“You feel too sorry for yourself. Take some of your power back.” Bahram secures his hair in a knot behind his head, a playful grin growing on his face. “Pick it up.”
TRIGINTA QUINQUE
Erim has never lacked imagination, but he could never have foreseen the horrific fallout of Esht’s new game.
Erim called a convocation immediately to warn the Soul Keepers, but there was nothing for anyone to do. All agreed that telling the citizens would lead to futile mass panic. Still, Erim evacuated Aquae that first night, spreading his citizens out among the other terrarums. He spent the night walking through Aquae’s eerily deserted grounds with his scythe. The emptiness settled a new kind of despair in him. It was the first time in history that a terrarum lay vacant, showing the potency of Esht’s antagonism. He kept his word despite Erim’s best efforts that night, killing an Aquaen woman hiding in Herbas.
After Aquae, it was Harenarum then Lapidis, Nubibus, and so on. Esht’s mind, however deranged, still managed to remain on schedule, night after night. A pattern even began to emerge as he attacked terrarums in their creation order. Erim figures it’s a tactic to build dread and maximize fear; each terrarum can anticipate exactly the night of its reckoning.
In the early days, some Soul Keepers collected all their citizens in one open area for the night to keep track of everyone. It didn’t stop Esht; he actually prefers an audience and even got the added satisfaction of traumatizing everyone forced to watch. Once people realized the pattern, they abandoned their terrarums on their scheduled night. But that didn’t save them either.
Now, Soul Keepers instruct souls to remain in their dorms, and roll call is taken in the morning to see who was taken that night. Erim can’t fathom how the souls can maintain faith in their leaders anymore. New souls arriving in The Midst can’t be promised security or peace anymore. They are confused and frightened by the world they’ve entered, making all their transitions much more difficult.
Last night was Aquae’s second turn. Erim put Ben with Charlotte and Dmitri and spent the entire night walking back and forth along the dormitory hall. He was certain that if he saw Esht, he could provoke him enough to be dissipated instead of someone else. Erim never got the chance. The night never stirred.
This morning, Albert was the only one unaccounted for. Erim found his dorm splattered with essentia, nothing but a small pile of ash to prove that he ever existed.
Now Erim sets his sights on the NeoRealm, determined to get more information from the boy. Ben tags along, of course. She always seems to know when he’s going. “Did you get any sleep last night?” she asks, staring at him with uncharacteristic worry.
“Did you?” Erim counters. She doesn’t answer.
As they approach the room where the boy’s being held, Caretaker Pavin swivels in front of him, blocking the door. Erim tries a deep, calming breath before saying, “I’m going in there.”
“Absolutely not.” Pavin scoffs.
“I wasn’t asking, Pavin.”
Erim has never understood how Pavin’s face can have so many frown lines with only twenty physical years. “He should be passed on to Sisiro,” Pavin says, lifting his lip into a sneer. “We don’t need his disorder here.”
“I’m not going to send him to Obscuri. He’s just a kid,” Erim annunciates slowly. “Now move. You do not want to test me today.”
“Or what?” Pavin scowls. “You going to hurt me, Erim? Prove again to everyone what a disgrace you are?” His mouth twists into a smug grin.
Erim’s hands ache to oblige him. But he leans back on his heels, letting out a slow breath. “No, Pavin, of course, I’m not going to do that.” He steps back, revealing the real threat. “But I can’t speak for her.” Ben waves sweetly at Pavin. “Chock full of teen angst, rage issues, and nothing to lose. Also, she’s got a particular vendetta against bullies.”
Pavin’s smile fades as he glares at Ben. “You’ve always been a stinking stain on this establishment, Erim.” He slinks aside.
“Then I guess I did learn one thing from you, Pavin.”
Erim opens the door to the lesson room. It’s flooded with light. This room is the brightest of any, yet the tapestries adorning the wall haven’t faded since he was little. They are only a vague background in Erim’s memories, but he’s grown to appreciate their intricacy. The vibrant threads are thick, woven into colorful landscapes of simple childhood bliss. One depicts a well-tended garden full of playing children. The tapestry’s true purpose of illustrating idyllic behavior is subtle; a child sharing an apple, another clearly distressed at their fallen friend. Their actions match the lessons taught within the walls they adorn.
