Parasite Soul

by Jags, Chris

  While the official tried to quieten the crowd, Simon’s blood slowly began to boil.

  That was my kill, he seethed. This should be my credit, these people should be assembled to see me. To step forward and claim as much was certain death, but Simon couldn’t control his resentment. He shoved the startled woman with the bustle aside and pushed through the crowd as the official recommenced his speech.

  “With their union,” the gold-clad functionary continued, an octave higher than before. “The kingdom of Cannevish will be strengthened against the opportunistic.” He raised his hands as several foreigners booed and yelled. One of the younger soldiers fingered his sword uneasily. “The heirs of Prince Stallix and Princess Tiera will rule a united kingdom…”

  Simon heard little of the rest of the speech. The crowd was growing restless, their mood turning ugly. News this momentous was bound to provoke turmoil. The people would learn to accept it, but not today. He wanted to be away from the square before a twitchy guard or incensed citizen sparked an outburst of mob violence.

  Well, he thought bitterly as he wove and elbowed his way toward the perimeter of the square, it isn’t everyone who can say that their greatest, unacknowledged personal triumph has the potential to throw the kingdom into a state of upheaval.

  He caught a few snippets of the official’s continuing announcements before the man was shouted down and, ringed by guards, beat a hasty retreat from the stage. The dragon’s head would be displayed in Vingate in three days’ time, he learned; the Princess would officially announce her engagement at that time. The rest was a blur. He was so annoyed - at himself, at Cannevish justice - that he hardly remembered how he made it back to the Nameless Nymph’s stableyard.

  Niu was waiting for him. She looked anxious but pleased. Two strong horses had been harnessed to the cart, which was now full of sacks, perhaps of grain or flour. Jock was perched atop a nearby fence, legs swinging idly.

  “This is good,” Niu said, pulling her hood back. “Leaving town should be fairly simple.”

  “Yup,” Jock contributed. “The soldiers have their hands full; they’ll be on alert for trouble with the locals and less inclined to pay attention to outbound traffic.”

  “Good,” said Simon sourly, only half-listening.

  Niu opened her cloak. His eyes darting between tantalizing stretches of bare skin, Simon didn’t understand what she was showing him at first; was she making some awkward attempt to seduce him? That didn’t seem in character; Simon didn’t get the impression that she the slightest attraction to him. He had to remind himself that the people of Jynn were much less modest; she was showing him something else. With his mind now set on the correct track, he was able to discern that the kitchen knife was gone; in its place, a pair of daggers glinted at her hip. Right: she’d gone to purchase weapons. He couldn’t quite repress a surge of disappointment.

  “I am ready for this, I think,” she said. She pointed at the back of the cart. “I did not know what you might find agreeable.”

  Feeling foolish, Simon moved across to the cart where his gift awaited and glared at it. She’d bought him a short sword, small and light enough for Simon to feel mildly insulted. Honestly, it wasn’t significantly bigger than the daggers she’d selected for herself. Did she not think he could handle anything larger?

  Niu caught his shadowed expression as he turned it this way and that. He’d played with heavier sticks as a child.

  “You did not want to shop with me,” she said defensively. “I did not know what to choose.”

  “I like it,” Simon lied gruffly as he hitched the scabbard to his belt. “Shall we be on our way?”

  “Good idea.” Jock hopped down from the fence and walked briskly toward them. “Daylight’s wasting. It’s going to be a long trip, so if your bladders are up to it…”

  “I am fine, I think,” Niu said.

  “As am I.” Simon thumbed the back of the cart. “But there’s nowhere to hide. Tell me we aren’t expected to climb into a bag.”

  Jock smirked. “Much better.” He beckoned them back around the back of the cart and squatted there, gesturing underneath it. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Simon crouched apprehensively beside the gangly youth and peered between the wheels. His frown immediately deepened.

  “No,” he said firmly, rising.

  Jock chuckled. “It’s a smuggling compartment. Not very roomy, I grant you, but none of those metal-plated halfwits have ever discovered it. And they never will, unless you do something stupid, like coughing or sneezing while we’re at the checkpoint. Don’t do that and we’re free and clear.”

