Soulwoven

by Jeff Seymour

  He had just finished with his sixth yawning lesson on the structural merits of Harlunn’s wall when he felt a light whisper on his ear.

  “If you want a way through the border, you’re in the wrong place, friend. The Waterfront will be your best bet, or Woodguide Hill.”

  The whisperer’s breath was warm and soft and sweet. Cole took a deep breath, stuck his hands in his pockets, and turned calmly around.

  He found a girl close to his age, slightly shorter than he was and dressed in the tan leather leggings and jerkin of a hunter. Her hair was the color of dark, hard wood. She wore an olive cloak. Her face was smooth and bright, and she looked rugged, vital in a way most of the girls he’d known in Eldan City didn’t.

  She also wore a wide smile and a mischievous look in eyes just one shade darker than golden. She’d gotten him, and they both knew it.

  “Tried,” he lied. “Nothing but hicks and charlatans.”

  She leaned forward and smirked, as if to say, Who do you think you’re kidding? and he felt a little skewered, a little off-balance. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to.

  Out loud, she said, “You’re from Eldan City, aren’t you?”

  His chest swelled. Darn right he was from Eldan City. The City. The only one in the world that deserved the title.

  The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could get you over the wall,” she said, casually trailing one hand over a passel of gooseberries on a table. “For the right price.”

  Her eyes twinkled. Cole wiggled his toes against the worn insides of his boots and had the unpleasant feeling that he was about to get bargained out of them.

  The girl pulled back and looked at him, head to toe, like she was appraising one of the melons that Litnig was still arguing about. Cole looked back. She was lithe, pretty, a little dangerous. And her eyes. That off-gold color was like wet wheat in the summer sun.

  She noticed his gaze and flushed. Her arms crossed over her chest. She twisted her body a little to one side, and the smile left her face.

  He frowned. Plenty of girls in Eldan City had pulled that kind of crap with him. Flirted, simpered, tried to get him to chase them and then do what they wanted. He’d learned pretty quickly to run the other way as fast as he could.

  But this girl seemed different. It was in the eyes, maybe. Or the muscles around them and the way they were tensing with concern. With her it seemed real. Like she was genuinely embarrassed, not just playing at it.

  And that was kind of strange to see.

  She continued to stand that way, watching him, and he remembered what he was doing. The heart dragons. The dead in Eldan City. His nightmare and the feeling of his soul being torn in two. As the girl curled inward, he wondered whether he should try to drag her into all that. Whether it might not be better just to walk away and let someone else take the risk of helping him.

  He cleared his throat. The red in the girl’s cheeks faded. She didn’t look away.

  And her eyes—he just couldn’t get over her eyes. Nobody in Eldan City had eyes like that. There was a wildness behind them.

  “Who’s this, Cole?”

  His brother’s voice. Behind him. Cole opened his mouth to reply, but the girl stepped around him and offered her hand to Litnig. “Dilanthia Lonecliff, friend. Huntress and guide.”

  Litnig moved a pale yellow melon to one arm and frowned. “How old are you, Dilanthia?”

  The girl hesitated. It looked to Cole like she bit the inside of her lip and then realized that doing so wouldn’t help her look any older.

  “Seventeen,” she said at last. She smiled again, but it was weaker, forced. “And call me Dil.”

  Litnig looked unconvinced, and Cole took another glance at the girl and saw what his brother was getting at. She did look young. But not that young. Not too much younger than he was. And in all honesty that youth was better for them. It meant that she might not ask too many questions, or know the right questions to ask. That she probably wouldn’t be looking for a missing prince, especially if she spent most of her time in the woods.

  And there were her eyes to consider too.

  He knew hardly anything about her. Against his better judgment, he’d fooled around with some of the girls in his neighborhood before, even kissed a couple, and he’d learned enough to see that this one could become the best thing that had ever happened to him or the worst or nothing at all. The girl behind the golden eyes might be nothing like the girl he hoped she was. There was every chance he’d never see her again after she took them over the wall.

