Soul Sanctuary: Book Two Of The Spirit Shield Saga

by Susan Faw

  Twin phoenixes? she wondered.

  She closed the drawer and then knelt down to inspect the boots. The pair closest to her size, tall boots of black leather, was tooled similarly to her belt with silver buckles and adjustable straps. She pulled them from the shelf and took a closer look. The reason for the buckles became apparent as she opened the boot to find hidden sleeves and pockets built in. The intended use of one set of the pockets was clear as they were already occupied by a pair of matching knives, one per boot.

  Avery sat down on the floor and tugged on the boots, buckling them up over her knees. She sighed with pleasure, partially because the ugly images on her feet were finally covered over and also with relief as the cool leather soothed her burning soles.

  Strange, none of the other tattoos burns, she thought, only the images on my feet.

  She stood up gingerly, settling her feet in the least painful position. She was several inches taller in these boots and smiled. Now, to find a coat that fits, she thought and tested out her new footwear by walking back and forth before the hanging cloaks. A black one caught her eye, and she slipped her arms through the sleeves as she pulled it down. The cloak was fitted across her chest and fell to her hips. She buttoned it up and then walked out to the main room to the mirror and stopped in front of it.

  A woman stared back at her, but this woman was a stranger. A woman in sleek leather stared back at her with silver eyes that imitated the silver on her clothing. The cloak’s black hood draped down her back to a point, just shy of her waist and the coat split and cut away over her hips and then dropped to the sides in long sweeping tails that swirled as she walked. The cuffs of the sleeves turned up in a similar fashion, and two large silver buttons held the cuffs straight. More hidden pockets were glimpsed in the cuffs. From the front, her boot tops mimicked the cuffs, with rows of silver buttons marching down the side. She tugged up the hood of the cloak and her face disappeared within it except for her glowing silver orbs.

  If I didn’t know it was me, I would be petrified! she thought, wincing at what her father would say when he saw her.

  She wandered back into the closet, but none of the rest of the garments seemed to be the right size. It was almost as though these particular garments had been waiting for her to come and claim them. She was drawn back to the drawers and touched the face of a thin one that she had not noticed earlier. This drawer whispered as it opened, sliding out and unfolding at her touch. On a bed of softest linen sat a silver necklace. Avery saw at a glance that it was very old. The chain was silver and very long with a flat oval-shaped pendant that glowed. She picked it up and ran a thumb across the polished surface and images sprung to life. Mists swirled and resolved into faces and images of places she had never been to, flashed across the surface. Murmuring reached her ears. As she gazed into the stone, the image of her brother Cayden floated to the surface. He was in a stone library surrounded by books.

  “A Seeing Stone!” Avery exclaimed, the first audible words she had uttered since rising from the floor. Her voice was dampened by the magic of the closet. She slipped the pendant around her neck and dropped it inside her shirt to nestle between her breasts. Her eye fell on a matching ring that had been hidden beneath the pendant. She picked this up too and slipped it on the middle finger of her left hand. It molded itself to her finger as though made for her. The phoenix tattoo ended where the ring settled, the flat surface glinting like a fiery eye on her finger.

  As she left the closet, the door swung shut with a loud click and, glancing back, she saw that the outline of the door had disappeared, becoming just another arch in the paneled wall.

  Avery stretched out her hands to the double doors and grabbed the twin carved handles. This threshold she had crossed moments? hours? days? before. Did they still wait for her on the other side? It was time to find out. With a mighty shove, she pushed open the doors.

  Chapter 12

  Heading for Trouble

  CAYDEN LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR and stretched his arms over his head, his stiff back popping as he worked out the kinks. He then flipped the thick book closed with a boom that sent the early morning dust motes swirling in the first rays of sunrise to light his apartment. He had rearranged the central room into a proper study, complete with overstuffed chairs, long tables on which to spread out books, and ample lamps to light the interior.

