Soulsworn (10 page)

“Not a word.” The man’s voice carried an acute Farish Isle accent; the hand smelled like old food. “If you make a fuss, my friend there might be forced to hurt your daughter. Not something terrible, mind you, but I doubt the little one would know the difference.”

A second man held Clara by her arm. He was tall with white hair and a forehead too flat to have occurred naturally. She’d never seen his kind before. Images of a broken Clara flitted through Aidah’s mind. Her legs grew weak. Swallowing a breath to remain silent, she nodded.

“Good.” The first man released her and moved to where she could see him. He was a Farish Islander, left side of his face a tattooed mask. He was also wearing distinctive leather armor, that of a King’s Blade. The sword pin on the breast of his cloak added further confirmation.

“C-can I have my daughter … please?” Aidah held out a hand that shook uncontrollably.

The Blade nodded to the other man. “Let her go, Kalira.” The man hesitated for a moment before he complied.

Clara ran into Aidah’s arms. Sobbing, Aidah snatched her up and hugged her tight.

“Well, let’s make this quick. I’m Blade Torash. We’re here by the king’s decree to collect your two daughters and a certain box.”

“I—You—How did you find us?”

Torash shrugged. “Was simple enough. Life’s dictated by habit. We’re no different from animals in that regard, even nobles. We like to shit and piss in the same place unless trained differently.”

“Soulless.” Kalira was staring at Clara. From nothing, a sword appeared in his hand.

“What?” Torash asked.

“That one Soulless. Must die.” His speech was garbled, that of a person not accustomed to the Kasinian tongue.

Fear became like rancid food. Aidah could taste it, bitter and vile. It set her stomach churning. She clung tighter to Clara, who had raised her head to look in Kalira’s direction.

Grimacing, Torash glanced from Clara to Kalira. “You Farlanders are a strange bunch. I’m not in the business of killing children. Never have been. Never will be. You can’t mean what you just said.”

Kalira cocked his head to one side, like a hound trying to understand a command. After a moment, he spoke again. “In Jiantona, the Soulless are sick. Make many others sick, make many die. Unless they belong to the masters and are made Kargoshi, they are killed. She,” he said, pointing at Clara, “is Soulless. You cannot see her soul. She must die.”

“And I repeat, I’m not in the business of killing children.” Torash’s voice was soft, dangerous.

Kalira scowled. His eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, sword swinging in an arc.

A scream stuck in Aidah’s throat. Frantic, she spun, placing her body between the Farlander and Clara, at the same time closing her eyes, expecting the bite of steel, and bracing for the pain.

There came a sound, like the crack of a whip. A person cried out. Something thumped on the floor. A gurgle followed. Warm liquid splashed on Aidah’s neck.

Blood. She knew its pungent odor anywhere.

“Fool, my aversion to killing doesn’t extend to men or women,” Torash declared.

Slowly, Aidah turned back to the men. Kalira lay on the ground, blood gushing onto the carpet from a gaping wound at his neck and from the stump of his arm. Aidah felt sick.

Torash wiped his blade on Kalira’s shirt and sheathed the weapon. When his eyes met Aidah’s, they were flat pits. She took a step back, glad Clara’s face was buried in her neck.

“Now, Aidah Rostlin, how about the child and the box? Or do you wish to end up like him?”

“Kill yourself,” Clara whispered.

“Why would I do that?” Torash asked, scowling, eyes shifting to Clara. “Not particularly nice of you either. Don’t make me change my mind about children.”

The door banged open. In strode Elder Hamada, Patriarch Corgansetti, and several other wisemen. Torash’s sword was in his hand in an instant. Aidah took an inadvertent step back. In one motion Torash sheathed his weapon and bowed from the waist to the newcomers. Aidah closed her eyes and offered up a prayer to the Dominion.

“What is the meaning of this?” Corgansetti demanded.

Aidah made to speak, but it was Torash who answered first. “This woman and her children are part of a list of people wanted by the king.” His head remained down.

