by Susan Faw
“We are working on a plan to rescue the king. Do not worry. We will get him back and safely too. But for now, we need to turn our attention to one we can help. General?” Mordecai stepped back, and Denzik stepped forward once again.
“Avery is the king’s sister.” Heads bobbed in acknowledgement. “She is still out there, and every bit as much of a target as Cayden. Alcina hunts her and will stop at nothing to capture her. I suspect it is why she has stationed herself as she has, knowing that she has travelled to the Primordials with the other seeker. You all know Ziona. Well, there were two seekers sent to find the Spirit Shields, and one returned to their holy city with Avery. We will focus our efforts on finding and guarding Avery, lest she suffer the same fate as Cayden. We know the king was on his way to his sister, which was his primary purpose in leaving the castle. We can pick up his quest where he left off and be the physical shield as we always have been. We will secure Avery’s welfare. We will reunite Cayden with his sister. While you are aiding Avery, know that we have a plan to rescue the king and will ensure he is returned to us.” Expectant faces stared at the general.
“We will leave in two hours. It is time to break camp. You are dismissed.” The men filed away in groups of twos and threes, talking softly between themselves.
Mordecai and Denzik stepped down from the landing and joined Nelson and Fabian.
“Somehow, I do not believe that you intend to join us in locating Avery,” said Nelson, as he paused beside the wizard.
“Indeed, I do not.” Mordecai gestured toward the retreating backs of the Kingsmen with a bony hand. “They need to reach Avery as soon as possible, or we will lose her too. She is vulnerable, and she does not know it. That is, if she has been successful in reaching the Primordial leadership. She is even more dangerous in the wrong hands. You must protect her with your life. All of your lives.” Mordecai’s blue eyes flashed around the circle of faces with the intensity of a bolt of lightning. “When you reach her, give her this.” He pulled an object the size of the palm of his hand wrapped in a soft cloth. He folded back the cloth and revealed a Soul Stone, identical to the one he had given to Cayden a short day ago. “Tell her that it works in the same manner as the stone from Daimon Ford. She should understand if she has been reunited with the temple.” He folded the soft cloth back around the stone and placed it in Denzik’s hand. Denzik tucked it into a pocket sewn inside his shirt, against his chest.
“You will find Avery in the Highland Needle. You will need to get past Alcina’s legion and into the mountains. Look to the Primordial forests where the creatures of myth are said to dwell. You will find her there. I will go after Cayden. Only magic can save him now.”
Denzik grabbed the elderly wizard’s hand in his and shook it, and placed his other hand on Mordecai’s shoulder. “Go with the favour of the gods, Mordecai. Rescue the king. We will find Avery and protect her with our lives.”
“I will prepare food for your departure. I might even find a sticky bun or two to lighten the journey.” Fabian’s eyes crinkled at the look of pure joy that lit the wizard’s face.
“Oh yes, that would be a delectable twist in what is sure to be a nasty-flavoured journey.”
As Mordecai strode away, the Kingsmen were already forgotten. Cayden’s stone pulsed angrily in his pocket, flaring with heat. This time, it was Cayden calling to him, rather than the other way around. Hold on, dear boy. I am coming.
Chapter 26
Sharisha’s Hunt
SHARISHA RODE AT THE HEAD of a long column of Primordial warriors, the High Priestess Marea at her side. Of all the warriors of the Spirit Clan, the dedicated of the temple were the fiercest, bound to the High Priestess by oath, both verbal and physical, the magic of the binding rune running deep under the skin. The seekers were the highest level of the dedicated, their lives bound to the will of the High Priestess.
Sharisha smiled a dark smile. The strongest soul binds are not made by blood, but by spirit. Imbibing of flesh and blood created mindless drones, creatures who could no longer think for themselves. But a true spirit-binding bound the will of a soul, and left the recipient a thinking, reasoning individual, his will aligned to the purpose of the binder. This kind of soul-binding was unbreakable; a soul-binding was for life.
Sharisha had been bound to Marea as a child, and her feet set on the path of a seeker from the earliest of days. Her purpose had always been to search the world for the Spirit Shields, to find the prophesied children, and bind them for all eternity to the High Priestess, as she herself was bound.
