Soulkeeper

by David Dalglish

  Devin planted his feet and swung. His sword chopped through the creature’s neck with ease, the spine offering much less resistance than it should have. Black goop gurgled from the exposed neck cavity. The head went still immediately, but the same could not be said for the body. Its limbs trembled erratically, and its legs took two more steps before the body collapsed in on itself. Black liquid formed a puddle as the rotted flesh dripped off the creature’s bones. There would be no burning what remained.

  One down, he thought, the macabre display so terrible it did not feel real. Eight to go.

  Two more closed in. Devin avoided a clumsy swipe by sliding to his left, then returned the favor with a thrust through the eye. Three steps to the side rotated his position so the impaled creature blocked the other’s way. To Devin’s relief, he discovered that puncturing the brain worked as effectively as removing the head. The body liquefied. Its pieces dripped off Devin’s extended sword. The other dead creature moved toward him, both arms up and reaching. Devin dropped low, his feet spinning underneath him in an agile dance. The flailing arms hugged air. Devin’s blade slashed up and around, cutting a long gash across the walking corpse’s throat.

  A thick black substance oozed from the wound, but the creature remained otherwise unaffected.

  Not good enough, he thought.

  The corpse flung itself at him, and it was far too close to dodge. Devin slammed his body into it with his shoulder, hoping instead to fling it away. Its ribs cracked inward with the resistance of rotting fruit. The corpse staggered a step before immediately resuming its advance. Devin buried his blade into its face. Spasms shook its arms as they reached and clawed. A single swipe caught Devin across his neck, and he hissed in air at the sharp pain. He drove the sword deeper into the thing’s skull, forcing the rapidly decaying body to its knees. His sword slid free, the blade caked in a disgusting liquid as the rest of the creature liquefied into a bubbling mass resembling tar and bones. Devin rubbed the back of his glove across the scratch as the corpse bubbled apart. It came back with a fresh smear of blood.

  The remaining five corpses let loose a synchronized howl. They sniffed constantly, seemingly pulled by their noses as they abandoned their slow, steady shambling for a terrifying sprint. Devin fell back, fighting against full-blown panic. The blood. They smelled his blood. He lifted his pistol as he retreated and squeezed the trigger. The lead shot tore through the forehead of the closest, its fragile skull blasting apart like a smashed melon. Another lunged with its ragged teeth snapping. Devin gave it his sword to swallow, then viciously yanked to the right. The body toppled, blocking two others from reaching him but freeing up a third. Momentum carried Devin’s left arm around, striking the onrushing creature with the heavy iron of his pistol. Its lower jaw cracked free from its skull and flew through the air until it collided with the wall of the mayor’s home.

  Any other foe would drop immediately, but still the corpse kept coming, now much too close to avoid. Devin cursed his combat instincts. Had to adjust. Only killing blows would have the slightest effect. Devin dropped to one knee and ducked his head. With the creature’s upper body tilted heavily forward, and lacking any real sign of reflexes, it stumbled over Devin’s prone form. He shoved himself to a stand, sending the corpse tumbling across his back. Devin stabbed it through each eye and then sprinted, hoping the injuries would be enough to break it apart. The final two gave chase, their loud, wet sniffles haunting him. Could he outrun them? Would they ever tire? Piss, he didn’t know anything about these vile creatures, only that their presence filled his chest with horror.

  A glance back showed them steadily falling behind. They couldn’t see him, instead hunting him solely by smell. If he could use that to his advantage…

  Devin cut right, lowering his shoulder to smash through the door of a small house. Inside was a rotted table, and Devin toppled it onto its side and stepped behind. The two walking corpses pushed single file through the door. The first creature rushed straight into the table and fell headfirst over it. Devin jammed his sword to the hilt in its skull, then retreated. The second one tripped over both table and corpse, the combined weight breaking the table in half. The thing flailed wildly on its stomach, the motions ending when Devin decapitated it with a single blow.

