Soul Sanctuary: Book Two Of The Spirit Shield Saga

by Susan Faw

“Steady, boy,” soothed Cayden. “We have a couple of passengers to take away with us. Can you carry us all?” Brimstone snorted again, and Cayden had the impression that he was being laughed at. Brimstone tossed back his head and pipped a high-pitched whistle, then started pawing at the ground.

  The wait was a short one, for within a couple of minutes, Sandstorm and Moonbeam dropped down from the sky and trotted over to Brimstone’s side.

  “A much better idea!” With a rueful twist of lips, Cayden put his father back down on the ground and began a search of the fallen for a guard or someone who might hold the key to their prisoners. After ten minutes of grim searching he discovered a set of keys in the muddy grass. (At least, he hoped it was mud.) They had spilled out of the pocket of a Primordial warrior. It wasn’t the only thing that had spilled out, but thankfully the keys were clean and dry. Cayden swallowed heavily then hurried back to his father, slipping in his haste. He fumbled the keys with shaking hands, presenting key after key to the locksets until finally he found the right one, and slid the key into the lock with a twist. It snapped open and the chain fell away. Cayden repeated the process with the second man, dropping the keys twice in the process. Once they were free, he scooped up his father and placed him on Moonbeam’s back then returned for the second man and put him up on Sandstone.

  “Now be careful, you two,” he scolded the excited Pegasuses. “Don’t let them fall off.” The Pegasuses rolled their eyes, clearly annoyed with his mothering. They pawed at the ground, anxious to be away from the stench of death.

  “Yes, I quite agree.” Cayden sighed in relief, then swung onto Brimstone’s back. “It is time to be gone.” With a final searching glance around the field of death to be sure he had gathered all the souls remaining, he sent them on to the well in Cathair. Then with a light squeeze of his knees, he launched Brimstone into the sky.

  Chapter 39

  Tracks in the Sky

  THE FLESH CLAN WARRIORS WALKED AMONG the bloating bodies, checking for survivors. Their Spirit-Clan brethren had lost a bloody battle, with no survivors. By the insignia on their vestments, they were of the temple guard, those bound to the High Priestess herself. But they could not locate her among the dead, nor could they locate her seeker. The rest of the dead were legion soldiers. Murmuring rose from the men. How had the legion soldiers slipped past their posts? How many more might be nearby? And where was the High Priestess? Searching for her made for a grim but necessary task.

  “Marea is not here, immortal mistress. Whether she lives, I can’t know for sure,” Hototo, with forehead pressed to the dirt, informed Artio’s feet as she strode by, knife in hand.

  “Whose doing is this? Tell me all you know!” She gestured sharply to the festering corpses. “You’ve been gone far too long. I will hear all you have done since you left my presence. Now speak!”

  Hototo kept his face pressed to the dirt, and his nose filled with earthy scents mingled with the stench of death.

  “Mistress, I was on my way back to you when I came across this battle.” He shuddered. “I arrived here shortly before you. If Marea has survived this battle, she will be on her way to the Shakra Caves. No High Priestess could miss the signs. The solstice approaches!”

  “The Shakra Caves? What is this place?” Artio glared toward the smoking mountain, convinced she already knew.

  “It is a cave of crystal, mistress, and full of sacred objects not touchable by human hands. The scrolls state that when the heir returns, the cave will give up its treasures and the secrets frozen in time. It is also said that only the gods can utilize the treasures within. We are simple guardians, mistress.”

  Artio snarled. So that is what my sisters are up to. They are trying to steal my beloved’s betrothal gifts. Genii had showered gifts of magic on her, during their courtship. Rings and bracelets, music boxes and enchanted feathers, and she had kept every one of them in their special, secret cave. Curse you, Helga! You sent me on this fool’s trail when you know perfectly well that the answers lie where it all began. Caerwyn may be nearby, but it’s Alfreda who holds the key…and by now my beloved’s magical gifts!

  Not for the first time, Artio wondered at how much she still didn’t understand about what had transpired that night, so long ago. What were you up to that night, Helga? Somehow, all of you are tied together in this, and that leaves me with little choice but to go it alone. I will have my revenge! For myself. For Genii.