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose, the strain of studying all night long resulting in a steady throb behind his eyes. It seemed he always had a headache now. At first, he had put them down to his obsession with reading every work, every tome relating to the history of Cathair and the kingdom, the history of the peoples of both his and the Primordial lands, and back even further to the creation myths woven through the histories of both peoples. Clarity was emerging from the chaos, and he began to understand the motivations of his enemy. But now, Cayden wondered if the headaches had another cause.

  He glanced down at the couch located under the brightening window and gazed fondly at Ziona’s sleeping form. She was curled into a ball on the soft surface, her toes just peeking out from under a tapestry he had “borrowed” from the wall and draped over her in the middle of the night. Even deep in slumber, he felt her nestled in his head, a residual effect of having saved her life. He smiled at the sense of wonder he felt in her dreams.

  He walked over and gently shook her awake. “Ziona. Wake up. It’s morning.”

  Ziona’s long lashes slowly fluttered open, and then she peered up at him. “Is it dawn? Did you study all night?”

  “Yeah.” Weary crescents of darkness painted Cayden’s eyes and stubble shadowed his chin. He held out a hand to help her up. She placed her slim left hand in his as he pulled her to her feet. Then, she reached up and trailed her right hand across his burgeoning beard.

  “You must rest. You cannot push yourself so hard. What is it you are looking for?” She glanced down at the stack of books. The tree sprites had continued to drop books every few hours, great dusty tomes with a woodsy smell, appearing out of nowhere to thump to the library floor right next to wherever Cayden stood or sat until great stacks covered the table and floor. It had been a few hours since the last book arrived, and that was about the time she had fallen asleep on the settee.

  At first, Ziona had been surprised every time a book magically appeared out of thin air, jumping at every deep thump, but after Cayden paused several times in midsentence to speak to the sprites, she had come to understand that he could see what she could not, despite her Primordial heritage. Now that they had been summoned, it seemed that the tree sprites were determined to retrieve and return every book they had ever pilfered from the library for safekeeping. Indeed, it seemed to Ziona that they were determined to return every tome immediately when in actual fact they were only fetching those books on subjects that Cayden specified.

  Ziona turned to the stack and ran her thumb down the cracked leather spines, tilting her head to read the embossed gold lettering on them.

  Cayden massaged the ache in his neck as he sat back down, arching away from the books. “I don’t know, something to help Avery. I have this feeling she is in trouble.” Restless, he rose to his feet again and walked over to the window to peer out at the pink candy blush spreading across the horizon above the trees. “She pulls at me through this.” He pulled a golden chain out from under his tunic from which dangled a stone. “She always said we would be connected by this stone.” He rubbed his thumb across the rough surface, and broken images flashed across his consciousness. He saw an emerald city in the bowl of a valley, a shining white temple and wild images of beasts. Some he recognized, having met a few of them himself via his flutes. “We need to go to her. I feel it.”

  The bond Cayden had with his twin sister, Avery, had existed since the day they were born. They shared a telepathic bond and could speak to each other over vast distances. It had something to do with their heritage, although he had never heard of the Primordial people being telepathic. Whatever its source, he w
as sure it was tied into their birth and the magic performed to save their lives…or perhaps the magic that they both possessed. The bond had sharpened suddenly during the night. It was more defined, more tangible than in the past. Something dramatic had happened to Avery.

  Cayden studied the castle grounds, watching the servants hurrying and scurrying, going about the never-ceasing chores required in a typical day of running the castle. One thing was for certain. All of his study in the dark hours confirmed his suspicions. The gods were playing a game, and the mortal beings that filled the world were pawns, pieces on a giant chessboard, being pushed to and fro at the whim of the gods. And where does that leave me as a child of the gods? Am I a pawn or a player? Am I a pusher or being pushed? I would rather be a player and not at the whim or beck and call of the gods. But how? How do I get in the game? Cayden’s face hardened and his hands clenched the window frame, whitening his knuckles with the strength of his grip.

  Ziona stepped up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders and began to gently massage the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. Cayden groaned with relief, closing his eyes, as she worked out the kinks.

