There was only one soul gem dealer in Black Castle. The shop was housed in a small, dark building with thick wooden beams, but the salesroom was pleasantly illuminated. The light broke on the bare surfaces of thousands of soul gems that lay in long rows on artfully hewn shelves, which covered the walls up to the ceiling. In the middle of the room, a staircase led up to a gallery. Next to it stood another gigantic crystal formation. It was illuminated by the light of lanterns hanging from the ceiling, which spread distorted light spots in the room. Arvid was so fascinated by the sight that she only noticed the man by the window when he spoke.
“Welcome.” He was no longer young and had semi-long, graying hair and unusually dark skin. Arvid saw that his eyes were bright and of a striking orange color. But he seemed so open and friendly that Arvid instinctively dismissed this as a trivial detail.
The man introduced himself as Bennedor and offered her tea from a steaming pitcher, which stood on a side table. Arvid politely declined, however, and followed his invitation to sit down.
“Always take your time and pay close attention when choosing a soul gem,” said the dealer. “Have you purchased one before?”
“No,” Arvid said. “Honestly,” she then continued hesitantly, “I don’t even know what soul gems are and what exactly they do. I’m… not from here.”
Bennedor smiled. “No one knows what exactly they are. What is known is that a suitable stone can indirectly strengthen a magical gift. There are actually people who believe they are crystallized souls.”
Arvid looked at him puzzled. “Souls?”
“Inside the earth, they say, flows the soul stream. It is also called the Black Waters. It is said that the souls of the dead return to it and become part of it. There, the soul gems form and are then carried out into the world by rivers and streams.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
“Personally, I don’t believe it,” confessed Bennedor, “but it’s a nice story, don’t you think? But it is certain that every soul gem has a kind of personality. It is important to find one that fits you; otherwise, it is completely useless—or even distressing.”
“And how do I find a matching gem?”
“Often I have a hunch where to start looking. Then you just try them, one after another.”
Involuntarily Arvid looked around and let her gaze wander over the many shelves. “That sounds… difficult.”
“It often is, especially among young people. Many don’t know the nature of their own soul—or they deny it.” Bennedor smiled. “It’s difficult to find something when you don’t know what to look for.” He raised his cup to his lips and took a cautious sip, while his reddish-golden eyes watched Arvid attentively. Arvid remembered having seen someone with such eyes before: Noldir, the god whom she had spoken with more than half a year ago at the city hall.
“Before we start looking,” Bennedor said, putting down his cup, “allow me to ask what financial resources you hold. I certainly don’t mean to be rude; I merely want to narrow down the field for our search.”
“Of course.” Arvid fished the little black leather bag from her pocket, and pushed it across the table to Bennedor. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how much it is. I am a student at Vero-Maghen; the money comes from my patron.”
Bennedor looked puzzled, but wordlessly took the bag and opened it. To Arvid’s amazement, he didn’t take out any money, but a small piece of rolled-up parchment. It was sealed with a small dab of sealing wax and prominently bore his name.
“I… had no idea that this… was in there,” stammered Arvid.
Bennedor unrolled the parchment and began to read. When he finished, he paused for a long while and stared into the air in front of him.
“What does it say?” asked Arvid.
Bennedor hesitated for a moment. As he looked at her again, his face was serious and tense, and something in his eyes seemed to have changed. “Something that considerably limits our search. Come. The gems that might be of interest for you are situated at a different location.”
Arvid’s confusion grew. She followed Bennedor to a small side room, which was dimly lit by a handful of star lamps. He lit some additional candles, and their light was soon reflected by glittering stones that lay on shelves lined with soft fabrics. There were not nearly as many as in the salesroom, merely a handful.
“These are special soul gems,” said Bennedor. “Extremely rare specimens. I rarely sell them.” He still sounded tense, in stark contrast to his carefree demeanor from before.
“Why?” said Arvid.
“They’re hybrid stones,” he said. “They combine two or more features, so their influence can be confusing and troubling. However, your… patron thinks that such a stone will suit you.” Bennedor looked at her searchingly. “Well, when I look at you like that, I’m actually inclined to believe him.”
His eyes sparked an odd feeling in Arvid. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but still very strange, as if he were touching something inside her. “Can you… read my mind?” said Arvid, worried.
Bennedor shook his head, then smiled. “No, I can’t do that. I suspect you are not familiar with my people. I come from the Islands of Ashes far to the northwest; you recognize it in my eyes. We see more than others. We can often recognize the essence of a soul… at least a hint of it.”
For the next hour Bennedor successively handed Arvid different gems and asked her to hold them in her hand and describe how she was feeling. It was an extraordinary experience. Some stones didn’t seem to have any effect at all, but many awakened feelings and thoughts in her, sometimes soothing, sometimes exciting, at other times even oppressive.
Eventually, Bennedor returned with a bright green stone. Its top half shimmered a little blue and it had two long, red inclusions. The pattern looked a little like a face.
“This one has a… difficult combination of features,” said Bennedor after significant hesitation. “But maybe you should try it anyway.”
