by Sadie Moss
Ascension
Her Soulkeepers #3
Sadie Moss
Copyright © 2020 by Sadie Moss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Also by Sadie Moss
1
With my access to the weave intact, escape is possible.
It’s possible.
It’s possible.
I repeat this mantra over and over in my head as a guard passes by my cell. He wears the pressed gold and white uniform I’ve come to associate with Kaius’s inner castle guard.
His thin lips are set in a sneer as he stalks past the barred door that separates me from the rest of the dungeon. Dark, beady eyes search the shadowy interior of my cell, as if he thinks I might’ve somehow found a way to get up to something between these four empty walls.
If only he knew.
I have found a way.
The guard’s arrival has interrupted my initial attempt at escape. Or, if not an attempt at escape, at least a test to see if I can escape.
I listen to his footsteps stalk past the other prisoners’ cold stone rooms. My three messengers are being kept in another part of the dungeon, far away from me—but I can still sense them through the bond we share, still feel echoes of their emotions in my own soul.
At the other end of my connection to Callum, I feel his anger seethe like a boiling ocean. I can’t read the minds of my messengers through our soul connection, just feel their emotions. Although sometimes, that feels a little like the same thing.
My connections to Echo and Paris feel weaker, making it harder to get a grasp on what they’re feeling. I pray it’s because they’re being kept farther away from me and not because they’re near death.
Please, don’t let them die.
Several minutes later, the guard’s footsteps begin to come back toward me again. As he passes the whispering man in the cell beside me, he bangs the edge of his metal wrist armor on the bars. “Oi! Shut up, you loon.”
My neighbor’s wild babbling, which has been nonstop since I awoke only about twenty minutes ago, ceases at the sharp clang of metal on iron.
I close my eyes, hoping the guard hasn’t frightened the poor soul speechless. I’m not done trying to wring information from him. The last thing I need is for his already fragile brain to take a turn for the worse and cut off my only chance at gleaning more details about the all-powerful god.
One god more powerful than all the others.
One who could possibly help me and my messengers.
The brute of a guard passes my cell again. As he walks by, he suddenly lunges in my direction, like he’s going to come right through the bars at me. I assume he’s trying to get a rise out of me—to scare me, to make me feel small and unsafe next to his lumbering bulk. Unluckily for him, I know there are thick bars between us, and he very clearly doesn’t have a brave enough bone in his body to come through this door.
So I find him as terrifying as a common mouse.
When I don’t even flinch at his display of power, he scowls at me and spits on the floor but continues on his way. A shrill, off-pitch whistle starts up in the distance, then the guard’s footsteps—and his terrible song—ascend the steps, fading into nothing as he enters the rest of the palace.
Then, silence.
I scramble to my feet and return to the bars on my cell door, peering out to make sure no one else is in the corridor. After verifying that it’s empty, I tuck myself into the corner of my cell closest to the madman beside me, leaning against the stone wall. “Hey. Are you okay?”
So much time passes that I’m certain the guard has broken him, destroying the last vestiges of his sanity. Then a small voice replies, “I put the laundry on the line, Mum.”
I blink a few times, surprised.
Farse.
He hasn’t been terrified into silence, but he’s certainly lost even more of his mind. He seems to slip into greater and greater madness with every hour that passes. But maybe if I play along, I can tap into something deeper within him—something that can give me answers. “Thank you, son. I appreciate your help.”
“You’re welcome...” A shaky sigh emanates from his cell. “Can I go play?”
“Of course.” I keep my voice soothing and low. “But first, I have a question.”
He hums in agreement.
“How did you come to be here?”
“In the cold place?” His voice sounds even smaller now.
“Shh. It’s all right,” I soothe him, worried I’ll lose this semi-coherent version of the madman. “Mum’s here with you.”
I grit my teeth as he begins babbling nonsense, words in a language I don’t understand coupled with words I do recognize that simply make no sense together when used in the same breath.
I cannot let this man slide back into madness. He was able to give me answers once, before the guard arrived to patrol the halls. He should be able to again.
And it’s not like I have time to filter through his nonsense or his broken, cracked mind. Since being captured by Kaius two days ago, my men and I face the threat of total extinguishment. I doubt Kaius will wait long to mete out his so-called justice on the four of us. The god’s arrogance and utter belief in his own rightness won’t allow him to put off what he deems inevitable.
So I must get this man to spill his secrets.
Now.