Word arrived from Alcina’s legion camp by their spy’s pigeon in the early hours, reporting that the alleged king of Cathair was now soul-slaved to a Fetch, a spirit doll.
With that news, a force of forty warriors, Sharisha, and the High Priestess set out on the trail of the fleeing Avery. Marea’s singular focus was to catch up with her and bind her in a similar fashion, once she was within her grasp. This time, it would be the necklace stored in their saddle bag that would assure Avery’s allegiance. She would soul bind her and bring her to heel at last, in service to the High Priestess, as was her duty.
Sharisha, riding at Marea’s side, frowned and glanced back over her shoulder at Elder Hania slumped over in his saddle and tied in place by thick ropes. He should not have betrayed Marea. He should have obeyed. He should not have resisted. Now look at him. A dark bruise bloomed on his temple, and the cheek below was split open and hastily stitched. Blood seeped between the stitches and trickled down his slack face. A strand of his white hair stuck in the oozing, stained pink. His right arm was bound, having been broken in two places. They had hastily healed it, but neither of them had the power to fully mend the break. One other man accompanied the elder, slung over the saddle of a second horse. Gaius lay on his belly, tied in place so he did not slip off. He was unconscious.
It had been a simple matter to track the fleeing fugitive to the barn at the edge of Faylea and a simpler matter yet to determine she had fled with assistance. But no matter, if the trail faded, one of the pair would be able to provide the answers they needed to track Avery to her final destination.
“If you are correct, and Avery is headed towards Helga’s realm, how do you plan to gain entry? It is deep within Flesh Clan-held lands, and Helga herself does not encourage visitors. Even from those who profess loyalty,” Sharisha said softly, speaking for the High Priestess’s ears only. She peeked at her from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge her reaction to her statement to gain a hint of Marea’s thoughts.
Marea ignored Sharisha, her eyes scanning the path ahead, searching for any sign of movement amongst the trees. Seeing nothing of interest other than a couple of lovebirds flitting from one branch to another, she finally rewarded Sharisha with a glance. “The former queen believes she is in control, that she steers events, but she is as much a puppet as is the young whelp Cayden,” she sneered. “This journey will net both Spirit Shields and never again will anyone doubt who rules the Primordials. The Flesh Clan will be brought to heel. The Spirit Clan will take its rightful place in the world and push back the Cathairian infidels. The Spirit Shield’s blood will be purified by fire, and their wills harnessed for all eternity.” She sniffed and glanced back at the unconscious elder. “Even amongst our own, traitors are discovered.”
“Do you mean to march right into the main Flesh Clan encampment and demand their surrender? There is no love lost between Flesh and Spirit Clans. They will not bow to a Spirit Clan leader, even one in control of a Spirit Shield. It is true the main force battles Alcina’s legion, but they will not have left their priests undefended,” said Sharisha. “Besides, there is nothing to say that the boy is still in Alcina’s camp.”
“Of course not! But a small strike force can be enough to steal a prize with the right distraction. I want those dolls and the priest who makes them.” Marea smiled a grim smile. “The boy is a bonus. If I have the doll, I control him regardless of where he is. He will come to me.” I will recover the
boy and his doll, all of the dolls. I will see Spirit and Flesh Clans united under my reign. Marea smiled grimly, and a vision of the Spirit Shields kneeling before her in the shadow of the temple amused her thoughts for the next few minutes.
There were only three people important to her plans: Avery, Cayden, and Hototo. Alcina was an annoyance. The puzzle was Hototo. Marea did not understand why Hototo had given away the dolls in the first place, unless he thought he could not get close enough to the boy to place the binding. But if that were true, why give them to Alcina? Surely, she would not have had access to the boy, or he would already be dead. No, something else was at play here.
Alcina would have to be disposed of as she possessed knowledge of at least one of the dolls, an additional complication. The knowledge of the dolls in non-Primordial hands was a crime punishable by death. Marea snarled under her breath. Hototo’s treason was nearly as deep as the bouncing elder behind her. How could he give away Primordial secrets to an outlander?
Marea rode on in silence, and her introspection made her blind to the details around her. Had she turned her head and looked back, just once, she would have seen the faint smudge of dust in the sky. But she did not.
