Tangle of Thornes

by Lorel Clayton

  “I killed your heir. There is no going back and no forgiveness.”

  While the argument was illuminating, I was less concerned with Erick and Uncle’s past disagreements and more concerned with escape in the present, so I began to gnaw on my ropes again.

  Bitten Belly appeared beside me. “No!”

  I glared, and the creature trembled from my practiced menace. “You broke your bargain.”

  Erick glanced at us, and the bogle vanished with a yelp, quickly blending with stone and darkness.

  “There is no going back, so let it be done. Eva!” As Erick said my name, he stepped on the line connected to my circle, and my heart began its frenzied dance again.

  Ulric’s brow furrowed. He pressed at the invisible barrier that Erick had trapped him with, but the more he fought, the faster my palpitations. I couldn’t get enough air. I looked into Erick’s sad eyes and knew he would show no mercy. He was a better Solhan than me.

  “Stop this,” Ulric demanded.

  “You’re the one who’s killing her. Surrender, and she lives.”

  “I see past your lies,” my uncle said. “You desire my power, but you need her soul.”

  In a few moments, I would be dead and then Erick would move on to the others. I slumped forward, unable to hold myself up anymore.

  My hair parted for an invisible form. The bogle was next to my face. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him and hear him. “I no break bargain,” he said. He grunted and wiggled in closer. Small claws and dry hands rubbed at the charcoal marks across my breast. “Play dead.”

  When the symbols were destroyed, I felt my connection to the spell severed. It stopped pulling at my heart and emptying my veins of energy, but I remained flaccid and lifeless looking.

  Nanny gasped. At least someone mourned me. Hearing footsteps on stone, I knew Erick now stood near Viktor’s heart. My uncle moaned.

  “It hurts?” Erick asked. “Good. It hurt Eva more, but her sacrifice was inevitable. She is a part of us now, and I feel your power slipping away, following hers. You will soon be finished, Ulric, whether you surrender or not. Why not spare the child and your remaining niece? Or Madam Olinov at least? The woman nursed you and taught you your first spells. How can you be so...heartless?”

  “You cannot control a god,” Uncle argued. “We were arrogant to believe we could. We summoned but a piece of Him, and He nearly destroyed us. I thought it best to close the seal to the Void and sever His power.”

  “Your indecisiveness is what destroyed Solheim. I am not as hesitant as you.” Erick’s voice was full of scorn. It was the same tone Ilsa used to criticize my weakness. How could anyone think my uncle weak?

  “Even with all the power of the Asheens, even with mine, you will be unable to command Him,” Ulric said. “You will fail. And if you bring the god over, He will be unstoppable. There will be no hope of controlling him. Everyone will die.”

  “You are mistaken. I do not wish to command Him anymore. Why do you think it took me so long to find you? While you and the others ran, I stayed. I kept up my role until the last, as did Lili. And the Dead God captured us. He made me His servant, and I have accepted. We all go to Him in the end, why not bring the end for all a little sooner?”

  Ulric gasped, but it wasn’t in response to Erick’s story or the mention of my mother’s name. He was in pain. I wanted to know what had happened to my mother and father in Solheim. Were they alive, like Erick? But now was not the right time to interrupt.

  Why had my uncle allowed himself to be captured? Was he arrogant enough to believe Erick couldn’t hurt him? Or had he simply underestimated the necromancer like the rest of us?

  My hands shook as the bogle sawed at my bonds with a broken blade. Threads of rope frayed and split apart. I felt numb, a passive observer, and as freedom loomed, I wondered what I could do to stop Erick when had Ulric failed.

  “As a servant of Our Lord,” Erick continued. “I have seen many things, and I know how futile it is to run. He is coming for everyone. You especially, my old friend.”

  “Why?” Ulric asked, a hint of hope in his voice. “Why have you hunted down the Nine? Does your lord want revenge for our loss of faith? Or does He fear what we can do?”

  “Surrender your soul,” Erick insisted, ignoring Ulric’s torrent of questions.

  My hands were free, and the bogle slipped behind me to work on my ankles. I reached out to brace myself, and my fingers brushed the white circle enclosing me. I felt life within it: Erick’s, Ilsa’s, everyone connected to the spell...and mine. That’s where it had gone. I needed it back if I was to survive.