  Devin left them where they lay. The street had fallen quiet again, but he refused to allow himself to relax. The mayor’s house had contained nine corpses, but so far only seven had exited through the broken door and into the street. What of the other two? Devin reloaded his pistol with shaking hands. That was a question he could not let go unanswered. Begging his Goddesses for strength, he returned to the home and entered the main foyer. He heard a soft thumping to his right. Were they trapped in one of the rooms?

  Devin crossed the soft wood floor and paused beside a bedroom door. No doubts now. The sounds definitely came from within. He carefully pulled the door open an inch, then used his foot to swing it open the rest of the way as he brought his pistol to bear.

  Two corpses had lain in the same bed when the black water came. Their respective halves were woven together, a tangled mess of bone and muscle. The monstrous amalgamation tried to rise off the bed onto its three legs, but its two frail arms lacked the strength to lift it. Both heads smelled the blood on his neck and clacked their teeth together in a hungry frenzy.

  Not even in his nightmares had Devin seen such a terrible sight. The shock of the day scraped his raw mind. He fell back on his training, repeating the words from muscle memory:

  “By Alma, we are born,” he said, leveling his pistol with the left hand. He pulled the trigger. The shot thundered in the tiny space. The left head went limp, black gunk oozing from the new hole in its forehead.

  “By Lyra, we are guided.”

  He loaded the flamestone into the barrel, then fully cocked the hammer.

  “By Anwyn, we are returned.”

  The lead shot slid into the barrel with a single pump of the ramrod. The right head snarled at him like a wild animal. He aimed straight for its forehead.

  “Beloved Sisters, take them home.”

  The ringing in his ears from the two shots overwhelmed the sudden silence. He left the room, his path unknown to him. He moved as if in a dream. The world wasn’t real anymore. All about him was a changed, dying, twisting chaos beyond all ability to understand. His past life felt stolen from him. His easy faith in the Three Sisters was now a desperate, violent struggle.

  Devin found himself at the outskirts of town. The sun shone brightly from a blue sky atop the snow-capped peaks of Alma’s Crown. All of it so peaceful. So beautiful. And then he looked below, saw long fields of gray grass and pine forests composed of black needles and rotting trunks. Cruel, hopeless questions assaulted his tired mind. Did any survive? Was only little Dunwerth affected, or had the black water washed away the entire world in an apocalyptic flood? Where was the blessing Lyra granted upon their lives? Where was the protection the Sisters represented against an already chaotic world?

  Up there in the blue sky, Devin figured. Not down here with us.

  At last he dropped to his knees, closed his eyes, and let the sorrow and despair break free in a torrent of tears streaming down his bruised, bleeding face.

  Breaking apart made Devin feel that much more together once the tears stopped and the anguish dulled. Even through the collapse his mind had steadfastly worked, preparing a series of tasks. First was to gather whatever food he could for the trek ahead. Enduring the stench, he checked all the upper cabinets that went untouched by the black water’s passage. Devin assembled a hodgepodge collection of bread loaf pieces and various jarred vegetables and fruits. The best discovery was a bowl of five crisp autumn apples set atop a shelf.

  “Bless whoever you were for this gift,” Devin murmured to the previous owner. Three of the apples made it to his pack. He devoured the other two. The bright green of their skin and tarty sweetness of their pulp were a welcome contrast to the bleak gray of the outside world. It’d
have brought him to tears if there were any left in him to fall.

  Water came next. Devin built a fire and set a few pots atop it. Once they were warmed he dumped snow he’d collected from the rooftops inside to melt. The black water didn’t appear to have changed the snow on the ground, but he’d prefer not to test it until he absolutely must. Devin filled his large travel flask and then hooked it to his belt behind his waist. Food and water taken care of, that left one final detail: traveling through the dangerous new terrain.