  But his heart was beating hard, and he wanted to find out why.

  So he knelt under the awning of a fruit merchant and took the girl’s hand as a courtier might.

  “Dil,” he said, “we would be honored if you would accompany us to the rest of our party, where we might discuss terms of employment.”

  Her hand was soft and cool in his fingers. His mind gave up trying to stop him and lost itself in the moment, in the thrill, in the tiniest movements of her face.

  She squeezed his hand. Her golden eyes lit up. Her lips split into a smile just the size and shape he’d been hoping to see.

  “I’d love to,” she said quietly.

  Cole stood up, letting his hand linger on hers as he did. He ignored the angry look in his brother’s eyes. It was his job to find the guide. Let his brother worry about the nine-tailed, twisting melons.

  The girl picked up a bow and quiver from the merchant. As they ducked out from the awning and into the hot world beyond, Cole could still see his brother scowling.

  Two hours later, the sun was low in the sky and a surprisingly balmy breeze ruffled seas of waist-high, pale-green grass southeast of Lurathen. The party’s camp was hidden in a fold between two hills, where a stream ran into a copse of trees a half-mile south of the highroad. Cole whistled loudly as he approached with Litnig and Dil, and one by one, the others emerged from their colony of small white tents and peered at them. He watched their faces. Saw their expressions go from hopeful to confused when they spotted Dil. Saw their eyes land back on him with an accusing bend.

  “This is Dilanthia Lonecliff,” he said when they’d gotten close. “And she can get us over the wall.”

  In an instant, he watched confusion become full-fledged, condescending disapproval. His face grew hot. Of course they thought he’d screwed it up. Of course they thought he’d brought back a worthless guide. Of course, of course, of course. Quay’s eyes focused on him and didn’t move. There was angry, disappointed silence.

  “May we have a moment?” Quay grunted.

  Dil’s arm brushed against Cole’s as she stepped into the grass. He dug his fingernails into his palms.

  Once she was out of earshot, Quay crossed his arms.

  “Explain.”

  And Cole did. All the reasons why she was the right choice. His trouble finding a guide, her youth and all that meant, the unlikelihood of her recognizing Quay—

  “And I trust her, Quay. She just fits.”

  The prince’s eyes left him and settled on Dil. She was facing the sunset in the high grass with the wind in her hair, her bow hanging lightly from her back, her quiver at her waist. The trees rustled above her. From behind, when Cole couldn’t see the youth of her face, she looked more like a guide than ever.

  But her arms were crossed over her stomach, and her shoulders were a little hunched. Cole frowned. She’d gotten quieter as they’d neared the camp. He hoped she was all right.

  “She’s the best you could find?” Quay asked.

  “She’s all I could find.”

  There was a moment of quiet. Then Ryse ventured, “It’s only for a day, my prince.”

  The others said nothing, and in the end, Quay nodded.

  Cole brushed past him without a word and walked toward the setting sun.

  As he got closer to Dil, he found her changed. Her skin was pale, her eyes wet and shining. Her arms were wrapped tightly over her stomach. She reminded him more of a deer th
an a huntress.

  He cleared his throat, and she turned. Her face hung colorless and drawn for a moment, and then she smiled weakly and walked toward him, one arm still holding her gut.

  In that moment, he doubted her.

  “You all right?” he asked, and she nodded.

  When they returned, Quay was blunt, as always.

  “We can offer you forty silver undercoins—” he began, but the girl shook her head. Quay’s face grew darker, and Cole winced. He got the sense he was going to get an earful later on.

  “How much?” Quay asked.

  The girl took a deep breath. Grasshoppers hummed in the field around them. The sun shone bright and clear, and Cole saw a flash of the deer in her eyes again.

  “Take me with you.”

  Quay’s color lightened, but his frown grew deeper. Litnig looked at Cole like he’d somehow planned the whole thing. Like he’d known her price and kept it a secret. Cole flushed. It was Litnig’s fault he’d forgotten to ask anyway. His brother’s challenge had forced him to make a move before he was ready to.

