Soulseeker

  The grass tickled his nose and he sneezed, before growling and snatching the offending object from his opponent.

  Hamon laughed, soft and low, his chuckle making Rian shiver. “What a fierce little sandcat you are. All teeth and claws.” He reached out and gently stroked over his cheek. “Until you forget what you are and begin to purr.”

  The tone was teasing and light, but the heat in those brown eyes…

  Hamon leaned closer and Rian felt his breath cease, his eyes widen.

  He should push the man back, he should roll away, he should…

  Hamon’s lips were gentle, so light and soft against Rian’s. No pressure, no force. Rian took a deep breath again, found himself pressing back, opening his mouth.

  A tongue traced his lips, as though tasting, savoring. Rian could taste the other man now too, strange, tantalizing.

  The wonder of it took him aback, then realization came to the fore and he began to tense…

  Hamon drew back, a little more solemn now, as though he had felt Rian’s reaction and respected it.

  The Hawk leader licked his lips and hummed, the smile returning. A very bad smile that made Rian flush to the tips of his toes.

  “You are sweet to the taste, little prince.”

  He rose to his feet then, giving Rian distance before offering his hand to rise.

  Rian stared at that hand before sliding his own into that powerful grasp and being tugged to his feet.

  Hamon took note that the prince seemed very much subdued that night.

  Upon returning to the camp, everyone was equally quiet, exhausted and ready for a good sleep, but the boy seemed more deep in thought than tired.

  As the evening entered true night and deep darkness fell outside their well-lit pavilion, Rian leaned close to Telan, and they spoke softly at some length. Hamon felt a surge of completely unjustifiable jealousy. The strength of it shocked him into retreat.

  He had to remember who this prince was. He should be nothing beyond a hope for his country, for his people. Friends perhaps, at most. Nothing that could possibly warrant this surge of feeling.

  Yet he found he did not like being on the outside of the conversation. That only worsened when Rian looked up, meeting his gaze squarely, as though he had felt the intensity of his stare. To his surprise, Rian did not glance away as he usually did, but met him look for look, almost as though he were searching Hamon’s eyes for something, searching…

  Whatever it might be, the prince seemed to find it, because seconds later, he stood, Telan following closely as always. He gestured to Hamon to follow. The Hawks stood slowly, looking questioningly at Hamon, who could only shrug his shoulders.

  They filed out into the torch-lit pathways that led between long rows of tents and followed Telan and Rian, pulling closer together at this change of both behavior and venue. Hamon felt the familiar safety of them at his back, as they passed through the strangely quiet encampment.

  True, it was late, but usually there was music here and there, laughter, talk. Perhaps the rambunctious afternoon had tired most to the point of early sleep. Certainly Hamon felt he could seek his bed quite willingly. Especially if a certain young man were upon it.

  He cursed under his breath, shaking his head. This odd obsession with Rian was only strengthening, despite his resistance. It was becoming rather concerning.

  He glanced at Wravon, who strode at his side, one hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes quick and analyzing all around them, ever ready to defend his cousin.

  Hamon felt warmth rise within him, doubts settling into controllable amounts. Now, more than ever, he fully appreciated the bonds the Hawks shared, having viewed Rian’s isolation, with none but Telan and Zacar at his side. He could not imagine the loneliness of such an existence. His family, whom he often fought to be free of, now seemed a haven of sanity and love, true caring.

  The eerie silence of the camp provided a surreal backdrop to the sound of their footsteps, and it was almost with relief when they reached the inner ring of guards, hidden in the darkness, alert and vigilant. They nodded to their commander and his entourage, hiding any curiosity they might feel at this late night excursion.

  The outer sentries at the camp’s extreme edge were more concerned, offering to accompany them into the darkness, but Rian merely gestured at Telan and then the Hawks, quirking a brow as he did so.

  They got the point, albeit reluctantly. Hamon sensed that they would be waiting for the slightest sign they might be needed, their worry over Rian obvious and rather heartwarming.

  As they left the camp behind and night enveloped them, he could not help but wonder what this could possibly be about.

  Telan now led the way, and his night vision must be extraordinary indeed, because he strode without hesitation, directly away from all sense and sound of the camp.

  Hamon was impressed. Telan and the young prince were nearly as silent as the Hawks themselves. It roused his curiosity as to Rian’s training and martial abilities. Perhaps tomorrow he could arrange practice for his men and attempt to coax both Telan and Rian to join them.

  The prince was such an oddity. Seeming so fragile and yet with such inner strength and purpose. It was clear that many had seen only the fragility and looked no further. If Hamon had learned anything at all, it was that such a thing was a mistake.

  The darkness pressed in more closely, all the night creatures falling silent at their passage. Hamon felt his senses go on alert, feeling energy rising…

  The spirits here were becoming stronger, as though drawn to Rian’s presence, and as they walked, faint glimmers began to appear, floating close to the prince, who walked on without pause.

  Their energy, though, was clear and potent to the Zala, and they watched intently, awe and burgeoning hope mixed in equal measure.

  The faint glimmers grew stronger, brighter, until shifting, wispy forms became visible, glimpses of facial features that appeared, only to fade away moments later, leaving a person unsure of whether what they thought they had seen was indeed true.