Carefully Arvid took the stone from Bennedor’s hand. A moment later she looked at him, both surprised and intrigued. “It’s perfect,” she said, spellbound. The feeling the stone caused in her wasn’t very strong, impossible to describe, yet immensely tempting. It felt as if someone had removed a hazy veil from her senses, the presence of which she only perceived now that it was gone.
Bennedor looked surprised. “Glad you like it. But are you sure? It’s… really very special.”
Only with difficulty could Arvid be persuaded to try some of the other stones, too, but none of them was comparable. The stone with the face gave her such a pleasant feeling of security that she almost didn’t want to put it down.
When she left Bennedor’s store an hour later, Gerdur and Nod were already waiting for her and looked frozen. Arvid was also shivering in the icy wind, and so they were quick to pick up her dress and to set out on the return journey.
The snowfall had subsided, though the layer of snow was so thick, it was difficult to move forward. Their conversations soon fell silent, for they all were freezing in their wet clothes. Arvid looked forward to the warmth of the school and to be able to slip into dry clothes.
Suddenly it seemed to her as if she were struck by lightning. Every little muscle seemed to tense up and send a sharp pain through her body, so that she cried out and fell into the snow. Her body felt as if it was on fire, but as soon as she had rolled to the side, the pain disappeared as abruptly as it had come.
“Arvid, what’s wrong?” she heard Gerdur say. His voice was almost panicked. Arvid saw the pale, worried face of her friend appear above her. She lay panting in the snow, trying to comprehend what had just happened. At first she couldn’t find any explanation, but then an inkling started to grow.
“I… I’ve hurt my foot on something under the snow,” she uttered breathlessly, then pushed herself up
and tried to make a convincing impression. Gerdur looked at her with great skepticism, while Nod just stood there and watched her with a strange expression in his eyes.
Of course it was a lie. She had not hurt her foot. She had crossed the new circle of protection.
On the day of the Light Turning Festival it seemed as if the school had transformed into a bee’s nest. Everyone was on their feet and helping where they could. All morning Arvid had helped Aleri put up colored fabric ribbons and place large, high jugs in the corners of the room and along the corridors, which were to be filled with giant, shimmering flowers later. “Everything has to be perfect,” Aleri kept saying, “after all, gods are to be our guests.” Aleri’s fixation on the gods woke a certain anger in Arvid, but she bit back any comment.
As Arvid went down the stairs to the kitchen, she met Thoke, who wore an ornate embroidered shirt and a dark blue vest. It had been a long time since she’d last seen him in anything other than a school uniform, and she had to admit that he looked good in these clothes.
“You’re not dressed yet?” he asked in astonishment and skeptically looked at the stack of bowls in Arvid’s arms. “The opening speech is in less than three hours.”
Arvid took a moment, but then she realized. Three hours in this world were less than an hour in hers. “Is it that late already?” she exclaimed. “I should probably hurry. Here.” She heaved the heavy pile of bowls in Thoke’s arms. “You take this, and I’m going to get dressed.”
“What? What should I do with them?”
“Down to the kitchen, fill with fruit, then back up,” said Arvid, then turned around and hastily ran up the stairs. She had been so engrossed in her work that she had not realized how much time had passed. Now that she was suddenly aware that the festival would begin soon, she felt terribly nervous. Would the man from the garden really show up?
When Arvid was dressed, she suddenly realized that she could hardly show up to such an event with unbraided hair. She hurried over to the washroom and looked at herself in the dim mirror. She had no idea how she could braid her hair properly, and she didn’t have much time left. Maybe she should try to make a simple side braid, like Aleri had shown her once. However, she had no practice, and the time pressure wouldn’t make it easier.
In fact, it turned out to be even more difficult than she had thought. Just dividing her hair into strands of the same thickness was a challenge. Again and again parts of her hair slipped off her hands or single hairs got caught between her fingers. She tried over and over again, but with each attempt the tingling feeling of restlessness inside her grew.
After she had undone the braid again at least a dozen times, she felt her hands gradually becoming numb. Her hair looked completely disheveled, and she didn’t have much time to keep trying. Anger rose inside her, anger at herself. Why had she not asked Aleri for help or listened to Thoke and learned to braid her hair weeks ago?
“Need help?” a voice suddenly came from the doorway.
It made Arvid jump so violently, she hit the corner of the sink hard with her hip. The pain brought tears to her eyes. Through the blur she saw the slender figure of a dark-haired woman standing in the doorway.
Arvid blinked away the tears and groaned. “My god, you scared me. What are you doing here?” She tried to stand straight again and clutched to the edge of the sink.
The woman at the door chuckled. “What do you think?” she asked. “It’s the washroom. I’ve had a long journey. And what are you doing here?”
Her mocking tone angered Arvid. “I’m trying to braid my hair,” she said irritably and turned directly to the woman, “but it just won’t work!”
As their eyes met, Arvid stopped short. She had the intense feeling of having seen this woman before, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember where or under what circumstances. She was wearing a thick braid like a crown around her head. Out of it thick, nearly black curls fell over her shoulders and back, just like young shoots of a vine. She looked anything but average. Her almost sharp-featured face was dominated by a long, straight nose; her lips were narrow and dark. She had dark brown, alert eyes and was breathtakingly beautiful.
“You’re staring at me,” said the woman eventually.
Arvid felt herself blushing. “I… I’m sorry. Do I know you… from somewhere…?” she said haltingly.
“No,” said the woman. She pushed away from the door frame and held out her hand demandingly. “Agility really doesn’t seem to be one of your strengths. Give me the comb, your hair’s a disaster.”
Arvid obeyed automatically and sat down on the stone bench in front of the sink. The woman began to comb her hair, ruffled from Arvid’s failed braiding attempts. She worked quickly and not very gently, but Arvid kept quiet, even if it tweaked. She could feel that the unknown woman made several braids at the sides. Her heart suddenly began to beat faster, and a strange, tingling, but very pleasant feeling spread through her stomach. Arvid wanted to say something, but she couldn’t think of anything, and so she just sat there quietly.
When the woman was finally finished and Arvid stepped up to the mirror, she was amazed. At her forehead and along the hairline she had three thin braids that ran back over her head, where they were joined into a larger braid.
“Thank you,” Arvid said, stunned. “You’re really good at that.”
In the mirror Arvid saw how the woman behind her raised an eyebrow. “It’s really not that hard,” she said, amused. “You’re just exceptionally clumsy. Now hurry up—maybe you’ll at least manage to be in time for the opening speech.”
Arvid was so befuddled that she wordlessly left the washroom. When she finally left the school building, Borgarr’s speech had already begun. On the forecourt, a big crowd of people had gathered, which in front of the huge, highly blazing fire only could be seen as black outlines with long, dancing shadows. Nobody noticed her.
Arvid went slowly around the crowd, looking for her friends, but couldn’t see anyone. After a while she stopped resignedly, trying unsuccessfully to catch some of Borgarr’s speech, despite the loud crackling of the fire.
After the speech was over, a broad-shouldered man stood and raised his voice. Once again Arvid was unable to understand a word of it. She was so cold that her teeth chattered. Quietly swearing she buried her hands in her armpits and hopped on the spot to warm up a little.
Suddenly Arvid felt observed, and almost at the same time she heard a faint cough behind her. When she looked around, she saw the figure of a tall man behind her, who held out a blanket. He could only be seen as a dark outline, on which the distant glow of the fire threw a moving pattern.
“This can take a while,” he said, when Arvid made no move to take the blanket, “and I might be mistaken, but you seem to be freezing.”
Arvid now took the blanket. “Thanks,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders. “What are you doing back here? Don’t you want to hear the speech?” With narrowed eyes, she tried to see more of her counterpart, but the light was too bad. He was slender and long-haired, but his age was impossible to guess in the wild flickering of the fire.
The man shrugged. “It’s the same every year. I’m just here out of a sense of duty.”
“You don’t like festivals?”
“I dislike inconsequential speeches and superstition,” the man replied contemptuously. “And fire. But the rest of the festival is quite amusing.” He folded his arms behind his back and turned directly to Arvid. “I hope I may venture to say that your hair looks very nice—very artistic.”
For a moment, Arvid was taken aback by this remark. “Thank you,” she finally managed to say. “I’m… Arvid. May I know your name?”
Her counterpart grinned. “You know me,” he said. “I’m Loke.”
“Loke!” Arvid exclaimed. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
/> “I’m used to that.” There was no mockery in his voice, but it was impossible to tell if he was serious. “We’ll talk later. I have… something to do.”
He turned around and left. Arvid watched as he disappeared into the dancing shadows. Meeting him back here was probably the last thing she had expected. He was a god—why wasn’t he with the others? Up front at the fire, she saw the tips of a handful of lances that certainly belonged to the guards of the other gods present.
On the way back inside Arvid finally met Thoke, Aleri, and Enild again and joined them. The hall was almost unrecognizable. The air was filled with music, loud voices and the clatter of dishes. People were laughing, shouting and trying to find friends and acquaintances at the big tables. Employees were running around, filling jugs with beer and wine.
They found seats at a table near the rear, elevated part of the hall, where a separate table for the gods and masters had been placed. Arvid discovered Borgarr, Aeldjarn, and a handful of other teachers, next to two gods called Ull and Lanfei, as Aleri told her. Along the walls stood guards in white tabards, just as they had during Thor’s visit a few weeks earlier. There was no sign of Loke or the red-haired stranger though.
It was hard to talk with all the noise. They had to speak very loudly and often lean far over the table to understand each other. A thick, pipe-smoking man next to Arvid constantly laughed so loudly and resoundingly that she had to repeat every second sentence. Nevertheless, Arvid had to admit that she was enjoying herself. Thoke’s stories from recent years, especially, made them laugh. Only Aleri seemed tense and constantly looked at the clock, because she couldn’t wait for the dance to begin. The seventy-seventh hour, it finally happened. The music stopped. Borgarr stepped forward and raised his hands to ask for silence, which wasn’t even necessary. No sooner had the musicians stopped playing, all heads turned around to him.
Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) Page 18