  Between all the abandoned clothes and beds Devin had his pick of materials for his new mask. He used his sword to cut and shape three thin bedsheets, then slid a thicker scrap of wool to form an interior layer. Sewing was hardly the forte of a Soulkeeper, but truth be told there was little difference between it and stitching a wound, something Devin had a tremendous amount of experience doing. He sealed the wool inside the four pieces so none would slip free. The longer, thinner sides allowed him to tie it into a painfully tight knot behind his head. The white cloth covered his face from just below his eyes all the way to underneath his chin, the cords of it digging deep into his skin.

  Devin breathed in and out, testing the mask. Air passed through with only a bit of effort. He’d not want to do any sprinting with the mask on, but his normal hike should be fine. The only thing left was to protect his eyes. Much of the road from Dunwerth to Crynn was worn dirt and rock, but there’d still be patches of unavoidable grass that might get into his eyes. His best idea was a thin piece of white cloth stretched wide, with thin holes he poked into it with his knife. He could barely see through it, but it was better than nothing, he figured, as he stuffed it into his pocket.

  The sun was beginning its descent when Devin took his first step toward Crynn. It’d be dark soon, but he couldn’t bear to stay the night in the remains of Dunwerth. Walking its streets was like walking among ghosts. A breeze blew over him, and he watched the black grass gently wave. No explosion of painful ash. It needed his touch to erupt. Devin couldn’t shake the feeling that the natural world hated him now. He trudged along, wishing with every hill he climbed that he’d discover a world of green and blue on the other side.

  No such discoveries awaited him those first few miles he crossed before setting up camp. It wasn’t much, just a bedroll atop the dirt, his pack as his pillow. He built a fire using branches cut from nearby trees. Devin used his knife to slice up the rest of his fruit and ate slowly. The sweetness was divine compared to the stench he’d suffered through.

  Devin hunched before his fire as the sun vanished behind the mountains. The welcome heat washed over his skin.

  Do you really want to survive in this new world? he asked himself.

  The insidious question refused to depart. There was no denying it, pretending around it, or silencing it with platitudes. If the entire world was like what he experienced today, was it worth all the blood and toil to endure? What life might he find besides endless suffering and rot? Right now his only plan was to travel to Crynn and desperately hope that his brother-in-law, Tomas, had survived the desolation. And if not? If the black water had washed as far as the city, and beyond? What of his sister, Adria? Did she survive in Londheim, or would Devin arrive only to find festering dead and corruption claiming the once-magnificent city?

  Devin closed his eyes and whispered to his beloved Goddesses.

  “Grace me with your presence this night,” he prayed. “And please, don’t forget about me. I’m here, Sisters, I’m alone, and I need you more than ever.”

  The Soulkeeper lay atop his bedroll, rested his head on his pack, and quickly succumbed to sleep.

  CHAPTER 6

  Devin’s eyes fluttered open to see soft starlight. The world was dark, quiet, and cold. He lay still, certain something had woken him. His campfire smoldered to his right, mostly extinguished but for a few flickering embers. Devin thought to add more kindling, then paused. Something about the fire was… strange. It elongated, shifting in ways no fire should. The little lick of flame was no bigger than his hand, yet he saw it sprout arms, legs, and a head. Devin lay there and watched. If this little creature was a threat, he’d let it end him, for there was no hope for survival in a world where your own campfire became a sentient murderer. It turned left, then right, as if testing out its ability to move.

  No, not move. Dance.

  The little flame creature spun through the fire, its legs flowing over the wood like water. Tiny red footprints shimmered in its wake. As it turned, Devin saw two little imprints in its head, like black eyes. Every successive turn lessened the fear in Devin’s heart. There was an undeniable joy to the creature’s movements, and though it had no partner and no music, it danced nonetheless. Two arms reached upward as it twirled, the creature’s essence melding together so it appeared to be a tornado of fire whirling atop a log.

  So much for the Cradle being made for humans only, he thought, already feeling foolish for the admonition he’d given the mayor of Dunwerth. He watched this new creature dance about for several minutes, the tension in his muscles slowly easing away. Such a cheerful thing looked incapable of malice. Whereas the black water had mutated what already existed, turning wood to rot, grass to choking powder, and corpses to monsters, this creature appeared unique and untouched by any such corruption. Deciding to the void with being careful, Devin sat up in his bedroll and smiled.