  Rian seemed to ignore them for the most part as they darted about him, as though his presence gave them form and energy.

  It seemed a long time until they stopped within a small clearing, and the prince patted Telan’s arm and stepped away. He moved some distance from them all before stopping and turning back to face them.

  Hamon could see the tension in the lean body, his features now revealed in the spirit’s growing light. He became aware that whatever this young man’s abilities were with spirits, he was in no way comfortable with those same talents. It made him realize that perhaps Rian had good reason to avoid believing he was a soulseeker.

  Hamon had never considered that these foreigners could possibly find those of the otherworld disturbing. The consideration that Rian had been made to feel that his priceless god-given gift was something shameful was a horror almost as great as his physical abuse.

  Wravon pressed close against Hamon’s right side, excitement and wonder evident in his increased breathing, the way his fingers squeezed Hamon’s bicep almost painfully.

  He could feel the others lean close, their intent energy flowing over him to mingle with his own.

  Rian stood motionless, spirit light casting his features into something otherworldly, his eyes closed, one hand held loosely at his side, fingers spread wide.

  The spirits and their presence became stronger, more solid, and whispers began to ride on the wind, voices, words, so many and so desperate.

  Rian’s body arched, his face contorting as though their pain was his own.

  He reached out as though to comfort them, but then a light bloomed around him, powerful, stronger than the others, large and looming. It intensified, rising behind him, dwarfing both Rian and the other spirits, who darted away as though they feared this being. They floated just out of range, obviously drawn to Rian but blatantly avoiding whatever being stood in his shadow.

  A wraith.

  A spirit so powerful in life t
hat in death it became able to manifest more fully than a normal ghost ever could. Able to aid those still alive—or harm in equal measure.

  Something to respect—and avoid.

  And yet, Rian stood in its presence without visible harm.

  It glowed more than the other ghosts, a stronger green color to its energy, while the lesser ghosts held a bluish tint to their light. Its features were too blurred to make out, and its size seemed to fluctuate swiftly, almost as though emotions fuelled its physical dimensions.

  It alone seemed able to actually touch Rian. As it almost engulfed the prince, Hamon could see Rian shudder at its touch, its energy flaring as it joined with his.

  Hamon stepped forward, concern rising, only for Telan to block him with one powerful arm.

  “Leave him be. The wraith means him no harm. You, it would kill in the guise of protecting him.”

  Hamon halted, though his lips drew back in an aggravated snarl. “Protect? Then why does it not attack Arran, stop his atrocities?”

  “Because Rian blocks it.” Telan’s voice held a weary cant to it, as though this subject was old and worn thin with discussion. “The wraith is Rian’s twin brother, Valen.”

  Hamon froze, the other Hawks staring from Telan back to the tableau of living brother and dead.

  To lose a brother—worse yet, a twin. A soul bond. The pain both must endure, trapped on opposite sides of the mortal plane, never able to reconnect those ties.

  Hamon eyed Telan questioningly.

  “Rian hardly remembers his twin. His mother took Valen when they were only five, fled the country, leaving Arran and Rian behind. Twelve years later, their father finally tracked her down and in his insane rage, killed both her and his son. The wraith appeared six months after the boy’s murder and has been with Rian ever since.”

  Wravon stared out at Rian, a frown creasing his brow as he watched. “The prince does not seem pleased at his twin’s presence.”

  Telan’s lips thinned, his expression closing off, his head shaking. It was clear he would share no more.

  Rian felt the chill of the wraith’s embrace, his sense of the world around him fading into the background, until the spirit world was the only reality he could grasp. It was always disorienting, but not quite as terrifying as it had seemed at first, so long ago.

  He opened his eyes at last, refusing to acknowledge the form that pressed close against him, the cold fading abruptly, as though the wraith was feeding him energy, as though it still held life and body.

  Instead, he peered into the strange off-color light of this place, at the ghosts who hovered anxiously just out of reach. Here, in their own realm, the feeling of need was overwhelming, and he sought to give aid in whatever form he could.

  He beckoned them closer, leaning out of the wraith’s influence, snapping at it when it tried to follow.

  The ghosts twined with each other, nervous energy apparent, before the bravest slowly approached. Some of them seemed almost whole, unmarked, while others displayed the marks of their death, as though they held the event close, unable to move past it.

  Rian felt small swirls of thoughts that were not his own. Memories. Lives. Deaths. Each held their own reasons for remaining in this place of nothingness, when most souls passed through and on to the embrace of the gods.

  Disbelief of the afterlife, shame of life deeds, inability to move beyond the horror or injustice of their death, refusal to leave behind loved ones; a multitude of reasons, thoughts, and consequences created a ghost.

  Rian had found that he could hold no judgment over what he saw and felt from them. It did not matter what they had done, or what had been done to them, he only knew the wrongness of their presence here. This place, this realm, held no energy to sustain the souls, and with time, they would fade and eventually cease to be, a horror he could not abide.

  Here, he forgot about Hamon and the others, forgot he had an audience, forgot everything but the need to save them, guide them home.

