adept. Fortunately, I happen to enjoy throwing banquets, and yours shall be the best of the year.”

  “Thank you,” said Rachaelis. “But I meant…what happens next? To me, I mean? I know Adepts have freedom to do as they wish, but…I’m not sure what I should do.”

  Thalia shrugged. “Generally, during their first year new Adepts receive duties from the First Magister himself. They spend some time in the foundries. Some time testing children for magical talent. Some time in the library and the scriptorium. To see where your talents and interests best lie.”

  “And then,” said Magister Nazim, “you will pick a College.”

  “A College?” said Rachaelis. “What’s that?”

  Thalia laughed. “It’s one of those little secrets that we don’t learn until we become Adepts. The Conclave insists upon presenting a united front to the outside world. But within the Conclave…there is sniping, backbiting, petty politics. The ‘Colleges’ are merely the pretty name we give to our factions.”

  Nazim snorted. “You are too cynical, Thalia. A College is an informal society of Adepts who share similar views on the best use of the High Art.”

  “How many are there?” said Rachaelis.

  “Fifteen,” said Thalia. “Some of them overlap.”

  “Which College do you belong to?” said Rachaelis.

  “Thalia and I both belong to the College Liberia,” said Nazim. “Our main goal is to see the ending of slavery, and to end Araspan’s reliance upon slaves.” He smiled. “Needless to say, we are small and unpopular. Though we do frequently ally with the College Excorisia, which devotes itself to fighting against the demons, and the College Maleficia, which focuses upon hunting those who practice forbidden arts.”

  “The College Liberia,” said Rachaelis. “I would like to join the College Liberia.”

  “You don’t actually decide until the end of your first year,” said Thalia.

  “Still, we would be pleased to have you join us,” said Nazim. “You were a skilled student, and very strong in the High Art. And, more, you have a compassionate heart,” he glanced around, “something that many of our brothers and sisters lack. But enough of such talk for now. Today is a day of celebration for you, and you should enjoy it.”

  “Yes,” said Thalia. “Come, let’s head to my rooms. We have a banquet to plan, you know.”

  “In a minute,” said Rachaelis. “I…just want to stop by my father’s room for a moment.”

  “Of course,” said Thalia. “Take your time.”

  Magister Nazim bowed. “I’ll leave you ladies to your business. Rachaelis, feel free to call upon me at any time.”

  “Thank you,” said Rachaelis. “For everything.”

  Magister Nazim smiled and limped away, his cane rasping against the gravel path.

  “You know,” said Thalia. “You could just astraljump to your father’s room. Since you’re an Adept now, you won’t get in trouble for it.”

  Rachaelis hesitated. It was nearly a mile walk around the Ring from here. “Maybe I will. I’ll meet you in your rooms, Thalia.”

  Thalia nodded, clapped Rachaelis on the shoulder, and walked off. Rachaelis brought the image of her father's room to mind. Then she summoned the power and astraljumped.

  A silver flash, a moment of wrenching disorientation, and Rachaelis found herself in Aramane Morulan’s tower room. A wave of dizziness shot through her, and she leaned
against the wall for a moment, breathing hard. She hated astraljumping. Adept or not, she decided, but she would keep walking from place to place within the Ring. And the exercise would do her good. Most Magisters astraljumped constantly, and they tended towards corpulence.

  The dizziness faded, and she walked to the stool besides the bed.

  “Father,” she said. “The Testing. I survived. I’m an Adept now. Like you.” She laughed a little. “They gave me your cortana.”

  He did not respond, his chest and throat remaining motionless. “Maybe…maybe it won’t be as bad as I think,” said Rachaelis. “Nazim and Thalia told me about the Colleges. I think…if I could spend my life working for something good, that wouldn’t be so bad. To end slavery in Araspan. Or to stop men like Paulus. So more people don’t suffer the way you have.”

  She wondered if her father still suffered. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe his soul had moved on to the light of the Divine, and his body had only been preserved by some twist of magic. Or perhaps he heard every word she had spoke to him.

  “I’m still afraid,” she said, gazing at his face. “I…have all this power now. They’ll want me to use it. And I’m afraid I’ll use it badly. Or it will change me, and I’ll become like Arthain Kalarien. He did his very best to kill me during the Testing. I wonder if he tried to kill Thalia.” She stared into space for a moment. “I wonder how many Initiates he’s killed during the Testing.”

  She stared at her father’s face, lost in thought, and so heard the rasp of leather on the stone floor.

  “Thalia?” said Rachaelis, turning. “I’ll…”

  Her voice trailed off in surprise.

  A man in slave's orange tunic stood in the doorway, something clutched in his hand. He had a wild shock of red hair and bright blue eyes, ritual scars covering his cheeks. A Jurgur, then. No doubt one of the new slaves that had flooded the city after the Battle of Dark River.