  “Hello there, little guy.”

  The creature’s head sank into itself, then reemerged so it faced Devin. The tiny black orbs widened, and then, fast as a fleeing mouse, the flame dove into the heart of Devin’s dormant fire. There was no evidence that the little creature had ever existed at all aside from the soft yellow glow that pulsed amid the embers. If Devin hadn’t seen it in the first place, he might have never suspected a thing. He kept his movements and tone calm and gentle as he faced the campfire.

  “Are you frightened?” he asked. “Please, do not fear me. There are too many frightening things in this world, and I would hate to be one of them.”

  A little bit of smoke puffed up from the fire. Devin rubbed his chin, thinking.

  “Have you a name?” he asked. “Can you speak? Does a fire even know how to speak?”

  A red and yellow head popped up from a little nest of ash. One eye squinted as it stared at him. It huffed, and a cloud of smoke rose in a ring from its forehead. Devin had a strong impression the action was one of annoyance. A smile stretched across his face.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I am inexperienced in conversation with campfires.”

  Another huff.

  “Not a campfire,” Devin quickly corrected as more of it rose up from the logs. “A creature of flame, perhaps? I am sorry, but I do not know what to call you.”

  There was no other way to describe it. The creature’s shoulders dropped low as if in a hearty sigh. It wagged one of its arms at him, then pointed beyond the fire. Devin lifted an eyebrow.

  “I’m watching,” he said, hoping that was what it wanted.

  The creature nodded and then zipped out from the logs. It ran across the bare earth with legs moving so fast it seemed they were but one flowing entity dragging a thin red line. Up and down, back and forth, with the speed and grace of a hummingbird. Once finished it dove back into the fire. It’d been out for only twenty seconds or so, but by the time it reached the warm embers its size had shrunk by half. The lingering glow of its passage spelled out a single word.

  FREKIN.

  “Firekin?” Devin asked. That it knew human letters and words was intriguing enough, but he’d let Mindkeepers and the Wise debate those implications. Right now, Devin just wanted to make the little firekin comfortable. The way it huddled amid the ashes made it seem almost… cold. An idea struck him, and he shifted in his seat.

  “Here, would you like this?” he asked, reaching into his pack. The firekin disappeared once again beneath the logs, then slowly poked its head up to carefully watch. Devin laughed. The act broke a stone vise clasped about his chest. This
strange, intelligent being of fire had the skittish temperament of a bird. He did not feel like it belonged amid the corrupted landscape. But this new world was unfamiliar to him, and he did not yet understand its rules. The idea lit a candle of hope inside Devin where none had been before.

  “Easy now, I’m not going to harm you,” Devin said. He pulled out two long twigs from a pile he’d stashed in his pack. They easily snapped in half, and Devin offered the first to the firekin. It shifted a little in its perch, a visible shudder running through the flame as it watched. Devin waited, but it did not come for the twig. Fair enough. Just like befriending a fearful dog, his task was best done in steps.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t blame you for being scared. I’m scared, too.”

  He tossed the twig to the edge of the campfire. The firekin dashed out, its arms latching onto the twig and dragging it back underneath the blackened log. It settled atop the kindling, its legs disappeared beneath it, and its eyes shrank. A steady puff of smoke rose from the top of its head. The twig burned at an abnormally fast rate, becoming ash in mere moments. The firekin returned to its original size and hopped to the edge of the campfire, wiggling both its arms.

  “Hungry for more?” he asked.

  It puffed two little circles of smoke in answer. Devin’s smile grew.

  “All yours, buddy.”

  He tossed the remaining twigs into the fire. The firekin zipped to and fro, pulling the twigs into a tiny pile and then happily settling atop them. Devin let its joy become his own, and he wished for a thousand twigs to give this little creature.