  “I’m not climbing in there.” Simon folded his arms. A cold sweat beaded on his brow at the very thought. He’d always been claustrophobic, ever since his fifth summer, when his cousin Dannon and his friends had crammed him headfirst into a hollow log. “It’s a coffin.”

  “Smuggling compartment,” Jock repeated. “It’s all the same to me, mate. I’m not refunding your coin.”

  “I will go first,” Niu said anxiously, joining them.

  “It’s a death trap, N… Aletta,” Simon corrected himself just in time. “We’d be at his mercy. He could package us up and take us straight to the guard, neat as you please.”

  “Bad business practice, that.” Jock said casually. “’Sides, I don’t deal with the law. I’d get my throat cut if I was seen cozying up to those pigs.”

  Simon took a steadying breath. The log. The dragon’s cave, the wendigo’s lair. He was sick to death of constricted, dark spaces, and the thought of being trapped beneath the carriage for the many miles it would take until they passed safely into Northern Cannevish was decidedly unpleasant. He didn’t remotely trust Jock, but Niu seemed prepared to go through with this plan, and he was determined to show at least as much courage as she did.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “Fine.”

  Jock clapped him on the shoulder, an unwelcome touch, and reached under the cart to unlatch a hatch.

  “In you go,” he grinned.

  Simon balked a moment longer, then, collecting his wits and his nerve, he crawled under the cart and, squeezing his eyes shut, squirmed into the hatch. There was very little room to maneuver. He wriggled along on the floorboards with gritted teeth, his hair and shoulders brushing the bowed ceiling. All the while, urgently and insistently, his mind screamed I’m trapped, I’m trapped, I’m trapped. He scraped his left knee as he shuffled forward, fingers questing blindly ahead of him until at length his entire body was lodged inside the compartment.

  Being buried alive, he thought miserably, trying to control his trembling. This is what that would feel like. This was where his childish desire to impress Niu had led him. Entombed here with his fears, he even began to wonder how far he could trust her. Twisting his head to the right, he took a steadying breath and opened his eyes.

  Two dark eyes stared back at him.

  Simon screamed and tried to jump to his feet, with the result that he banged his head violently and slumped to the boards, dazed. Through the ringing in his head, he heard a dry chuckle from Jock. A cool hand touched his cheek.

  “Relax,” Sasha whispered. “I told you I was coming with you.”

  “Are you alright?” Niu called.

  When he could speak, Simon ignored Niu, directing his venom toward Sasha, who regarded him impassively.

  “What in Vanyon’s name… what are you doing in here? Why… why aren’t you riding up above, with Jock?”

  “I like it in here,” Sasha answered tonelessly. “It’s cool and dark.”

  “You crawled in here intentionally?” Simon’s voice was rising to a hysterical pitch. With no change in expression, Sasha reached out and flicked him in the lips. If nothing else, Simon was surprised enough to stop yelling.

  “Shh,” the girl admonished. “If you must scream, turn your head. Your breath is like sour blood.”

  Simon stared at her in disbelief. He opened his mouth to chastise her further, then cl
amped it shut again, suddenly self-conscious about his exhalations.

  Niu was struggling up along his left side. Being slighter than he was, she was having an easier time of it, but she managed to kick his shins once or twice before she’d gotten herself settled.

  “Sorry,” she said. Perhaps it was the lighting, but she didn’t look well. As though to justify her decision, she continued: “This is a good idea, though. This will ensure us safe passage.”

  “If you say so.” Simon was angry with her, with Sasha and Jock, with King Minus and his daughter, and the world at large. Never before had he hated his life quite so much. Still, Niu’s sudden apparent ill-health tempered his anger with concern. “Are you alright?”

  “Fine, fine,” she replied briskly. “I experienced some pain in my chest just a moment ago, but it has passed. No doubt I was nervous. Do not concern yourself. This trip will be a success. When we arrive, you will see.”

