The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1)

by Samuel E. Green

  Throughout Mundos, mages had drawn bloody wards on the ground and the sides of buildings. The rich and the powerful had their homes warded first. Edoma had asked her father why the mages hadn't simply painted wards around the walls of the city. Being a scholar, he had told her that a ward of that power required an incredible amount of lifesoul. Smaller wards work better, he had said. She was never quite sure whether he had explained things that way because he was rich and powerful with the benefit of a warded home.

  Now, the ward beneath her feet was drawn in two half-circles, connected in the middle by the symbol of Mun—a spider. In most depictions, Mun was a praying woman. But her real form was that of a spider. That woman had come to Edoma in many nightmares, morphing into a spider, demanding the blood of her loved ones for sacrifice. She remembered the symbol well, which is why that particular part of the ward formation had come easily.

  It was the half-circles that were causing her difficulty. They appeared identical except for one minor deviation. The left half-circle contained the rune of lifesoul while the other half-circle was empty. It should not have been, but she couldn't remember what went there. The unknown rune represented something else; its existence a secret known only to those mages who'd conquered the third trial.

  Edoma had never conquered the third trial.

  Frustrated, she kicked at the wards, smearing them until they were illegible.

  "Did you find anything in the catacombs?" a voice croaked.

  Startled, Edoma looked up to see Saega. The skin on his face was peeling, as though he'd been in the sun for days. His sickness must be getting worse.

  "Nothing," Edoma said. She couldn't help making her frustrations known. "From the looks of it, Aern's murderer didn't use the grimoire from the catacombs. We're not going to know for sure unless we can open the damned godstone door."

  "Another task for another day." He nodded at the wards. Nearly every stone had a ward upon it. "What's the meaning of all this?" Chuckling, he looked up at her. "You've drawn a hundred wards, and not one is correct. Having a bit of trouble?"

  Edoma scowled. "More than a bit." She wanted to slap Saega's smile from his face. Instead, she slumped her shoulders and avoided his gaze. "I can't remember what goes in the second half-circle."

  "I always thought the mages were taught well in Mundos." Saega was originally from the Isle of Sulith. He had only been in Mundos all those years ago because he had been lecturing students on the importance of collaboration between the various mage schools. Edoma had never told Saega that she was only an apprentice, but that secret would be out soon enough. It would be plain from her poorly constructed wards.

  "We weren't allowed to learn protection runes until we passed all the trials," she said. "I'm only piecing together what I can remember, which isn't much."

  "You've already done the rune for lifesoul. That one looks fine to me. It's just spiritsoul that's needed now."

  Edoma's heart stopped. Could he be right? But there was just one problem. "I don't remember the rune for spiritsoul."

  Saega's knees cracked as he knelt down. He rubbed out Edoma's poor attempt from the second half-circle of a rune. Dipping his finger in the bucket of blood, he then traced a crescent moon. The rune pulsed with a deep red light, brighter and brighter until it suddenly stopped.

  Cursing, Edoma said, "I should have known. The rune for lifesoul is a sun. The rune for spiritsoul had to be the moon."

  "Sometimes the simplest things are hidden to us," he said. "Now it's just going to take a mage to empower it. You do remember how to do that, don't you?" When Edoma grimaced, Saega barked a laugh. "I always thought that you were a greater mage than I. It's no wonder you made me swear the vow. You're not even a real mage!" Noticing Edoma's glare, he cleared his throat. "It requires spiritsoul."

  Edoma's face reddened, and she tried to sink into herself so he wouldn't see that she didn't know how to use spiritsoul.

  Saega sighed. "With one hand holding your runestone, stretch the other hand toward the rune circle and invoke Mun. Surely you've done this before?"

  Edoma nodded. "With healing runes. I never knew what spiritsoul was. I just infused my will to the wards."

  "Then you've already used spiritsoul."

  "At what price?"

  Saega shrugged. "You never got your chance to bargain with her. She's not exactly a just god, so you might find yourself paying your debts a while after you're dead. But what choice do you have? I can't empower the runes for you."

  He was right. Only she could empower these runes. Mun's magic provided protection. Healing. Wards against evil. That kind of thing.