“Darling, how did you come to be in the cold place?” I ask, mimicking my mother’s stern yet warm tone. Doing so sends a wave of nostalgia and grief over me, and I have to fight the urge to sink back down to the floor and give up.
I’ve lost so much, only to come here and lose even more.
But something about my motherly tone must resonate with the man. “Kaius is evil. I didn’t want to be his servant anymore.”
I grip the bars, shock coursing through me. “Tell me, son. Did you work for Kaius?”
“Yes,” he says, no pride in the words.
“Are you a messenger?”
It’s possible this madman is another of Kaius’s messengers, just like my men are. Or were.
The messengers were all created specifically to serve the gods. But my three men defied Kaius, breaking their ties with him when they turned against their god to save my life. It shouldn’t have been possible for them to do that—most messengers wouldn’t be able to disobey a direct order from their god—but somehow, they did.
Nish. If they’ve ended up trading their lives for mine, I’ll never forgive myself.
Pushing away that dark thought, I refocus on the man in the other cell.
“No, no, no,” he mutters quietly. “Not a messenger. A soul. A soul who wanted to serve. I wanted to serve the god I worshipped.”
His voice cracks a little, as if saying the words is painful. I chew on my lip, my heart thumping hard against my ribs. I have no way of knowing what questions will send this broken man back into his nonsensical ravings, so I must be careful what I ask. Only the most important questions.
“What happened?”
He pauses for a long moment. Then the words all come in a rush. “I realized I was serving a bad man. A bad god. One who loves no one but himself. My eyes were opened. I couldn’t go on like that. Couldn’t go on. Didn’t want to go on.”
“That’s all right,” I rush to assure him before I lose him again. “You’re all right. Mum’s here.”
Whatever Kaius has done to this man has driven him completely insane. The first time I heard him speak was when my ears were still ringing with the heartbreaking sound of Paris being tortured in another room, and it occurred to me then that maybe this man has been tortured into madness.
But that isn’t it. Or at least, that’s not all of it. Something in my gut tells me there’s more to this story, and it has to do with the all-powerful god he mentioned. The Weaver.
I have no other recourse.
I have to push this man beyond his limits.
“Did Kaius torture you?” I ask, slipping back into my stern “Mum” voice.
“Y-yes…” The word trails off into a hiss like a snake. It sends shivers down my spine.
“Is he going to extinguish you?” My heart stutters as my lips form the question. Speaking the word sends abject terror scuttling through me. The gods have the power to snuff out a soul’s existence—not death, but something worse. A kind of non-existence. A nothingness.
I cling to the bars before my fear sends me falling to my knees, pressing my face closer to the cold metal as if I could see the man I’m speaking to if I just try hard enough.
“No. No. I extinguished…” The man can’t seem to finish the thought.
My hands clench into fists as I struggle to keep panic from rising up inside me. I feel as if the thread of conversation between us has turned tenuous, and any moment now, he’ll devolve into the blubbering mess he was when I woke up.
“You extinguished what?” I press.
“Myself.”
That single word nearly stops my heart.
“What? How? I thought only gods could extinguish souls.”
“Maybe.” He sighs. He sounds exhausted, bone tired. “Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. But I heard rumors. That a soul could extinguish itself.”
Goose bumps break out over my skin. Extinguish itself. That’s what I did when I sacrificed myself to Zelus—except I was only ending my physical form, not my soul itself.
“You tried to extinguish yourself?” I whisper.
“I went back to earth. Weakened my ties to the afterworld. And then I ended my soul’s life.”
“Then how are you still here?” I ask through numb lips. “What happened?”
“Something tied me to the mortal plane. It wouldn’t let my soul go. I walked the edge,” he murmurs, his voice dropping so low I almost can’t hear him. “I walked the edge and returned. In the place of darkness, I learned of the Weaver.”
I sit up straighter, my eyes flying wide in excitement. “Who is the Weaver? Where did you find him?”
“The all-powerful god. A god to rule all gods. The one true god.” The man begins to cackle wildly, his laughter ebbing and flowing in his madness. “Mummy, I’m hungry. Can we have roast?”
Farse. I’m afraid I’ve lost him completely again.
“Yes, my darling.” My heart aches for him as I try to soothe the mental agony that floats under his words. “We’ll have roast.”
He falls back into his nonsensical babbling, and I turn and lean against the stone wall that separates our cells, sliding to the floor to contemplate what I’ve learned.
This man attempted to do what I’d thought only gods were capable of. He attempted to cut short his own existence. He went to the “place of darkness” and there learned about the all-powerful god. The Weaver.