  “And you?” she snarled. “Did you reach the caves?”

  “Yes, mistress, and the impostor you warned us about, the lady Avery, showed her face just as you predicted, but I captured her and sent her to the underworld! She is no longer a threat to you, mistress.” He peeked out from under his arm at Artio. His back ached and he longed to sit up, but he had not been granted this boon.

  Artio glared at the priest. “How could you accomplish such a feat? You have no powers except what we grant. What connection do you have with the underworld? Do not lie to me, Hototo.” Disgusting worm, she thought.

  She stamped down hard on his outstretched hands. He cried out as the bones ground together.

  Gasping with pain, he blurted, “Mistress! They come to me in my dreams, mistress! The Charun! They are as black as night! They come and whisper things to me! It’s how I knew how to summon you back from the stars, mistress!” Artio ground her heel on his hand, and he howled. The warriors searching the grounds glanced nervously over at the pair and then studiously ignored the goings-on. It was none of their business. “She told me!” he screamed as a finger snapped. “The great mistress of the dark! But I swear I only wanted to serve you! Ple-e-e-ease!” he cried as a second finger popped.

  “She, being Helga?”

  “Yes, mistress!” he sobbed. “The goddess Helga!”

  Artio lifted her foot from his hand and strode off toward her mount. As I suspected, none are to be trusted. Not one.

  As she crossed the ground, her eyes fell on a set of chains cast aside and almost hidden by the tall grass. She bent down and picked up the chains, and then her eyes fell on a long black feather. A Pegasus feather! But where…how? She straightened up, and her eyes searched the canopy, examining the sky, but found nothing. So, Brother, you are closer than I thought. Good. It is time we met once again. Very good. Artio’s lips pulled back in a growl, teeth flashing, and she sniffed the air. I smell you, Little Brother. I smell you on the wind. Do not think you can hide!

  She mounted her horse as the warriors scrambled into their saddles, and they fell into line behind her as she left the clearing, the bodies forgotten as soon as they faded from sight. She followed the unique scent of the Pegasus. They smelled like the rarefied air after a thunderstorm. It lingered in the treetops. If a smell could have a colour, it would have been golden. Artio’s grin widened. She twisted the reins, pulling her horse around and followed the scent, tracking Cayden on the air.

  ***

  Brimstone touched down in the clearing, followed closely by the other two Pegasuses. Ziona was crouched by the pond filling water bottles for the continued journey when she heard the whisper of wings announce their arrival. She stood abruptly and hurried over when it became evident that Cayden was not alone.

  “Cayden! Who…? By the gods, is that your father? And an elder! Where did you find them?”

  Cayden filled her in on his gruesome discovery as he slipped from Brimstone’s back. He hurried over to his father’s side, and together they eased the pair off the backs of the Pegasus and laid them gently on the ground. Ziona checked them over, running her hands over their limbs, thumbing back an eyelid, sniffing at their breath. “They have been hurt, but not fatally. Mostly they are drugged. Fortunately, I have just the thing.” She snatched up her satchel and pulled out a packet of dried flowers. “Sharisha said this would cure anything.” She took out a pestle and her bowl and ground some of the flowers up and added a bit of water to make a thin soup. “Cayden, lift their heads, one by one, and open their lips. I don’t want them to choke. I n
eed to get this potion into them.” Cayden did as instructed, and Ziona fed each man two spoonfuls until the bowl was empty.

  At first nothing happened, and then slowly their eyelashes fluttered as the cure counteracted the sleeping potion. Their bruises faded, and the gash on Gaius’s head mended, now looking several days healed. They stirred, lifting hand to head with groans, the first movements they had voluntarily made since Cayden rescued them.

  Gaius blinked once, twice, and then narrowed his focus to Cayden, who was bent over him staring anxiously into his face. Gaius’s eyes widened on seeing his son, and he struggled to sit up. Cayden slipped an arm around his shoulders, steadying him.

  “Cayden!” he gasped and tears sprang to his eyes. “I am so happy to see you!” They hugged as Elder Hania woke and slowly rolled over on to his side, pushing himself to a sitting position.

  “Elder,” greeted Ziona, “I am glad to find you alive, if not well.”