  I had little knowledge of necromancy. Turned out I didn’t need it. Erick had drawn my soul into his cage, but it knew where it belonged, and it trickled back into my body on its own.

  I reached out for more, trying to hurry it along, and touched my twin’s soul, so similar to mine. I didn’t like that we were identical at this level as well, but it made it easy to draw on Ilsa’s power. I sensed the darkness in the charms around her neck and wrists, the pent-up energy, but I didn’t want that kind of power.

  I tugged on her soul through the white lines drawn on the floor, just as Erick had tugged on mine, and she screamed.

  Ilsa must have sensed our connection, because when I relented she glared at me. It didn’t matter if she was pissed off. What mattered was that I—the only one loose—be strong enough to face Erick. I had my doubts about that, but at least now I felt whole again. More than whole. With my soul returned and some of Ilsa’s thrown in as well, I felt stronger than ever.

  The change in the flow of energy did not go unnoticed. Erick’s eyes slit with fury.

  I wobbled to my feet, the bogle still sawing at the ropes that bound them. I snatched the makeshift dagger from him. It was so tiny I had to hold it between thumb and forefinger, but I made the last cuts quicker than his small hands could manage.

  “Stop her,” Erick ordered.

  More bogles appeared from the shadows and ran toward me. Even Bitten Belly wrapped himself around my ankle in a half-hearted attempt to restrain me. He had to obey his master.

  I ignored the small creatures clawing at me and lunged for Viktor’s heart. It beat erratically, almost exhausted. I cringed at the feel of the living flesh beneath my fingers, but I stifled my revulsion and threw it into the nearest brazier. It sizzled and pulsed in the flames. Fire would set my brother’s soul free and prevent Erick from stealing any more of his power.

  “Stop!” Erick sounded desperate.

  My uncle threw himself at the magical barrier, taking advantage of the shift in power. The air shimmered, and Erick seemed torn between going after me and stopping Ulric.

  He retreated to Ilsa’s line, renewing his connection to the spell trap. Ilsa cried out again as her life fed Erick’s spell. I had cut into Erick’s power source, but he still had more lives left to burn, and he kept Ulric caged.

  I threw off a bogle who went for my face and saw Erick pull a charm from his belt pouch as he readied a curse. I went for him with my minuscule blade. He dropped the charm and grabbed my wrist, pushing the weapon away. I tried to twist loose, but he caught my other arm and drew me closer to him.

  “Why are you trying to save Ulric? You despise him.”

  “I hate you more.” I kneed him in the groin and slashed with the small blade.

  I barely penetrated the clothing, managing only a shallow wound from collarbone to the bottom of his ribs, but it must have hurt, because he hissed and loosened his grip. I tore one of the largest pouches from his belt, scattering the contents across the floor, and stepped back. I’d disarmed him of his ability to cast curses.

  I thought he was frightened of another scratch from my blade, because he retreated a few steps, but, he wasn’t running. He firmly planted both feet on one of the white lines. Potions, charms and amulets were a fraction of the magic he could wield. Erick reached out a hand, and my heart clenched, as if held in his fist.

  “I’v
e touched your soul, Eva. I can call it back to me from anywhere now.”

  I took an involuntary step toward him, trying to follow the life force he was stealing from me. He was doing it without me being connected to the pentagram on the floor and without the markings on my skin. I was impressed. I hadn’t known such a thing was possible. I was getting quite the education today.

  I gripped the bogle knife tighter. I wouldn’t be able to drive it deep, but some areas were more vulnerable than others. I shuffled toward Erick, trying to look resistant. When I was close enough, I lunged, aiming for the artery in his neck, and put all my weight behind the blow.

  Blood everywhere. On my hands, across my face. A red mist and the smell of iron surrounded me.

  Erick took a step toward me, and in that step, he transformed from the man I had known into a creature like nothing I had ever seen before. It was shadow and death, and it reached out for me.

  “You are mine, Eva,” he said, but it was not Erick. It was the voice that had echoed from Jhenna’s mouth, the voice of the Dead God.

