Soulsworn

by Terry C. Simpson

  “We’ll be outcasts.” Aidah shook her head. A cold wind sent prickles along her skin. Fleeing so far across the world felt wrong. “I don’t know anyone there. I have no family there. Those lands are filled with savages, blasphemers, people who sacrifice their young in worship of their Gods, and if some tell it, they do even worse.”

  “As with some things, those stories are more legend than truth.”

  “But my family.”

  “Other than your children, you have no family here.” Terestere’s statement was a simple one, but it cut to Aidah’s core. “Ainslen made certain of that. His Farlanders have a list of people he wants captured. We found copies of it on bounty hunters we encountered. Me, and all of mine are on that list. So are you and the children. The captives are returned to Kasandar. The king has them placed in gibbets along Dead Man’s Gap with no food or water, to be stoned and abused as folks see fit. He has their supposed crimes read on a daily basis. They have no clothing to keep them warm, and winter is upon us.”

  Aidah sucked in a breath. She’d witnessed the same thing done years ago. The dregs had revolted after the Night of Blades, when Jemare attacked the Smear, seeking vengeance against the Consortium members who had killed Ainslen’s son and pregnant wife. Those imprisoned were nothing more than rotting flesh by the time soldiers removed them from the gibbets. The air had reeked with death for months.

  Although faced with such a threat, she still had doubts. Surely there was safety to be had within Melanil. She had never heard of any accounts where those granted sanctuary had wound up dead after reaching the city. Everyone respected and feared the Order. Coin in the right hands would secure knowledge as to which wisemen she could approach about Clara’s ailment. She made up her mind. She would agree to the Queen’s request for now but hoped for a better solution in Melanil. “Tell me what it is I must do.”

  “First, we pray to the Dominion for help,” Terestere said.

  Aidah stood and faced Antelen. The moon was a silver disc above the western mountains. She took it as a good omen that Antelen would be there, lighting the way in the place that offered salvation.

  The Mountain and the Wind

  Aidah spent the next day under Terestere’s tutelage, rehearsing her approach to the Patriarch. Through Kesta’s patronage to the Order she would gain an audience in the Grand Chantry, the true center of all Kasinia, home to the two most influential people in the land. Let whichever king ruled the Kasinian Empire delude himself into thinking the world began and ended with him. She knew differently. The seats of true power resided within Melanil.

  The queen coached her to play a meeker role, to feed into Patriarch Corgansetti’s sense of superiority. The man had that to spare in droves. He would already know of Ainslen’s order for her capture, but due to sanctuary granted by Curate Montere, the Order was obligated to follow the Precepts. The Word of the Dominion was sacred; breaking it was the worst kind of profanity. At the same time, the Patriarch would not wish to defy Ainslen. Denying the king, a man who’d served the Order faithfully, would be frowned upon by the masses. That last was where the Order’s power lay: in the strength provided by unity through religion. Faced with such a dilemma, the Patriarch would see her request to escape to the west as a viable solution.

  During this entire time Aidah had to banish images of Ainslen and a box from her mind. The thoughts made her legs weak. On many occasions she needed to rest for a bit to clear her head.

  One of the queen’s instructions continued to bother Aidah. “Why must I keep Nerisse away from the Grand Chantry?” she asked after supper. That part of the plan hadn’t made sense to her when she first heard it, but the queen would hear of no other way. “If Clara is who the Order would take, then why bring her?” She sat as close to the fire as she dared, savoring its comfort. Unlike the previous night, dark clouds hid Antelen, and the wind moaned as it cut through clothes, a sharp frozen knife through flesh. Aidah rubbed at her arms under her cloak.

  “Clara is with you to garner sympathy.” Terestere held her hands out toward the fire. “People take to the plight of a child at risk. As for her ability in soul, none of the Order’s wisemen will be able to discern it. Nerisse, on the other hand, is filled to brimming with soul. My Blades say that any skilled melder can see her power. Some may even be able to tell its origins, which is why she must not enter Melanil. At least not until the soul within her adjusts, and becomes more her own than some outside influence. The Blades say such a change might take another two months.”

