Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1)

by Joshua Buller

  “Your body still lived. If the core of your essence – your soul – had moved on, you would have simply died. What saved you was my own power. The first power you had ever learned.”

  “But isn't your power control over fire?” I blurted. Uraj startled, apparently having forgotten I was still standing there.

  “Hawke, you still haven't told me who the girl is,” he said. I flinched, expecting him to be upset. His eyes danced over me, but they were filled with curiosity more than irritation. Hawke briefly explained the situation that had led to our adventures.

  “A slave girl and budding savant of essence, no less,” the Forge mused when at last Hawke finished. He regarded me gently. “Well, you're partially right, Micasa. My power does allow control over flame, as it did when I first discovered it. Has Hawke ever told you about how powers can expand over time with practice?”

  I thought of how my own power had changed over the course of our journey, growing to the point where I could work locks without even touching them. Uraj was watching me still with those dark eyes, waiting for a response. It felt like he was reading my slightest movement, drinking in my most subtle quirks. He would know if I was lying. I nodded.

  “Well,” he said, “my own power goes beyond simply controlling fire. I can control energy itself. To put it simpler,” he waved his hand around trying to grasp for the words, “think of my essence as the fire of my life. Because of that, I can control it too. Does that make sense?”

  It didn't, and my befuddlement must have read on my face, because Uraj sighed and rubbed his temple.

  “Then let me ask this. On your journeys, did Hawke ever show you that he could control fire?”

  I was about to deny it, but memories of our trip to Sapir filled my head. I remembered his demonstration with the lantern: my first introduction to the concept of “powers.” My silence told Uraj everything he wanted to know. He leaned back and smirked.

  “The power he gained from me so long ago is as much a part of him as it is a part of me,” he concluded. “I knew that core would one day find a way back to its owner. It's why I've waited here, for this very day: the day he would return and the Old Kings would both be restored to their former glory.”

  He turned back to my friend, his former companion. “Hawke, I understand there is no way for me to simply apologize for what we schemed. This plan of mine almost cost us everything. Our lives, the lives of everyone on Astra, everything we have worked towards for hundreds of years.” Uraj covered his face with a large, gauntleted hand.

  “Yet now we have another chance to try and set things right in our world. We can work together, without worry of time or age, to try and build that better world for humans we originally worked for. I know I have no right to ask more of you, but I beg you–” he clasped his hands and looked up, “–for the good of everyone, take your place beside me again. Rule with me, make the Old Kings two once more.”

  Hawke had been frightfully quiet for a very long time. Uraj and I were both looking to him for some response. A nod, a grimace, a yawn, anything. He only held his place stubbornly. His eyes, on the other hand, told of the storm raging inside him. They were heated mercury, on the cusp of boiling over.

  At last, he moved. He bent at the waist and picked up his precious Symphony.

  “You think this is over?” he said. His fingers tightened around the hilt. “You think everything is solved?”

  The air came alive. Sparks danced around us, and a wind picked up like a hurricane. Was this Hawke's real strength? I wondered, as his energy crackled against my skin. There was malice in that energy, but it wasn't pointed at me. It was aimed straight ahead, at the figure watching with widening eyes.

  This time Hawke didn't vanish as he had before. His feet pounded on the stone, his face twisting in rage, his sword levied towards the Forge. Uraj made no move to defend himself. Arms lowered, face passive, it almost looked as if he wanted Hawke to attack. He got his wish.

  The blade pierced steel and flesh and muscle and stone alike, skewering straight through Uraj's armored body and embedding deep into the occupied granite throne. Uraj grunted, flinched, but didn't fight back. A stream of crimson trickled from the hole in his breastplate. It flowed past his legs and spilled over the edge of the throne, pooling at the foot.

  “Tell me what you said,” Hawke grunted through clenched teeth. “What you threatened, what you did to Rouge. Tell me how you forced her to do this to me.” He gave his sword a sharp twist. Even I winced at the sound of blade and essence tearing Uraj's armor further. Uraj himself shuddered, but still kept his composure. Of course, I knew that at this point the platinum-haired king could not be killed, and surely Hawke remembered too. Did his anger blind him so much he had forgotten?

