The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (9 page)

“Stay your hands,” someone said in a firm tone. “If we see a weapon, we’ll shoot. You’ve seen how deadly our archers can be.”

Corson held up empty hands. Demetrius did not move. Even with the lantern light, Corson could not tell if Demetrius’ chest rose and fell.

The man who had spoken came nearer. His face was drawn and tired, his beard tangled and his hair unkempt. His clothes were frayed and tattered, but to Corson they were a beautiful sight, for they were the green and gold of Corindor.

The man noticed the garb Corson wore as well, but he spoke warily. “You wear our colors.”

“I served the king, and still serve this land. My name is Corson, and my wounded companion is Demetrius. He led the King’s Guard, and I served under him.”

The man pondered this and nodded slowly, but behind him someone else called out, “Anyone can wear the colors and claim to have served a dead king.”

“Thank you, Canon,” the man said with exaggerated emphasis, as if speaking to a child. He waved some men forward, who approached Corson and Demetrius with drawn swords. Corson held his hands a bit higher in supplication as the swords came within easy striking distance.

“Midras,” the man called.

One of the bowmen ran to his side. “Yes, sir.”

“You served in King Rodaan’s Guard, correct?”

“I did.”

“These men claim to have done so as well. Corson and Demetrius, by name. Can you identify them?”

“The names are true,” he said. He stepped forward, looked at Demetrius’ prone form for a moment, and then searched Corson’s face.

Corson knew him, but he saw the shadow of doubt in the man’s eyes, and felt his heart begin to sink.

Midras sighed and frowned. “I should say I don’t know you, to avenge your taking all my money at cards.”

“Took your—” Corson choked on the words. “It was you that cleaned me out.”

“I know,” he said. His face relaxed and he smiled broadly. “A test. Sorry.” He waved the swordsmen back and addressed the group. “They are true. Looks like they’ve been to hell and back, though.”

“It feels like we have,” said Corson. “We’ve been away a long time.”

The leader stepped forward and helped Corson to his feet. “Then we’ll be happy to hear your tale at camp. For now, welcome home.”

*          *          *

Rowan sniffed the air, thinking he smelled rain on it. He looked over his shoulder, back toward the Aetos Mountains, and saw deep purple storm clouds towering above them. A second glance assured him that the clouds were moving rapidly in their direction. If the storm did not overtake them that day, it certainly would that night.

If his company had noticed his looks rearward they did not deem it necessary to see what it was that had caught his eye. Jazda spent most of his time staring mournfully at the ground, while Tala kept her stony gaze forward. They had buried Rande two days earlier, and had covered nearly a hundred miles since then, but a heavy cloud of gloom still hung about them, almost as palpable as the approaching storm clouds.

Rowan pushed them well past dark, hoping to find shelter of some sort. The area between the Aetos and Stone Mountain ranges was lush but untamed, and wild plants often choked the grass and made its wooded areas difficult to pass through quickly. As long as they stayed to open areas the horses made easy work of the journey, the spring growth new and not yet able to tangle the powerful horses’ legs. By late summer a path closer to the mountains might have been easier, but for now they took the straightest and swiftest route.

Rowan finally gave up with a sigh. “Going to be a wet night,” he lamented. “No good shelter out here, or for another day or two, I fear. We’ll have to do the best we can with our cloaks.”

The others nodded their understanding and dismounted. Tala rummaged through the packs, and then started to prepare a small meal while Rowan saw to the horses.

“Should I try a fire?” Jazda asked.

“Won’t hurt while it lasts,” said Rowan with a shrug. He doubted they would benefit from it long, but he was happy to have Jazda busy. They had all had far too much time to think since Rande had died.

Their meal was cheerless and the rain found them before they had finished. It came down in gusty sheets, and their cloaks were of little use. Soon they were as drenched in the skin as they felt in spirit. “I’ll take the first watch,” Rowan said when they had finished eating. “Get some sleep if you can.”

He extended his watch, tired though he felt. The rain was relentless and he didn’t think he could fall asleep anyway. His companions, thankfully, had found rest, and he wanted them to get as much of it as possible.

Tala finally stirred about three a.m. and came to him. “A double shift?”

He shrugged. “Never was good at sleeping in the rain.”

“I was the same, but I seem to have adjusted. You should at least try. I will take a turn now.”

He gave in and went to lie down, the ground feeling wet and uncomfortable, even though he knew he couldn’t get any wetter than he already was. He made a rough pillow out of some tufts of grass, pulled his cloak over him like a blanket, and shut his eyes, unsure if sleep would come this night. He felt over-tired and uneasy, and his mind raced but could focus on nothing in particular.

Tala patrolled the camp slowly, her sharp eyes darting here and there in the gloom. Sight and scent were lessened in the deluge, and she felt they were safe unless someone or something accidentally stumbled upon them. But she refused to let down her guard, and she would keep as keen a watch as any other time.

