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

by Amanda Twigg

  “What? No. We can’t go inside.”

  “No?”

  Landra was already facing her fear, and it was more terrifying than she could have anticipated. Her squeezing chest couldn’t take any more.

  “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked, her question daring him to lie.

  “Odd question, soldier. I thought you’d pegged me as a temple lover.”

  Landra couldn’t admit to knowing his emotions and groped for an explanation. “Everyone fears Templers a bit,” she said.

  “There’s some truth in that, but this is like the hethra. During training exercises, we convince our bodies to work when our minds say we’re done. The same control can be accomplished with fear. We only know courage when our fear is greatest.”

  No lie. Another lesson. Just what I need.

  She took in the scene, wondering if she had the guts to follow this through. A robed woman and child stood in front of them, and the temple’s closed doors loomed ahead. Library drawings hadn’t prepared her for the size of the panels or the intricacy of their etched artwork. A Templer staff adorned one side, a Warrior’s sword the other, and intertwining flower etchings decorated the remaining wood. She had to admit that Thisk had opened her life up to more new experiences in one day than she’d encountered in all her time at Hux Hall.

  In the shadow of the great doors, a smaller panel opened and a soldier emerged. A Templer at the head of the queue disappeared inside, and everyone in line shuffled forward. Landra didn’t want to move.

  Living on the edge is exciting, but there has to be a limit. She had one strategy for handling the burden of her magic. Secrecy was her armor, but now she wondered whether to tell Thisk her secret. If he knew, he might take her home. He might also look at her with fear, and she couldn’t bear that thought. With each step closer to the door, her mind changed. As one boot fell, she prepared herself to confess all. On the next stride, she convinced herself to silence. Shelk. Two times four is eight.

  With the door only a few steps away, the Templer child in front pushed his hood back, openly displaying a flourish of blond curls, which stood out shockingly against the red of his small robe.

  “Get that child’s hair cut to regulation length,” a one-bar soldier said in passing. “You might not care about exile, but it’s not fair to take a youngster with you.”

  The Templer woman grabbed the boy’s hand and flipped up his hood. “Yes, sir. Stay with me, Gengi, and hold my hand so you’re not in the way.” Her conciliatory words didn’t match the agitation flashing through her aura.

  Two times five equals ten.

  “And enroll him in the junior barracks,” another soldier added.

  Landra flinched, conscious of her own home-based upbringing, but this was different. The woman might have accepted a temple posting, but forcing that life on a child didn’t seem fair. The child looked about seven, but his aura swam with the milky blue shade of a newborn. It was pale and fluid, unlike the deepening shades Landra saw in barrack-bred children. A barely perceptible shake of Thisk’s head ordered her to silence, and his hand clamped tighter on her shoulder.

  The next time Gengi bounced his ball, he missed the catch and it rolled away. He slipped from his mother’s hand to chase into the crowd. As much as he darted past soldiers and scurried between their legs, moving feet just nudged the ball farther away from his grasp. As he ducked through the crowd, his hood fell back again to reveal his blond curls.

  “What’s this?” a soldier demanded.

  “Temple brat,” came a reply.

  “What’s he doing loose?”

  “Needs a whipping.”

  Jeers rose from the crowd, and attention fell on Gengi. His Templer mother hovered at a distance, her blue aura whirling with terror. Landra expected her to run to the child and was shocked to see her frozen. This woman, who’d been bold enough to flaunt her beliefs with the color of her robes and the cut of her son’s hair, wasn’t prepared to dive into the mob to save her child.

  An older soldier with a full three bars cut into his insignia crunched his boot into the boy’s ribs. A high-pitched yelp reverberated around the concourse, and a responding cheer from the crowd urged more violence. The soldier set his heavy boot to the boy’s back.

  Landra was no Templer lover. The priests disrupted city life at every turn, openly disobeyed the law, and had tried to assassinate Father, but she couldn’t condone abuse. The guard pressed his weight through his boot, and outrage exploded in her like an overlevel storm. Gengi was a child, and any concourse guard could have set him right with a gentle warning.