The boy is curled up in the tiniest shape in the corner, whimpering. Pavin wanted him tied up, but Erim convinced Jude not to. The boy hasn’t been in any state to cooperate since he arrived; he just cries and shakes in the shadows. Erim isn’t surprised, given who dropped him off.
Erim approaches slowly at first, but the caution is unnecessary; the boy’s hands remain sealed over his eyes. His clothes are just scraps on him, filthy and torn. His sandy blonde hair is darkened with grime, his toes bare and black with soil.
Erim sits on the floor close to him. “Hi there.” The boy jumps at the proximity of Erim’s voice. “My name is Erim. What’s yours?” he asks softer. The boy’s eyes crack open. He gasps and clamps them shut again. His thin wrists pound on his temples, sandwiching his contorted face. A groan slips through his gritted teeth.
Erim looks around the room for a remedy to the boy’s discomfort. He drags the wide rug across the floor and pulls it up over one of the group tables. He takes the boy by the shoulders, startling him and setting off another round of panicked cries. Erim seats him under the covered table, a layer of dark dust coming off on his hands. “This should be better,” he says. “Try opening your eyes again.” The boy winces before peeking an eye open, expecting pain. He blinks both eyes open in the dimness, in wonder at the relief. “What’s your name?”
The boy studies him silently, pulling his bony knees up to his chest. “Gilman, sir,” he whispers.
“Just Erim,” Erim reminds him, pointing to his chest. “What terrarum are you from, Gilman?” Gilman tucks his chin down, eyeing Erim cautiously. His eyes are wide against the darkness, confused. He doesn’t seem to know. “What about how long you’ve been in The Midst?”
“In the midst of what?” Gilman asks.
Erim keeps his internal shock muted, deciding to switch gears. “Who was the man who brought you here?”
“M’lord.” Gilman’s face scrunches up like he might cry. “I must have displeased him terribly.”
“How do you know him?” Erim asks. Gilman pulls back, his eyes narrowing, hesitant to say any more. “We’re going to keep you safe.” Erim knows it’s an impossible promise, but that doesn’t seem as important as calming him now. Gilman doesn’t look like he believes him, smarter than Erim gave him credit for. He needs to try another approach. “He wants you to learn, right? Well, the only way we can teach you is if we know where you’ve come from. You’re doing exactly what he told you.” Gilman seems to consider this more carefully.
“After m’lord did something bad, Educators were sent to teach him.” Gilman’s breath quickens, and tears brim in his eyes. “Is that what you’re going to do to me?”
Erim’s not sure what Gilman means but is confident the NeoRealm’s education is not the kind he dreads. Gilman looks so fragile that Erim could shatter him with only the wrong word. “No,” Erim says. “We don’t teach those kinds of lessons here.”
Gilman looks up at him with a tentative trust. “I serve m’lord,” he says. “I clean his quarters, bring him food… sometimes.”
Erim nods. “And he took you with him when he escaped?”
Gilman stares at Erim silently. “Escaped?” he finally says. “There was no escape, sir.”
“What do you mean?” Erim watches Gilman fiddle with the small tassels lining the edge of the carpet
.
“M’lord must have finally learned his lesson because he was released.”
Erim thinks for a flash that Gilman must be mistaken. “You saw this?” When Gilman nods, Erim can’t hide his shock. This changes everything. “Who released him?”
“The Ascendant, of course.” Gilman looks puzzled that Erim didn’t know already.
“Who’s that?” Erim asks.
Gilman’s mouth creaks open, but nothing comes out. His head tilts to the side like he’s not sure. “Don’t know how to say, sir. He just is.”
“He’s the one in charge?”
Gilman nods. His word is enough for Erim. There’s only one soul that has the power to release Esht, but the reasoning is inexplicable. Erim will need more information. But for now, Sloane is his main concern. “A friend of mine is missing, a girl with red hair and different colored eyes. Have you seen her with The Ascendant or Esht?”
Gilman thinks hard. “No, sir.”