  Saega, however, was called by Sulith, the god of fortification. Sulith allowed him to use the lifesoul of another to make himself stronger. Although he looked like an old man, his magic could make him stronger than the greatest warrior in Indham. He had sworn off the magic, but now that Edoma was practicing again, she supposed he might return to it, too.

  From the way he looked today, it seemed that she might have to use healing magic again. His sickness hadn't abated. His face was starting to break out in boils.

  "I'll leave you to make the decision," Saega said, seeming nervous under her gaze. "We're already late. Idmaer will be annoyed."

  "Better not keep him waiting," Edoma said, her tone cold.

  "You should give him another chance," Saega said.

  Edoma was startled by his advice. He had strongly recommended she separate from Idmaer. Saega had been among the people who thought Idmaer had framed the warrior Durwin for the crime that led to his execution. Edoma had thought otherwise, but she had separated from Idmaer all the same. She couldn't remain with a man who loved his spire more than his wife, whose every poor mood caused their home to rattle and shake.

  "He only gave up the twins because he thought it was for the best," Saega continued.

  "It wasn't," Edoma said with a certainty she didn't quite believe. The warrior Durwin had hated Idmaer because of what he had proposed—the dragon trade. Had Durwin found out that Idmaer fathered twins, they might have been harmed, Edoma knew that. But Idmaer would never have had such a deadly enemy if he hadn't captured that first dragon. The twins would have been raised as theirs, and their marriage might have survived.

  "I wanted to raise my children," she said to Saega.

  "You did raise them."

  "As my own. The way they've been treated . . ." She paused, unable to continue. How many times had she forced herself to do nothing while she saw her children chided and spat upon? There were at least three occasions she'd seen one of them walking through the town with a black eye. She didn't know whether it had been simply the result of some boyish fighting or because of prejudice.

  "Well, they're faring well now, aren't they? Not another has been given what they have."

  "They don't even know I'm their mother."

  Saega shrugged. "Do as you wish. But I know how much you loved Idmaer. I lost Bodil, but I had no say in the matter. Your love isn't lost yet."

  Edoma turned away, not wanting Saega to see the tears welling in her eyes.

  "Come to the town gates when you're ready," he said. His sandals pattered on the stones until they went quiet.

  10

  Fryda

  Hiroc narrowed his eyes. "A terrible idea."

  Fryda was having trouble herself believing that it was anything other than the worst plan she'd ever heard. The warriors would never allow the three of them to go to Eosorheim. She was so surprised, she couldn't speak her objections aloud.

  Alfric smoothed back his blond hair. "We both know how to fight should we come upon trouble, and you have a mouth that could convince a tortoise to leave its shell. All the Fatherless respect you. Any one of them would do whatever you ask. You could reason with Hurn better than Cenred and Sigebert."

  Hiroc massaged his shaved scalp. "I don't know . . ."

  "Think about it. Everyone hates the Fatherless, but if one of us were to return from the quest, then we wo
uld be respected."

  "It might be dangerous," Fryda said. Alfric seemed to be avoiding her gaze. She suspected this plan of his didn't include her.

  Annoyed, Fryda left the table and peered out the window. The warriors still hadn't arrived. The crowd had grown so much that people had even climbed onto the parapets above the walls.

  "I could not sleep at all last night," Hiroc said from behind her. "The memory of the altar haunted me."

  Fryda couldn't help thinking that a sleepless night would be good for Hiroc's humility.

  Hiroc continued. "I thought of something the Council never mentioned during their meeting."

  "What's that?"

  "What if the giant who killed Aern has done the same to Eosor, the Guardian of Eosorheim? Even if the giant hasn't killed Eosor yet, he might be hiding someplace, waiting for the right moment to do it. What good would we be against someone who can kill a Guardian?"

  Alfric smiled and removed the necklace from beneath his tunic. A dragon rune marked the pendant's jade surface. "We have this."