Marea was not alone in her interest in the prophesied children. The Spirit Shields, now returned to the world of men, were sought by many parties, and one such party shadowed the Primordial clansmen at a discreet distance, biding their time.
***
Hototo’s escape from the prisoner tent was a silent but non-bloody affair. Despite the queen’s promise, she’d immediately returned him to the prisoner’s tent and promptly forgotten about him. She had spared enough energy to double the guard but left instructions for him to be left unbound, given clean clothes, food, and water.
But Hototo did not have time to waste waiting on Alcina.
Close to midnight, with the camp quiet around him and the campfire coals banked toward morning, Hototo rose up silently and went to the tent door. There, two guards manned the entrance, swaying as they fought sleep in the quiet of deep night. One raised a hand to his mouth to smother a yawn.
Hototo took a reed from his pack, which had been returned to him as part of the agreement for the handover of the Soul Fetch. He prepared several sleeping darts, by dipping a sharpened bird-feather quill into a small pot of paste then slid the drugged quills into a hollowed tube pulled from his pack. Spying his first target, he put his lips to the other end of the reed and blew. The dart flew from the end and struck the neck of the guard with no more force than a mosquito bite. The guard swatted at his neck and yawned again.
Hototo repeated the process and shot a second bug bite into the neck of the other guard, who jerked and slapped the spot.
Less than a minute later, the guards were sinking to their knees and then gently slid sideways to ground, snoring softly.
Hototo returned the reed and the darts to his pack, slung it onto his back, then slipped from the tent on silent feet. He disappeared into the dark, carefully stepping over the sleeping guards, then sliding from shadow to shadow through the main camp to the horse lines. He paused to let a patrol pass then crept up to the horse line, untied the rope of the last horse, and led the animal away at a slow, quiet pace into the trees. Once out of sight of the camp, he swung up onto its back, twisting the horse lead into a makeshift bridle.
With a gentle touch of heels to flank, he urged his mount deeper into the forest and began to climb. He left behind the foothills of the encampment with the fading of the night, and the path became steep and slick with loose scree from the mountain face. The sky lightened with the blush of dawn. As he rounded a corner of the cliff face, he halted abruptly.
The trail was blocked by a recent stone fall. Only the narrowest portion of trail remained passable. He dismounted and continued on foot, leading his mount around the fall, acutely aware of the precipitous drop of hundreds of feet to his left. He glanced down as he walked along, and his eyes were caught on the body of a horse, lying on the rocks far below. There was no sign that the horse had come from the trail, but rather it appeared to be partially buried in scree that had swept past his ledge and down into the beginnings of a shallow valley below.
Hototo frowned at the bloated carcass. His eyes swept the scene below, still partially cast in the gloom of night. The horse was either white or pale grey, or he would not have detected it at all.
It has been there for days, maybe the better part of a week…and the timing is worrisome, he thought. This was the valley bowl where the Flesh Clans had been camped. The presence of a dead horse indicated the presence of spies. Spies who may have witnessed things they should not have seen.
The blockage ended, and Hototo regained the main path. The Crystal Caves were still a day’s ride away. The mountain rumbled, and the scree shifted, pebbles and rocks slipping over the side of the trail behind him, to disappear below.
The god who resides in the mountain is stirring. The souls of the mountain call to me. It is time to seek out Dark’s Mistress, to warn her. It is time to prepare the Shakra Cave, for her enemy approaches. Artio will be pleased. Serving two mistresses was a fine line to walk, but walk it he did. The Flesh Clans must be victorious. With the power of two goddesses to throw at the Spirit Clan, there was no possible way to fail. They will be crushed once and for all, the temple returned and the true faith restored. He would see these things happen, or die trying.
Chapter 27
Freedom
CAYDEN AWOKE WITH A SPLITTING HEADACHE and groaned as he unstuck his eyelids. He blinked, stirred, and attempting to stretch, only to find himself curled around a soft body. Not simply curled, but spooned together in the most intimate of positions. His eyes shot open, and his groan became audible, the soft something stirring in his arms.