  Simon turned his head to look at her; she lay only inches away. Her eyes were searching his face anxiously, looking for reassurance that she’d made the correct decision. He hadn’t seen her so apprehensive before, and softened slightly.

  “I suppose if Jock were planning to betray us,” he said slowly, calming, “Sasha wouldn’t be in here with us.”

  “Unless it was me you should be worried about,” Sasha added solemnly. “I might be planning to eat you both.”

  Simon didn’t know what to say to that. It was going to be a long ride.

  Jock slammed the hatch shut and, by the sound of it, vaulted into his seat at the front of the cart. Niu’s face disappeared in the sudden blackness. Simon fought a fresh urge to panic, and concentrated on a fissure in the boards beneath him through which he could see the cobbles. Moments later, following the crack of a whip, the cart lurched forward and they were on their way.

  Two turns later, it became apparent to Simon that he was going to arrive at their destination battered and sore. The cart rattled over potholes and into ruts indifferent to its soft, breathing cargo. The third time Simon’s chin met the boards with an alarming crack, he joked humorlessly that he would, at least, have a bruise to match the lump on his head.

  “I don’t bruise,” said Sasha.

  “Right,” said Simon, who regretted speaking at all. Best to ignore the girl; perhaps she would stop bothering him.

  “I don’t,” she repeated. “Hit me. You’ll see.”

  Simon pulled a face. “I’m not going to hit you.”

  “I don’t bruise,” she continued, “Because I’m dead.”

  Simon choked on his own saliva. Even Niu made a strangled noise.

  “Wh…what?” he stammered, turning his head. The girl was just a black shape now, only her eyes glinting by the light of the fissure. Simon recalled how cool her touch had been and a terrible chill of realization clutched his spine.

  “Dead,” Sasha repeated. “Like you will be one day. Maybe today. Maybe not.”

  “What do you mean, you are dead?” Niu whispered.

  “Well, I’m a bruxa, aren’t I?”

  “I do not know what that is.” The trepidation in Niu’s tone made it clear that she didn’t want to. Simon, unfortunately, was well-versed in Cannevish folklore. Every child in the kingdom had endured fireside tales about these creatures. Stomach churning, he shuffled away from her as best he could, but the cold truth was if she wanted to kill him, there was no possibility of escaping her.

  “A vampire,” he said, his throat constricting. “Not the regular kind. An extra-powerful kind created by witchcraft.”

  “Yes. My mother’s the witch,” Sasha told them. “She’s dull, though. She’s very particular about my not leaving the inn.”

  Simon didn’t much care about a bruxa’s family life. “Are you going to kill us?”

  Sasha thought about that. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I ate last night. One of mother’s customers refused to pay his tab.”

  Simon moaned. There was no possible way this day could get any worse.

  “You are…” Niu hissed in his ear. “Squishing me.”

  “Sorry.” In his haste to retreat from Sasha, Simon had flattened Niu against the wall of the compartment. He repositioned himself so that the handmaiden had wiggle room, but couldn’t bring himself to shift much closer to the bruxa. Within the compartment silence fell, bringing the clattering of the wheels, the clopping of hooves, and semi-distant shouts from the marketplace into sharp focus. Simon might have wondered if the people of Vanyon’s Parade were keeping themselves in check or whether a riot was likely to ensue, but the dead girl to his right commanded most of his attention.

  “Is your name really Arles?” Sasha asked at length as the cart started downslope, causing Simon to bump his already damaged head on the front of the compartment.

  “Yes,” said Simon through his teeth.

  “I drank a man named Arles once.”

  “My name is Simon, actually,” he amended hastily. Niu elbowed him.

  “Simon,” Sasha mused. “I’ve never killed a Simon.”

  “So… your mother is a witch,” Niu interjected hastily. “Do you know any magic, Sasha?”

  “Yes,” the girl said. “I can make corpses dance.”

  Simon heard Niu’s lips smack as she opened them then shut them again.