  When he was ten years old, Alfric had been obsessed with playing warrior. One afternoon during the Summertide feasting, he had ventured outside the walls and grown lost in the Eastern Forest. Wolves had attacked him. From there, he said he didn't remember much. He awoke when Wulfnoth and his trackers found him unconscious on a bed of leaves. Surrounding Alfric were the charred remains of his lupine attackers. The pendant had been hanging around his neck, though he hadn't been wearing it when he ventured outside the walls.

  Alfric always thought he had been saved by dragons, though the warriors refused to acknowledge it. Fryda wasn't sure what she thought of the story. Alfric had been young and taken with imaginings. Still, his face bore the scars of that day, so it couldn't have all been make-believe.

  Now, Hiroc frowned and shook his head, as though the runestone were simply a rock. "Even if it is somehow magical, you don't know how to use it. You can barely remember that day."

  "So how do we plan on convincing the warriors?" Fryda asked.

  "We aren't going to be doing anything," Alfric said. "Hiroc and I will be going."

  "I thought you were playing at something like that. I'm not going to stay behind."

  "You're not a warrior," said Alfric.

  "Neither is he," she said, nodding at Hiroc.

  Hiroc grumbled too softly to understand.

  It was clear from the determination in Alfric's face that he wasn't going to budge. Fryda decided she would leave it there, at least for now.

  Jaruman walked down from the stairs and stifled a yawn. "What's all this noise about? There'd better be an execution in the courtyard, or I'm going to cause some trouble." He scanned the faces of Fryda, Alfric, and Hiroc, and then frowned. He was wearing his regular clothes and didn't appear to have been sleeping. "Enlil's scrotum, you lot look like you're about to burst into tears."

  "Best not to talk about it," Hiroc said.

  "The warriors are going on a quest," Fryda said, disregarding Hiroc. "Alfric and Hiroc are going to join them." She made sure to glare at Alfric. From the way he cowered, it had done the trick.

  "Eosorheim is no place for a woman," Jaruman said. He must have noticed the meaning behind Fryda's words.

  She rolled her eyes. "I am more than capable of handling myself."

  He grunted. "The warriors wouldn't let you go with them anyway. Alfric's going to have a hard enough time convincing them to let him go, let alone Hiroc. Do you really think they'll allow a Daughter of Enlil to accompany them?"

  "The answer is no," Hiroc said. He still looked out of sorts, but the ales had enlivened him.

  Fryda glared at him.

  Jaruman crossed the room and removed the sword from above the fireplace. He ran his fingers over the lengthy scabbard. Jewels encrusted the pommel. It was probably worth more than three inns.

  "I carried this sword with me across the Pass," he said. "I killed orcs, trolls, and worse with it." He turned to Alfric. "You can have it. I was meaning to hand it down to a son, but I doubt I'll ever remarry."

  "I don't know what to say," Alfric said as he took the weapon, a look of awe on his face.

  "'Thank you' would be good," Fryda jibed, trying not to appear jealous. The sword was far too large for her ever to wield, but to see Jaruman give away something that might have otherwise been hers was difficult. She planned on marrying Alfric, so she consoled herself with the fact that the sword would one day be hers anyway.

  Alfric smiled sheepishly at Jaruman before fixing the sword to his belt. Even on Alfric, who was just about the tallest person in Indham, the sword looked massive.

  "You need a weapon, too?" Jaruman nodded at Hiroc.

  "No," Hiroc said. He tapped the blade at his waist. "I have my knife."

  Jaruman scoffed but didn't say anything. He had treated Hiroc differently after he'd joined the acolytes. According to Jaruman, the Holy Order was a den of vipers. That remark had Hiroc leaping to defend them. If it weren't for the ale they'd consumed on that night, it might not have escalated. But it ended soon enough. Jaruman wasn't one to lose a fistfight, nor would he back down when challenged by a man much younger than himself.

  "What if we run into trouble?" Alfric said to Hiroc. "That knife isn't meant for fighting."

  Hiroc curtly shook his head.

  "I have something else." Jaruman went into the back room and returned with a fur cloak. He buttoned it around Alfric's broad shoulders. "A pilgrim came in here wearing it and left it behind. Never seen something so thick, but I imagine it'll keep you warm. They say the road to Eosorheim can get mighty chilly." He looked at Hiroc and shrugged. "Sorry, I don't have another one."