  Uraj's gaze flickered between Hawke and me. Then the Forge licked his lips and leaned in towards Hawke, pushing himself until the blade was buried in him to the hilt. He leaned until his mouth was so close to Hawke's ear their faces were brushing. His lips moved, but so quietly did he whisper that I couldn't tell if he was saying a word at all.

  He must have, for Hawke went pale as a new woolen sheet. The man who was once a king fell on his ass, staring up as befuddled as a child.

  “No, that's ridiculous,” he muttered. “That doesn't…how would that…”

  “It matters not now,” Uraj dismissed. With a stifled cry of pain, he ripped Symphony from his chest and tossed it aside. The back to his throne crumbled with the sword's removal, unable to handle one more chink in its weathered surface.

  Uraj frowned at the chair. “Dammit all. I've had that for centuries.” The bleeding from his wound had already stopped.

  “Hawke,” he looked back with sadness in his eyes, “what's past is past. I can't undo my mistakes and what they cost you. What I can give you is another chance to stand beside me and make the change in the world you've always wanted. Take your place as king once more. The people need you. The kingdom needs you.” He offered a hand to his comrade. “I need you.”

  Chapter 22: The Scholar

  Hawke didn't move from where he landed. He looked to the hand being proffered, then to me, then back to the hand, then at a random spot on the floor.

  “I can't just leave Micasa behind and start ruling again,” he said.

  “You don't have to leave her behind,” Uraj said irritably, “She can live here in Damkarei. Hell, she can live in the castle if you want. You can keep raising her like before, in addition to your duties!”

  That gave Hawke pause. He looked back at me again for a long moment. “Is that something you want, Micasa? To stay here?”

  Was that what I wanted? Our stay with the gypsies had given me a taste of what free life could be like without the stress of constant travel. A place I could call my own, being able to make friends and keep close to them. There was certainly temptation in that.

  There was something even more important to me than any of those things, though.

  “I'll do whatever you want to do, Hawke,” I decided. It was an excuse not to make a decision, sure, but it really didn't make a difference to me either way. Hawke gave a small smile.

  “See? There's no problem then,” Uraj declared. His hand was still extended, and he gave it a little shake towards Hawke. My friend regarded what that offer meant, what taking that hand would signify. Then, he scooted back and pulled himself to his feet. Uraj's hand slowly dropped to his side.

  “Do you really hate me so much that you would damn your people just to spite me?” the Forge asked with a frown. Hawke dusted off his kilt while shaking his head.

  “It's that kind of reasoning that makes me certain our place isn't here,” Hawke said.

  Uraj fumed. “What, that I decide to stay and work for the good of everyone!? Are you really so self-centered!?” His fingers clenched and unclenched. He looked ready to strike out at my friend, but his fist stayed. Hawke only gave him a cool stare.

  “You still think that sitting around and acting like a lord is what will cha
nge things around here,” he shot back. “Sitting in a castle, making plans that go nowhere, while the people out there – our people, as you so love to remind me – are constantly suffering. And you call me self-centered.”

  Hawke strode past Uraj and collected his sword where it lay. Symphony was guided back into its sheath with a quiet ping that filled the quiet room.

  “I've never been able to stomach trying to delegate how to fix problems to other people,” spoke Hawke. “I've always believed there's I can do so much more good by using all these gifts I've been given, out there. Not letting them rot in here,” He turned his silvery glare to his fellow king. “It's why I left in the first place. And it's why I'm leaving again.”

  He shifted his eyes towards me, raising an eyebrow and nodding towards the door. I understood his meaning and returned the nod. His long strides carried him past me quickly, and I hurried to keep pace.

  “Wait.”

  We were nearly out of the audience chamber when Uraj spoke up. His face was like the stone making up his falling castle, all edges and pebbled. Hawke looked ready to walk away in spite of the command, but in the end, he lingered.