  “Seeker, it is equally pleasing to see you,” he replied. He peered around at the campsite. “It appears our captors are no longer in control.”

  Cayden let go of his father. “They are all dead.”

  “Including Marea? Sharisha?” Elder Hania’s voice was as hard as a stone.

  “I didn’t see them there. Were they trying to free you?” asked Cayden.

  “No, they were our captors.”

  “What?” said Ziona, sharply. “Why would they restrain you?”

  Elder Hania relayed the details of Avery’s arrival at the temple and her subsequent reception.

  “She is in grave danger then!” Cayden’s fists clenched in anger. “We must find her and quickly!”

  Ziona laid a restraining hand on his arm. “We need a plan, Cayden. We can’t go running off without thinking this through. There is too much at stake. We know they are going to the cave. We can join her there, but who else might we encounter? We need help, some backup. We need Denzik and the rest of the Kingsmen. Then, we will have the might to confront whatever armies harry Avery.”

  “She has a young man with her. You remember Achak?” At her nod, he continued, “He has been sent as her protector. She is not alone.”

  Cayden stared at nothing, thinking. “She…Avery is going after the box…,” he mumbled aloud.

  “What box?” asked Ziona and Elder Hania in unison.

  “It is…something of our past, a box of great evil. But there is only one who can control the magic of the box, and that is Mordecai. We need the wizard.” Cayden stood up and walked away from them, thinking. Mordecai said he could always find me via the stone. I wonder if works in reverse? He had it with him.

  Cayden closed his eyes and reached out to Mordecai. Yes, I can feel him. It’s faint, but I can point to where he is. His arm raised of its own accord and he pointed. When he opened his eyes, it was pointed directly at the smoking mountain. “He is there. Why is he there?”

  Ziona came up beside him and slipped an arm around his waist. “If Mordecai is there, it can’t be good news. That is Helga’s realm. No one comes out of there alive, not ever.”

  Cayden looked from the mountain to his companions and opened his mouth to speak. His words were interrupted by a whooshing sound, and the trees exploded above him. Debris rained down on them as the treetops burst into flame and fist-sized chunks of lava fell from the sky.

  “Go!” Cayden shouted, grabbing Gaius around the waist and tossing him up onto Brimstone’s back. He slapped Brimstone’s rump, sending him skyward, then grabbed his satchel and flung himself onto the back of one of the pair of horses and dug in his heels, bolting for the uncertain safety of the woods in Mordecai’s direction.

  Ziona took to the sky on Sandstorm. Elder Hania grabbed the mane of Ziona’s horse and swung onto its back, then bolted off after Cayden.

  Moonbeam reared and followed the other Pegasuses into the sky. As the floor of the clearing caught fire, the grasses bursting into flame, Artio galloped into its midst. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the Pegasus disappearing into the smoke and saw two men on horseback swallowed by the trees.

  “Helga!” she roared, cursing. Then she heeled her mount and took off after the two men on horseback. One was a young man and her brother would certainly look young at this time. It must be Caerwyn, she thought, following their trail on the ground. “He is mine!” she screamed aloud to the skies at Helga. For a second, back in the clearing a rippling reflection of Helga’s face danced across the surface of the pond. The face laughed, watching Artio’s furious passage out of the clearing with amusement. Then, the pond stilled and she vanished.

  Chapter 40

  A Matter of Age

  MORDECAI WOKE WITH A START. The carpet on which he had recently lain had been replaced by a soft mattress, and a fluffy down-filled pillow cushioned his head. He frowned and cracked the lids of his eyes open the tiniest of increments in order to assess his whereabouts without alerting his captors of his consciousness. Instinct warned him that he was still a captive, regardless of the cushiness of his cell. Oil lamps with wicks trimmed low hung on wooden staves driven into chiseled holes and solid stone walls devoid of any human shaping draped with tapestries greeted his skinny-eyed appraisal of the room.

  Definitely not a camp, then. So, if not a camp, then where am I? He could not see any guards in his room, which did not mean that he was not being watched. His hand twitched, and he opened his eyes wider and then sat up. No one came into the room. He swung his legs over the side of the bed then stood up on wobbly knees. He felt the doll’s presence. It was nearby. But no one interfered with him right at the moment.

