Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) (25 page)

Wasn’t it?

A small commotion down the hallway interrupted Xander’s reverie. He rose and pressed up against the door for a better look. A wide arch—likewise framing a clear barrier—stood at the end of the hall, with a hexagonal desk barely visible beyond. The two greycloaks who’d searched Damus stood at the desk, arguing with parties unknown.

At length the transparent barricade under the arch parted, admitting both guards and a third, unfamiliar greycloak. The newcomer’s hood was down, revealing a head of light brown hair. He glanced at Xander, and something about the man’s eyes made meeting his gaze difficult.

The three priests stopped in the middle of the hall, and the barrier closed behind them. One of the greycloaks—a burly, tan-skinned fellow—presented his palm to the newcomer.

“That’s far enough.”

The odd-eyed priest made a frustrated sound. “Come on. I’m just trying to do my job.”

The second greycloak, bearded and stouter than Xander, folded his arms across his chest. “Seems like you’re trying to do ours. Your mother never teach you to mind your own business?”

“My business is finding better ways to break things and keep things from breaking. The kid’s got something dangerous. Open his cell so I can find it.”

The bearded priest smirked at Xander. “Log says he came with just the rags on his back. Don’t take an armorer to see they’re harmless.”

The armorer raised his hands in deference. “My neck’s not on the line if he pulls something on your watch.”

The guards exchanged a brief look, and the burly one spoke. “You’re not cleared to search prisoners. Either tell us what to look for and we’ll do it, or go screw yourself.”

The armorer sighed. “Try to do someone a favor.” He drew the dark grey scimitar at his side. Neither guard hesitated before answering in kind.

“Drop the blade and pick a cell,” the bearded greycloak growled.

Meanwhile, his partner touched the trim of his cowl and said, “This is Saniyan Krol reporting an attempted breach by Bhakta Tefler. Seal block five.”

Tefler considered the curved sword in his hand; then let it fall to the floor. “I never had much use for it.” He casually pulled a blocky metal object from under his cloak.

Xander had seen guns before, but never one so large. The way the guards’ eyes widened, he guessed they knew something he didn’t.

“Dispatch!” said Krol. “Reporting threatened assault with restricted weapon.”

“They can’t hear you.” Tefler moved the gun’s muzzle back and forth between the guards. “Someone toss me a key.”

The bearded greycloak grudgingly produced his crystal plaque.

“What’re you doing?” asked Krol. “In here the back blast will pulp him too.” He advanced on the gunman.

Tefler’s strange eyes went wide. He backpedaled as Krol swung his scimitar. The grey blade struck the oversized gun and knocked it across the hall.

The other guard chuckled and grinned, forgetting the key in his hand. Xander willed the crystal card to him. Its former holder watched the card float across the hall, his mouth agape, before he found his wits and chased after it.

Xander fought to keep his focus. He couldn’t see the keyhole but directed the key by feel and the placement of other cells’ slots.

The bearded guard reached Xander’s cell just as the card slid home. He stood staring at his former captive through the open door.

“You should know,” Xander said, “I
do
have something dangerous.”

The flabby priest hurtled across the hallway before he could reply. Xander’s estimate of the clear barriers’ strength was confirmed when Damus’ cell door absorbed the impact without cracking.

Xander strode from his cell to find Krol and Tefler locked in a lethal embrace. The latter was using both hands to hold back the guard’s blade.

A sudden pounding on the arch door diverted Xander’s attention. Someone stood behind the clear barrier. His blotchy skin was pulled tight over ropy muscle, and his head was a bald lump. Next to Thurif, he had to be the ugliest man in creation.

“Open the door!” the bald fellow said, his shout muffled by the barrier.

Xander hesitated until he marked the man’s brown robe, worn pants, and sturdy boots.
Definitely not a greycloak.
Fitting the key proved far easier when he could see the lock.

The lumpish man burst into the hall like rushing water. He swept up Krol in a series of powerful yet surprisingly graceful motions that left Tefler free and the guard unconscious.

Tefler straightened his ruffled clothes. “Nice work blocking their sendings.”

“Thanks,” the ugly fellow said with a crooked grin, “But fixing the hub won’t take them long.”

Xander stared at Krol’s limp form. “You did that with your bare hands! Who are you?”