  “I was hoping to give you this as a token of good faith, but it looks like it'll be a parting gift instead,” Uraj grumbled. “Watch closely.”

  As he spoke, his body burst into flames. His sudden combustion startled a cry out of me, but Uraj just chuckled darkly. He looked as comfortable being on fire as one might in a plush bathrobe. Even at a distance, I could feel the waves of heat washing off of him.

  Slowly the orange and yellow tongues licking over him began to shift to a bright blue. The entire room became stifling, like we had stepped into a brick oven. No longer did the fires dance, instead tapering straight upwards and coalescing into a single massive flame. It gave Uraj the appearance of a candle wick, though no candle I had ever seen could match the brilliance of his light.

  Then the single flame enveloping him brightened to pure white, filling the room with such brightness it made even the sunniest day look dim. I couldn't bear to look at him anymore, but just as I was covering my face the light smoldered and flickered, retreating. As quickly as it had come, the inferno that had engulfed Uraj vanished. The only sign anything untoward had happened were the deep scorch marks left in the tone at his feet, streaks of soot that flared outward like a star with Uraj in the center.

  “Micasa, get away from me. Now.”

  It was Hawke who had spoken. When I faced him to ask what he was talking about, I quickly swallowed my words and hopped away. The intensity with which he stared at Uraj sent goosebumps over my skin: his silver irises had grown to fill the entirety of his eyes, and his pupils contracted to near invisible pin pricks. Unblinking, unmoving, they were eyes that saw something far beyond anything I could comprehend.

  Then Hawke's body erupted, just as Uraj's had. Sizzling orange gave way to blazing gold to searing blue to blistering white. He burned just as fiercely as his former comrade had, and extinguished just as quickly too. He stood ponderously in his own star of blackened stone, looking at Uraj.

  “That was…” he trailed off, unable to grasp the words he was looking for. Uraj flashed a smirk at him.

  “In the end, I'm always a blacksmith at heart,” the Forge said, “and any good blacksmith knows that something strong but brittle is a chancy ally at best. Seeing how exposed you became when your soul was shattered, I spent the last few years figuring out how to temper essence itself. What you just saw and experienced were my results.”

  Hawke stared ponderously at his hands. The flames hadn't so much as singed his clothing, but still, he checked over his whole body like he had turned into someone else.

  “Feels strange, doesn't it?” continued Uraj. “Don't worry, you'll get used to it quickly. Doesn't have a lot of practical use, honestly, but you should find that anyone trying to break off pieces of your soul again will have a much harder time.”

  Hawke eyed Uraj with suspicion. “What's the catch?”

  “Catch? Why would there be?”

  “After all that's happened, of course I'm uneasy with you 'giving' me something right as I'm leaving.”

  Uraj sighed. “I suppose that's my own fault. But no, there's no catch. You helped me, without your consent at that, to shore up my weaknesses. I was just returning the favor.” He stepped forward and held out his hand one more time. Hawke hesitated, but finally gave his own sigh, clasping the hand and shaking.

  “Even if we both go our own ways, we are still both fighting for the kingdom, right?” Uraj asked.

  Hawke's eyes flicked to me for a second, then back to meet Uraj's. “Yeah. For the kingdom.”

  “Take care of yourself out there, then,” Uraj bade, casting his own glance at me. “Make sure you take care of her too. And maybe drop by for a visit someday.” They released their grip. Uraj turned away, adding, “Goodness knows we have plenty of days ahead of us.”

  * * *

  The atmosphere was tense as we left, but not for the same reasons as when we had first come. Hawke looked like his mind was a thousand miles away, on a thousand other things. I thought he would be ecstatic: we had reached the end of our journey at last. Instead, I found him lost in thought, somber, and tight-lipped.

  The courtyard was empty when we emerged from the heavy iron gates we had come in from. Night had fallen during the meeting, but a plethora of torches and braziers cast away the darkness that we might find our way back. Samuel was nowhere to be found.

