Soul Weaver: A Fantasy Novel Read online

  Could she trust a man like that? Did she have any choice about it at this point?

  Realizing she no longer heard the murmur of voices, Shel crept up to the doorway and peered through. She gasped at what she saw. The torture chamber was every bit as bad as she had imagined, packed with stretching racks and devices that could serve no purpose other than inflicting pain. Near the center of the room, a man hung suspended from the roof by thick leather cords wrapped around his wrists. The man’s feet dangled a foot or so over the ground, and his body swayed gently back and forth.

  He was naked. Dark bruises stood out all over his body, punctuated here and there by deep cuts and lacerations crusted over with dried blood. Ribs showed clearly through his skin, and it was clear he hadn’t eaten properly for weeks, maybe months. His face was haggard and drawn. Patchy gray stubble grizzled his jaw. His crooked nose had been broken many times. At first glance, Shel thought he was dead.

  But the man’s eyes shone with a defiant vitality. He was alive, though Shel wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t be better off dead.

  “I won’t,” the man said firmly, his voice surprisingly strong if a little hoarse. Neither he nor Rez seemed to notice Shel peeking through the door. “I won’t do it!”

  Rez hauled back with one hand and slapped the man across the face. The haggard torture victim swung to and fro from his creaking leather straps and spat blood on the floor at Rez’s feet.

  “What choice do you have?” hissed Rez angrily. “You’d give it to them instead?”

  “This dream is ending, yes. But there are other ways,” whispered the victim.

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Rez. “There is no other way, and you know it. Maybe you don’t appreciate what I've risked in coming here. We have to hurry.”

  “I won’t,” the beaten man insisted, glaring angrily at his latest tormentor. Shel shivered at the determined look on Rez’s face and backed hurriedly away from the door. She had no idea what was going on between those two, and she didn’t want to know. She just hoped Rez would hurry up and keep his promise to get her out of here.

  Clanking sounds of metal echoed through the darkened corridor at Shel’s back. The guards!

  “We've got to go!” she snapped in a tense whisper, bursting into the torture chamber. Rez spun toward her, frustration plain on his face. The torture victim stared at her in open-mouthed shock, then began struggling against the leather straps binding his wrists together. Blood, caked and crusted over half-healed abrasions, cracked and split and flowed slowly down the man’s arms.

  There was something else, beneath the crusts of dried blood and the coated grime that covered the man’s sagging flesh. Markings, all over his body. They were hard to make out beneath the filth and blood but Shel saw them and her blood ran cold. A thousand tiny tattoos, or birthmarks; strange symbols. She had seen them before.

  “Guards?” asked Rez, and Shel pulled her eyes away from the brutalized torture victim.

  “They're coming!”

  Rez turned back to the torture victim. “Last chance, old friend.”

  “Who…is she?”

  Rez looked at Shel over his shoulder with a puzzled frown. “Her? Street thief. I found her in the cells and thought…” His eyes widening, Rez whipped his head back around to stare at the hanging man. “No.”

  “Come closer, girl,” said the tortured man. “Come here.”

  “What?” Shel took a few steps into the room, bringing her closer to Rez and the hanging man. She didn’t want to look at him. “Rez, we've got to go. Whatever you came for, get it over with.”

  The torture victim was still squirming against his bonds. Suddenly, one hand slipped free of the binding leather strap. Coated with thick, viscous blood that was half congealed even before it seeped from his wounds, the freed hand shot down and out and grabbed hold of Shel. Startled, the girl cried out and tried to pull away. The dying man’s grip was impossibly strong, and she couldn’t get away.

  “Yes,” whispered the dying man. Bloodshot eyes focused on Shel, and he squeezed Shel’s wrist tightly. “Child,” he said hoarsely, “my name is Aemond.”

  His eyes rolled up in their sockets and for a moment Shel thought he was gone. Then he began to chant, lowly at first but with steadily rising volume. The language was unfamiliar to her, the words sharp and strange and heavily laden with a forgotten mysticism. They were like physical shapes expelled from the dying man’s lips to fly toward Shel, creeping and crawling across her skin and burrowing inside.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, forgetting the guards and Rez and the dungeon. She forgot everything except for the broken, dying creature who had taken her by the arm and was chanting his dark, foreign magic. Shel felt her eyes drawn to the markings on his arms and chest, barely visible.

  His eyes opened wide, filled with a pulsating white glow that seemed to evaporate, turning to a misty steam that rose up from the burning sockets. More of the mist seeped from his nostrils, his mouth, even his ears. The smoky haze drifted downward, heavier than air. It settled around Shel.

  Pain exploded through her body, a thousand miniscule eruptions of agony that bloomed and spread. Intense waves of pleasure followed in the wake of the pain, and then the pain came again. Shel cried out wordlessly, arching her back and howling up at the heavy stone ceiling. She shivered with the ecstasy and writhed in feverish torment. Almost as soon as it began, it was over. Shel stumbled, head reeling. The dying man released her and she fell.