  Shortly thereafter, the cart began to slow. Simon heard voices, sharp demands for Jock to pull over. The youth complied. Simon held his breath, unsure whether he was more afraid of the soldiers or the thing next to him. Would Jock betray them? He didn’t know, but felt small, lost and sick at heart as he waited to find out. Niu, detecting his fear, took his hand and squeezed. Her touch revived him. Had she attempted to retract her hand, he would have refused to let go.

  “Where are you headed and what is your cargo?” Rumbled a bass voice.

  “Dullahan’s Grave, to sell millet and rye,” Jock answered easily. Simon questioned why he’d chosen that blighted town as his cover story’s destination, but was grateful he hadn’t settled on Brand.

  The solider grunted. “You won’t mind if we check your cargo, then.”

  “I won’t mind so long as you don’t do it damage.” Jock’s cheeky tone suggested that he was enjoying himself.

  Makes one of us, Simon thought, then remembered Sasha. Well, possibly two.

  Tense minutes passed as the guard rifled through the contents of the cart, with Jock occasionally protesting their intrusions for the sake of theater. Simon fought to repress a cough, the itch of which hadn’t germinated until he’d begun thinking how important it was not to. Eventually, to his utter disbelief, the soldiers cleared Jock and the cart rattled onward.

  “I told you,” Niu whispered, and shook her sweaty hand free.

  A few uncomfortable, silent miles down the road, Jock pulled over. Simon’s heart thundered as he wondered what the youth might be up to. When a sudden shafts of daylight striped the compartment, it took Simon a moment to realize that the hatch had been unlatched.

  “Nobody around for miles,” Jock called. “You lot may as well come out and stretch your legs for a bit before the next checkpoint.”

  “I’ll stay here, I think,” Sasha said.

  Simon couldn’t escape the stifling little deathtrap fast enough. He stood blinking and stretching in the glorious sunlight, soaking it in gratefully as he drank in the steep forested walls of the valley as they rose to stark, snowy peaks. Almost home.

  Niu followed him out with a little more composure.

  “How far is it to the next checkpoint?” she asked.

  “Several miles,” Jock answered vaguely. “Ride in the back until we get close, if you like.”

  “I would like,” said Simon fervently.

  The remainder of their passage through the valley passed agreeably enough. With the King’s soldiers concentrated on the northern and southern checkpoints, there was no guard presence. The mountains flanking them were majestic and beautiful
, if a trifle oppressive for a youth who’d grown up on the prairies. A few tiny hamlets hugged the slopes, their occupants tending to small farms. Occasionally a flock of sheep would block the road; Jock would yell at them and crack his whip until they trundled on their way, but that was the height of their difficulties. Whatever had ailed Niu seemed to have passed. When it came time for she and Simon and to crawl back into the smuggling compartment, as unenthused about rejoining Sasha as he was, Simon did so without complaint. He was reasonably confident that if Jock had planned to betray them, he would have done so already.

  The trip took most of the day. The light was fast fading before the soldiers manning the northern checkpoint gave the contents of the cart a cursory glance and waved it through, satisfied that Jock had already contended with a south gate inspection. A mile or so later, Jock released Simon from the smuggling compartment for what he sincerely hoped was the last time. This time, Sasha also emerged, pale and glum as ever but mildly curious about her surroundings.

  Past the mountain range which bisected the kingdom – known to Simon and most rural northerners The Banshee’s Teeth, but as the Earthbreak by their southern neighbors – the land was flat and fertile. Diminishing tracts of forest retreated before ever-encroaching farmland; the lumber was shipped primarily to Vingate. Visitors found northern Cannevish quaint and rustic, a monotonous land of fields and farms. Following Simon’s unpleasant excursion into the southland, he found the tranquility to be incredibly soothing. Quiet little farmsteads dotted about a peaceful countryside were a balm for his soul, and he wondered why he’d ever wanted to leave.

  It was the damn sword, he thought. It changed me. Holding it made me think I could be something I am not. As foolish as it sounds, that sword was responsible for all of this. Then, after some further introspection and with a hint of embarrassment, Alright, Simon. You can’t blame your follies on an inanimate object. It’s not as though that silly shortsword Niu bought gave you delusions of grandeur. You just thought you could be more than a peasant. Now you know better.