  His Templer mother posed as still as the door’s illustrations, terror and hatred etched onto her set features, but her swirling aura raged, as if ready to explode.

  Two times six equals twelve.

  Another kick fell and Landra started forward.

  Thisk’s tightening grip halted her progress. “No!” The intensity of his order reached Landra’s bones. “Stay here.” He marched into the crowd, using his bulk to forge a space through the incited onlookers. “Stand down.”

  The three-bar soldier lifted his boot, ready to kick again, but a glance up showed him the looming blade of Thisk’s sword. “Woah! What’s the problem, guard? I’m just having a bit of fun with the boy.”

  “It’s the Fourth,” a keen-eyed soldier shouted.

  Thisk’s curls covered his hair insignia but his collar badge displayed his rank. A hushed chant ran through the crowd like a passing whisper. “It’s the Fourth,” one soldier said to the next until silence fell.

  Landra watched all color drain from the three-bar soldier’s aura. His wide face paled until the insignia tattooed onto his naturally bald head stood out like a branding on his sallow scalp.

  “Warrior Fourth, sir,” he said, gathering himself to awkward attention. “I didn’t realize you...” His words dwindled away as the futility of them sank in. “I was just having some fun, sir. Temple brat’s not supposed to be wandering the concourse.”

  “The boy wasn’t breaking the law. Unlike you,” Thisk said. “What’s your name?”

  “How can you say he wasn’t breaking the law? That hair!”

  “Is legal within the temple district. I asked for your name, soldier.”

  A better view opened up for Landra as soldiers eased away for fear of discipline from the Fourth. They eyed him warily, and she realized her own developing relationship with the Thisk was different from theirs. He was her protector and guide, and she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted. Her ambition had always been to be a respected soldier.

  Gengi huddled on the floor, clutching his side and sobbing so loudly that his Templer mother found some courage and scuttled forward. Thisk snatched his head to the movement, furious eyes staring out from his bearded face.

  “Woman, make sure the boy sees a medic,” he said. “Then enroll him in the junior barracks. It was foolish to be on the concourse with tensions so high. You’re lucky I was here.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a bob, but her respect wasn’t convincing. She dragged her son up by the arm and scampered away with him safely tucked in the crook of her arm. Her path took her to the front of the temple queue, and it only took a short discussion with the gatekeeper for the door to open. The pair disappeared inside.

  Thisk turned his attention back to the soldier. “I asked for your name.” The Fourth’s clothes might be plain and worn, but power radiated from him, and Landra saw it bloom in his aura.

  “Dermot,” the soldier answered, reluctance tracking a faint slur into his voice.

  Thisk regarded him, as if measuring his worth. “That will be ‘Soldier Dermot, Ranger Warrior Fourth, sir.’”

  No one present could have denied Thisk’s intent. He would have respect or take action. Maybe both. If anyone had thought the bothersome incident would fade away, they knew better now, and a tense silence descended on the scene. It rippled outward until the concourse stilled into an expectant hush.

  B
oot scuffs against wood disturbed the tableau as a rotund soldier bumbled up to the scene. His tight-fitting guard uniform put him in charge of the concourse, but Landra suspected that his was a disciplinary posting.

  The guard stopped short of the scene, rubbing his shaved scalp and staring through large eyes in disbelief. “Wha—”

  Thisk raised his free hand to stop the man, never taking his stare from Dermot. “Hold there, guard. I’m handling this.”

  A defiant flash flickered in the three-bar soldier’s mid-blue aura, but he kept it from reflecting in his ice blue eyes. Landra wondered if he would defy Thisk. An awesome power radiated from the Fourth, and true anger swirled in his aura, making its unformed edges reach out to Dermot in tongues of blue light. If the soldier chose to fight, she sensed Thisk’s sword would fall in the name of justice. He had the strength to dispense punishment, and his rank gave him the right. She held her breath, waiting to see how the encounter would unfold.