  The creature stretched out a smoke-like arm that grew longer and longer, until it touched the circle of white paint surrounding Little Viktor. The boy screamed.

  “No!” I ran to shield him, rubbing out the painted markings with my boot as I did it. “Take me instead.”

  “You are already mine.” The creature wrapped its shadow arms around me so tight I couldn’t move.

  I squirmed, but the shadow was harder than flesh, harder than steel left in the snow, yet just as cold. I’d never felt so trapped. It was more than physical restraint, it was the presence of the God. It engulfed me, heart, soul and mind. I was lost in it, as though I were in a vast, dark room, feeling about for something I recognized.

  Then I smelled cinnamon. It was like fire in the night. One of my oldest memories was the scent of cinnamon smoke, incense like that used in the temples. I moved toward the aroma. I knew I was still in the dungeon with my family, still caught in the shadow creature’s arms, but my mind was elsewhere and trying to escape a strange new prison.

  The darkness was so thick it had never known light. Was this the Void? Was this death? It was empty and went on forever. I breathed in cinnamon, letting its sweetness fill me and push back the cold. Only the cinnamon made me know I was alive. Or was I? Had the creature’s touch killed me in an instant?

  “No. You are alive,” a rich voice said. It was masculine and reminded me of the cinnamon, warming and full of excitement. I still couldn’t see, but arms enfolded me, a man’s arms.

  “Erick?” I asked.

  “No.” Lips found mine, and they knew me better than Erick’s ever could.

  I was drawn into the kiss, pulled so sweetly away from the darkness and deeper into clouds of cinnamon smoke. The tingle of it seemed to coil beneath my skin, pulling at me, making me long to be in this moment forever.

  “Come to me,” the man said.

  “I am with you,” I answered, as I would in a dream.

  This had to be a dream with its strange logic. I wouldn’t normally kiss an unknown man in the dark. Well, probably not. There was something familiar and alluring about him. Maybe I’d dreamt him before? His voice sounded like long-lost memory.

  “It is beautiful, here. If you only knew.” With that, he breathed out more cinnamon smoke. It glowed, first gray and then amber.

  Smoke billowed, growing larger and larger until I saw shapes moving within. People danced. Laughs filled a high chamber and echoed off marble walls. I was there with them, surrounded by ethereal shapes like the shadows of people just out of reach.

  As the images cleared, I saw beautiful young couples smiling at one another, a little girl twirling in a new dress, an old couple whispering lovingly into each other’s ears. They all had white skin and pale eyes. They were all Solhan.

  “Where is this?” I asked. The man was still invisible to me, hidden in the darkness that lurked at the edge of the vision.

  “Solheim, of course.”

  “Solheim is a ruin. Everyone’s dead.”

  “You know nothing of death. But I will teach you. Touch their souls.”

  Now that I knew what I was seeing, I felt them. Souls. There were vast legions trapped in Solheim. The darkness was filled with them and not empty at all.

  A face appeared in the smoke just inches from me: Jhenna. She hissed, her clothes on fire. Erick stood beside her, blood still spraying from his neck.

  I gasped and took a step back.

  “Forget them.” The man’s arms held me tight. “You were promised to me, and their ghosts cannot claim vengeance. …You are mine.” His voice became the cold, distant susurration of the Dead God.

  Suddenly, I was back in the dungeon, and it was the shadow creature who had me in its arms, its cold lips next to mine.

  I wanted to ignore the image it had shown me of Solheim and its ghostly denizens, call it a mere dream, but I knew it spoke truth. I felt a pull toward that place that could only be called longing. Aching.

  The cinnamon darkness that was the Dead God touched me again, and I felt that touch stretching all the way to far off Solheim and the legion of souls contained there. But it was a connection that went both ways.

  I pulled back.

  It wasn’t like holding something with my hands; more a connection to the center of my chest, as though an invisible rope were tied around my sternum. With each heartbeat, the connection throbbed. There were other, smaller, frayed lines hanging from the main rope, connecting me to Nanny, Little Viktor, Ulric, Ilsa.... Strands stretching everywhere to everyone I knew.

  Sharpest was the strand connected to Erick. Not the shadow creature standing in his place, but Erick’s soul, which had fled his body after my knife found his neck. Because I’d taken his life, the connection was strong.

