Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1)

by Joshua Buller

  “You're still smoking like a chimney and you say nagging will be the death of you.”

  “Is there a reason you're still here!?” Luke peered over his shoulder. “You got your trinket back, just leave me be!”

  “I need to know if Rouge said anything to you about this.” Hawke waved the shinestone at him.

  “Winter's the one you should be talking with then. The gypsy is her friend, not mine.”

  “Talk about Rougey like that again, and the only thing you'll be eating or warming your bed with for the next month will be this ocean of papers you refuse to throw out,” said Winter.

  Once more I jumped as I whirled around to find the young woman leaning against the opposite wall, sipping on some tea of her own.

  “How do you do that?” I cried. “You just appear and keep scaring us!”

  She gave me another toothy smile. “It's an old habit, moving around without people noticing.” She took a swig of her drink and looked away while doing a failing impression of not being proud of her ability. Remembering how she had tailed us through the town, I didn't get the notion she was shy about doing it whenever it struck her fancy.

  Hawke sighed and took a seat on the bed, taking another sip of his tea. I hopped up beside him; it looked like we might not get our answers for a while. Might as well make ourselves comfortable.

  “What's the black robe for? I couldn't tell the difference between it and white robes,” Hawke asked her. She laughed and slapped her knee.

  “Oh, it's the best! People who have 'strayed from the path' of the Holy Tenet are forced to wear the black ones as a form of penitence by the elders. The good little girls and boys in white keep away from them like lepers, and these 'sinners' are forced to wear the robes nonstop until the elders give them leave to change. Usually, that doesn't happen for months, so black robers end up reeking something awful and looking generally disgusting by the end of it!”

  “Uh, how is that the best?”

  “Because nobody who follows the Holy Tenet would dream that someone would wear one of the robes on purpose!” She tapped the side of her head. “Think about it! I can walk around town pretty much anywhere I want and people avoid me like I'm diseased. Makes it simple to take a casual stroll without getting bothered by someone to join them at church or whatnot – the rest of the townspeople want nothing to do with me!”

  She looked between us with her wide grin, looking for some sort of reaction. All I could manage was a mute glance at Hawke, who returned it looking just as confused. Somewhere behind us came the scratching sound of Luke working wildly at his desk, punctuated by the occasional cough.

  “Yeah, that's great,” said Hawke finally, looking desperate to change the subject. “Soooooo about Rouge…”

  “Oh yeah! Rougey gave me that shinystone a while ago and said to have Luke hold onto it until you came for it!”

  “She didn't tell you what it was for?”

  “Nope!” she beamed.

  “Why Luke though?”

  “Beats me. Maybe because he looks so grumpy all the time no one would want to get near him to steal it.” I looked back to see Luke glowering over his shoulder at Winter. She flashed him a wink.

  “Don't let his tough guy act fool you,” Winter continued. “He's sweet as a teddy bear. One time some guy made some rude comment about me. He wrote a three-page letter to the guy basically saying he'd murder the guy if he ever even thought about treating me poorly.”

  There was a snap, and the head of Luke's pencil went tumbling into the air as he whirled. His face had flushed considerably. “H-how do you know about that!? I never even sent that letter!”

  “Hon, you think I don't flip through all the papers in here just because there's so many?” She giggled. “You can't hide things from me, of all people.”

  Luke grumbled some obscenity under his breath. “Should've burned it…” he growled, turning back around and fishing for a new pencil to work with.

  “So are you going to introduce me to this little cutie here,” Winter said, switching gears, “or am I going to have to wring it out of her?” She flexed her fingers at me in a way that made me wholly uncomfortable.

  “Oh, it completely slipped my mind. This is Micasa.” Hawke gave me an affectionate rub on my arm as if sensing my discomfort. “Micasa, you probably already gathered that this is Winter Kamson. Luke is her husband.” Winter responded with a small curtsy, looking pleased as punch.

  “So Rouge abandoned you with the kid after shattering your essence like fine china?” came Luke's voice from behind us.