“You may look at me when you speak, Blade.”

“Thank you.” Torash licked his lips and repeated his statement.

“You would take her? In Melanil, where sanctuary is sacred, a part of the Precepts handed down by the Dominion’s Word?” Corgansetti arched an eyebrow.

“I was told she was refused sanctuary.”

“By whom?”

“Her guards.”

“Where are they now?”

“Dead.” Torash shrugged. “That was the cost for an earlier failure on their part.”

Aidah gritted her teeth at the revelation of such betrayal. Her thoughts immediately shifted to Nerisse and Lomin.

“Return to King Ainslen,” Corgansetti said. “Tell him that I personally granted sanctuary to Aidah Rostlin and her children. He is to take no further action against her in Melanil.”

“Yes, blessed one.” Torash bowed from the waist again and marched from the room. A weight eased from Aidah’s chest as the man closed the door, but she lacked the sense of safety she had found earlier.

“Are you hurt?” Corgansetti asked.

“If fear is a wound, then mine is so deep it can’t be healed” she replied. She still did not let Clara down. The girl was humming one of Kesta’s songs.

“Understandable. Two letters arrived soon after you left, from one of your guards, a man named Lomin. He warned Elder Hamada of this.” Corgansetti handed her two folded pieces of paper. “I can assure you this won’t happen again, but if my word isn’t enough, tell me what I can do. This,” he said, pointing at the Farlander’s corpse, “is a disgrace. Word of it cannot leave Melanil. It would not favor the Order’s reputation.”

Aidah thought back to the sessions she rehearsed with Terestere. “If it were just Kasinians, then perhaps I would feel secure, but these … these Farlanders have no care for our ways or our morals or the Word. The beast was ready to kill my child.” A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “I’m afraid if they wish me dead in repayment for what happened here, then the Order’s Precepts will mean little.”

“What would you have of the Order to make this right in the eyes of the Dominion?”

“A writ of safe passage to Casda Esdan.”

Antelen had pointed the way there. The Goddess had brought Terestere to save Aidah and the children, and had sent Hamada and Corgansetti at the most opportune time. The moment had come to follow her faith without fail.

“Do you know what it is you ask?” Corgansetti was frowning at her. “Those lands are filled with faithless savages. You will have no one to turn to should things go wrong.”

“Better than waiting for eventual death in the Empire.” She glanced at the Farlander’s corpse. “My children and I would ever be prisoners in Melanil. Yes, it’s life, but what life is that if I can’t venture out into the world where I was born. I may as well start fresh, build a new family, a new home, a real home where I have a semblance of freedom.”

“Very well. If this is truly your wish then I will grant it, but on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“I will treat this as a pilgrimage, and send some of my wisemen with you. They will bring the Word to the west and help expand our tenuous foothold in those kingdoms.”

Dread crawled up Aidah’s spine. Her mind worked as she tried to discern a way that Nerisse would not be discovered. When she uttered her acceptance of the terms, her words seemed distant, as if they belonged to someone else.

M
adness Rising

I
n a coach escorted by a dozen wisemen picked by Elder Hamada, Aidah left Melanil the next morning. Curate Fefnir, a Kheridisian with a dozen piercings in his ears, and a close-cropped mustache and beard, led the Order’s men. The choice brought on smile. She had not gotten a chance to speak to Hamada in private before she left, but he had said to follow Fefnir’s advice if she had any concerns. Aidah rested a hand on the leather pouch at her waist. In it she kept the writ and the decree. Her future.

For the fourth time she read one of the letters sent by Lomin. It spoke of the armsmen’s betrayal. They had succumbed to the temptation of earning the bounty and the chance to rob her. The Blade had killed them all, taken Nerisse, and made for the fishing town of Pomir, less than a day’s ride north of Melanil on the banks of the River Silk.

Clara was humming Kesta’s songs, a common practice whenever she was awake. Aidah’s heart hurt each time. This was not the life she’d dreamed of for herself or the children, and certainly not the life she’d expected when she plotted with her husband to ensure Ainslen’s victory on Succession Day.

