Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) (45 page)

“Eldrid…” was all Nakvin could say before the second of the lounge's double doors swung open, revealing Jaren standing beside the Gen woman. His face looked grim and haggard. The captain answered Nakvin's shamed, pleading look with a weary shake of his head.

“I need Elena here,” he said. “She’s in the engine room with the shipwrights.”

Nakvin opened her mouth to apologize, but the two Gen walked past her, heading for the vault. Jaren’s silence expressed the depth of his hurt better than words. Seeing no hope of making quick amends, Nakvin decided that the best penance was to do as Jaren asked. Quietly, she rose and left the room.

The vault was as a hollow metal cube; its inner surface etched with a continuous grid. Jaren faced the right wall and traced his fingers along the engraved lines. A metal drawer opened, from which he removed a small cube of coarse grey stone.

“I've been thinking lately,” he said to Eldrid, Teg, Nakvin, and Elena, who’d crowded into the vault with him. “For all of hell’s chaos, certain things keep repeating: gates, the baals, these stones, the Light Gen, prana. At first it all seemed like a meaningless coincidence; then a bad joke. Until this morning, I felt like someone trying to work a puzzle with too many missing pieces. But Eldrid hinted that I might be keeping those clues from myself. I hope I'm not.”

Jaren offered the cube to Elena, who took it without hesitation.

“Nakvin and Deim couldn’t figure these out,” Jaren said, “but Factors can’t conjure raw prana. They say the gods could do it; that prana might’ve been the reason they came here. Anyway, some of them shared the trick with their priests.”

Jaren stabbed his thumb toward the door. “Sulaiman opened that hatch with prana. It stands to reason that whoever built the vault rigged these stones the same way.” He rested a hand on Elena's shoulder. The flesh and bone under her black cotton shirt felt almost insubstantial. “The shipwrights say you've been funneling pure prana into the engines. I need you to pour a little life into this rock.”

Elena regarded her small audience uncertainly. Her rose-colored eyes finally settled on Jaren, who fought to keep his face from betraying his anxiety. A moment later, she held the cube out to him.

Frowning, he reached for the stone. “You can't do it?”

“I did.”

Jaren touched the cube, and a shock raced through his body. His physical awareness faded as a disembodied presence drowned out his senses. His last sight was of Eldrid, Teg, and Nakvin converging on him; their eyes wide with shock, before the ineffable took him.

After his harrowing initiation on the hill, Deim joined Vaun in his chambers. The necromancer had been busy since Deim’s last visit, judging by the several new pieces of furniture made from human remains. The steersman wondered where Vaun had found the raw materials, but Vaun's stern, hollow voice stifled his curiosity.

“You have entered upon the Way of Teth: the fivefold discipline,” said Vaun. “The Way yields its secrets only to those of utmost diligence and strength of mind. I am bound to offer this final warning: the path ahead will challenge your most basic preconceptions. You will be required to question, and most likely reject, your deepest convictions. Such are the perils of seeking true knowledge.”

Deim felt cold sweat beading on his forehead. Suppressing his fear by an act of will, he fixed his eyes on the black holes of Vaun's mask.

“Time yet remains for you to turn back,” said Vaun. “If you choose now to leave the path, then we shall part amicably. But you will remain bound by the first rite never to tell what you have witnessed, on pain of death and worse than death. Do you understand?”

Deim swallowed hard and said, “Yes.”

“If you continue, Teth shall bind you from this day forward. Even if you forsake all practice of the discipline, your oath shall forever mark you. Now, what do you ask of me?”

Deim spoke as though the words were wrenched from his throat. “Teach me!”

The silence that followed perfected the chamber’s likeness to a crypt.

“I do accept you,” the necromancer said at last. “Attend me, and I shall teach you the true nature of life and death; and how to make one into the other.”

Deim's lips parted in a thin smile.

Jaren woke in his quarters to find Eldrid at his bedside. The fog of sleep obscured his last waking memories, but terrible knowledge surfaced as his mind cleared.