  Hawke whirled on Luke angrily, but our host only gave him a cool glare and chomped on his cigarette.

  “She's not our child.” Hawke's words were ice in his throat. Luke didn't flinch in the least, instead shrugging and rolling his eyes.

  “Either way it seems you got screwed on this matter.”

  Hawke was on his feet and at Luke before I could blink, holding the scraggly man by the collar and looking ready to kill. Still, Luke didn't make a move.

  “You're acting irrational,” crooned Luke in a frighteningly soft tone. “That's not something I expected from you.”

  Hawke was all but baring his teeth at him, yet he let go and threw himself down beside me once more. He let go of the shinestone he was still clenching in his hand. It clattered to the floor and went dark.

  Winter was looking furious with Mr. Kamson, but he held up a hand. “Fine, I do know something that might interest you,” Luke sighed. “Some of my contacts have told me that there's been a gypsy camp staying for an unusual amount of time outside of a major city a couple weeks from here.” Hawke looked taken aback at Luke's sudden generosity, but the writer held up his hand again.

  “I don't have any idea why this crap happened to you,” he continued, “but Uraj and you have a lot to answer for. Get your shit in order fast and start doing something worthwhile.” With that, he turned back to his desk and started writing again.

  “We should go.” Hawke stood and straightened his robe. I looked back to Luke, but he made no move that he heard him. Winter still looked frustrated with everything in general but tried her best to soften her expression.

  “Okay. Be careful on your way out. Drop by sometime for dinner,” she tried to offer.

  “Yeah,” was all he replied. He took me by the hand and led me back through the messy house in silence. The quiet persisted even after we had saddled up and crashed through the streets at full gallop. A few curious hooded heads popped out to watch us tear out of town, but if they cared they showed no signs of it.

  Before long we were flying through the countryside again, with the luminous town quickly shrinking behind us. I was afraid to talk to him, with his face chiseled into a dirty look, but I didn't want to just leave him to fester with his thoughts.

  “What was wrong with Mr. Kamson? He seemed really angry for some reason.” I attempted to broach the subject as best I could without setting him off. He winced like he had forgotten I was there, but he still answered me.

  “Luke writes informational articles for various newspapers and other publications to try and educate people about the world. We've worked together in the past – I would travel to places too dangerous for him to go and get him the info he needed to write his articles.”

  It wasn't an answer to my question, but it sounded like he had been holding this in for a while and was desperate to let it out to someone, anyone. Sure enough, he kept going.

  “One day he released an article titled 'The Old Kings: Humanity's Greatest Threat.' It was a piece that completely smeared Uraj's and my reputation, accusing us of wasting our talents and power on ourselves while civilization slowly crumbled. When I tried to talk to him about it, he told me to…well, he told me to leave with some colorful language involved. This is the first time I've seen him since then.”

  “Well it couldn't have been that bad,” I said. “Everyone looked like they liked you on our adventure.”

  Hawke fixed his gaze fo
rward, focusing on nothing at all. “You're right, Micasa. The problem is, sometimes I feel like he's right. And I hate it.”

  Chapter 14: The Wandering Man

  I had seen Hawke in many moods along our adventure; some high, some dark, and even some rather humorous ones. Yet no matter what whim took hold of him, the one thing you could never claim him to be was quiet. Whether it was explaining aspects of a world I had little knowledge of or simply discussing something that caught his fancy, he always had something to chime in on. Now, I was stuck with a Hawke who would have readily passed as a mute as we ambled down the winding country road.

  While at first I enjoyed the chance to simply enjoy the scenery as we passed by, soon I started wishing he would try a little harder to get me interested in the details of our surroundings. Even my attempts to prod him into conversation rarely elicited more than an affirmative grunt or a shrug of indifference. It wasn't long before I started worrying he actually had gone mute.