But… the man returned from the brink of extinguishment.
Clearly, doing so cost him the vast majority of his intellect. Even his moments of lucidity are full of childlike innocence.
It stands to reason, however, that if this man can make that journey and survive, so can we.
Although, hopefully with more of ourselves intact.
He said something tied him to the mortal plane. What was it? And is that why his soul escaped true extinguishment?
Footsteps thud on the stairs, interrupting my thoughts and heralding the return of yet another guard.
With my men’s magic bound and their bodies beaten into submission, this level of security seems a bit much—though I should be thankful the guard didn’t arrive to hear me speaking so fervently to my neighbor.
This man, however, isn’t one of the usual guards. When I peer through the bars of the window in my door, I don’t recognize him.
Big and broad like Callum, he carries a whip in one hand and a strange metal device in his other. A heavy iron key ring jangles noisily at his hip. His wide, perfectly proportioned face is settled in a scowl, as if he’s been tasked with something he isn’t quite happy to be doing. Another man follows close behind, his own face settled in a similar expression but his hands empty.
He bypasses my cell, and a few moments later, I hear the distant sound of an agonized, ragged cry.
Agony lances through the bond between me and my men. It’s Callum, I realize, pressing a hand to my lips to keep myself silent as his pain becomes my own. My heart aches, and the bleeding wound inside me cracks open yet again. I want to call to him, to tell him I’m here, to fight, to not give up. I try to shove those feelings toward him through our bond and send him all my love.
He’s likely too lost in the pain to feel it.
The torture session doesn’t last long. Callum is already weak, and after a few minutes, even his pained grunts and cries have stopped. I still feel him at the other end of our bond, but he’s unconscious—all the agony has washed away with the blackness behind his eyelids.
Good, I think, pressing a hand to my roiling stomach. If he’s passed out, they can’t hurt him anymore.
“I don’t understand why Kaius wanted him beaten again,” one of the men says as they return from depositing Callum in his cell, striding down the hallway toward the dungeon’s exit. I can hear the swish of the whip on the floor. “They’re all half-dead, anyway.”
“Eh. Why does he do anything he does?” the other messenger replies.
They pass my cell, and I see blood spatters on both their faces. I sink back into the shadows of my cell, though anger rises within me like a beast. Callum’s blood on their skin makes me want to tear their limbs from their bodies with my bare hands.
“Either way, they’ll all be out of their misery tomorrow,” the first man grunts. “Kaius has set their execution for dawn.”
Dawn.
Oh, farse.
My breath hitches, and I lean against the rough wall, sliding down until my ass hits the floor. My hands splay against the cold stone, grounding me as the men continue chatting on their ascent from the dungeon.
Even long after their voices have disappeared, I sit here, pulse pounding through my veins, lightheaded, terrified of what the next few hours will bring.
What they must bring.
Because ready or not, I have to attempt escape now.
I’m out of time.
2
Speaking in a low, strained voice, I manage to wrest a little more informat
ion from the madman in the cell next to me, filing away everything he says for closer examination later. But it doesn’t take long before he finally quiets completely—no babbling, no muttering.
I can only assume he’s fallen asleep after the ordeal I’ve put him through, and that’s good. It’s better if he sleeps through what I’m about to do.
The less he knows, the better for him.
My control of the weave is definitely stronger than it’s ever been, but it’s still not perfect. I’m sure with hundreds of years to practice, I could become as talented and strong at it as Echo and my other two messengers.
Right now, however, when it counts, I have to work with what I’ve got.
The dungeon has fallen utterly still. Through the weave, I can tell that all three of my men are resting. Their bodies likely need the downtime to begin to heal from the wounds Kaius and his loyal messengers have inflicted.
With my heart aching over their pain once again, I find a central point in my stone cell and close my eyes. I shove aside everything outside of myself: my connection to the messengers, the cool, damp breeze that makes my skin ache with cold. I focus solely on the center of myself and my connection to the weave.
I wish I could just break out of the cell using the method Callum used to get us into the palace—but unfortunately, the bars on my cell door aren’t loose like the ones he removed on our way in.
So I focus on an alternate tactic.
I settle on the floor only a few feet away from the wall between me and the madman. Thanks to the time I spent training with my men in the mountains outside Sierian’s realm, finding the weave and plucking it is hardly a chore. I reach into the air, and the strands are there, tingling along my fingertips for my use. I grasp a long, solid thread and pull it down, then press it against the grout in the stones.
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