Soulsworn

by Terry C. Simpson

  Her group reached Celestial Avenue and Aidah was glad for a thinning of the crowds. Cobblestones became square flagstones, trees or columns lined most streets, and mansions were common. Villas and small palaces owned by the Order began past Celestial Avenue, rewards for members who at least attained the rank of a white-sashed Mystic. Beyond them rose the white walls, spires, and rounded domes of the Grand Chantry, the heart of the Dominion’s bosom. Aidah bowed in reverence.

  She took a room in the Golden Purse, one of the best establishments along Celestial Avenue, and gave some coin to Kitesh and Borin with instructions to wait outside the door until she returned. Taking a deep breath of air lacking the outer city’s reek, she took Clara and headed to the Grand Chantry. After announcing herself as Countess Aidah Rostlin, and invoking the name of Elder Hamada as instructed by Terestere, the guards at one of the entrances to the great plaza that housed the Grand Chantry allowed her through. A sense of relief set in as she carried Clara up the steps surrounding the temple and in through one of its many doors.

  Within the outer alcove a Cleric greeted her, the shaven left side of his head so oiled that it shone. She repeated her name to the wiseman, mentioned the sanctuary granted by Curate Montere, and asked to see Elder Hamada. The Cleric gave her a quick bow before shuffling off down the hall. Aidah relived her preparations for this day while she and Clara waited.

  When Elder Hamada Netal strode down the hall in his pristine red and blue robes, Aidah’s eyes narrowed. At least she assumed the man had to be Elder Hamada. He fit Terestere’s description and wore the chain of his station around his neck from which hung two pendants wrought in gold: one, the Star of the Dominion, and the other, Mandrigal, the God of Rebirth, a sun set on a scarlet field. Something different existed about this man with his deep eyes and broad smile that made her want to trust him. His skin was like smooth, polished leather, and for a moment, Aidah thought he might be a Farish Islander, until she noted the lack of tattoos and the ivory piercings that adorned his nose and ears.

  “You’re a Kheridisian man,” Aidah said softly.

  The Elder looked down at himself, smiled, and said, “So I’ve been told. I hope it’s true. I pray that missing one of my essential parts didn’t make me a woman.” He spoke perfect Kasinian, voice lacking the accent of almost every Kheridisian woman Aidah ever encountered. “Not that being a woman is bad, mind you, quite the opposite, but having a face like a byaga and a bray to match might not be very attractive.”

  “S-Sorry, Elder. I-I meant—”

  He waved her off. “I know what you meant. I’ve heard it too many times to count. We’re outlawed from the Empire, and yet here we are in its heart. There’s something to be said for the Order and the Dominion as a whole. The Word does not discriminate or separate. All creatures owe their lives to the Gods, and as such, the Order accepts us. At least those of us who are bold enough to venture outside Kheridisia’s forests.”

  “Again, I apologize.”

  He chuckled. “It’s nothing.” He bent to look in Clara’s face. The girl did not flinch, and returned the stare with mild curiosity. “You must be Clara. I’m honored to meet you.”

  “Me too,” Clara said.

  Hamada stretched to his full height, head and shoulders above Aidah. “By now Patriarch Corgansetti should be in the Benediction Chambers. Shall we?” He gestured down the hall.

  They walked toward the far doorway past murals that depicted the Order’s history, much of them showing the early days of Cortens Kasandar, the wiseman who became king, and was credited with the Empire’s rise. For a moment Aidah wondered what living in those days might have been like. She cringed to think of a time filled with strife and war against the Dracodar.

  “I was told to remind you of your goal here today, that of your children’s safety,” Hamada said as they made their way up a flight of steps.

  “I don’t need a reminder. Ainslen has done that all on his own with his recent attack on us.” She did not mean to sound scathing, but she could not help her tone.

  “Sorry to hear of your hardships. Remember that Antelen is always watching over you, as is the rest of the Dominion.”

  “I pray to them daily. Several times. Yet it feels like the help they offer is not enough.”