A soft click brings Erim up from the darkness. Jude stands by the door. “Do you know where he is?” Erim asks Gilman. He shakes his head.
“I’ll be right back,” Erim says. He walks over to Jude, whose brow is wrinkled with worry. “How is everyone?”
“Scared, but everyone’s accounted for.” Jude sighs. “We have all the Neophytes gathered at the Claimant House.”
“We’re lucky he’s left the NeoRealm alone.” Erim nods.
Jude’s eyes shift to Gilman’s little cave. “What are we going to do with him?”
“I think he should stay here,” Erim says.
“Is that really the best idea?” Jude asks. “Caretaker Pavin won’t like it, especially after you just threatened him.” It’s just like Pavin to go gripe about it to Jude.
Erim struggles to restrain a grin. “I hardly threatened him. More like I held him up at Ben-point.” Jude flares him a stern look, and Erim sighs. “The Caretaker title really should be reserved for people who actually take care of their wards, don’t you think?”
Jude rolls his eyes. “You ever consider that he’s never liked you because you never gave him a reason to?”
“Since when do you care for Pavin?” Erim snaps. “I seem to remember you right there next to me that time we put prickle berries on his chair.”
“That was your idea, along with all the others that got me disciplined because I was older.” Jude crosses his arms.
“He’s a bully, and you know it.”
“So, you’re going to leave the boy here just to anger Caretaker Pavin?” Jude demands. “That’s how you lead?”
“No,” Erim says. “I’m leaving him here so he can learn to be a kid, not a slave.”
“And what if Esht comes back and hurts Neos because of him?”
“Esht hurts people regardless of what we do with Gilman,” Erim says. “And he may have information that can help us stop all of this.”
“And who’s going to stop him, you and your missing girlfriend?”
“No, me and the real Soul Keepers,” Erim snaps. Jude seals his lips, his face hardening as his chest lowers slowly. “Jude, I’m sorry.” Erim groans, cursing himself. The mention of Sloane just notched his anger to a whole new level.
Jude shakes his head. “Why be sorry, Erim? You’re the Soul Keeper, right? You know best.” Jude’s words are like bitter bullets. He turns and shoulders the door open, revealing Caretaker Nuella in the hall. The door slams open against the wall, and Jude stalks off.
“C’mon, Jude!” Erim calls.
“Let him go, Erim.” Caretaker Nuella steps in front of him. Erim stares after Jude, fighting the urge to run after him and apologize again. Caretaker Nuella carries a plate of food into the room. “How is our little guest?”
“He’s been a slave for a very long time. He doesn’t know much else.” Erim says. Nuella nods silently, patting Erim on the shoulder. He follows her over to the little fort.
Erim leans down to see Gilman’s small shape crammed into the farthest back corner. “Gilman, this is Caretaker Nuella.”
She bends down to peek under the table. “Hello there, Gilman.” She puts the plate into the shade of his shelter. “Would you like to come out?” He doesn’t budge, his small eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. Erim suspects it’s been a long time since Gilman was given a choice, even one as simple as that. Nuella shrugs. “Very well, it is your choice.” She straightens and walks around the table.
With a swift brush of her hand, the open paints of a nearby table clatter to the floor, gushing colors all over the terra cotta tile. She gasps loudly. “Oh, how clumsy I am. Look at this mess! Erim, dear, will you fetch that towel for me?” A slight movement ruffles the rug over the table as Gilman peeks out. Erim tosses Nuella the towel. Before she can even kneel, Gilman darts out from under the desk, shielding his eyes.
“No, lady! Please let me.” His hand jerks reflexively towards the towel.
Nuella sways back, withholding the towel. “That’s very kind of you, Gilman, but it is my mess. I must clean it.” Gilman stares at her from under his hand, visibly distressed by the idea. “But you may help if you wish,” Nuella says. Gilman gives in, reluctantly, it seems, as Erim quietly takes his leave.
Ben is waiting outside. “Get anything good from the Stockholm syndrome kid?”
“What does Sweden have to do with him?”
“Never mind.” Ben rolls her eyes.
“He doesn’t know where Esht is.” Erim shrugs.
“And you believe him? He could be a spy for all we know.”
