THE ABSENCE OF SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 1)

by Amanda Twigg

  “You didn’t do anything,” Landra said, with enough certainty to invite Thisk’s regard.

  A pair of Hux Hall scribes appeared through the corridor entrance. “Where’s the menu?”

  “No menu. No food,” Thisk said. “Head to ring sixty-four food hall if you want to eat.”

  One look at Thisk’s insignia sent them scurrying away.

  “Shall we follow?” Dannet asked. “I’m starving.”

  “You can do what you want,” Thisk told him, but his grip on Landra’s jacket suggested she had no such freedom. He tipped his head toward the practical base clock that sat below the world clock. An almost empty light bar showed that first siren was moments away. He marched her to the exit.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” she called back, twisting her head to grin a goodbye.

  Dannet stared after her, bafflement forming lines around his eyes. She knew how strange it must look for the Warrior Fourth to be guarding her every move, but there was no way to explain right now. Later. I’m going to tell you about my promotion, and everything will make sense.

  Dannet was the one problem she could solve.

  Chapter 4

  Standing in the armory, Landra felt hungry and weary beyond reason. Worse, she’d not seen Father, so the Collector was still cradled in the sheath on her back. There’d been nowhere to leave it.

  She didn’t want to face Trainer Winton, but he hovered before her, a sneer twisting his long face. It was the only crooked thing about him. His clipped hair and Fight Trainer insignia were etched with geometric precision, and his loose slate blue outfit fell in even pleats. His aura showed the fewest fluctuations of any she’d seen, like a reflection of his rigid personality.

  “Reporting for sword training, sir,” Landra said.

  “Hmm! Yes.”

  “Am I late, sir?”

  No excuse would be good enough—not her schedule change and certainly not that she was running on a Warrior’s timetable. Winton would take that as a fabrication. She stretched her shoulders and fixed her gaze on the mirror. The reflection of vacant training mats, untouched towel stacks, neatly stored weapons, and empty targets let her know there’d be no commotion to hide behind today.

  “You’re just in time,” Winton said, like arriving with no minutes to spare was an offense. He crossed to the door and set the reserved sign in place. That should have meant he had her to himself, but the door opened and Warrior Fourth Thisk strode in.

  What d’you want, ranger? To see me beaten in battle? Humiliated?

  From the contempt he’d displayed earlier, she couldn’t make sense of him wanting to watch her sword work. Winton gawped before gathering himself and finding a slick salute. “Good morning, sir. Are you looking for Chief Hux’s command room? It’s down the corridor, next door on the left.”

  Thisk returned the salute with less precision. “No. I’ve time to spare, and it suits me to watch this session.” His bass tone made the words an order rather than a request.

  Winton’s face flushed, but he recovered quickly. Landra didn’t think his ramrod back could stretch taller, but somehow, he found a little more height, as if proud his work could be of interest. She was less pleased. Convincing any soldier of her suitability as chief elect was going to be hard enough. Managing it with a sword in her hand was likely impossible.

  “Please take a seat, sir,” Winton said.

  Thisk ignored the invitation and leaned against the wall beside a knife target. He folded his arms and smiled at the trainer, making the action a command to proceed.

  Winton hovered a moment longer before tracking in a circle around Landra’s position. She stifled a sigh. This won’t go well. Her hair was too long, making its gold flecks blend into short streaks, and the single diagonal line of her insignia was indistinct. To round off her shortcomings, swelling distorted the roundness of her face above the cut on her brow and dirt from the oven had tracked onto her jacket. She wasn’t certain what Father expected of her as chief elect, but she guessed a reprimand wouldn’t be good.

  Winton narrowed his gaze. His scrutiny roved over her uniform before settling on her hair. Air whistled through a gap in his teeth. “You’re in time for training, Citizen Hux, but maybe you should have taken longer. That hair insignia is a disgrace. When did you last have a trim?”

  Landra wondered why she’d doubted the petty man would choose to flaunt his authority in front of the guard. Cadets got away with one day’s overgrowth in the academy; Her brother had told her as much. Besides, Thisk looked a mess. Bet you won’t say anything to him.