  “Suppose Clara feels threatened and lashes out again?” The chance frightened Aidah.

  “I’ve spoken to her. I’m confident she will not.”

  “But what if she does?”

  Terestere rested a hand on Aidah’s leg. “Have faith. Clara will be fine.” Such confidence radiated in the queen’s voice that Aidah’s doubts faded. The queen reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out a rolled parchment. She opened it. “This is the decree of visitation I spoke of. Guard it with your life.” The writing on the material was in a language Aidah did not recognize, but the smooth, sure strokes and curves spoke of nobility, of a learned person, or experienced scribe.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done.” Aidah took the decree and bowed. “I was so uncertain of the future, worried that there was nothing left for me and the children, and you helped soothe my fears. I’m in your debt. One day I will repay you, I promise.”

  “Nonsense.” The queen waved her off. “I did what any mother would do. Knowing you have safely reached Casda Esdan will be repayment enough.”

  Aidah smiled. For the first time since Derega came to the estate she dared to dream.

  “Well, it is time to return to my men,” Terestere said. “With the way they treat me you would think I belong to them and not the opposite. You should hear their captain grumble whenever I stay in one place for what he thinks is too long. He’s a Thelusian with a voice so deep and a manner so grating that he cannot be ignored. Makes me want to put him over my lap and strap his backside.”

  Aidah chuckled at the image of the diminutive queen holding one of the dark-skinned men, who must be at least three times her size, across her lap and doling out punishment. “I would pay good coin to see that. I’ve wanted to do the same to Kesta on many occasions.” For the first time the mention of her dead husband did not bring a stab of grief. She felt a slight longing, but the hollow she woke to on many a morning had diminished.

  “Now that’s an offer I like,” Terestere said, smiling. After a moment she became serious. “Remember everything I said today, but most of all, you are never to mention Clara’s induction within the Grand Chantry. The building hears everything.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Good. I hope to be gone by first light, and I would advise you to leave this place before midday. As much as I give him grief, my captain is right: tarrying in one place while we’re hunted is not a good thing.” The queen stood. Aidah did the same. “Until we meet again, and if I’m gone before Clara and Nerisse awake, let them know they’re in my thoughts.”

  Aidah glanced down at the woman, into those amber eyes, and a part of her did not want the queen to leave. “What will you do now?”

  “I will play Ainslen’s game, although I doubt he understands the complexity of it or knows the true scope of the board. There are still pieces left for me to collect, and when I’m done, I will decide how best to maneuver them. When I do move, vengeance will be mine.”

  Revenge was a lofty goal, one Aidah had not fully contemplated as yet. She’d thought of it, yes, but thinking about killing a king and actually killing said king were two vastly different things. The difficulties did not dissuade her. She wanted to be a part of Ainslen’s demise. She would be a part of it. “Is there a way for me to help?”

  “As I said, reaching Casda Esdan and not allowing Clara and Nerisse t
o fall into the hands of the Order or Ainslen will be help enough. Think of those tasks as your bit in securing revenge. Swear on your soul that you will do so for your children’s sakes.”

  “I swear,” Aidah said without much thought.

  “Good. I’m certain Kesta and Gaston will smile down from the Ten Heavens then.”

  “Yes, yes they will.” Aidah could imagine the two of them among those blessed to be welcomed to the Dominion’s homes.

  “If I’ve left by the time you wake, then I wish you a safe journey,” the queen said.

  “To you also, Your Majesty.” Aidah gave a little curtsy.

  On the verge of leaving, the queen stopped. “Oh, and when you get the chance, speak to Lomin. Assure him that he’s still in your good graces. The man has been miserable ever since he defended me.”

  “I will.”

  Afterward, they hugged and the queen made her way toward her Blades’ campfires. Aidah went to her wagon.