  Hiroc didn't seem perturbed in the slightest.

  Jaruman peered through the window. "It looks like the Council is about to arrive. Enlil's blessings to the two of you." He had emphasized the word two while looking at Fryda.

  Hiroc left without saying anything. Like all the other acolytes in the Holy Order, he despised the old god Enlil, so Jaruman's blessing had likely infuriated him. Alfric clasped Jaruman's hand and bid him farewell.

  Still angry, Fryda went to walk outside, but Jaruman stopped her. "Don't go getting any fancy ideas."

  "Like what?" she said with a forced smile.

  "Those warriors catch you following them and there'll be trouble. You might be a novice with the Daughters, but you're also Fatherless. My word holds little weight. I'm just as much a foreigner as you. They might like me more because I give them ale, but they won't listen to my protests when they drag you back here to be flogged."

  Fryda hadn't thought of following them. But Jaruman had given her a great idea.

  "Or worse," he said as if reading her thoughts. "You could be stuck out there when the wraiths come."

  Fryda wondered whether Jaruman had been upstairs listening when Hiroc recounted what had happened at Tyme's Hill. "It's not like you to eavesdrop."

  "Didn't have to eavesdrop." He turned his nose up, as though he wouldn't deign to do such a thing. "I was in Mundos when our orb was shattered. There's a feeling about a place without an orb. I get that same feeling now. I close my eyes, and all I see are clouds of flame." He shook his head, as though rousing himself from a vision. "Take my advice. Stay here. Let the warriors do their business. I've taken you in as my own. You owe me that much."

  "I won't get into trouble. I—"

  "Promise me," Jaruman interrupted.

  Fryda sighed, slumping her shoulders. "I promise."

  It was a promise she couldn't keep, but she didn't have a choice but to tell him what he wanted to hear. Jaruman would be watching her more carefully if she didn't say it. She wasn't going to stay here in Indham while she could be out there helping. Even so, guilt weighed upon her as she stepped outside.

  11

  Hiroc

  The rain had made people cover themselves more than they would have before the storms began. Even compared to them, Alfric looked like a long-haired winter
beast. It didn't help that he was a head taller than the rest. The sight was almost comical. Hiroc might have laughed had he not been still consumed with the sight at Tyme's Hill.

  For three days, while he remained inside his room at the Basilica, not going to prayer or training, all he thought of was the broken remnants of Aern's orb. When he wasn't thinking of them, he was fiddling with his ring. No matter which god he invoked, there was no lightning. He'd felt a slight breeze once and a strange smell, but no lightning.

  It had been almost enough to make him think he had imagined the entire afternoon at Tyme's Hill. Perhaps the giant had been imaginary, the lightning bolt that had struck it a mere phantasm. If only that were the case, maybe Aern's orb would still be whole.

  That morning, he had forced himself to go outside so he could speak with his brother. The last thing he had expected was for Alfric to decide that they would both be accompanying the warriors on their quest.

  There was no chance of that. At least not both of them. Hiroc needed to learn more about the strange lightning and the blue fire. It would be impossible to do that if he was traipsing across the countryside with Alfric and the warriors.

  The fresh air and the brewing excitement of the people as they waited for the warriors reminded Hiroc that Aern's death didn't mean it was the end of the world. Life would go on. Besides, who else could say that they had summoned fire from the heavens to fight off a giant?

  The town crier announced the Council's arrival.

  The crowd parted, allowing four members of the Council to pass through. High Priest Idmaer, Saega the augur, and the warriors, Sigebert and Cenred.

  The last time he'd seen her had been at the Council meeting. Hiroc had stood before the Council and told them how Aern was too weak to speak with him at Tyme's Hill. Idmaer had congratulated him on a lie well told, but Hiroc wasn't so sure the other Council members had believed him. Some had laughed when he'd said he sometimes spoke with Aern, while others glared at him with eyes that bore into his soul. Edoma had scowled the whole time. She'd asked Hiroc whether Aern's orb had looked any different. When he said that it glimmered a little less brightly, she'd stormed out of the hall. Her absence today was unsurprising.