Eldrid clasped her hands over the bodice of her russet satin dress. “Thank the powers,” she breathed. “You were senseless as a stone!”

Jaren replied with harsh laughter. Had she somehow known? Her confused expression argued against it. “I'm sorry,” he said, struggling to gather his wits. “How long was I out?”

“Better than six hours. You must have had quite a shock.”

“You've got that right,” Jaren said bitterly. He started to rise, but Eldrid pressed her hand against his chest.

“You learned something from the stone”.

“I'm not sure what happened,” Jaren said.

“The object spoke to you. I would know what it said.”

The captain sighed. “No offense, but I don’t think you're ready to know.”

“I'm no simpleton,” Eldrid said. Her hazel eyes hardened. “You sought the priestess and the cube to uncover the baals’ treachery and annul your oath.”

“
Priestess
?” Jaren repeated.

“A mediatrix between the powers and the world, as you yourself aptly said.”

That description fits Elena well enough,
Jaren decided.

“You fell as if stricken,” Eldrid said. “Either you despaired of escape from your vow, or you’ve uncovered a deception too horrible to bear.”

Eldrid’s beauty had enchanted Jaren since they’d met. Now her determination won his respect. He clasped her hands in his. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I took you for a sheltered rustic. I won't make that mistake again.”

Eldrid’s expression remained firm, but she blushed.

“Just be patient a little longer,” Jaren said as he rose and strapped on his weapons. “I have some business to settle. Then I'll tell you everything.” He bent and kissed Eldrid's lips. She didn’t protest as he hurried from the room.

The constant clamor of many hands at work was noticeably absent, adding to the dim halls’ loneliness.
Of course,
Jaren reminded himself.
It's the sixth day.
That was good. The end of the shipwrights' task played in his favor.

The captain found Teg first. His swordarm had surprising news.

“The king is stopping by this afternoon to give you a privateer's commission,” said Teg. “Good thing you'll be conscious to receive it.”

“Wonderful,” Jaren said. “Are the shipwrights still here?”

Teg nodded. “They're putting on the finishing touches, but we're back in business.”

“Good. I need you to get them off the ship.”

The mercenary cocked a golden eyebrow; then shrugged. “You got it. What kind of sendoff do they get—gentle or rough?”

“Be polite,” said Jaren, “but if they give you trouble, consider them stowaways.”

Teg nodded and set off down a branching corridor; his steel-clad boots clacking purposefully on the deck.

Jaren's last stop was the engine room, where he found Nakvin settling Elena back into the misty domed chamber with its pervasive lightning scent. A strange unease nagged him when he saw the girl, who’d traded her casual clothes for an exquisite gown of Gen make.

A gift from Eldrid,
he thought. The white dress with its brocaded silk, long tapered sleeves, and pearl insets made Elena look more royal than Gelwin.

Thinking of the king reminded Jaren of his errand. “Is she ready to go?” he asked.

Nakvin met Jaren’s eyes for a moment; then quietly nodded.

“Good,” Jaren said. He could read Nakvin’s contrition in her face. The rift in their friendship troubled him, but he had far more pressing concerns at the moment than healing it.

“Do you know when Gelwin's coming?” Jaren asked.

“In about an hour,” said Nakvin. Jaren fancied for a moment that he saw a subtle likeness between her and Elena, but he ascribed it to their similar garments.

“Starting now, nobody boards the ship,” Jaren said. “Teg is ejecting the Gen Factors. He won't be long. Tell him to meet me in the hangar; Deim, too.”

Jaren turned to leave, but Nakvin asked, “And me?”

The captain hesitated before looking over his shoulder and giving a brusque nod. Then he hurried on his way.

A company of soldiers had delivered Gelwin’s first summons to Jaren. A small army attended their second meeting, which took place on the
Exodus’
doorstep.

Jaren waited inside the enormous hangar with Eldrid, Teg, Deim, and Nakvin. The captain had shared his decision when they’d joined him there, and all of them knew their parts.