She muttered a prayer, thankful for her husband’s foresight in sending the family away when he did. With the memory came a fresh gush of sorrow but not so deep that she couldn’t bear it. She embraced the grief, savored its taste, bitter to the tongue, a reminder of all they had suffered, and it made her stronger. Gathering Clara into her arms Aidah hummed along.

They reached Pomir when Mandrigal was no more than an orange smear on the western horizon. The air had grown colder, an edge to it that tried to seep into Aidah’s skin. She bundled Clara in another layer of clothing and did the same for herself. Wagons clattered along the streets beside which canals flowed, the waters dark and still, lantern light reflecting off slick cobbles. Passersby hurried about their business, the hoods of their cloaks pulled down. A few haggled for the last few wares from merchants who were late to close their stalls and shops.

As they neared the docks, Aidah grew anxious. There, Lomin and Nerisse would meet them. She took a long, slow breath in an attempt to ease the tension, but it remained a weight on her chest. The reek of brine and rotten fish was such that she turned up her nose.

The coach rolled to a stop beside a pier with a large schooner at berth. A group of soldiers clad in the Order’s red and blue uniforms waited before the planks that led onto the ship’s decks, the Star of the Dominion emblazoned on the backs of their cloaks. Two Clerics helped Aidah and Clara from the coach. Once outside, she picked up her daughter, hugged her against the blustery wind, and trod carefully across the slick planks and onto the ship.

The captain introduced himself as Konshen, and Aidah acknowledged him with a nod. Now that she was aboard, the need to see Nerisse was overwhelming. As was the fear of discovery. When Curate Fefnir whisked her below decks to the main cabin Aidah’s legs became like stone. Although she recognized him from her dreams, the reaction came natural after all that had happened.

“There’s nothing for you to fear,” the Curate said as they walked down the passage. “At least not from me. Hamada picked us for a reason. We will not give up your child to the Order.”

Aidah opened and closed her mouth.
What if this was just a ploy?

“I can see you thinking. If I intended harm, then why come all the way to the ship? Why not just have your daughter brought to the Grand Chantry?”

She thought to feign ignorance, but instead she said, “After all I’ve been through you should be able to appreciate my skepticism.”

“Hopefully such sentiments dwindle with time. As for now, I can tell you that I know of the box and what it entails. The influx of soul taken in by your eldest daughter should adapt to her and appear normal in another six weeks at most. Although I trust the other wisemen in our pilgrimage, it is always better to be safe. To limit any risk, I shall be the only one of us allowed to speak with you. The children should remain below decks for the duration of this trip, and then in the wagons whenever possible.”

The revelation made Aidah nervous, but at the same time it eased some of her fears for Nerisse. Her anxiety came from the realization of how deeply Terestere’s influence must lie within the Order. This was a part of Far’an Senjin far beyond anything she’d experienced.

When Aidah and Clara entered the cabin Nerisse was sitting on the bed reading by way of lamplight. Lomin sat at a table, sharpening his sword.

“Lady Rostlin,” Lomin said, rising from the table to offer her a bow, his eyes never wavering from the Curate.

“Mother, Clara,” Nerisse exclaimed, scrambling from the bed.

Grinning, eyes moist, Aidah rushed to Nerisse and hugged her. Clara clung to her sister’s britches. The elation was such that Aidah wanted it to last.

“Let me look at you.” Aidah took a step back. Nerisse wore a thick woolen shirt and tan colored britches. Her face had a healthy pallor and her eyes shone with joy. “Your wounds … how are they?”

“Healing well. Lomin took me to a man like him.” Nerisse nodded in Fefnir’s direction.

“A wiseman?” She turned to Lomin and arched an eyebrow.

“A Kheridisian medico,” Lomin said. “Their specialty lies in healing melders.”

“And here I thought the only Kheridisian men in Kasinia belonged to the Order.”