  Lomin was sitting on a boulder beside it, his expression that of a man struggling with a decision. He stood and bowed to her. “Lady Rostlin, I didn’t get a chance to say it before, but I’m sorry for restraining Nerisse and for my show of loyalty to the queen.” He kept his head down. “If you wish for me to leave your service then I’ll do so.”

  He’d avoided her since the afternoon in question. Not that she had found time to address the issue, but it had niggled at her occasionally. In ways she’d felt betrayed. A part of her still did. However, knowing the circumstances behind his actions, the numerous decades he’d spent in the tutelage of Drillmasters who ingrained service to the crown first and foremost, she thought she understood. In truth, she felt sorry for him and the other Blades, blessed to be taken from a life of squalor in a district riddled with crime, but cursed to never know their true parents, or to experience the joys of their love.

  “Look at me,” she said, voice soft. He raised his head, and although she knew a measure of regret existed in his heart, his eyes carried the fire of a proud man who felt he’d done his duty to the Empire. “You saved my daughter. You stayed with us when you could’ve easily left, or worse, turned us in for the bounty. If there’s anyone I can trust, it is you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, chest heaving in relief.

  “After much thought I realized the dilemma you faced with the queen. It must’ve been a difficult thing.”

  “Once you’ve sworn to the queen, you are hers, body and soul,” Lomin said in the same manner a lifelong fisherman might speak of the ocean and fish. “That loyalty is a mountain to the wind that is duty. The wind whittles but the mountain is still victorious.” He sighed.

  “Perhaps one day I can be the mountain,” she said.

  “One day, perhaps.” He bowed again, from the waist this time.

  By the campfire’s capering light she picked out the hint of a smile. She felt her lips twitch. “Get some rest, we leave tomorrow.” She strode by him, climbed into the wagon, and prepared for bed.

  Aidah lay next to her daughters, staring at the white canvas above her. She stroked Clara’s curls and promised the girl that no harm would come to her. A sliver of Antelen’s light fell across Clara’s sleeping form before the clouds once again hid the moon’s face and threw the wagon into darkness. Time dragged as she waited for sleep.

  Her mind drifted, memories giving birth to dreams of family and friends like a story told in a guiser’s play. The performance opened with Succession Day, Kesta and Gaston, and continued with Derega, Lomin, Aran, the queen, Clara, and Nerisse. It rose to a crescendo that featured Ainslen, a box, and Clara. And as quick as all of that came, it was gone.

  Next was a visit with Corgansetti and the man he would send to guide her through the western lands. Her guide’s features grew vivid: a man with the shadow of a mustache and beard, several piercings in his ears and nose, and skin the color of light clay. A Kheridisian? Weren’t their males banned from the Empire’s cities due to age-old conflicts?

  The dream swept her past Danalyn, one of the Swords of Humel, the last of the Empire’s citadels to the northwest. The lands beyond came alive, lands with great expanses of plains, and cities with structures whose sides were triangular and converged at the top into a single point. Steps befitting a giant led up each edifice to a tower at the apex. The air changed from the chill of winter’s onset into the humidity of summer.

  She saw the Caradorii with their bronze skin and light eyes, and the Berendali, lithe and tall, fair of complexion and hair. The Tesadonians were the color of slate or sand, skin rife with patterns of lines and cracks that reminded her of granite. She was certain of all their appearances, and yet she’d never seen them before.

  On a road that glittered like glass, the city of Casda Esdan rose from a vast forest at the foot of a mountain range. Spires stretched impossibly high, black stone flecked with silver, taller even than the great towers of the Marishmen strongholds. Two monolithic warrior statues, massive swords pointed down, guarded a hundred-foot gate.

  Berendali, Caradorii, Tesadonians, and many other peoples she did not recognize traversed the road into the city, the din of their conversations such that even if she knew their differing tongues it would just have been but so much noise. A few rode upon shorthaired animals whose long necks were thick with muscle and pointed forward like an arrow ready to loose. Men in little more than loincloths pulled a few carriages, the size of their arms and legs a reflection of years spent doing such labor.