Looking out over the troops assembled below, Jaren noted the picket of lances—their upright points and polished wooden hafts gleamed in the afternoon light. Gelwin's men presented the textbook image of an honor guard. Their ceremonial armor was intended to impress more than to defend. The lancers worried him less than the king's gamekeepers—more aptly called
stalkers
—and Jaren kept a close watch on the surrounding woods.

Only two of those assembled below were mounted: the seneschal and Gelwin himself. Both men came dressed in the height of martial finery. The former walked his horse a few steps toward the massive black wall and raised his angular face to the hangar door.

“Jaren Peregrine, captain of the
Exodus
!” the seneschal cried. “His Majesty, Gelwin of Avalon, Patriarch of the Golden Tribe, and last scion of the House of Twelve Moons, comes to pay his respects and to confer honors. Will you not bid him welcome?”

“I can welcome him just fine from up here,” Jaren shouted back. A murmur swept through the crowd.

“I claim no knowledge of the clay tribe’s customs,” the king's attendant said, “but His Majesty kindly received you into his house. Our tradition demands that you reciprocate.”

“As His Majesty knows, we've had trouble with guests overstaying their welcome.”

At this remark, the king himself rode forward. “We send you the finest artisans in our domain, and you turn them out like beggars when their service is done. Now you would deny their sovereign your hospitality?”

“You sent artisans I didn't ask for and brought a guard of two hundred on a social call,” Jaren said. “And now I know why.” Glaring at Gelwin, he held a stone cube aloft for all to see.

The soldiers muttered in confusion, and the seneschal gasped. Gelwin stared back at Jaren. The king’s face was stony, but weariness darkened his brown eyes. “We’d heard of your alliance with Sulaiman the last priest,” he said. “Did he bid the stones speak to you?”

“Not the last,” Jaren said, “but yes, the stone spoke to me. It told me what you're doing—what you’d make
us
do.”

“Surely you know our peril,” said the king. “Avalon was built upon a Circle of hell. It can be returned to its first condition at the true lord’s whim.”

“I've had experience with demonic bargains,” Jaren said, “so I understand your position. That doesn't mean I agree with it, and it sure as hell doesn't mean I'll cooperate.”

“We stand bound by the tithe!” the seneschal pleaded. “If we cannot pay it, our home shall revert to the pit, and we will be damned forever. Would you visit that fate on your kin?”

“I know about the tithe,” Jaren said. “
You're
the ones who agreed to it; not us.”

Gelwin's face fell. “We have defaulted on our obligation these many years,” he said. “Ten in every generation, that was the price. The last several generations yielded fewer than ten, but they were taken all the same. Now we cannot pay even the least part, but the baal has agreed to cancel our debt when he receives your cargo.”

Jaren's mouth twisted into a scowl. “These were Gen from the Middle Stratum,” he shouted, thrusting the cube toward Gelwin. “They had no part in your bargain!”

“You refuse to surrender them, then?” the king asked, sounding sure of the answer.

“I refuse to damn my people's souls to settle
your
debt.” Jaren said.

“Please,” the seneschal said, his voice wavering. “If you fail to deliver the tithe, you will condemn still more of us.”

Jaren's hand shook as he gripped the stone tighter. “I refuse to condemn
my father
!” he roared, his voice echoing over the hills. Eldrid gasped. Somewhere behind him, Nakvin did, too.

Gelwin bowed his head. “It is done, then. We have no power to force your hand and will take our leave. But grant us one kindness in place of the greater boon which you have refused.”

The seneschal produced an elegant rosewood box from his saddlebag and handed it to the king. Gelwin took the box in both hands and held it out in counterpoint to the cube.

“We come bearing a royal letter of marque and reprisal” said the king, “commissioning Jaren Peregrine of the Fire Tribe to act on our behalf as captain of the ether-runner
Exodus
; with all the rights and privileges thereto, including seizing the ships and goods of our enemies.”

“Have someone bring it up,” Jaren said.