  “I was due for a barber’s visit at second siren, sir, but my schedule was changed at the last moment.” A feeble excuse.

  Winton nodded. “Mine too. Training a citizen this early seems very odd.” His gaze flickered to Thisk, but his tone betrayed that he blamed her for the inconvenience. “Why has this happened, citizen?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” she lied.

  “Demerit for Citizen Hux,” Winton said, chalking a line against her name on a wall board.

  Not fair!

  “May I ask why, sir?”

  “A second demerit for Citizen Hux.”

  Landra’s contrived pose collapsed then snapped back into place.

  “The first was for a poor turn-out,” Winton said, one of his tidy eyebrows lifting, “and the second’s for your insolent tone. Now, unless you want to go for a third, I suggest you show more respect.”

  A new edge to the trainer’s pettiness warned her to silence.

  Father’s not going to like this. Not one bit.

  “That’s better.” A smug twinkle highlighted his grey eyes. “Now, let’s train.” He removed his jacket, hung it on a peg, and selected a plain sword from a rack. Returning to the mat, he swung it around his fist in readiness to work.

  In that moment, Landra realized the true extent of her folly. All heat left her face. The Collector still rested comfortably on her back, and there was no way to remove her jacket without putting it on display.

  If you see the weapon, will you know what it is? She was sure Thisk would recognize the knife, and the consequences didn’t bear consideration. Tugging her jacket down at the waist, she crossed to the rack and examined the swords. Her hand trailed over the weapons, pausing above a lightweight weapon with a decorated guard and a pink-tinged blade.

  “Not that one, Hux,” Winton warned. “Don’t you recognize an elite weapon by the color of the blade? Only Warriors are allowed those.”

  She’d known that, of course, and had only been admiring the weapon.

  What would you say about the knife on my back?

  The Collector could have been a set with the sword, but this wasn’t the time to admit owning an elite Warrior weapon. She ran her hand over the remaining hilts, judging them on function over beauty. Pulling a simple weapon free, she swished the blade in a testing sweep and grimaced as its weight pulled on her injured muscles. Hefting a sword in mock battle was going to hurt, but she joined Winton on the mat and assumed a classic fighting pose. Maybe inspiration will follow.

  The trainer’s eyes widened to show white ringing his grey pupils, and his gaze slid over Landra’s uniform like it was yesterday’s slops. His top lip curled into a snarl.

  “You’ve always struggled to meet my standards, Hux, but at least you’ve shown me some respect. Until now! Tell me, citizen, are you planning on doing me the courtesy of removing your jacket?”

  An icy chill raised the hairs on Landra’s neck, and she couldn’t fathom why keeping the Collector safe on her back had seemed a good idea. Part of her wanted to show the blade to Winton, just to prove her worth. Her sensible side knew it was a horrible idea, so she ignored the trainer and held her pose.

  Winton’s mouth fell open. “Do you think beating me is so easy?”

  “No, sir,” Landra said, but the tilt of her head betrayed inner confidence. If she was going to best any experienced soldier, it would be Winton. Submitting made life bearable, but
his predictable style made him an easy target, even with a sword.

  The trainer readied, his sneer showing an even line of teeth, but his eyes flickered to Thisk.

  Want to impress the Warrior, Winton? Well, you’re out of luck. I need to prove my worthiness as chief elect, so don’t expect me to fold.

  “Feet wider, head up.” Winton edged sideways.

  Landra turned to his movements, checking her style until she was sure it was perfect. Winton struck first, sneaking in low and thrusting his sword beneath her defenses. In Landra’s head, the counter move was fluid. In reality, her sore limbs locked, mid-action, giving Winton the advantage. He swung his blade, whipping the sword from her grip. He shouldered her to the ground, adjusted his position, and brought his weapon tip to bear over her face. “Hah!”

  Shock snatched Landra’s breath as she stared up at the ceiling’s lights. On any other day, he could never catch her with a basic move, and his smug grin was infuriating. She gulped a lungful of air and rolled out from beneath the weapon, but pain tightened her chest.