  “Dilanthia, that is one price that we cannot pay,” Ryse said.

  The soulweaver made eye contact with Quay, but the prince said nothing. He simply stared at Dil while Ryse continued to speak. His fingers, Cole noticed, were gripping the sides of his arms.

  He’s nervous, Cole thought, but Ryse was speaking again.

  “Our way is dangerous. We travel from Nutharion into Aleana, and from there to Du Fenlan. Then, if we must, back across Guedin to the White Forest itself.”

  Dil’s face paled further, and Cole’s heart sank. Ryse was going to scare her off. She was going to make her run away, and dammit, the longer Dil stood there, the more he saw of her, the more he was sure she was the right guide. She’d come to him out of the blue—

  “We have many enemies. We could face them at any time.”

  And she was the best thing they were likely to find in a shithole like Lurathen—

  “Given the risks, I’m sure you can understand—”

  And Dil surprised him.

  “No,” she said. The woodgirl reached out and covered one of Ryse’s hands in her own. Her eyes were as wide as a catfish’s. Her face glistened with sweat. She looked from one to the next of them in succession.

  When her gaze landed on Cole, he couldn’t read what lay behind the fear.

  “No, you have to take me! You have to!”

  Ryse pursed her lips and looked to the others for help.

  Dil released the soulweaver’s hand. Her eyes flicked desperately from side to side. “I—I can help you, I promise. I won’t slow you down. I can—I can—” She looked almost panicked. Cole could see the whites of her eyes. Her hair billowed out on a burst of wind. One of her hands curled into a clawlike fist and back again while the other stayed glued to her stomach.

  You can what? he wanted to ask.

  “I can shoot,” she said finally. “I can shoot, and track, and hunt…” But her head drooped as she spoke. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. Cole was sure of it. There was something else that she could do. Something bigger.

  And she didn’t want to tell them what.

  Cole stared at her, her shoulders slumped, her hand across her gut, her eyes on her feet, and wondered what it was. Wondered why she wouldn’t tell them.

  And as he stared, Quay acted.

  “Show me,” the prince said, and Dil removed the bow from her back. She was fast. It took her just a few seconds to bend and string it, then to pluck an arrow from the quiver at her waist.

  She nocked the arrow, took a deep breath, and winced as she straightened. “See that knothole?” she asked.

  It took Cole a second to find it. It was a tiny circle in the center of a tree on the other side of the camp. Quay nodded. Dil licked her lips. Her arms shook slightly. She drew, held her aim, loosed—

  And missed.

  Not just the knothole, but the whole tree. Her arrow clattered harmlessly into the woods.

  Quay turned back to her, and she grew as bright as a summer tomato.

  “No, wait, I’m sorry, I just—” Her hands trembled. She dug her fingers into her quiver for another arrow.

  Cole recognized the fear on her face. This was something she wanted but was afraid of. A chance she was smart enough to know wouldn’t come a second time, but that she wasn’t fully ready for. And when it counted, the worst of her was showing instead of the best.

  He watched her draw again in the sunset and remembered a time he’d nearly lost a hand trying to pick a man’s pocket in Thieves’ Rise. Six times, he’d tried. Six times, he’d failed. On the seventh, his friends had held him back.

  She missed again, and she was fumbling for a third arrow when Len spoke.

  “Enough, girl.” The Aleani shook his head and crossed his arms. “Too young,” he said. His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t gentle either. “She does not belong.”

  The sun was behind Dil’s back, and she had hunched over as though her stomach was cramping. Cole watched her sicken as Len spoke, saw each word twist into her like a screw. She looked crestfallen, hopeless.

  Cole stepped between Quay and Len.

  The prince was frowning. His shoulders looked tense, and his fingers hadn’t left his arms.

  Probably still undecided, Cole thought. Probably stuck wondering whether it’s more important to go west quickly or not run the risk of taking her along.

  Quay stared at him, and Cole knew his opinion was desired, knew Quay was looking for a reason to take her.