With a stretch, it sat up, blanket dropping to waist. Ziona rubbed sleepily at her eyes, and then they wandered slowly over the astonished man at her side. She smiled and leaned down to kiss him full on the lips.
“You are having a lucid moment, I assume? You have the eyes of a startled fawn.”
Cayden passed a hand over his chest then glanced down at its naked expanse. “If I were to peek under the covers, would I be embarrassed at the state of my undress?”
Ziona grinned, her gaze growing bolder. “You are as naked as a tree in winter. Thankfully you are not as cold…although the heat you generated last night would have sparked a forest fire!”
Cayden’s face reddened right on cue, and Ziona laughed. He grimaced as a sharp spike of pain flashed across his temples, and his hand rose to the side of his face.
Ziona’s mirth fell away, and her mouth sagged in distress. “The pain, is it back?”
“It is always there, a dull throb that turns white hot until it wipes away all ability to think consciously, to react, or take any independent action. Ziona, she can get inside my head, and she steals my thoughts and replaces them with her own. She sabotages my will.”
“Tell me.” She slipped into his arms and placed her ear on his beating heart. “Tell me what happened.”
Cayden filled her in and when he got to the spot about the straw doll, her hand clenched into his chest so hard that the nails bit into his skin as she sat up.
“Ouch!” he cried, pulling her hand away.
“She didn’t!” Ziona hissed, fury thinning her eyes to catlike slits. Her irises glittered with anger.
“What is it, Ziona? Tell me!” Cayden sat up too, facing her.
“She has a Soul Fetch! Where did she get a Soul Fetch?” Ziona shook her head and then flung her feet over the edge of the bed, pulling the lone blanket with her and draped it around under her arms, tying it off in a twisted knot over her chest. Cayden shivered in the sudden cold and reached for the blanket, but she stepped out of reach. “Your people know nothing about the making of a Soul Fetch. It could only have come from a Primordial. My people have betrayed us. The question is, was it someone of the Spirit Clans or the Flesh Clans?”
“You mea
n our people. I am half Primordial, remember?” She grunted in agreement. “What is a Soul Fetch? I mean, Mordecai did tell me, but I thought you might know more.”
“It is a doll that uses magic to bind the soul of the person to the possessor. It captures your will, your very soul.” She gazed at the tiny window of her room. “I must get out of here. I cannot protect you from a cell.”
She spun back around then bent and picked up his discarded clothing, tossing them onto his lap. “Get up. We have a short window to prepare for the next possession. We must get that doll.”
Cayden picked up his pants and pulled them up his legs, standing to complete the process. “And then what? I smash it? Burn it?”
“No!” she shouted, and her hands rose in panic. “No,” she said in a softer tone. “Whatever you do to the doll will happen to you, even to death. No, we must break the bond…and that comes back to…”
“Mordecai.” Cayden finished the sentence for her.
She nodded unhappily. “Yes, Mordecai is the only one we know of that we can trust to break the spell and not kill you in the process. Everyone else is suspect, I fear. We must get you back to Mordecai.”
“I would not be surprised if he is on his way here already,” Cayden mumbled through the fabric of his shirt as he pulled it down over his head.
“But we cannot rely on him to get us out of the middle of a legion with you bound to the doll. Come here,” she commanded, the Ziona of old, now the seeker, the lover of the evening before vanishing. “We have the Soul Bond from when you saved me back in the spring, but now, I am going to put a tracer on you that Mordecai can follow. The only drawback is that any Primordial seeker will be able to track you with it too. I am going to put a seeker bond on you as was placed on me by the temple.”
She dropped her blanket and stepped up to him, naked as the day she was born. She seemed unaware of her nakedness and completely at ease, but sweat broke out on Cayden’s brow at the sight and he dropped his eyes. How he wanted to ogle her! Cayden fought the urge to stare. She laughed then put her hand under his chin, forcing him to look up. Once his eyes had travelled the distance from toes to her eyes (a journey that took much longer than it should have taken!) she raised her right hand. He had never noticed it before, but just inside her palm at the fleshy join where the thumb connected to her hand was a tattoo of an oak leaf, shot through with an arrow. It looked strangely similar to the oak leaf on the banner of Cathair, the royal seal.