  Yet he did not know how.

  He could receive the images they sent him, feel the emotions they projected, but he had no knowledge of how to proceed further, and it made him half mad with need.

  They came to him for help, and like the useless being he was, he could do nothing.

  Frustration overwhelmed him then, and he cried out, falling to his knees as all energy left him, as the wraith yanked him out of the otherworld and back to stark reality.

  The light around Rian flared into incredible brightness for the briefest of moments, and then faded abruptly. Rian fell to his knees, his good hand braced on the ground, panting, tears running down his face.

  The wraith was gone.

  Telan leaped forward, Hamon hard on his heels.

  Rian blinked against the filtered light of the pavilion. His head felt heavy, his body lethargic, and he groaned, trying to push it all away.

  As always, after dealing with the otherworld, his head throbbed in counterpoint to his heartbeat, making him feel ill.

  He rolled to his good shoulder, curling in on himself, unable to deal with anything else.

  A sense of failure swamped him. He was not this “soulseeker” the Hawks spoke of. He was nothing at all. He harmed others with this fantasy of worth and ability. He could not do what they needed, could not give them what they sought.

  Conversely, he did not know how to stop the ghosts from coming.

  The pain in his head increased, making him whimper, one hand covering his skull in a vain attempt to ease the agony.

  A soft murmur, a warm hand against his forehead. The pressure increased for a brief moment, then blessed relief as energy surged through him and out, leaving his poor body limp in the aftermath.

  The voice was gentle, repeating something over and over, a chant perhaps?

  Whatever it was, it was a blessing as far as Rian was concerned. He lay limply, letting the warmth move through him, feeling cleansed in its wake.

  He had no idea how much time passed before he found the strength to crack open one eyelid and meet Hamon’s concerned gaze.

  The Hawk leader bent closer and laid gentle lips upon Rian’s own before straightening back into his chair, one hand lightly carding through Rian’s hair, trying to smooth what was, no doubt, a tangled mess.

  Rian attempted a faint smile, but it was lopsided at best.

  “Thank you,” he croaked, hoarse as a crow.

  Hamon found a small grin of his own. “That was some display, my prince.”

  Rian felt a shiver of pleasure run down his spine. My prince. It was intimate, almost meaningful. He wished he had more thought process to make sense of it.

  He flushed, wondering how much of a fool he had looked the night before, how weak they now must think him.

  No more.

  He reached out and grasped Hamon’s forearm.

  “Teach me. Show me what it means to be a soulseeker.”

  Hamon’s eyes lit to fire.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hamon walked through the spirit plane to meet his father. The difficulty of this would make him weak for some time after, but this was too important, too vital to the future, to do it any other way.

  “My son.” His father was indistinct here, as was Hamon himself. Only part of their soul could spirit walk, the rest of them back in reality, guarded closely while they were helpless.

  “Father,” he clasped his hand over his heart in a traditional, respectful greeting.

  His father was tall, broad-shouldered, powerful even in his late sixties. A force to be reckoned with by both friend and foe.

  Hamon felt a pang of want. They could not touch here, could not embrace as he so wanted, needed.

  He blinked back sudden, unwelcome tears. He was a man now, no boy to need support, yet the feeling was almost overwhelming. He went to one knee in sudden worship, looking down to hide his emotion.

  “My boy…” His father’s voice was gentler than he had ever heard it, the tone fond and warm. “Rise now. Tell me wh
at great need you come with, to speak with me in a such a fashion.”

  Hamon knew they had little time to remain here. The price was too high, the recovery time long.

  He looked up. “I have found the soulseeker.”

  His words seemed to resonate in this place, to hang in the air as almost physical entities.

  His father smiled then, slow and proud, and Hamon wanted to hold this moment forever.

  * * *

  Rian paced restlessly, concern rising. It had been a full day since Hamon had entered the spirit plane, and still he had not returned to his body.

  The Hawks were calm. They kept close to their leader’s motionless body, and they were alert, watching every movement of those around them, but there did not seem to be any true concern.

  To Rian, the time passed agonizingly slowly. The results of this day would determine a new path for him. If the high chieftain believed and did not scoff at the notion of a foreigner possessing such a talent.

  Zacar grasped his hand and drew him to a chair, scolding him until he finally ate something. His friend did not leave, but sat beside him, holding his hand tightly without saying anything at all.

  Rian squeezed back, thankful for the silent support.

  It was both frightening and exhilarating that the Hawks had believed him and now sought the knowledge he would need to step into this ancient role. Their matter-of-fact acceptance made his own nerves a little less, his hope a little more.

  Maybe the two things were actually one. His ghosts, their ghosts. Maybe he could help both.

  His rising anticipation was chilled every time he thought of Arran’s reaction, if he should discover what they were about to do. It had been made very, very clear to him by his father, that his abilities were not acceptable, evil, frightening.

  But when he was with the ghosts, it did not feel that way at all. It felt right and good.

  He shivered. Arran would never accept this. Yet another thing he must hide, another layer of deceit he must maintain. He was so weary of it, as though a part of him had come to life and now clamored to be free. He scoffed at himself. As though freedom would ever be a part of his existence.