“Cook.” His muscled shoulders sagged as if he were a bashful youth who’d been asked to dance. “It’s who I am, and what I do on this ship.”

“Ship?”

“The
Serapis
,” Tefler said. “Our childhood home and subsequent place of business. He works in the galley. I work in the armory.”

Cook rubbed the back of his thick neck. “Well, we
did
.”

“Why sacrifice your livelihoods for me?” asked Xander.

“Poor job satisfaction,” said Cook. He hurried back through the arch. Tefler motioned for Xander to follow, and they regrouped at the hexagonal guard station.

Cook rooted through a drawer and laid the contents on the desk. He looked to Xander. “Any of this belong to you?”

Xander glanced at the proffered items. A broken glass vial on a string caught his eye. Brown-red residue lined the inner surface.

“You can admire it later,” Tefler said. “They probably noticed this station’s gone silent.”

Xander ground his teeth. “I have unfinished business.” Crystal plaque in hand, he strode to Damus’ cell.

“That little display was quite entertaining,” Damus said when Xander approached. “More so for you I’d imagine, since you took part.”

With a heavy sigh, Xander held the broken vial out for Damus to see before he dropped it to the tiled floor and crushed it underfoot. “Now you have no shield.”

Xander opened the cell.

Tefler and Cook led Xander from the
Serapis
into a world resplendent with greenery and redolent with life. Thurif had spoken of the Cataclysm as a new creation, but not until Xander walked among the great tree’s boughs did he grasp the words’ full magnitude. In the world curving away below him, mountains seemed no larger than ant hills.

The three fugitives fled by twisting paths to a deserted-looking row of dugouts in the dock branch’s upper terrace. Tefler led his guests to a stuffy apartment where Xander did his best to navigate the maze of odds and ends lining the polished wooden walls. Several pre-Cataclysm curiosities caught his eye and slowed his progress.

“Sorry I didn’t tidy up,” Tefler said from somewhere down the cluttered hall. Light shone from a room at the end. Xander entered to find Cook and the priest already inside.

Cook sat cross-legged on the ornate rug. Tefler occupied a swiveling plastic chair upholstered with fake leather. Besides a Worked lamp, the desk of wood-like material before him was covered with stuffed and mounted birds, squirrels, and insects. The air smelled faintly of a spice cupboard.

Tefler motioned toward a mismatched set of chairs facing his desk. “Have a seat.”

Xander eased himself into a steel frame chair with red cushions.

“You probably have questions,” said Tefler.

“You are a greycloak. Why did you free me from your own people?”

“They weren’t my people. And I didn’t free you. We’re stuck in a giant tree.”

“Is there no way down?”

Tefler leaned back in his chair. “You could climb. It’s ten vertical miles to the ground. The tree makes its own air up here, but it gets pretty thin below the canopy.”

“We have ships,” said Xander.

“The Night Gen and the greycloaks have ships,” Tefler corrected him. “The
Serapis
is almost done, but she’ll go to Shaiel’s Will, his Voice, his Left Hand, or some other part of him.”

“You sound as though you resent it.”

“Of course I do.” Tefler gestured from himself to Cook. “She’s
our
ship.”

Cook scratched the back of his lumpy head. “That’s kind of an overstatement.”

“We have a better claim than those sycophantic space monsters,” Tefler said. But piracy’s not enough. Hazeroth’s moving us all to Cadrys and leaving Mithgar to the Night Gen.”

A sick feeling filled the pit of Xander’s stomach. “How did your ship come to be here?”

Tefler planted his feet on the desk. “I was too young to remember. Cook can fill you in.”

The disfigured cook leaned toward Xander in the pose of a skilled storyteller.

“I was just a kid when it happened. The
Serapis
was a Guild warship, and my dad was a Shipwright. He pulled some strings to get me aboard.”

Cook’s dark brown eyes seemed distant. “We were part of a fleet defending Mithgar from a naval insurrection. I was on the observation deck watching the fight. We’d routed the enemy when something weird happened.”

The sudden pause stoked Xander’s curiosity. “What was it?”

“One of their ships—a big one—split open, and something came out.”

“A life boat?”

“I still don’t know for sure. It was almost like…” A haunted look came over Cook’s face, but he shook his gnarled head. “Anyway, it was alive. Words can’t do it justice. It hatched from that ship. Then it slithered over and bit into us.”