  Good, he thought. Look at me. Listen to me.

  “Am I too young too?” he asked quietly. He heard Len shift behind him. He could guess what the Aleani thought, but his question had been for Quay.

  “How many people do you know who would try a shot like that? Or offer to get us over Harlunn’s wall?” Cole spoke slowly, carefully, turned his palms upward and played his cards one by one, never breaking eye contact with Quay. The prince owed him one. Cole had left his friends, his home, his life, just because Quay had asked him to. He’d asked for nothing yet in return. A little trust wasn’t too large a favor.

  “You seemed to want any help you could get in Eldan City, Quay,” he said with a quick nod at Len. “Is this so much worse?”

  Quay didn’t move. The sun slipped slowly toward the horizon, and one of the tents flapped aimlessly behind him in the breeze. The leaves left a low susurrus in the air as the branches that held them bent and flexed.

  The prince held eye contact with Cole, and his face grew deadly serious. When he turned back to Dil, the message was clear:

  This is your doing, Cole. Be it upon your head.

  “What about your parents, Miss Lonecliff?” the prince asked.

  But her parents were dead, she told them. And yes, she was sure this was what she wanted to do, and thank you so much for the opportunity and she wouldn’t let them down. She straightened up a little, practically tripped over herself with gratitude and smiles. Cole watched the others relax. Litnig’s frown abated. So, eventually, did Len’s. Dil said something to Ryse, and the older girl smiled and patted her gently on the back. Cole could feel the tension bleeding out of the air like mud from a shirt in a washtub.

  So Dil wasn’t the best with the bow. She was kind, and she was warm, and she was innocent, and above all else, she was earnest.

  Her warmest smile was saved for him. He didn’t get it until the others had moved off, and it was just him and her standing awkwardly in the grass with the sun on the horizon and the trees rustling in the breeze. The grass tickled his legs. He caught the rich, fruity scent of elderflower on the air.

  He would never forget that, he thought. Not to the end of his days.

  Dil looked at him, and the smile he’d been waiting for turned the whole world two shades brighter. He watched her face flush and return to normal and said nothing, just stood in the warm wind breathing in the elderflowers.

  Eventually, Dil extended her hand, a
nd he gripped it lightly. He felt a strong pulse under the sweat of her skin. Her fingers, callused where they would touch a bowstring, squeezed slightly against his, and he drew in a deep, contented breath. The reddening sun shone across his face through pale green leaves. The earth was soft beneath his feet.

  Dil shook his hand and pulled the windblown hair out of her face.

  “Thank you,” she said, and he waved it off.

  She squeezed his hand harder. “No, really. Thank you.”

  He met her eyes. They were golden and dusky in the setting sun. She didn’t flinch.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and she smiled again.

  ELEVEN

  Moonherb was a small, parsley-like plant that grew close to the ground and blossomed into clouds of round white flowers. It liked dark places, like the roots of trees or the rotting undersides of old logs.

  As the sun rose on the tenth of Openmonth, Dilanthia Lonecliff squatted in a copse of trees and stuffed handfuls of it into a pouch on her belt.

  She plucked it all and crammed a full head into her mouth to chew. It was bitter, and it stung her gums, but it would make her cramps subside, and she would chew it all bloody day if she had to.

  “I have the worst luck,” she muttered. It had been nerves more than cramps that had made her miss her shots the day before, but the cramps hadn’t helped. Someday, she’d show the cityfolk what she could do with a bow.

  She was going to have plenty of time to.

  The copse was wet with dew and soft with moss. The first hints of light had just appeared in the sky to the west, and soon, the sun would be shining on Harlunn’s wall. Its stones would shimmer like water.

  Dil had never crossed the wall, but she knew a way over it. It was easy to find, if you knew where to look.

  She’d slept in the camp of the cityfolk the previous night, after a quick trip home to retrieve her pack. The night had been cold and crisp, and the morning was still so, but she’d been warm in the tent with the soulweaver.

  Her name’s Ryse, she reminded herself.