  “The mere fact that you and your children still live might speak to the contrary. In the best and the worst of times, always look to them. The method in which the Gods choose to answer your prayers may not always be what you envision, but the answering in itself is important. Take comfort in the rewards you do receive.”

  She was on the verge of asking what of Kesta and Gaston, but bit back her words. The Elder was right. Things could be worse, much worse. She nodded, and they climbed the rest of the stairs in silence.

  When they gained the Chantry’s uppermost floors Hamada led the way through a large oak door. The chants of wisemen filled the long corridor, emanating from prayer rooms. The smell of incense was thick in the air. They stopped before a golden door with two large ivory handles, the Star of the Dominion etched upon its surface.

  “We’re here.” Hamada faced her and then gave a slight bow. “Until we meet again, in this life, or the next.”

  She repeated the mantra to him. When she finished, Hamada bowed again, pivoted, and pulled open the door. She caught a whiff of jasmine. Stomach fluttering, she entered the Benediction Chamber with Clara at her side. The door closed behind her.

  A lone figure occupied one of two massive, gem-encrusted, high-backed, silver seats set on a dais at the head of the chamber. Looming behind the Patriarch were the ten statues of the Dominion in various forms of dress. Candles burned in ceramic stands around the room and near the statues. Except for a nearby lectern and four small chairs, there was no other furniture. Crossing the space to the dais felt as if it took forever. Giant windowpanes to her left and right gave an expansive view of the Grand Chantry, a citadel unto itself, and the rest of Melanil. She ignored the temptation to gawk at the city, and instead focused on Corgansetti.

  Despite his shimmering blue and red robes and makeup added to give him color, Patriarch Corgansetti’s age was obvious. Spots marred his head and lines creased the corners of his eyes. His hands were little more than wrinkled claws with a myriad of dark blue veins spread like a river’s clogged tributaries. Encrusted with diamonds, the ten-pointed, ten-sided Star of the Dominion stood out on the chain around his neck.

  “Lady Aidah Rostlin,” Corgansetti said, voice echoing within the room. “And this is your daughter, Clara, is it not?”

  She stopped a few feet from the dais. “Yes, it is, Patriarch.”

  “Good. And where is the other? Nerisse, I think?”

  “She was hurt on our way here, blessed one. As much as I hated to do so, we had to hurry on without her.”

  “Yes.” Corgansetti nodded. “The dangers of Far’an Senjin and Succession Day.”

  “So then you understand why I seek your help.”

  “Well, in all honesty, the Order will grant sanctuary, and has already done so in Garangal, if I’m not mistaken. Although,” he said, pausing, brow wrinkled, “I have yet to receive word from Curate Montere at our chantry there. Regardless,” he added with a wave of his hand, “you’re here now, and as written in our Precepts, you have the Dominion’s protection as long as you remain in Melanil.”

  Tension drained from Aidah. The knots in her stomach and back uncoiled. She and the children were finally safe. “Thank you.”

  “It is the least the Order can do for the tribute provided by your house.”

  All that was left was to discover which of the wisemen could help with Clara’s induction. Perhaps the Patriarch was a good place to start. Smiling, she looked down at Clara. The girl was staring at something to the Patriarch’s left.

  “Auntie Teres,” Clara whispered.

  Aidah followed h
er gaze. It was the statue that represented Antelen. The Goddess had silver hair and was clothed in ocean blue. Aidah gasped.

  “Ah, yes, awe-inspiring, are they not?”

  She barely heard the Patriarch, but couldn’t help her nod. Mind reeling, Aidah considered the chance that the Goddess had been in her dream, dressed in this exact same manner. Was it confirmation that she was in the right place or that they should continue on to Casda Esdan?

  “If there is nothing else, then I have another audience that requires the attention of myself and the Matriarch,” Corgansetti said.

  Lost in thought, Aidah thanked the man again, and left. Other than the statue’s appearance, another question niggled at her as a Cleric led them through the Grand Chantry. “Clara, why did you think the statue was Auntie Teres?”

  “Because it is. That is how Auntie Teres appears in my dreams.”