  I focused on that strand, instead of the main rope connected to the god. I imagined ‘pulling’ on the frayed thread of Erick’s life, and I felt him draw closer. Soon, he was within the chamber with us. I tugged again, and his soul merged with the shadow creature, which still held me in its chill grasp.

  The shadow’s white, Solhan-like eyes widened in surprise. I tugged harder, and suddenly the eyes changed to pale blue—Erick’s eyes.

  “Eva,” Erick’s voice said, replacing the distant echo of the god’s.

  The shadow demon vanished, leaving only Erick behind. He crumpled, dead eyes staring sightless into the depths of the cave above us. But I felt a spark within him. The soul I had found in Solheim was now trapped in the flesh.

  Erick’s soul was still mine to play with. I had its thread so tightly in my grasp, I knew I could take his power, all the power he had stolen from the other Asheens, and bend it to my will. Of course, I hadn’t a clue what to do with it. Ilsa would know. As would Ulric. I’m sure they had dreams of glory, while my dreams were filled with the cinnamon god and forgotten in the morning.

  I never realized how alluring holding power over a soul could be, but I didn’t want power. I didn’t want to go to Solheim, dead or alive. I didn’t want the god to have me, and He would if I stepped down that path. I knew it.

  I let go of Erick’s soul and allowed it to rest inside his corpse. The thread stretching from me to him suddenly grew bright green and then vanished.

  I didn’t know what the others had seen when the shadow held me, but they must have seen me let go of the connection to Erick, because Ilsa and Nanny gasped.

  I stepped over to the blood circle that imprisoned my uncle and wiped across it with my fingertip. The circle stayed intact, but blood stained my finger. Somehow, I knew it was Erick’s: The blood of an Asheen to contain another Asheen. I knew enough from watching Nanny perform her spells when I was growing up that a blood circle formed by another couldn’t be broken unless you made it your own. This was going to be gross.

  I smeared the blood across my lips, washing away the taste of cinnamon—and licked. As soon as I swallowed the iron tasting blood, the remainder of Uncle’s
circle boiled away, adding another layer to the scent of death in the air.

  Ulric was free. He checked Erick’s body, noted my blood-smeared face, and then nodded with approval.

  I cut Little Viktor loose with the bogle knife and held him tight. He was fast asleep but breathing. I hoped he passed out before seeing what I did to Erick, or the shadow of the Dead God inhabiting him.

  I wished no one had seen that creature, which was like my most intimate secrets exposed. I wanted to pretend I had not felt what I felt or seen what I’d seen when connected to Him. Ignoring it all helped the pull of Solheim fade. A nightmare forgotten.

  I gently laid Vikky on the floor and then freed my sister.

  “Give it back,” she said, her tone frigid and her glare as good as mine, if not better. She was referring to the part of her soul I’d taken.

  “I don’t know how.”

  She was gaunt and hollow-eyed, her skin pasty. Apparently, the soul had influence over the health of the body. I was learning more about necromancy than I ever wanted to. I was willing to learn more, if it meant finding a way to give Ilsa her soul back. I didn’t want her taint inside me.

  “Do you know how to fix this?” I asked, wary.

  “You can steal another’s soul to empower your own—when you kill them.” I didn’t like how she looked at me.

  “Well, I’m not opening a vein for you. I’ll find another way.” Ulric had to know what to do, and he seemed pleased enough with me now to help, but I didn’t relish talking to him.

  I’d rescued my uncle—and Ilsa. How had that happened?

  The metal door at the exit clanged open, and I whirled in time to see wide-eyed bogles scurry for the shadows. They were fast. White armor came into view: Conrad. The company had improved. Slightly.

  Duane was with him. He nodded to acknowledge my uncle, and then stopped to check Erick for any sign of life. He wouldn’t have gone near if he’d seen Erick’s earlier form. A smile turned up the edges of his mouth, but then he gave me a disapproving look. Duane must know I was the one responsible—I was covered in blood. I had thought he’d be pleased: I was a killer like him now. Maybe it was the ritualistic way of it he didn’t like? The symbols painted across the floor were a sure sign this was nothing like his street war.