  She swept by into the city proper, black stone buildings rising around her, their upper sections glinting with sunlight. Shadows pooled along alleys and corners, almost alive in their formation. Roads branched off from either side of her and led down. It was then that she realized she traversed an elevated avenue. Beyond the low stone banister that ran parallel with the road the city stretched out and down. Cobalt and white lights illuminated the streets below, at least two levels deep. The strangeness of the place brought on a chill.

  In a blink she crossed the distance to a castle of towers and spires and battlements. Soldiers in green tunics, britches that stopped mid shin, and leather sandals, guarded each entrance. They said nothing to her as she entered. In fact, no one had acknowledged her presence.

  She whisked down halls lined with paintings and murals, past archways that opened into expansive gardens, and doorways that led into rooms with a variety of furniture. Liveried servants bustled about their daily business. In some rooms, men and women in exotic silks and linens, lined with shimmering embroidery, sat reading or eating. Servants, wearing little more than undergarments, cooled the nobles with large fans of plumed feathers.

  At the end of one hall a door opened into a bedroom. Two women stood beside the bed. They both seemed familiar, but Aidah could not place them. Dressed in ocean blue with hair like spun silver, the closest woman had a hand on the other one’s shoulder. Aidah’s breath caught at the silver-haired woman’s beauty. No single word could quite describe her features or the way she held herself. It was exquisitely unnatural. Aidah had seen a few queens in her time. They paled in comparison.

  A gasp escaped Aidah’s lips when the second woman turned to give a full view of her face. The woman was Aidah.

  Tears streamed down the other Aidah’s face as she stumbled toward the bed. Clara was laying on it, her pallor a sickly yellow.

  Aidah cried out and tried to rush to the bed. A hand restrained her. She tried to shake it off. The grip intensified.

  A dream. It’s a dream. This is a dream. Wake up. Get up. GET UP!

  But the hold on her would not relinquish. She could get no closer to her daughter, neither could she wake from the nightmare no matter how much she struggled. She began to whimper.

  “Mama.”

  Aidah frowned.

  “Mama.”

  Aidah’s eyes eased open. Clara stood over her, red-e
yed. It was the most joyous picture she could have imagined.

  “You were dreaming, Mama. Bad dreams.” Clara lay on Aidah’s chest.

  “I know, pumpkin, I know. Thank the Dominion, it was just a nightmare.” Aidah hugged her daughter tight as sunlight speared through the opening at the wagon’s rear. The image of a sickly Clara repeated itself in Aidah’s head, and although it frightened her, at least the girl was alive, unlike in the earlier dreams.

  The Taker

  When Aidah finally got up and left the wagon, Terestere and her retinue were packing. She drew her cloak closed as she walked, ice-flecked grass crunching underfoot. Mist rose from her mouth with each breath, and any gust of wind felt as if it were a cold knife cutting to the bone. The campfires were dead things, doused so long ago that no hint of smoke rose from them. Mandrigal peeked above the hills to the east, swathing the sky in orange hues that bled color into wispy clouds. Although they had not yet left, she knew she would miss the sense of protection the queen’s men had brought.

  Her nightmare preoccupied her mind during breakfast. It had felt so real, and yet she’d never visited the western kingdoms, Casda Esdan, or seen any of its peoples. She’d once read of some of their races, but her dream had been too vivid. She kept looking at Clara who ate and laughed with Nerisse as if nothing had happened.

  Dark shadows showed under Nerisse’s eyes, and she too said she had disturbing dreams. Hers involved a fair-haired man she had not seen before but had a sense of wrongness about him.

  “The taker,” Clara said.

  “Who?” Aidah asked.

  “The man Nerisse sees … he’s the taker in my dreams.”

  “Why do you call him that?”

  Clara stared off across the field. “Because he always takes me. He leads me to tall stone things like big tree trunks. Lightning is all around them. He says they will help me, that I will be with Papa and Gaston when I go into the light. Mama.” Clara looked at her, eyes watery. “All I want is to see their smiles again.”