  “I will go. She is with my people, and I need to report to the head of my order what has happened here. I will check on her and make sure she is safe. No harm will come to her with my people.” Cayden stiffened and grabbed her hand.

  “No.” He spoke before thinking, his knee-jerk reaction to keep her close. He opened his mouth to say more, but Ziona pressed a finger to his lips, pausing his words.

  “The danger has passed for you. You are protected now, safe with your people within the castle and its grounds.” Ziona gestured vaguely to the room surrounding them. “And I am needed elsewhere.”

  Cayden grasped her other hand and pulled her close. “Ziona, I don’t think…” Cayden broke off as a knock sounded on the door and it creaked open. A young woman backed into the room, carrying a tray covered in a cloth, chattering away as she ducked under the arm of the guard holding the door open. “Sire, time for you to take a break,” she chattered. “Your breakfast is piping hot, and you should eat it before it grows cold and lumpy.” She broke off as she swung around and caught Cayden and Ziona in a near embrace. She averted her eyes to the floor and stumbled. “I apologize, sire. I should have waited for you to bid me enter. Forgive me.”

  Cayden and Ziona broke reluctantly apart, Ziona kissing Cayden on the cheek with the lightest brush of lips. She touched her fingers to her lips, then touched his, transferring the kiss. Her eyes softened with a liquid warm, hinting at a promise unfulfilled. Cayden’s eyes widened and, with a grin, Ziona swung away, marching to the door. Ziona spoke over her shoulder as she passed the serving girl, eyeing the woman. She knew that the gossip would spread through the castle like a wildfire. In no time, every servant would know she had slept in Cayden’s chambers. Ziona smiled, secretly pleased to stake her claim to Cayden, to send out an emotional warning to all to stay away from him. “We will speak of this later, sire. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  The door closed behind her with a click, and the serving girl straightened from her curtsy, hurrying over to a side table to put the tray down.

  A rapid knock sounded at the door once again. It swung open to admit Mordecai, who did not wait to be invited. The serving girl squeaked at the appearance of the wizard and scurried out through the door before it had time to close behind him.

  “Good morning, my boy!” Mordecai boomed, a wide smile creasing the sides of his leathery cheeks. He looked robustly healthy, still skinny, but the pallor of the dungeons had faded from his skin. He walked with a spry step as he strode over to peek at Cayden’s tray of food. “What do we have here?” He flipped back the dangling sleeve of his magenta robes and swept the cloth cover off the tray, revealing a pot of tea and a mug, a bowl of porridge and berries, a pot of thick sweet cream, and three buttery croissants. Mordecai picked up a steaming crusty croissant and a knife, slathering it with creamy butter before popping it into his mouth. “Ahh.” He rolled his words around hot mouthfuls of food. “You really should try these, Cayden. They are quite delightful. I do believe that Fabian is supplying the castle now.”

  Cayden’s stomach did a funny lurch at the thought of putting food in it. I still haven’t got over that stomach flu, he thought. Instead, he reached for the pot of tea, pouring a liberal quantity of honey into it, and then took a sip of the blueberry-flavoured brew.

  Mordecai tsked and wandered over to the table to inspect the recent arrivals. “Well? What have you learned, my boy, for all your nightly vigils?”

  Cayden sank into a soft leather chair with a stifled groan and leaned his head back against the cushions.

  “I have learned that our true opponent is likely Helga, the goddess of the underworld, goddess of the dead.” His head swiveled to Mordecai. “How, good goddess, do we defeat an immortal?”

  Mordecai grinned from ear to ear at his words. “Why, with another god, of course!”

  Cayden felt the temporary relief from Ziona’s massage evaporate as he squinted at Mordecai. “With another god…of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue. “I will summon one with my flutes. Perhaps Aossi is up to the task.” Aossi was a spirit of the world between worlds, an immortal that traveled between realities. She was also a tiny childlike entity that had an annoying habit of showing up just to tweak his nose with what he didn’t understand.