  Frowning, Aidah wondered if Clara’s answer was simply her way of coping with the nightmares. Could we really be receiving direction from Antelen herself? The idea seemed absurd as she repeated it, and yet her faith in the Dominion had mostly been unshakable. Although mired in her musings, she noticed they’d taken a different route on their way downstairs. They walked down a long hall with evenly spaced doorways, each door closed. Aidah thought she heard the voices of adults and children. “Which part of the chantry is this?”

  “This is our school, where initiates are taught the Word, the Precepts, and all they must know pertaining to the Order,” the Cleric answered.

  A gong tolled. One by one the doorways opened. Out filed children of varying races and ages, many as young as Clara.

  “The Order’s pride and joy, and its future,” the Cleric said. “It is here that the gifted are brought.”

  “Why here?”

  “To learn from the masters, to be given a nudge in their training as needed so they develop faster than others.”

  Induced. Were these all melders? The crop Terestere had spoken of? Ice slid down Aidah’s spine. She held Clara’s hand tight and followed the Cleric, praying that no one would stop them from leaving. Fear did not ease from her until she entered the Golden Purse. After ordering food, she went up to their room.

  Neither Kitesh nor Borin were at the door. She gritted her teeth, recalling how they’d fawned over the courtesans, and berated herself for giving them coin. Damned untrained armsmen. I bet if Lomin were here they wouldn’t have disobeyed.

  Grumbling under her breath she pulled open the door, ushered Clara inside, and then followed. A rough hand clamped down over her mouth. Aidah’s first instinct was to cry out. Her heart felt as if it wanted to leap from her chest.

  “Not a word.” The man’s voice carried an acute Farish Isle accent; the hand smelled like old food. “If you make a fuss, my friend there might be forced to hurt your daughter. Not something terrible, mind you, but I doubt the little one would know the difference.”

  A second man held Clara by her arm. He was tall with white hair and a forehead too flat to have occurred naturally. She’d never seen his kind before. Images of a broken Clara flitted through Aidah’s mind. Her legs grew weak. Swallowing a breath to remain silent, she nodded.

  “Good.” The first man released her and moved to where she could see him. He was a Farish Islander, left side of his face a tattooed mask. He was also wearing distinctive leather armor, that of a King’s Blade. The sword pin on the breast of his cloak added further confirmation.

  “C-can I have my daughter … please?” Aidah held out a hand that shook uncontrollably.

  The Blade nodded to the other man. “Let her go, Kalira.” The man hesitated for a moment before he complied.

  Clara ran into Aidah’s arms. Sobbing, Aidah snatched her up and hugged her tight.

  “Well, let’s make this quick. I’m Blade Torash. We’re here by the king’s decree to collect your two daughters and a certain box.”

  “I—You—How did you find us?”

  Torash shrugged. “Was simple enough. Life’s dictated by habit. We’re no different from animals in that regard, even nobles. We like to shit and piss in the same place unless trained differently.”

  “Soulless.” Kalira was staring at Clara. From nothing, a sword appeared in his hand.

  “What?” Torash asked.

  “That one Soulless. Must die.” His speech was garbled, that of a person not accustomed to the Kasinian tongue.

  Fear became like rancid food. Aidah could taste it, bitter and vile. It set her stomach churning. She clung tighter to Clara, who had raised her head to look in Kalira’s direction.

  Grimacing, Torash glanced from Clara to Kalira. “You Farlanders are a strange bunch. I’m not in the business of killing children. Never have been. Never will be. You can’t mean what you just said.”

  Kalira cocked his head to one side, like a hound trying to understand a command. After a moment, he spoke again. “In Jiantona, the Soulless are sick. Make many others sick, make many die. Unless they belong to the masters and are made Kargoshi, they are killed. She,” he said, pointing at Clara, “is Soulless. You cannot see her soul. She must die.”

  “And I repeat, I’m not in the business of killing children.” Torash’s voice was soft, dangerous.

  Kalira scowled. His eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, sword swinging in an arc.

  A scream stuck in Aidah’s throat. Frantic, she spun, placing her body between the Farlander and Clara, at the same time closing her eyes, expecting the bite of steel, and bracing for the pain.