  This behavior continued for over a week of travel as we trekked over flowing fields of knee-high grass and wove a path through a verdant forest that had begun to tinge with copper. The dropping temperatures of the day and the growing clouds started whispering of the coming fall.

  It shocked me to realize I had been traveling with Hawke for almost an entire season. With all the unique events that had comprised our journeys, I couldn't even fathom anymore how I had lasted so long in such a dull and painful life in the shackles of someone like my old owner who had worn Hawke's name falsely.

  It was for this reason that I had grown so terribly worried about the genuine Hawke Morau. Time and again he rebuffed my attempts to speak to him while he continued to stew in whatever thoughts milled in his brain. It wasn't until another half a week passed that he finally spoke a real sentence, and it was due to no effort on my part.

  “That man looks like he needs help.”

  I had been tending to Sir Brown Horse's coat, using some of the tricks Blake had taught me back at the bandit camp, and nearly dropped the brush in my surprise, so accustomed I had become to his silence. His gaze was fixed down a small dirt road that split off from the main causeway we had been blazing since we left Liturgy. The tiniest of figures was skulking ever so slowly towards our small camp. At such a distance, I couldn't see how Hawke knew the traveler needed help, but once they drew a deal closer, it was plain to see the heavy limp they suffered through, aided by a stout looking wooden cane.

  For as many strange people I had encountered on our adventure, I thought I had seen all manner of oddity there was to see, yet this newcomer broke that expectation once again. He was a man about of height with Hawke's lengthy frame, though far more heavily muscled. His ebon skin was cloaked in a tattered beige robe with a faded grey cloak wrapped around his shoulders, a small travelsack slung over his shoulder. Most noticeable was his hair, which was such a startling bright shade of red it looked as if the man's head was on fire. The only indication we got that he wasn't was the glacial pace he made as he marched on steadfastly.

  “Hoy, there!” Hawke cried whilst waving his hands over his head. The traveler raised his eyes from the monotony of the path and took us in, though he didn't miss a step as he marched onward. He did grace us with a friendly smile and a wave of his own.

  “Well met, friends!” the man said cheerfully. I returned the wave, refreshed by his upbeat attitude, and Hawke bade him to come join us at our little respite from the road. The stranger put a bit of spring into his step and hobbled directly towards us, plopping to the ground with a contented sigh between my companion and myself when he at last reached our grassy clearing.

  “Don't suppose you got a sip of water to spare an old beggar, do you?” our new acquaintance asked softly without hesitation. Hawke was already digging through our things, quickly depositing a waterskin, a hunk of bread, and a sharp wedge of cheese at our guest's feet. The vagabond snatched them up all eagerly and tore into the food, only pausing to wash it down with copious draughts from the flask. We let him eat in peace until he had destroyed our small offering, leaning back on his hands and letting out a satisfied belch.

  “Needed that more than I thought,” he said, “thanks mightily.” The man's eyelids drooped in contentment. “Name's Anonce. To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?”

  “Erm, the name's Hawke,” my guardian responded slowly. When Anonce made no sudden motions at the name, Hawke let out a small breath of relief and swept his hand towards me. “This is Micasa. We're both just traveling the countryside, taking in the sights.”

  “Sightseers, eh?” Anonce let his gaze slowly float towards Hawke. “Picked a bad spot to wander, then. Been lots of demon sightings in this area and more than one attack. Place I just came from suffered such a fate.”

  The news rattled Hawke visibly, but he did his best to shake it off. “That's unfortunate. We can't quite turn around, though, so I guess we'll have to take our chances moving forward.”

  “Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine. Nostromos is just down the other road, and they've always been a safe bet for a weary tourist to rest up.”

  “Oh, are we that close to Nostromos already?” Hawke whipped out our map and pored over it. “Wow, we might have completely missed it if you hadn't mentioned that. Thank you, Anonce.”

  Hawke turned to me as he tucked the map away. “You'll like Nostromos, Micasa. It's a quiet little village that stocks up on all sorts of odds and ends from around the country. It's sort of like the Changirah of the Old Kingdom.”