“Esht doesn’t need a spy.” Erim shakes his head. “He’s the one holding all the cards.”
Ben can’t counter that, not after last night. “Well, that guy looks like walking cancer—and not cutesy stage one cancer either, more like a juicy Nosferatu stage four type deal.” Ben speeds up, her chunky boots clopping loudly in the ground. “Anywhere he goes, he’ll stick out.”
A small pair of eyes peek out from behind a pillar, slowing Erim. “Gale?” His tone coaxes her to step out. “You’re supposed to be with the others.”
She’s clutching two soft red leaves in her hand. “Paolo said to give these to you to settle his debt.” She holds them out to Ben.
Erim swipes them before she can and crouches to Gale. “You shouldn’t have these.” He gives her a stern look. “Do you know what these are?”
Gale studies them for a moment. “Leaves?” She shrugs.
Erim nods. “If Paolo ever asks you to do something like this again, you tell him I’ll find him.” Gale nods solemnly. “Alright.” Erim stands. “Go on back to the Elder House and don’t leave again. Promise?”
“Promise!” Gale scampers off.
Erim turns to glower at Ben. “What?” She squawks. “How was I supposed to know Paolo’s that stupid?”
“You know what this stuff could do to her.”
Ben rolls her eyes and reaches for the leaves. “Yeah, I get it, Mom.”
“I mean it, Ben.” Erim lifts them out of her reach. “Keep your trade out of the Minor House.”
She jumps up hopelessly at her prize. “I know!” She sighs and looks at him flatly. “Consider my wrist slapped.” Erim nods and lowers them down to her. “She’s a smart kid,” Ben says. “She wouldn’t have touched them.”
“Smarter than me, then,” Erim mutters.
“Well, that’s not a very high bar.” Ben holds the leaves up to the light. “Man, kids can be so unnoticeable when they want to be. They can get away with anything.”
A thought almost stops Erim in his tracks. “I think you might be on to something, squirt.” He grins, shagging up her hair. She swats him away, and he jogs towards the cor.
“Where are you going, you weirdo?” Ben calls.
“Go home. I’ll explain later, but I want to do something first.” Erim gets to the cor, plucks a leaf, and says a name he hasn’t in years, “Obscuri.”
When he looks down, the terrarum’s frame has appeared. A ring of missing eart
h encircles the cor, swallowed up by a sheer black drop. Erim’s been here only a couple times in his youth. It’s an easy way for some Neos to satisfy their rebellious urges. Erim would tag along with older Neos when they came. They would drop sticks and stones down the black chute, and no one ever heard them land. The chasm seemed unending. Erim was always afraid he’d trip in and never stop falling. He’s careful now to watch his footing on the small bridge to the other side.
Obscuri is the only terrarum unavailable to the rest of the souls. Whenever Somboon has news to deliver, Sisiro meets with him here, in the room where the cor is enclosed. It seems to stretch up endlessly, cloaked in darkness. Erim steps up to the tall doors, trying the locked handles. He bangs on them with his fist, then both fists. When none of his knocks are answered, he decides to take a page out of Ben’s book, and batters kick after kick into the heavy wood. Erim knows they can hear him, but he receives no response. Eventually, his fatigued muscles drop him to the ground for a break.
“My guards were concerned that we were under attack, but I assured them that wasn’t the case.” A woman startles him. She’s tall, with silvery blonde hair that falls in long waves over her shoulders. She watches him curiously, hands folded serenely in front of her black dress that flows to the floor.
“Where did you come from?” Erim looks up at her.
“The door you’ve been accosting.” Her gray eyes glint coolly. “I would’ve thought that to be obvious.”
Erim stands. “You’re Stephyn, Sisiro’s aequalis?”
Stephyn slides slender fingers along the door, inspecting it for damage. Erin wishes he’d left some, so he had something to show for his efforts. “Somboon usually knocks,” she says, “politely.”
“I want to speak to Sisiro.” Erim puts his shoulders back to feign authority.
Stephyn’s eyes shift at the name, latching onto Erim. “My husband is unavailable presently. But I am his Auxilium Anima and can help you with whatever you require, Soul Keeper….”
Interitum Page 31