  There came a sound, like the crack of a whip. A person cried out. Something thumped on the floor. A gurgle followed. Warm liquid splashed on Aidah’s neck.

  Blood. She knew its pungent odor anywhere.

  “Fool, my aversion to killing doesn’t extend to men or women,” Torash declared.

  Slowly, Aidah turned back to the men. Kalira lay on the ground, blood gushing onto the carpet from a gaping wound at his neck and from the stump of his arm. Aidah felt sick.

  Torash wiped his blade on Kalira’s shirt and sheathed the weapon. When his eyes met Aidah’s, they were flat pits. She took a step back, glad Clara’s face was buried in her neck.

  “Now, Aidah Rostlin, how about the child and the box? Or do you wish to end up like him?”

  “Kill yourself,” Clara whispered.

  “Why would I do that?” Torash asked, scowling, eyes shifting to Clara. “Not particularly nice of you either. Don’t make me change my mind about children.”

  The door banged open. In strode Elder Hamada, Patriarch Corgansetti, and several other wisemen. Torash’s sword was in his hand in an instant. Aidah took an inadvertent step back. In one motion Torash sheathed his weapon and bowed from the waist to the newcomers. Aidah closed her eyes and offered up a prayer to the Dominion.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Corgansetti demanded.

  Aidah made to speak, but it was Torash who answered first. “This woman and her children are part of a list of people wanted by the king.” His head remained down.

  “You may look at me when you speak, Blade.”

  “Thank you.” Torash licked his lips and repeated his statement.

  “You would take her? In Melanil, where sanctuary is sacred, a part of the Precepts handed down by the Dominion’s Word?” Corgansetti arched an eyebrow.

  “I was told she was refused sanctuary.”

  “By whom?”

  “Her guards.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Dead.” Torash shrugged. “That was the cost for an earlier failure on their part.”

  Aidah gritted her teeth at the revelation of such betrayal. Her thoughts immediately shifted to Nerisse and Lomin.

  “Return to King Ainslen,” Corgansetti said. “Tell him that I personally granted sanctuary to Aidah Rostli
n and her children. He is to take no further action against her in Melanil.”

  “Yes, blessed one.” Torash bowed from the waist again and marched from the room. A weight eased from Aidah’s chest as the man closed the door, but she lacked the sense of safety she had found earlier.

  “Are you hurt?” Corgansetti asked.

  “If fear is a wound, then mine is so deep it can’t be healed” she replied. She still did not let Clara down. The girl was humming one of Kesta’s songs.

  “Understandable. Two letters arrived soon after you left, from one of your guards, a man named Lomin. He warned Elder Hamada of this.” Corgansetti handed her two folded pieces of paper. “I can assure you this won’t happen again, but if my word isn’t enough, tell me what I can do. This,” he said, pointing at the Farlander’s corpse, “is a disgrace. Word of it cannot leave Melanil. It would not favor the Order’s reputation.”

  Aidah thought back to the sessions she rehearsed with Terestere. “If it were just Kasinians, then perhaps I would feel secure, but these … these Farlanders have no care for our ways or our morals or the Word. The beast was ready to kill my child.” A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “I’m afraid if they wish me dead in repayment for what happened here, then the Order’s Precepts will mean little.”

  “What would you have of the Order to make this right in the eyes of the Dominion?”

  “A writ of safe passage to Casda Esdan.”

  Antelen had pointed the way there. The Goddess had brought Terestere to save Aidah and the children, and had sent Hamada and Corgansetti at the most opportune time. The moment had come to follow her faith without fail.

  “Do you know what it is you ask?” Corgansetti was frowning at her. “Those lands are filled with faithless savages. You will have no one to turn to should things go wrong.”

  “Better than waiting for eventual death in the Empire.” She glanced at the Farlander’s corpse. “My children and I would ever be prisoners in Melanil. Yes, it’s life, but what life is that if I can’t venture out into the world where I was born. I may as well start fresh, build a new family, a new home, a real home where I have a semblance of freedom.”