The night drew on, the first shade of morning appearing in the east. The rain slowed to a steady drizzle. Tala slapped her arms to try to shake off the chill, and she circled the camp at a steady clip to keep her blood flowing. Rowan lay motionless, but Jazda tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep. Dawn was near enough that she decided to continue her watch.

Out of the misty rain a figure appeared, dim and indistinct. Tala stopped and stared, trying to make out what it was she was seeing. The figure advanced slowly, and seemed to coalesce as it drew nearer. Some fifteen feet from her it stopped.

Tala tried to calm her racing heart. The figure gazed at her with lost, sorrowful eyes. She stepped forward, shaking her head, believing she would soon wake or that the apparition would be gone when she blinked. Stubbornly, it remained.

Before her stood the ghostly form of Rande, shimmering with a pale white-blue light. He reached up, took hold of his hair with his right hand, and then gently pulled upward. His head separated from his body, and he held it beside himself, like a child holding a doll.

Tala was uncertain what to do. She wanted to call out to the others, but her words caught in her throat. Finally she managed to squeak, “Rande?”

“Rande’s spirit,” he answered, his voice hollow and far away.

As his mouth moved, Tala’s eyes were drawn to the ragged cut in his neck, which flapped as he spoke. She felt her stomach lurch.

They stood there, regarding each other for a time while the rain fell all about them. When the silence was finally broken, it was by neither of them.

“What do you want?” Rowan asked. His voice was calm, and he was fully awake. He stood next to Tala, placing a comforting hand on her arm just for a moment, a reminder that the two of them remained flesh and blood.

“ ‘Want’?” the phantom repeated. He pondered this as if he just then realized he walked the world after death. Finally he said, “I want to rest.”

“You cannot?”

“I remain in this plane. I should not be here.”

“Where do you belong?”

Rande’s spirit thought for a time. “I do not know. But not here.”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I am bound. We are all bound.”

“Who is ‘we’? All of us?”

“Not the living. The spirits of the dead. We cannot move on.”

“Why not?”

From behind Rowan and Tala came a gasp, then a cry of mingled fear and anguish. Jazda held his cloak before him like a shield and backed away. “It cannot be,” he muttered. He made a warding gesture with his hands, hoping to banish the spirit.

Rande’s ghost held his own head aloft to better see Jazda. This was too much for the sea captain, who mounted the nearest horse and fled, heedless to the calls of Rowan and Tala to stop.

“Should we go after him?” Tala asked. She made no motion to do so.

“No,” Rowan answered. “Though I fear he may harm himself in his flight, he could lead us all into peril if we pursue him. We need to speak to Rande further.” He turned back to the boy’s spirit, and studied him before speaking again. “Do you know who that was?”

“Jazda,” he answered, his tone neutral.

“How do you feel about seeing him again?”

“ ‘Feel’? I feel empty. Lost. I need to leave, but I cannot.”

“But what of Jazda?”

“He lives. I hope he continues to live. I wish for none to be trapped as I am. As we all are.”

“What binds you?”

“You know,” Rande said, and his eyes locked with Rowan’s. “He is gaining control of this place. He binds spirits here, both good and evil. He must be contained or returned to his own plane so that we can be freed.”

“And if we fail?” Rowan asked.

“Then none have hope, either living or dead, and he will travel to other planes and worlds and do the same. The struggle continues throughout time, as it always has and always will. Good is stronger, but evil can twist much to its advantage, and it burrows into men’s souls like maggots into dead flesh. You must prevail.”

“Is that why you have come here?” asked Tala. “To tell us this?”

“I know much I did not know while I lived. I speak with a voice more powerful than my own. I came here because I am drawn to those whose spirits touched mine. I came here because I can go nowhere else.” He looked east, where the clouds remained unbroken but where they lightened as dawn neared. “I must go. The night belongs to the spirits of the dead, the day to the living.”

“Will you return?” Rowan asked.

“I know not.” Slowly he faded, as the sun peered through a slender opening in the clouds. By the time the clouds had moved to cover the rising yellow orb once more, Rande was gone.

Tala rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache born of lack of sleep rising behind them. She wanted to talk about what they had just experienced, but she couldn’t decide where to begin, or what a conversation might add. She saw that Rowan had moved off to clean up their meager camp and ready the horses, so she pitched in to help.

When they were done, Rowan mounted up. “We’ll go east a bit,” he said, indicating the direction Jazda had fled, “but only for a time. We need to get on with our mission. If we can’t find him quickly, he’ll have to find us. Otherwise…”

“He is on his own,” she finished for him.

He nodded solemnly and rode off. She did not argue the point.

Both of them could see the tracks Jazda’s horse had made in his flight, the impressions still fresh in the soggy ground. Near mid-morning the rain stopped and the clouds started to break up. They crossed a small stream, stopping briefly to fill their skins, and then found the trail again on the other side. Soon after they came to a thicket and found Jazda there, his head bowed. His horse grazed a few yards off, flicking his tail contentedly.

As they approached, Jazda looked up. Tears streamed down his face and a sob racked his body. Tala knelt beside him, and Rowan followed her lead and did the same.