  On a wooden stand under a cracked mirror stood an empty stone basin and a pitcher of water. Gratefully, he poured water into the bowl, then, dipping his hands in, drank thirstily. Next, he washed his face, scrubbing off the dried blood reflected in the cracked mirror above the stand with a rough towel hanging on the side. He rinsed the towel and then dabbed at the cut on his scalp that had bled.

  Once his ablutions were complete, he followed the scent of food, his nose twitching at the smell of hot rolls and honeyed ham. He did not remember smelling them when he first awoke, but now hunger drove him toward the platter resting just inside the door. He picked it up and then headed back to the bed. He perched on the side while he wolfed down the contents of the tray. A brimming mug of ale accompanied the meal, and he drank it down in one long gulp.

  Feeling much more human, he pushed the tray aside and decided to test the door. He reached inside his robes to touch his focus stone…only it was missing. Of course, whoever was responsible for his current lodgings had removed any objects of power they had found on his person.

  I have a pretty good idea of who my host is…or hostess. Time to test the theory.

  Mordecai strode over to the door and pulled on the handle. It swung open easily, and he stepped into a verdant green grotto. Bamboo and palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze. Bright parrots and lovebirds flashed from branch to branch, singing to each other. A stream burbled past, cutting the grotto in two. An arched wooden bridge crossed the span, and there, at a small table, sat a woman. On the table sat a pot of tea and two cups. The chair opposite the woman was empty, an invitation to sit implied in its positioning.

  Mordecai sighed. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “Come, join me!” Helga gestured elegantly at the empty chair. “We have much to discuss, Mordecai.”

  Mordecai straightened his robes and then drew himself up to his full six-foot-plus height. She is only a woman, if a godling. It does not make her a god. So what if she is older than you but looks like she is barely out of her teens. So what if she could snuff out your life just by thinking about it. Think, man! Mordecai tucked his hands in the ends of his opposite sleeves, and his face stilled into the tableau of a wise one. His white mustache drooped and curled over his white beard, and his twinkling blue eyes, wrinkled with smile lines, darkened as he approached the woman.

  “Tea? This is the last of my supply of ool
ong from the marshes. This was a particularly good year. I have had this tea for oh…about twenty-five years.” A bitter smile creased her mouth and was gone. “I don’t get out much, as you know, and all of those who would bring me such gifts have…faded from this earth. Mortality ends the most loyal of servants.” She poured tea into his cup and then refilled hers, studying him as he eased himself into the chair opposite her. Her eyes travelled over his wavy white hair and the deep creases and the occasional scar, then drifted down to his hands, thin-skinned and heavily veined. “Age would appear to agree with you, but age, you do. Tell me, Mordecai, what is your plan for immortality? Do you pander to this reincarnation dribble, or do you strive to obtain a higher existence?” She took a sip of tea, sighed with remembered pleasure (for she could not taste it), and then returned the cup to its saucer.

  Mordecai lifted his cup and took a deep draft. The tea was wonderful, full-bodied and fragrant. “Deep questions you ask, right off the top. Philosophers have pondered this question over the ages. In fact, my library back in Cathair is stuffed with volumes by wiser sages than myself. Why, I’d hardly know where to begin with such a subject. May I also compliment you on your apparent good health? I dare say you have not aged a day since we last met, and I was but a child.”

  Helga’s dark eyes narrowed briefly, and then her face smoothed. The subtle reminder, that she was older than he sat like a burr under the saddle of a good horse. She struggled to keep the annoyance from showing on her face. Her lips widened into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

  “Come now, you must have some theories of what immortality really looks like, immortality as enjoyed by the gods? For me, I have as close to immortality as one can have on this rock, but you?” Her eyes swept over him once more. “You are aging, Mordecai. Your body decays around you. Even with the fact that your life has been magically elongated due to being a wizard, you too will eventually die. You never married, did you?” She tsked as though he had overlooked the obvious solution. “No heirs? No one to carry on the wizarding gene? A trifle absent-minded, were we? What have you been doing all these years if not working on a way to elongate your mortal existence?”