  Hawke pulled up the hood on his cloak and led the way back. Bright lanterns lit the streets of Damkarei's after hours. A few people roamed the town, chatting amiably or doing business with the vendors taking advantage of those still about. The mood was palpably lighter than it had been hours ago, when Uraj's agitation weighed on them quite literally.

  No one paid mind to two strangers slipping into the inn. A few patrons milled about the common room, but they had just as little interest in our comings and goings. A brief nod was all the greeting Hawke offered the proprietor before we were tucked back into our room.

  I was ready to say anything to break the silence, to take a peek into what was going on behind my friend's sober exterior. He broke it first with a grin.

  “Micasa, you still interested in seeing the beach tomorrow?”

  It wasn't what I was expecting him to talk about, but it was such a huge relief to see him smiling I busted into a fit of giggles and wholeheartedly agreed. We called for a supper from the kitchens and spent the rest of the night in companionable quiet, drifting off with full bellies and minds at ease.

  For the first time, I found myself rousing before he did. Of all the things we had overcome in our adventures, none struck me as bizarre as tiptoeing around to keep from waking him as I prepared for the day ahead. When he did wake, he was strangely embarrassed about the whole thing, which only made me laugh.

  We breakfasted in the privacy of our room on fruits and oatmeal while he asked me how I slept and told me about the dream he had. When we finished, he gathered up some money from the supplies and donned his cloak, leading the way back into town.

  We stopped at a general store where Hawke bought a wicker basket and a blanket. Then we spent the rest of the morning perusing several of the grocery stalls littering the streets. We ended up picking up some dried jerky, bread, a jar of honey, a few peaches, and some bottles of milk. He tossed everything into the basket and handed it to me to carry.

  “A day at the beach wouldn't be as good without a picnic lunch,” he told me. Considering that most of the meals we took on the road were more or less picnics, it tickled me that he made such a fuss over this instance. His enthusiasm for the day was infectious, though, and I went along with it happily.

  A cobbled path led away from the town to the smell of salt and the calls of birds. The sky was a clear blue save for a few billowing puffs lounging above, and a cool breeze kissed us every so often. A few of the townsfolk were headed our way too, but none of them paid an
y mind to the man cloaked against the chill and his daughter taking a lunch to the shore.

  If the sea had been a wonder from afar, it was almost too good to be true when I beheld it at the edge of the beach. The sun rippled on sapphire waves crested with milky white foam. Gulls circled overhead, their cawing to one another the only voices to be heard.

  I kicked my sandals off and wriggled my toes into the sand. The sun warmed grains caught between my toes and under my nails. It felt so deliciously gritty. I ran off, kicking my feet through the sand to send up tufts of gold before me.

  Hawke followed me at his own pace. Every few steps, he'd shake a foot to dislodge the sand gathering in his own sandals. It only took a couple minutes before he took a page from my book and pulled off his own footwear, taking them in hand alongside mine that he had picked up. I spun around once in a while to see where he had gotten to, but he was never far behind, and never without a smile.

  We set up our blanket well away from the scarce few other beach goers and pinned it down with our basket. Neither of us were hungry yet, so Hawke took me down to the water. I must have spent hours splashing in the shallows and looking at all the odd little things that washed in with the waves. Hawke found a tide pool full of mussels and a lone starfish that we watched for some time.

  Later, we returned to our spot to find it under attack by some gulls who were looking for a picnic too. We chased them off quick enough, but most of our food had already been sampled at that point. We contented ourselves to a more meager meal than expected, though even with only a few bites to eat, the scenery alone made it all sweeter than anything I had eaten before.

  The sun climbed and dipped. Other people came and played and relaxed and went. We spent the entirety of the day there, exploring up and down the coast at our leisure, and we talked about the things we came across. And not once did we talk about where we had to go next.

  * * *

  Hawke had found enough dry driftwood to light a fire when the last rays of the day fled to wherever they go at night. We sat and watched the heat shimmer off the flames, our shadows dancing about us.