  Focusing on injuries won’t help. She blanked the agony from her awareness and dived for Winton’s legs. The unorthodox move surprised the trainer, and he toppled into a recovery roll. Before he could stand, Landra lurched forward and stomped on his sword arm, pinning it to the floor until his hand sprang open. As the sword released to the mat, similarities with the previous evening’s fight were impossible to miss. But this wasn’t Chief Hux, and she wasn’t fighting for the Collector.

  The trainer’s aura paled, signaling her chance for victory. She straddled his body with blood pounding in her ears. A world of consideration passed in that moment. Her father’s orders for secrecy were paramount, but an inner urge overrode his directive. Finish him. She pulled the Collector from its sheath and pressed it against his neck.

  “Hah!” she echoed.

  The warm handle enlivened Landra’s spirit, and the glinting blade excited her to battle readiness. Her aura deepened and enveloped the blade until their glows pulsed to one rhythm. Winton had goaded her for too long, and she’d now bested him in a fair fight. She searched for respect in his eyes and waited for the euphoria of victory to set in, but his contorted features shocked her to stillness. She held still with the knife pressed to his neck, but as she stared at the carved handle, her mind reeled. The absurdity of using the Collector struck her like a Warrior’s blow.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why? She couldn’t fathom why she’d used the Collector at all, and her grip on the knife relaxed. Winton’s aura shrank to the faintest line around his body.

  You’re afraid. Oh shelk. What did I do?

  Her head lightened and she started to release her grip, but a pull on the back of her jacket forced the action.

  What?

  She looked up, struggling. The Warrior Fourth had her by the jacket collar, and he hauled her up until only her toes touched the floor.

  “Allow me to help,” he said to Winton.

  The trainer waved him away and climbed to his feet. “I don’t need any help.” He recovered his sword, dug the tip into the mat, and leaned on the hilt for support. “I tempted the girl into that move and was ready to counter. You shouldn’t have interfered, Warrior.”

  The guard smiled. “My name is Warrior Fourth Thisk. I realize that you have matters under control, but it’s clear that Citizen Hux poses unique difficulties as a student.” He raised a bushy eyebrow and widened his grin until white teeth shone through his coarse beard. Landra squirmed in his grip.

  The temper lines smoothed out from Winton’s face. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded. “She certainly is trouble, but what am I supposed to do? She’s the chief’s daughter. I can hardly go whining about her performance.”

  Landra’s mouth fell open but the tightening grip on her jacket stemmed her protest.

  “I’m glad we agree,” Thisk said. “I may be able to help you with this problem. My posting to Hux Hall is for an entire training cycle. It seems sensible for me to take over Citizen Hux’s training from here.”

  Landra stilled and held her breath, barely believing she’d heard right. Warriors never trained soldiers below the Warrior trainee rank.

  Winton rubbed his shaved head, his jaw sagging. His glare drilled Landra, letting her know she would suffer for this embarrassment. “I really don’t think she is worth a Warrior’s trouble.”

  Landra wriggled again. “I think—”

  “Don’t,” Thisk said, pulling her higher so her feet dangled. “Thinking doesn’t appear to be your strength.” He turned to Winton and fixed a wicked glint in his eye. “Some people believe I am capable of making decisions about who is worth my trouble. I know it’s an honor to train the chief’s daughter—and I must admit you’ve done a good job—but Citizen Hux is a difficult case. She needs specialist handling from here.”

  Blood rushed to Landra’s cheeks. “I’m dangling from your fist. I can hear you.”

  “I’ll get to you in a moment.”

  Winton dithered. “But…,” he stuttered to silence, and his shoulders bowed in defeat.

  “Good. It’s decided. I want this armory cleared, so you are dismissed.” Landra saw her chance to escape and kicked her legs, trying to stand.

  “Not you, Hux.” Thisk wrapped her jacket around his fist for a better hold.

  Winton hesitated, obviously wanting to argue with the order. He shot a worried glance in Landra’s direction, but his scowl showed more concern for his reputation than her safety. “I’ll need official reassignment from Chief Hux.”

  “Of course.”