  Rez’s arms wrapped around her, hauling her back to her feet. He was shouting something but she couldn’t hear. She looked at him curiously, unable to comprehend the desperate look on his face.

  “What…?” Her own voice sounded strange in her ears, slurred and distorted as though she were drunk.

  “We have to go,” said Rez, sounding angry. “Now.”

  Shel nodded weakly and Rez let go of her. She tried to walk but immediately pitched forward. Rez caught her again, saving her from a headlong fall. Her vision swam, and Shel squeezed her eyes shut against a wave of vertigo.

  “I…” Shel swallowed, tried again. “I don’t think I can.”

  “No,” she heard Rez say from somewhere very far away. “No, I don’t suppose you can. All right.”

  The world fell away. It wasn’t weightlessness she felt, but something similar. Had gravity turned itself around, was that why she was flying upwards and back? There was something firm against her belly now, something a little bit bony. Shel realized Rez must have thrown her over his shoulder. That’s why she felt like she was bouncing up and down: he was running.

  “Put me down…” she muttered. “I'm all right.”

  “No, you're not.” His voice betrayed no strain. It was like she really was weightless. He was strong. Maybe he was weaving, maybe that’s why she wasn’t a burden. Shel didn’t like the idea but what could she do?

  Voices, shouting. Other sounds that vibrated in her ears. Warmth, and a blinding light that pierced the tightly shut lids of her eyes. The sun. Somehow, they were outside. Wind whistled in Shel’s ears, the rushing air tickling its way over her arms and legs. Shel fought to open her eyes, but when she did everything was a bright, spinning blur.

  “Where…?”

  “Shh,” hissed Rez. “You're fine, you're safe. Just relax.”

  How could she relax? Shel didn’t know what was happening to her, and it seemed like an awful lot of things were happening. She had closed her eyes almost at once to block out that sickening, spinning blur of light. She tried opening them again. Shades of brown melted together but refused to form a clear picture. They were out of the dungeons, but where was he taking her?

  More shouting, and the pounding of feet. Shel tried to speak, tried to tell Rez to let her down, but her throat felt tight and dry and she could make no sound. In her unfocused vision, brown and tan and dun gave way to pale yellows and greens. Then everything faded to a colorless blur that slowly went black.

  Chapter 4 - Questions<
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  For the second time that day – was it the same day? – Shel woke up and didn’t know where she was.

  She was lying on a rough mattress stuffed with straw. She could feel the straw, poking against the fabric and sometimes piercing it to jab into her back.

  Her mouth was dry. Shel licked at her lips and tried to work some moisture into her mouth, then swallowed. She could see clearly now, but her view was limited to the wooden beams of a low ceiling over the bed. Light streamed into the room from somewhere, a window she couldn’t see. She was out of the dungeons, but where was she?

  It took more of an effort than she expected to sit up, and as soon as she did her head began swimming again. Propping herself up on the uncomfortable mattress with one hand, she put her other hand to her forehead and blinked against the dizziness.

  “Easy now,” said a woman’s voice from beside her. Shel turned her head and saw a young woman sitting beside her bed wearing a look of gentle concern. The woman was perhaps five years older than Shel, still young and quite beautiful. Honey colored hair draped itself luxuriantly over her shoulders and her eyes were a deep, rich shade of green. They almost seemed to glow with an inner light.

  The thought of glowing eyes snapped Shel back to reality. The memories came crashing back, startling the young thief. She recoiled from the woman, scrambling back across the mattress to get away.

  “Whoa,” said the blonde woman, leaning over the bed and taking hold of Shel’s shoulders with both hands. “Take it easy, I said. Relax. You're okay. You're safe.”

  Shel stopped trying to get away, but still viewed the strange woman with suspicion. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings. Stone walls, so very like the cold dungeon but dappled with sunlight streaming through the window at her back. Wooden ceiling, wooden door. Thin carpets overlapping on the stone floor, mismatched and ragged. Safe? But where?

  “Where am I?”

  The woman frowned, but it didn’t seem to be an expression of anger or even disappointment. More like concern. “Who are you?” Shel asked the woman.

  “My name is Kal,” said the honey-haired beauty. “And you're Shel, right?”

  Shel narrowed her eyes.

  “Rez told us your name,” Kal explained with a gentle smile. “Relax, Shel. Truly, you're among friends. No one will harm you here.”

  “And where is here?” asked Shel, her suspicions not allayed. She couldn’t understand what had happened to her in the dungeon. That man, the one with those marks…Shel’s hand flew to her throat unbidden, and her fingers grasped at the collar of her shirt. Relieved that no one had undressed her, she dropped her hand and tried to cover the movement by smoothing the front of her shirt.

  Kal watched her with a puzzled frown and said, “I'm afraid I can’t tell you that. Not yet, anyway. Rez brought you to us because he didn’t know what else to do with you. It’s good you weren’t awake. We try to keep this place secret.”

  “You're not exactly reassuring me, you know that?” Shel glanced around the room again. It didn’t have the look of a cell. On the other hand, it hardly looked like someone’s comfortable spare bedroom either. There was no furniture save the mattress, which rested on the bare floor. