by Matt Moss
“No.”
“I think that’s what you did back at the camp,” Torin said, not really explaining it further. When someone soul taps, it gives them power, but only for a short time,” Torin said, looking ahead into the dense forest.
Arkin fiddled at the reigns. “Can you soul tap?” he asked, pausing over the unfamiliar phrase.
“Yes.”
“Can you teach me?”
“It’s difficult to explain, Arkin, which is why I’m no teacher,” Torin said, then grinned at him. “I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy. The Prophet will be able to help you understand it better.”
“So, when someone soul taps, they become stronger?” Arkin asked, trying to figure it out.
“Stronger, faster,” Torin said. “Vision, hearing, and all the senses are heightened.”
“I think I’ve seen it before,” Arkin said, turning back to check on Lyla. “The night my father fought Lucian. They were moving so fast. It was impossible.”
“Your father was a great man. And he was loyal to the Order. Yes, he could soul tap,” Torin said, his tone reverent. “He was one of the best the Order’s ever seen.”
Arkin smiled, recalling fond memories of his father. He wished he had known more about him; all the things Levi didn’t reveal to him.
They rode in silence for a moment. “You know your father once...”
Torin was interrupted by three dangerously armed men jumping out of the forest to block the path in the road.
Lyla screamed as two more appeared from behind. Arkin quickly reigned his horse around to put himself between Lyla and the two men.
“Nice day for a ride,” the little man said, standing between two of his men. A loaded crossbow rested gently in his hands. “Me and my men here was just talking about how we’d like to have some horses.”
All four of his men agreed, smiling wickedly.
The horses whickered nervously as the bandits pulled their swords from their scabbards. The two in the back spread out, taking Arkin’s flank.
Arkin pulled his sword. Torin sat atop Strider, his back to Arkin and the other two men.
“Torin?” Arkin pleaded.
The gang leader cocked his head, looking at Lyla.
“Now there’s a pretty young thing,” the leader said, lustfully. “We’ll be having her too.” Aiming the crossbow at Torin, he put his finger on the trigger. “The way I see it, you got two choices,” he said, then looked to his men. “I’m a generous man aren’t I? I always give people two choices.”
The gang laughed and agreed.
Arkin gripped his sword, fighting to keep his hands from shaking.
“One,” the leader said, “you and the boy get off your horses and stand aside. Or two, I shoot you in the chest and kill the boy for fun. Either way, those horses and that girl are now mine.”
Looking at Lyla, Arkin saw the terror on her face. “Lyla, look at me,” he said.
She looked at him. He conveyed assurance of her safety with everything in him. She pursed her lips and gave a shaky nod in return.
Steeling his nerves, he glared at the two men.
“I’ll take option three.” Torin told the leader in a cool voice.
“What’s option three?” the leader asked. “Argh, never mind. There is no option three!”
“Pull the trigger to find out,” Torin said as he closed his eyes.
Instantly, his senses were enhanced. He could smell the stench of the men trying to rob him. He could feel their energy; their anxiety, their hatred. Their fear.
He could hear their breathing.
Then he heard the trigger pull and the thrum of the crossbow. He opened his eyes.
Grabbing the bolt midair, he held it momentarily before tossing it away. Two daggers suddenly appeared from his side. His motion became a blur as he flipped the steel and let fly. The blades struck hard with a thud, burying themselves into two of the bandits’ chests. The impact sent the men falling backwards, leaving their leader standing alone, stunned.
The other two men in the back surged toward Arkin, swords swinging. Steel rang as he blocked a savage blow, the impact causing him to fall off his horse. Landing, the sword fell from his hand. He raised his head to see the other man running at him, his sword held high, ready to chop.
Arkin’s hands desperately searched the ground, his fingers clawing for purchase on the sword.
As the bandit’s sword began to fall, Arkin found his weapon and checked the blow by raising his sword. Blades rang and Arkin’s hand went numb.
He kicked the man in the leg, causing him to fall, his head slamming into Arkin’s.
Everything went black.
Arkin heard his heartbeat. He took a deep breath. Again, another breath. Again, ...nothing. Terror took hold of him lying in the blackness. Why couldn’t he breathe?
His eyes cracked open to see the bright light of day and the shadow of a face. Snapping into focus, he noticed the bandit straining to choke the life out of him; the man snarled with four black teeth. Through teary eyes, Arkin saw the other man coming at him also, a knife in his hand.
The knife fell to the ground as the man suddenly flew to the side, mid step.
Everything began to fade to black again.
Before the darkness set in, Arkin saw Torin pick the black-toothed bandit up by the neck with one hand. The bones made a crunching sound before Torin threw him to the side.
Taking Torin’s hand, Arkin slowly stood.
Lyla screamed.
Turning, they saw the leader, wide eyed and back-peddling, holding a knife to her throat. His hand shook, causing a thin red line to appear on Lyla’s neck.
She squirmed away from the cut. The man cursed, attempting to regain his hold on her. She bit down hard on the arm that held the blade.
Screaming, he loosened his hold. She threw her head back, busting his nose in a spray of red.
His grip released, allowing her to fall to the ground. She frantically began to scramble away.
Torin’s hand shifted to find the battle-ax strapped to his side. He threw it at the man with savage force.
It sunk deep into his chest with a thud, cleaving through bone and sending him flying backwards.
Lyla ran to Arkin, crying, and threw her arms around him.
Torin looked at the leader, the pool of blood accumulating on the ground. He pulled the axe from the dead man’s chest.
“You have to show me how to fight like that,” Arkin said, holding Lyla.
Torin grinned. “Like I said, I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy.”
Seven
It was midday when Lucian rode into Kingsport. The place had changed some, but many things had not. Taking in the sights and the smells, memories of a past life flooded his mind.
It had been eighteen years since he last laid eyes upon the capital. The night of the Rebellion and the death of Sarie, once repressed, was now refreshed with the sight of the city. He had hoped he would never see the cursed place again.
New streets had been laid with polished cobblestone and brick. Luxurious shops and three story buildings had been erected. Lucian noticed an abundance of wealthy people wearing fine clothing casually walking the streets
It’s still a shithole, Lucian thought.
After stabling his horse, he made his way through the crowded streets. Beggars and poor folk were still plenty in the capital, greeting him with either an outstretched palm or a scornful glare.
Vendors and artisans lined both sides of the street. They stood behind their tents and tables, soliciting to anyone with coin. Some were crafting and some were shouting at the people passing by in attempt to sell their goods.
The smell of cooked meat made his mouth water, while a stand full of fresh fruit and vegetables caught his eye. Various arts and handmade crafts could be had for the right price, along with all types of clothing, weapons, and armor.
Livestock for sale added to the noise and the smell of the place.
Lucian made his way
to one of the vendors.
“How much?” he said, holding a skewer filled with a sizable portion of meat.
“Two,” the merchant replied, taking a coin from another customer. “John’s Blessing to you, good sir,” he said to the other customer with a nod.
Lucian handed him the coin, holding the stick up in appreciation.
“John’s Blessing to you also, good sir,” the merchant said, but not before Lucian turned and walked away.
He made his way to the main courtyard, in front of the royal steps. No one, save for King George, the Order, and the priests, were allowed onto the steps without approval.
Savoring the succulent meat, Lucian looked up at the King’s palace. Statues of previous kings lined the sides of the steps, standing proud, filling the space between two evergreen trees.
Lucian’s gaze veered to the right, toward the Church. Standing taller and more grand than the King’s palace, it had been hailed as the holy cornerstone of the Religion.
Eyeing the sheer size of the Church, Lucian sucked air through his teeth upon finishing the meat. He pulled some tobacco from his pouch and put it in his mouth, enjoying a good chew from time to time.
One of the guards eyed him, cautiously, from the steps. Lucian grinned in reply, his right cheek bulging out.
“Lucian?” a man’s voice came from behind.
Turning, Lucian faced the man.
“It is you?” the man asked. “I haven’t seen you in years!”
“Hello, Thomas,” Lucian said, gripping the man’s hand. “Yes, it’s been a few. From the looks of you, time has been treating you well,” Lucian said, admiring his fine clothing and jewelry.
Thomas turned one of the rings on his hand. “Yes, well, after the split, I found that being a jeweler was much more profitable.”
“Jeweler? In a time like this?” Lucian said. “I thought people would be suffering here, like they are in the rest of the kingdom, due to the King’s taxes?”
“Times are tough, my friend,” Thomas said, scratching his chin. “But there will always be rich people to go with the poor. Actually, in times like these, it is the rich that prosper more.”
“How do you figure that?” Lucian asked.
“They have enough money to invest, so they corner the markets. They raise or lower prices depending on who gains and at what time.”
“Gotta have money to make money,” Lucian noted.
Thomas nodded. “Sadly, it is the middle class that suffers. The artisans, trade workers, craftsmen. The gap between the rich and the poor is widening.”
Lucian tapped his toe on the newly paved street. “From the looks of the city as a whole, one would think that hundreds of kings live here.”
Thomas laughed. “That’s the King’s tax money at work. He felt that it would keep the rich and the politicians happy, despite taking a bit more coin from their purse.” He waived his arm in a sweeping motion. “Promote a good image of the capital with new shops, buildings, and streets to reassure the public that the economy is better than it seems. Looks good, right?”
“You can polish a turd, but it’s still a turd,” Lucian said then spat a mouthful of brown near the palace steps.
“Hey!” a nearby guard said, appalled by the vulgar disregard.
“I’ll see to it,” Thomas said, waving the guard off.
“Don’t let it happen again,” the guard warned.
Lucian shrugged.
“Ha! I see you haven’t changed much,” Thomas said.
“I see you have,” Lucian said, patting Thomas on the stomach. “All that training, just to let yourself go.”
Thomas’s face flushed red. “Well, like I said, after the Rebellion, I put my sword away.”
“And picked up a fork,” Lucian jeered.
“A man’s got to eat! How long are you in town for?”
Lucian’s face grew stern. “Not long.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“No. I just arrived.”
“Then it’s settled,” Thomas stated. “You must stay with me and my family for the night.”
Lucian waved him off. “It’s alright. I’ll just check into the inn.”
“I insist,” Thomas said, putting his arm around Lucian. “Besides, my wife is baking a meat pie. It’s the best this side of Greenehaven.”
Lucian thought about it. He was here to do a job. Better not to get involved with anyone. Thomas had been one of his good friends for years, serving alongside him in the Order. But it had been awhile since he talked to a friend.
“You got ale?” Lucian asked.
“You still drink it piss warm?” Thomas asked.
Lucian smiled.
Thomas clapped him on the back, pulling him towards the market. “Some things never change.”
Lucian followed Thomas to his house on the outskirts of the inner city, only a brief walk from the market. Already, the buildings became more run down and the folk grew less savory.
“Nice neighborhood,” Lucian said with sarcasm, noticing the sharp decline of civilization across the street.
“It gets worse the farther you go,” Thomas said. “It’s not a place someone wants to be after dark.”
They walked the rest of the way as quickly and unassumingly as they could.
Thomas’s house was large, but not over-extravagant. Upon entering, he insisted that Lucian make himself at home.
Lucian chuckled to himself — he’d never known a real home. Feeling a bit out of place, he walked around the main room, gazing at all the furniture and decorations. It was after meeting Thomas’s family that he eventually eased into the comfort of his host’s home.
“So, what do you think about the meat pie?” Thomas asked, sitting at the head of the dinner table. His three sons had been staring at their guest upon his arrival.
“It’s the best I’ve ever had,” Lucian said with a mouthful of food, drawing a snicker from the children.
Thomas’s wife, Jennie, smiled. “You are too kind,” she said. “My husband brags on me too much.”
“And for good reason,” Lucian replied. “It’s best to give credit where credit is due.”
“My wife is too modest,” Thomas said, picking at his teeth. “It’s because of her that I look like this,” he said, stretching back while rubbing his belly.
“I’ve heard the key to a man’s happiness is through his stomach,” Lucian said.
“Well,” Jennie said, looking at her husband. “Are you happy?”
“Oh, I’m happy,” he said and slapped his gut, drawing laughs from around the table.
Jennie shook her head and stood to clear the table. “Come, boys. Let’s clean and let these two catch up.”
“Yes, momma,” the oldest boy, just ten, said.
The youngest looked at Lucian, sizing him up. “Are you a jeweler like my dad?”
“Joey,” Thomas scolded, “you know better. When we have company, you are only to speak when spoken to.”
“Yes, father,” the boy said with his head down.
“It’s alright,” Lucian said, drawing the boy’s gaze again. “I am no jeweler, but I do like to deal a little in rare stones.”
Thomas’s expression turned stark as he regarded his guest.
The boy cocked his head. “If you’re not a jeweler, then what do you do for work?”
“Joey, go help your mother and get ready for bed,” Thomas commanded.
Jumping from his chair, the boy ran into the kitchen.
Lucian smiled. “Cute kid. Reminds me of me at that age.”
“For Heaven’s sake, let’s hope not,” Thomas said, standing from the table. “Let’s talk in private.”
In the back room, Thomas poured a glass of whiskey for each of them.
Lucian took the drink, nodding his appreciation and shot it down, savoring the burn. “Now that’s a damn good whiskey,” he noted, inspecting the empty glass.
“I drink only the best,” Thomas said. “Funny how things change.
When we were young, we would have drunk horse piss just to get a buzz.” He slowly emptied his glass, closing his eyes, then swallowed. “As you get older, you learn to appreciate the finer things in life,” he stated, his voice slightly chafed from the fiery drink.
Two more glasses were poured as Lucian looked around the room. No expense was spared. It was decorated from floor to ceiling with only the best that money could buy.
“I’ll have to admit, you have a mighty fine life,” Lucian said, taking a sip from his glass. “You’ve done well for yourself, Thomas.”
“Credited to hard work and a little bit of luck,” Thomas said. “And how about you?”
Lucian stood in front of a wall decorated with magnificent swords. An assortment of bows hung above the blades.
“What about me?”
“I hate to be rude like my boy, but what is it that you do these days?”
“Same thing I’ve always done, Thomas.” Lucian said, admiring the weapons.
“But, why?” Thomas asked.
Lucian turned. “Because I’m damn good at it, that’s why.”
“I know you are Lucian, but you can be good at other things too. Aren’t you tired of taking orders?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then why do it?” Thomas pleaded.
“You know why,” Lucian said, raising his voice. He lowered his eyes, checking himself. “I don’t know why I feel like I owe it to her, but I do.”
“Listen, I know you hate the Order and everything that happened. But Sarie would want you to be a better man. God wants you to be...”
“Leave God out of this!” Lucian spat. “We parted ways a long time ago. And leave Sarie out of it too,” he threatened. “I know we’re old friends, but don’t press your luck.”
“You’re right,” Thomas said putting a hand up. “I go too far.”
Lucian walked away in effort to calm himself. “It’s the Church that goes too far,” he said, turning back.
Thomas cocked his head, his face puzzled.
“Since you brought up God,” Lucian replied to the look.
“Go on then, since you clearly have an opinion,” Thomas said.
“The priests have their hidden agendas and push for money and power, all in the name of God,” Lucian scorned. “And they use the Order to impose their will, in the name of King George and the Church.