Xander’s eyes went wide. “It
bit
your ship?”

“Right through the bridge. What happened next is a blur, but it must’ve thrown us because we ended up in orbit. I remember waking up on the ceiling; locking eyes with a Steersman. I knew he was dead when he didn’t blink. I tried to move, but a collapsed pylon had me pinned.

“Something was happening outside. There was a burst of light that cracked the glass. It was bright and getting brighter. I thought it was the sun, until I saw the sun on my right.”

“It was the Cataclysm,” Xander said solemnly.

“The first spark,” said Cook. “It kept getting brighter and hotter. Then everything went white. I was burning up, but it felt good somehow—like I was filling up with life. Until the pain came. My flesh crawled like ants were burrowing through it. Finally I passed out. I woke up in the infirmary looking like this.”

Cook let silence prevail for a moment before he concluded. “We were adrift and alone when it ended. Half of us died—some in the event; more after. The engines were hopeless. Eventually our orbit decayed. We’d have ended up lining a crater if not for the drifters. Instead we crashed into this tree. It was a little smaller then, but it shrugged off the impact. The
Serapis
wasn’t as lucky.”

“I could not tell, to look at her,” Xander said.

“Thank Shaiel for that,” said Tefler. “The greycloaks came from Cadrys a few years back. They gave us shipwrights and parts in exchange for adopting their faith.” He rapped his knuckles on the head of a mummified cat. “The Wheel’s about all that still needs fixing. Nothing we try seems to work, but it’s just a matter of time.”

“What does Shaiel want?” asked Xander. “The Cataclysm chastened Mithgar. We need no strange gods.”

“He claims he’s the Void incarnate,” Tefler explained. “Says the Cataclysm was a last reprieve before darkness falls for good, but he’ll spare those who follow him.”

Xander cocked an eyebrow. “Do you believe him?”

Tefler shrugged. “Gullible people who fear death are a large, easily exploited market.”

“But you are a Lawbringer.”

“I was orphaned in the crash. The greycloaks took me in and taught me their ways.”

“They tried,” said Cook.

Tefler spread his hands. “Me and the chapter don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

“Why not forsake their priesthood?” asked Xander.

“Membership has its perks.” With a flourish, Tefler jabbed two fingers into the back of the dead cat’s neck.

“Was something meant to happen?” Xander asked at length.

“Wait for it,” Tefler said, concentrating on the mummified beast.

Several uneventful seconds later Xander said, “Practice your priestcraft another time. I have a friend on the
Kerioth
who needs our help.”

“Just a second,” said Tefler. He jabbed the dead animal a second time. “Sometimes it takes a couple tries.”

“I will take your word—” Xander began, but a raspy, forlorn yowl cut him off. He cried out when the dead cat turned, hissed at him, and leapt off the desk. A woman’s scream, followed by heavy stomping and metal chimes, sounded from the hallway.

Xander stood and pivoted toward the door. An utterly white man in a dark blue coat entered, followed by a visibly startled Astlin. Her eyes widened further when she saw Xander.

“How did you escape?” The Nesshin and the souldancer asked simultaneously.

“With our help,” Tefler said. “Hazeroth picked Zan to escort the lady. Me and Cook are that head case’s only friends, so I had him bring her here while we sprang you from the
Serapis
.”

Xander approached Astlin. “You are unhurt?”

Astlin nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

Zan placed a hand on Astlin’s shoulder. “I won’t let them hurt the gold lady,” he said.

Xander’s initial suspicion gave way to shock when he saw the hand’s metallic luster. “Are you another…”

“Souldancer,” Astlin said. “Air is to him what fire is to me.”

Tefler rose from his chair. “You’re fire? Now we have the whole set.”

Xander glared at the priest. “You do not
have
her. She’s a free woman; not property.”

A brief smile lifted the corners of Astlin’s mouth.

“No offense,” Tefler said. “We’re all friends here.”

“How have we earned your friendship?” Xander asked.

“You hate Hazeroth.”

Xander paused. He knew little of Shaiel’s Blade, but his priest was right.

“He’s hunting the souldancers,” Tefler said with a nod to Astlin. “I want to make sure he doesn’t get this one. Besides, Zan seems to like her.”

“You have committed mutiny and apostasy,” said Xander. “You must have other reasons.”