“We are a lot of things,” Fefnir said, “but the only person we
belong
to is our queen.”

A spark of an idea grew in Aidah, one she thought Lomin must have already considered, but she asked anyway. “Could this medico help Clara?”

“Curing induction is beyond our people’s abilities,” Fefnir said.

Aidah accepted the man’s word, but for a brief moment she had hoped. “So it’s Casda Esdan, after all.”

Fefnir nodded. “You must be starved and tired. I shall bring supper.”

After Fefnir left, Aidah told them of her trip to Melanil. She left out the Farlander’s words. The fearful yet murderous glint in the man’s eye when he named Clara one of the Soulless made Aidah shiver. Lomin considered her escape from the Blade and the Farlander to be a matter or pure chance. In ways, she agreed, but then chance was Hazline’s domain. She felt nothing but anger when he recounted the particulars of the armsmen’s betrayal. What she found surprising was Nerisse’s ability to drive the second wagon. All their belongings were now in the ship’s hold.

“Can we trust this Curate?” Lomin asked.

“He is one of Terestere’s.”

Lomin nodded. “Good.”

“Still,” Aidah said, “I want you to sleep in the cabin. He recommends that the girls remain here, and while I agree, I would feel much safer if one of us is always with them.”

“As you wish, m’lady.”

Supper was a hearty fare of meat, fish, fruit, and water. The cook had prepared the meal with tangy spices, not too peppery and not too sweet. It reminded Aidah of a Marish dish. She dug in with zest. So did the others. Afterward, she lay on the bed with the children and read to them from Nerisse’s book.

When Aidah fell asleep, Antelen visited her dreams once more. She woke, drenched in sweat as light shot up into the sky from the pillars at the end of the battlefield. This time, she’d seen him, the taker, she was certain of it. He was fair of hair and complexion, eyes like polished amber, and he wore a crown. It was the way he looked at Clara that scared her. His eyes had taken on a feral gleam and he’d spoken with a wiseman’s fervor during a sermon. Try as she might she couldn’t recall the exact words.

She lay in the bed, thick blankets pulled up to her neck, unable to sleep afterward. The ship rocked, and she could tell they were on their way down the River Silk to where its waters met the Vordon Sea outside the great city of Tocar, just north of Melanil.

Over the next few nights her dreams came and went much the same as the others, all pointing to Casda Esdan. Fefnir kept them updated, letting her know that the winds favored them. Aidah was thankful for that, because the time at sea brought a chill that crept into her bones.

With her cloak drawn around her shoulders, Aidah watched Clara argue with her dolls one evening. The girl sat cross-legged, scolding Gaston. Moments later the voice of ridicule became giggles.

Lomin crossed the room and sat on the rug next to Aidah. “You said she melded that day in Melanil?”

“Yes, but her mindbend didn’t work against the Blade.”

“Every Blade knows how to use their nimbus to guard against mental attacks. The failure of her mindbending just means he was that much stronger than her. But his skill doesn’t concern me. Clara’s condition does.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her nimbus is weaker now, and the same thing is happening as before. Sometimes she appears to have no soul. I don’t know what to make of it, but it stands to reason that the absence is connected to her melding and to the induction.”

“Soulless,” Aidah muttered without thinking.

“What?”

“That is what the Farlander called her. Soulless. He claimed it was a plague, one she would spread to others, bringing death unless she was killed or turned over to his masters.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Lomin said.

“Will … will she regain her strength?” Aidah’s lips trembled.

“In all honesty, I don’t know. When her nimbus is completely broken she will no longer be able to control her soul. She
will
go mad.”

And then one of us will have to kill her
. Aidah cringed and tried not to dwell on the idea, but the thought lingered. “How long do you think she has?”

“Six months, eight, a year?” Lomin shrugged. “Only the Gods know. I’m sorry.”

Tears trickled down Aidah’s face. “Speak to the Curate for me, please. Tell him we must hurry.” She went to join Clara with her dolls. She would spend every moment she could with her daughter.