Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) (52 page)

Teg straightened to his full height and strolled out the door.

Jaren rolled onto his back and stared at the bronze-paneled ceiling. He was surprised to find his anger swallowed by an emotional vacuum edged with shame.

Several minutes passed before the captain of the
Exodus
got up and left the room.

Nakvin sat at Elena's bedside, gazing at her daughter’s face to gather her strength.

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Nakvin looked up to see Jaren leaning in the doorway. He wore a sheepish, chastened expression; along with a pair of fresh bruises.

“I heard you need some company,” he said, trying for swagger but sounding awkward.

Nakvin smiled faintly and motioned for him to sit. Jaren took the chair beside hers.

“You look like you’re trying to enjoy your last meal before you’re shot,” Jaren said; his concern ill-hidden by forced laughter.

“I'll be alright,” she said. “Now just sit there and be quiet.”

Nakvin leaned forward, took Elena's hands in hers, and concentrated.
I'm here,
she spoke into the young woman's thoughts.
I know what's happening to you. Let me help.

Nakvin had tried reaching Elena’s mind before without success. She feared that Vernon's knowledge would change that, bringing the chaos he'd warned about. But as the moments passed without result, she began to feel a shameful sort of relief.

When it came, Elena's response drove Nakvin back into her seat.
They know where they are,
the girl's thoughts screamed.
They blame me for it!

All at once, the terrible force besieging Elena fell upon Nakvin like a host of vengeful shades venting their wrath. It took every ounce of her strength to stay conscious.

Don't listen to them,
Nakvin urged her daughter as calmly as she could.
They aren't really there, Elena. It's just you.

Elena’s cry echoed in Nakvin's mind.
They want their flesh back!

The fragile barrier between the two women’s minds dissolved. Not only did Nakvin feel her daughter’s fear and despair; she suffered the agony of each soul fragment. The rioting ghosts threatened to consume her mind in their blind torment.

Just as the screaming chorus reached its crescendo, a new sensation imposed itself from outside. Nakvin followed the feeling like a beacon leading back to herself. At last, she surfaced enough to see what had intervened. Jaren’s hand clutched hers and Elena's beneath.

Like a pearl diver who’d taken a breath of air, Nakvin plunged back into the frenzy.
Quiet!
She shouted without words.
You're all part of her. Stop torturing yourselves and let her go.

The girl’s ancient soul fell still. Nakvin held out hope that the danger had passed, but she soon realized that she and Elena merely stood in the eye of the storm. The next front was approaching, and the vengeful fragments were poised to tear them apart.

Suddenly, two other presences stirred in the composite soul’s far corners, as if awakened by Nakvin's resistance. Though beyond the realm of sight, one of the new fragments impressed itself upon her as a flame—both all-consuming destruction and gentle warmth. The other came like a strong wind, but one that speeds mariners home to rest. The fire and the wind stood between Nakvin and Elena and the onrushing tempest.

Nakvin's elation gave way to renewed fear. It still wasn't enough.
Elena,
she called out again.
It's not just these two. They're all yours. You can unite them!

The cyclone of wailing spirits tore Elena from Nakvin’s grasp. She cried out in sorrow as the whirlwind took her daughter up into itself. But her despair turned to wonder as she saw the storm begin to coalesce.

The new presence was everywhere, surrounding and suffusing everything: the flame, the wind, and even the storm. The omnipresent will ordered its constituents like a child's building blocks, forming many into one.

You're whole again,
Nakvin rejoiced—until she saw the entity that arose from the shards of her daughter’s soul. Dark wings overshadowed their shared mindscape.

Nakvin's eyes shot open and she rocked back with a piercing scream. She wrenched her trembling hands free of Jaren’s.

Jaren darted from his chair and grasped her shoulders. “Did you lose her?” he asked.

“No,” Elena said. She sat upright, her rose quartz eyes gleaming. “She helped find me.”

Nakvin's fear vanished. With joyous laughter she rose and threw her arms around Elena. Her daughter returned the embrace.

She hardly noticed when Jaren left the room.

Ancient custom dictated setting all ships’ clocks to Ostrith Mean Time, and even the
Exodus
held to the tradition. By that measure, it was three minutes past three-thirty in the morning. Except for a handful of essential crew, all hands were fast asleep.

Elena, however, had slept long enough. She’d finally convinced Nakvin of her recovery, and the senior Steersman had grudgingly left to keep the night watch on the Wheel.

Elena slipped from her bed, drawn to a familiar presence. Unhindered by locked doors, she followed the most direct route to her quarry. She emerged from the wall of Vernon's room to find her father propped up on a stack of pillows. His sunken eyes opened as she approached.

“Get up,” Elena said.

The emaciated figure haltingly lowered himself to the floor. Staggering like a novice puppeteer’s folly, Vernon moved toward his child.

Elena remained outwardly impassive as the old man approached. Her limited experience with emotions had led her to believe that people felt them one at a time. The complex mélange of passions that assaulted her soul caught her unprepared.

Vernon swayed in place, looking upon his daughter with glazed eyes. Elena struggled to filter the emotional deluge inundating her psyche. There was definitely sorrow, but not for herself. Could this be pity? She conceded that, for her father, it might be so.

“What have you done?” she asked, sending prana into his ravaged brain.

Vernon's eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. “I deviated…from the plan,” he gasped. “It was…for you!”

“Sending the kost to kill my mother,” Elena said, “was that part of your plan?”

Vernon blinked spastically. “That was Kelgrun,” he rasped.

“Whom the Arcana Divines were working for,” said Elena.

“The others only sought the baal's gifts…”

“You didn't?”

Vernon lurched forward. “Only I knew the Shadow Caste’s plan to restore Thera.”

“They're close to succeeding,” Elena said, “and unmaking creation.”