  Dermot straightened to a more respectful pose, and the raging glint from his aura grew to a seething swirl. He tightened his pose, but his stare looked through Thisk, as if focusing on something beyond.

  “Soldier Dermot, Ranger Warrior Fourth, sir,” he said.

  The address drew some steam off Thisk’s temper, but he held his formidable pose. “Guard, take him to the cells on charges.”

  Dermot’s aura slowed to grinding circles, and he found the will to silence his complaint. It was a relief to Landra. Some holes were so deep that another dig in the bottom would see you fall right through. The errant soldier gave up his sword and knife to the waiting guard and went with him, not meekly but without a fight. Thisk swayed from side to side, swishing his sword. “Anyone else?”

  The crowd scattered until only a few soldiers remained. Once the area was clear, he came back to himself and re-sheathed the sword on his hip.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Landra on his return.

  She took a deep breath and straightened to attention. “Yes, sir, Ranger Warrior Fourth Thisk.”

  He rolled his eyes in exasperation and put his hand on her shoulder to rejoin the queue.

  “I wouldn’t normally involve myself in local disputes, but you were going to put yourself in danger,” he said next to her ear. “There are two types of temple dwellers. Some choose to be here; others are soldiers given temple postings. Both are dangerous in their own ways, and you have to know which you’re dealing with.”

  “I wanted to help.”

  “Don’t think to do that again. Not for any reason. Being Fourth won’t protect me from your father if you’re hurt in my care.”

  Landra didn’t know what to make of that. “No, sir, Ranger Warrior Fourth Thisk.”

  The grip on her shoulder squeezed tight enough to make her wince.

  “Just so we’re clear,” he said.

  A contingent of priests emerged from the temple door, rousing Landra to full awareness. After a short discussion and pointing fingers, they headed straight for Thisk. A tremor of apprehension from him rocked her back on her heels.

  “Leave this to me,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two times seven equals fourteen.

  Chapter 14

  A priest with a pink-tinged aura led the approaching group. Landra cast her gaze down, but the memory of his rose-tinted shading burned in her thoughts. It surrounded his tailored burgundy robes in a way she’d never seen.

  “Those Templers look like trouble,” she said.

  “They might be a problem,” Thisk agreed.

  His acknowledgement flooded Landra with relief. “I understand the dynamics between soldiers and Templers now,” she said. “What more can we learn from entering the temple?”

  “Me, nothing. I’ve visited every year since graduating Warrior Hall. It keeps me grounded. As for you, there are things inside the building that are... You need to see them for yourself, Hux.”

  The priest flounced up with more of a gliding motion than a soldier’s stride. His thick robes swished around his ankles in heavy pleats, and a draped hood exposed the temple “T” insignia etched into the short hair above his soldier mark.

  Most priests generated blue auras, like soldiers masquerading as Templers, but the strength radiating from this man’s pink-edged Soul raised Landra’s neck hairs. If anyone had the power to sense her taint, it would be him.

  Two times… She couldn’t focus on the simple sum, and her aura whirled around her, its chaotic pattern reflecting her thoughts. It wouldn’t have surprised her to find the words “Magic-flawed Chief Elect” emblazoned across her forehead.

  Why didn’t I guess this would happen?

  She wondered what Thisk would do if she was exposed. Would Baylem still talk to her, would Dannet still love her, and, shelk, what would Father say? She imagined Winton crowing over her fall from grace and demanding exile.

  What a mess.

  “Thisk?” she said, but the Warrior’s attention couldn’t be swayed from the Templer. Squeezing her breath tight and her fear tighter, she readied to run.

  “Warrior Ranger Fourth,” the priest said, halting in front of them. Several robed Templers settled at his back, exhibiting the harsh blue auras and bulky frames of soldier protection officers.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” Thisk replied.

  Landra didn’t want to look at the priest, but his presence drew her gaze like a magnet. She stared at the leaf-bound staff clutched in his poised hand. It sat inside his aura, its foliage turning inward toward his power. Daring to look into his intense eyes, she found all of his concentration turned on Thisk.