  “No, no, my dear boy. No need for Aossi, as charming as she is. She really isn’t up to the task, in any event.”

  Infuriating! thought Cayden as he peered blearily at Mordecai’s smug grin. Completely infuriating! “So, what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest you sleep on it. Your brain is stuffed so full of information. You cannot begin to process it all.” He walked over and pulled Cayden from the chair and then marched him to his bedchamber, pushing him onto the feathery surface and pulling off his boots. “Sleep,” Mordecai commanded, “and we will talk when you are awake enough to process the information.”

  Cayden’s heavy eyelids drooped before Mordecai even reached the doorway. By the time the door closed, Cayden was fast asleep.

  ***

  Ziona fell into step beside Mordecai as he left Cayden’s quarters. Mordecai had snagged another croissant from Cayden’s tray and was happily devouring it with quick bites while he strode down the hall, his shoes making a clicking sound on the checkered marble flooring.

  “I must leave before he awakens. Cayden is becoming more and more reluctant to let me out of his sight. He will not tell me what is bothering him, but I think it has to do with that last prophecy tome that the pixies dropped. I couldn’t read the script, but Cayden picked it out right away. Somehow, he is able to read books written in long extinct languages, languages dating back thousands of years. I don’t think he even realizes he is doing it.”

  Mordecai nodded, swallowing his last mouthful. “I believe it to be a result of his birth lineage, the unique blend of his human royal parents, mixing with his immortal bloodlines. Strange abilities surface when gods and humans mix, and I do not believe this has occurred since the very foundation of the world. A remnant of his immortal existence has been pulled through and merged with his mortal existence. It would explain his natural affinity for runes and his instinctual use of them.” Mordecai made to take another bite of croissant and frowned disappointedly at his empty hand.

  “Well, so far, he has refused to tell me what he has learned. It’s almost as though he is afraid to tell me. There have been times when I have seen him sitting there, shaking with grief. I cannot tell if it is because of something he has read or if it is something he has figured out. Either way, he believes that he must go to Avery, but we both know that would be foolish. He would have to go through Alcina’s troops to get there, and that is way too much risk for a monarch.” She shook her head at the foolishness of the thought. “What would happen if he were to fall into their hands? He is safer here.” She followed t
he statement with a sharp nod of her head, as though that settled matters once and for all.

  Mordecai frowned. “I doubt that you can keep him here against his will.”

  “That is why I must leave now. I have had the essentials packed for a week.” She stubbornly crossed her arms.

  “He will not be pleased to find you gone. What will you do to get around the legionnaires’ encampment?”

  “You forget, Mordecai, that the Primordial lands are my homeland. I know of routes through the Highland Spine that few men have traveled. I will find a way around the legion to Avery.”

  “Be very careful, Ziona. Alcina is likely with them and she would love nothing more than to capture someone close to Cayden. Be very, very careful.”

  Ziona patted Mordecai on his shoulder and left him at the next corridor, heading off at a brisk walk in the direction of the castle stables where her horse, Seeker, waited, saddled and ready to ride.

  Chapter 13

  Power Struggle

  BLINDING FLASHES OF LIGHT pulsed from the tiered temple, drawing the eye of every villager in Faylea. Crowds of Primordial clanspeople thronged the edge of the sacred grounds, striving to catch a glimpse of what was causing the sky to flash and dim. Those lucky enough to have a front-row view took it upon themselves to yell out a running commentary on the scene before them.

  The carvings that adorned the building were no longer still, but writhed on the sides of the temple, resurrected by the flow of spirit within the temple walls. On the walls themselves, visions scrolled, a diorama of the land and the seas and the creatures that lived within them. Scene after scene played itself out. As one level went dark, the one above it lit up until the front-row viewer’s commentary was no longer needed. As the images moved up the temple, a great murmur rose from the throng. Some people wept for joy while others screamed with terror. No one in living memory had seen such a display as the temple was putting out that day.