  Memories of our stay in the bazaar town brightened my mood considerably, and seeing how animated Hawke was becoming helped me relax more than I had in a long time. “That sounds great! How soon will we be there?”

  Anonce took it upon himself to answer. “Aw, it's less than a day's walk from here, I figure.” He scratched his chin and glanced down the long road, where it disappeared into a thicket of trees. “Say, you both have been so hospitable so far. Mind if I put you out for one last request?”

  “What would that be?” asked Hawke.

  “Hearing both of you talk about Nostromos with so much excitement has given me the urge to pay a visit myself. Might you allow me to be a bother to you both for just a little longer and tag along to town?”

  “Well, the horse only seats two…” Hawke began, but Anonce chuckled and shook his head.

  “No no no, these old feet of mine get me around plenty fine. You two keep the horse, though I hope it won't trouble you too much to keep the pace casual. My hooves are sturdy, but don't quite match the speed of the real deal.” He let out another chuckle, and this time Hawke joined in.

  “I think we'd both be delighted to have your company, wouldn't we, Micasa?”

  “Yeah!” I nodded.

  “Then I'm ready whenever you are,” declared Anonce. The friendly vagrant helped us pack up, and before long we were back on the road with a new traveling partner in tow.

  We quickly learned that Anonce was just as chattery as Hawke, as he regaled us with story after story of the people and places he had encountered during his wanderings. His exploration of the ruins of the lost kingdom of Corellia; his encounter with the grinel known only as the Giant's Shadow; his night of gambling with Bronco Ballard, a man who claimed to never lose, and proved those boasts true. Each of his tales grew more fantastic than the last.

  As entertaining as he proved to be, there was a hint of desperation in his voice that spoke of his loneliness. It was plain to see it had been a long time since he had spoken to other people, and having someone to listen to him was what he really wanted. I was enraptured by his stories, but Hawke only grew more tense with each one. He had yet to fully relax since he had heard about the demon attacks.

  “Been to Changirah recently, have you?” Anonce said, changing subjects halfway through a story about a small hamlet he had stayed in the year before.

  “Yep! And we saw a concert in Sapir!” I replied.

  “Haven't been to the Fertile Lands myself for quite some ti
me. Crossing the Madness is always risky business. It must have been quite a harrowing journey across, yes?” He raised an eyebrow towards Hawke, who returned the gaze coolly.

  “We managed,” was his only reply, the smile he wore pulling at his face tightly. For a second I thought I saw Anonce's eyes narrow, but the look flitted away in a blink.

  “Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Just been a while since I've met people coming from that way. Any news to share…from…oh.”

  Anonce was looking down the road, where a small wisp of black unfurled into the air. Something was burning in the distance, and we didn't need to make a huge leap to figure out what it likely was. Without a word, Hawke set his heels into Sir Brown Horse and urged us to a gallop, leaving our traveler friend in our dust.

  Charred husks of buildings were all that greeted us as we passed into the town. The sign that once welcomed people to Nostromos dangled limply off a post by a blackened, crumbling chain. Scorched bricks lined the streets we plodded down as we passed smoldering crates that once held goods. Ashen faced citizens were still pawing through what remained of their ruined belongings, or perhaps someone else's. A few men were eyeing our pristine supplies with hunger, but one look from Hawke sent them grumbling back to the filthy, garbage-strewn alleyways.

  “This doesn't look like what I thought it would,” I helpfully pointed out as I watched two children fight over what could have been either a stuffed animal or a shoe.

  As it turned out, the people we had been passing so far were the lucky ones. One of the buildings stood out from the others, not only for the diminished damage it had taken in whatever befell Nostromos, but for the massive white tarps laid out in front.

  One side of the tarp had dozens of people laid on it in various states of injury: burns, lacerations, and missing body parts and limbs were all in attendance. Healthier bodies rushed between them, desperately trying to tend to the wounded. Some of them sported blood-stained bandages of their own.