“…What Kelgrun and the rest wanted,” Vernon said.

“And what they assumed
I
wanted,” said Elena. “I’m not so sure anymore. It might’ve gone better for Kelgrun had his pet kost succeeded.”

Vernon’s face contorted into a skeletal attempt at a grin. “I subverted the plan…gave you a chance to be free.”

“You want to exploit Thera as much as they do,” Elena said.

Vernon tottered forward with his arms open wide. Elena obliged, holding his frail body close. Another emotion broke the surface. It filled her with caustic heat and promised visceral satisfaction for wanton acts.

Elena released her father and stepped back. She studied his emaciated form, which shivered and swayed on the verge of collapse. She reached out for Vernon’s chest. Her hand met no resistance from skin, atrophied muscle, or bone as it found his shriveled heart. Her fingers closed around the sluggishly beating organ, and she removed it with no trace of a wound.

“You expected to survive fathering a goddess known for patricide?” Elena asked. Vernon's feeble body convulsed. He fell backward onto the deck with a last ragged breath. When his spasms ceased, Elena let his still heart fall from her hand.

Elena came to herself again, surprised to find that she was panting. She looked at the crumpled sack of skin and bones lying at her feet. The red glee had crested and abated, leaving only emptiness.

Jaren ended Randolph’s
Exodus
tour in the captain’s mess. He steeled himself against the rising buzz in his ears as his guest helped himself to a seat.

“I have to admit I'm impressed,” Randolph said. “Even on her own, she's more than a match for any Guild ship.”

All but one,
Jaren thought. “Thanks, but I’m in no rush to test that theory.”

Randolph chuckled. “Looks like you won't have to. I've already been in contact with five other captains. They've agreed to an alliance.”

Jaren winced at the hum’s rise in volume and covered with a surprised tone. “So soon?”

“You’ve become a legend, and not just to Bifron vets. Some colorful stuff is making the rounds. To hear folks tell it, the
Exodus
is a ghost ship sent to haunt the Guild.”

“Good,” Jaren said through a satisfied smile. “Recruit as many ships as you can.”

“It sounds like you've got a plan,” Randolph said with a scruffy grin of his own.

Muffled droning like an argument heard through closed doors filtered through the hum. Jaren hoped that his reply didn’t seem unnaturally delayed. “When you've fought the Guild as long as I have, you start to learn how they think.”

Randolph leaned back and set his crossed legs on the table. “Convince me.”

“First we gather the resistance at a central base where they can repair and resupply.”

“Got anyplace in mind?”

“Bifron,” Jaren said.

Randolph grabbed the table to keep his balance. “
Bifron
?” he repeated.

Jaren gave silent thanks that the fumble gave him time to sort Randolph’s voice out of the spectral din. “The Guild beat us there once,” he said, “so it's the last place they'll look. It's remote, well-defended, and has the resources you need to get back in fighting form.”

“Considering that there’s no one inside to plot a safe course through the debris field, I'm not sure it comes out even.”

“You made it through unassisted,” Jaren said.

“
Barely
.”

“The whole fleet doesn't have to make the run blind,” said Jaren. “You just need one scout ship with a decent navigator to get in and start sending coordinates.”

Randolph sighed. “Well,” he said, “nothing worth having is easy to get. But finding a base is only a first step. What comes next?”

Jaren laid his hands on the table. “We attack Mithgar.”

This time the human captain did start to topple backward, and he barely prevented a fall. “A few crews have tried hit-and-run raids,” he said. “The only thing it got them was dead.”

“That's why we won't be running,” Jaren said. “We'll take Ostrith.”

Randolph's eyes narrowed. “I see why you chose piracy,” he said at length. “There's no way you’d pass a navy psych eval.”

With phantom voices muttering in Jaren’s head, the comment struck too near the mark. “The Guild maintains an illusion of invincibility to stifle revolt,” he said. “Beating them in their seat of power will break the illusion. More people will resist. Not just pirates; planetary navies.”

Randolph slapped his chair’s armrests. “I still think it’s crazy,” he said, “but it’s the best plan I’ve heard so far.”

“We need to act fast,” Jaren said. “I can’t hide the
Exodus
forever.”

“I share your concern,” said Randolph. “My men will do what we can. Just keep me posted on your status.” He stood, shook Jaren’s hand, and showed himself out.

When the other captain's footsteps had receded down the hall, Jaren slumped into his chair and held his head. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. The cacophonous voices had droned on during the entire meeting, and he'd feared betraying his distress. He still couldn't tell what his discorporate tormentors were saying. They sounded like the murmur of a crowded theater before the lights fell. The occasional word rose above the din, but nothing meaningful.

Jaren knew that he'd delayed long enough; perhaps longer than he
should have
. He'd hoped to defeat the phantom sounds with sheer willpower. Instead he’d alienated and demoralized his crew. In the coming battle, the slightest misstep would carry dire consequences.

Jaren groaned. Sometimes he fantasized about launching the cubes into space, or better yet, a sun. If his ordeal went on much longer, he still might; souls or no souls. Fear alone stayed him: fear that the voices wouldn’t end with the stone blocks; that their destruction would condemn him without reprieve, along with the two men who shared his punishment for cheating the baal.

This had to happen now!
Jaren thought. Victory was finally in his grasp, but Mephistophilis’ curse jeopardized everything he’d toiled and suffered for. There was only one thing for it. Little as Jaren liked the idea, his crew would have to finish what they'd started.

A gentle rapping on the open door coincided with the voices’ departure. Lifting his head from his folded arms, Jaren saw Nakvin standing in the hall; staring at him.

“It's nothing I can't handle,” he said, gesturing for her to come in.

“You do look terrible,” said Nakvin, “but I'm not here about that.”

Jaren feigned disappointment. “No? I can’t imagine why else.”