  “And…” The trainer fell silent.

  “Leave your weapon by the door. I’ll replace it before I leave.” Winton glared at Landra as if she were to blame for his embarrassment and dismissal. He moved slowly to gather his jacket and then set his sword against the wall. As he opened the door, he speared her with a final accusatory glance full of mean intentions for when their paths crossed again. She groaned at the prospect, but neither soldier noticed. The door thudded shut, and Landra heard her own heavy breathing in the new silence.

  “Now,” Thisk said. “Explain.”

  Chapter 5

  Landra wriggled, and the Warrior released his grip, allowing her to drop to the floor in an inelegant heap. The surprise impact screamed pain through her sore body, and she squealed with shock. She huddled there for a moment as Thisk bolted the door. He turned back, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. A questioning glance replaced his previous disinterest, but she wasn’t ready to give answers. Excuses and arguments raged through her thoughts as she eased to her feet, only to flee when she faced him.

  Ranger Warrior Fourth Thisk stood apart from his comrades like a vagrant at a wedding. His boots folded into weathered cracks where smooth polish should gleam, and dust clung onto his uniform. He was a man of action rather than a parade-ready soldier, but his substandard appearance didn’t lessen his commanding aura. This was a man to be obeyed.

  The looseness of his aura boundaries was something she’d never witnessed before, but she’d never met a ranger. Patrolling the remote lands and acting as Father’s eyes in the dangerous terrain required a unique spirit. Wildness didn’t lessen a ranger’s authority, but it did foster unpredictability, and Thisk’s feral temperament glinted behind his dark stare.

  “Ranger Warrior Thisk, may I ask why the fourth in line to the chief’s position wants to train a young girl?”

  Thisk swung his cloak over one shoulder, showing off the Warrior-blue lining. He placed one hand on his short sword and fixed his wild stare on Landra.

  “Am I the fourth? That might be my ranking, but without the Hux name, I might as well be hundredth in line.”

  Landra squeezed the Collector, her heart thumping. He knows. What now? His words could only mean that he recognized her knife’s meaning and that she’d moved ahead of him in the line of succession. Excuses formed in her head for when she faced Chief Hux. His one instruction had been to keep
the promotion a secret.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Thisk leaned on one hip. “Bold! Disrespectful!” He snorted. “I want to know what gives you the right to carry an elite weapon, Hux, and what makes you worthy of being my chief elect.”

  Nothing. I’m a fraud. Worse, I’m flawed. She swallowed, unable to answer. Taking the Collector from her father didn’t seem like enough. “You’ll have to ask Chief Hux about that.”

  “Really?” Thisk said, incredulity making his pose collapse. “So, it’s true. A young girl, untried in the championships and with no leadership experience, is to be my chief elect. Tell me, Landra Hux, what makes you special?”

  He’d guessed her promotion, but he hadn’t believed until she’d confirmed his suspicions. Why did I speak? Then she remembered that he’d demanded a response, just as he did now.

  “Nothing makes me special,” Landra said, fully believing her words.

  “Did you steal the Collector?”

  “No!”

  “And what was that nonsense with your trainer?”

  Thisk looked ready to fight, but Landra didn’t relish the prospect of battling a deposed Warrior with no blood-bond, so she replaced the knife in her sheath. “I made a mistake. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Thisk snorted again. “Maybe it was the Souls of your ancestors.”

  “I…” Landra hadn’t any idea how to respond. Surely, the Warrior Fourth couldn’t believe old-world Soul magic still thrived. He’d already teased out one secret too many. This feels like a trap. His aura showed none of the lighter blue shades that accompanied her own flaw, so he was Warrior to the core. Either he was calling her out, or he’d listened to too many guard-room stories.

  “Sounds like magic nonsense to me. I make my own decisions, stupid as they may be. I’m probably just tired and hungry.”

  “Probably.” He scratched his ragged beard.

  Divert him. Confuse him.

  “Does Chief Hux know you favor magic?”

  “Woah!” Thisk said. “Don’t exile me yet. I’ve no more Soul magic than the next soldier. That doesn’t mean I deny its presence on base.”