  Of course. I’m too insignificant, and the priest will voice his concerns to the Fourth.

  The robed man bowed. “I’m Furlew, Temple Relations Officer. May I speak with you, Warrior Fourth?”

  “Of course,” Thisk said, his posture and tone carrying a softness that he’d never used toward Landra.

  The queue edged forward, but Furlew leveled his staff to block their progress. “If I can just have a minute. I checked the roster several times but can’t find any scheduled visits for today.”

  Thisk’s aura flared with suppressed anger, but his outward display of calmness held. “I’m on private business. My niece just turned eighteen, and I’ve brought her here as a treat. I don’t think anyone should wait until their third academy year to visit the temple.”

  His easy lie seemed to relax Furlew and the Templer gave a small nod, but his gaze settled on the Thisk’s sword.

  “As you must know, negotiations to secure Templer rights are at a sensitive stage. That’s why it’s important to notify us ahead of time for any visit, to avoid misunderstandings.” A frozen smile split his face, displaying crooked teeth, which still gleamed white.

  Whatever this was, Landra realized it had nothing to do with her magic. Still, she couldn’t relax. A green tendril sprouted from Furlew’s staff, growing in a winding pattern up to the bulbous tip. Buds formed, and a tiny red bloom opened in the growing foliage. Even Thisk had to see the blatant demonstration of outlawed magical power, but his posture remained relaxed.

  “Politics pass me by,’ Thisk said. “I’m much happier on ranger duty.”

  “But everyone knows about the treaty we’re negotiating with Chief Hux.”

  “I’ve been out of the city, so I guess I’m behind on the news. Is there any chance we can make an exception for a social visit?”

  “Hardly,” Furlew said.

  “We’ll keep to the path and be in and out before you know.”

  Despite the cordial words, tension fed through Thisk’s grip on Landra’s shoulder and fury rippled through his aura. As close as she was, she couldn’t avoid sharing his rage. It made her want to pull out the Collector and end this now. Two times eight equals sixteen.

  Furlew’s gaze casually flickered her way and then back to the Warrior. “I’m aware of your assistance on the concourse to protect our Templer son,” Furlew said, “and I do appreciate t
he intervention, but I must insist on official protocols being observed. If you put in a request, I’m certain a visit can be arranged for next week.”

  “I’ll be back in the wilds by then, and it could be several training cycles before I’m back,” Thisk said.

  The Templer raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Landra shared his doubts. From their auras, she sensed that neither Thisk nor Furlew were being honest, and there was a limit to how long this posturing could continue. The tension would end in a fight unless someone conceded, but she doubted that would be Thisk. The Warrior pushed against the Templer’s staff until it buzzed with energy, forcing another dark bloom to open.

  Furlew wobbled, and red flushed up his neck and into his large ears. His startled eyes spread wide on his face. “You can’t break Templer rules,” he said, his tone cracking. “The treaty was signed by Chief Hux.”

  “I’m a member of the ruling council,” Thisk said, as if that gave him the right to break any rule he wanted.

  “Imagine what would happen if a Templer broke Warrior rules,” Furlew whined.

  Landra didn’t need to imagine. She’d seen a young Templer dragged away from Hux Hall just for entering ahead of his due appointment time. As far as she knew, he’d never been allowed back. She’d certainly never seen him again. Probably podded.

  Thisk’s spine stiffened with cold anger, but he spoke with the same faked polite tone. “As Fourth, I’m involved in making rules for the entire base, including the temple. It would be useful to remember that, Templer, just so we avoid misunderstandings.”

  “I…” Furlew stuttered.

  “Now, take the energy out of your staff. I would hate to decide that you’re threatening a council member.”

  “I’m sorry about the staff,” Furlew said, his aura wavering. “It reacts to my mood, and life for Templers is unsafe right now. I hadn’t meant to challenge you, Warrior Fourth.”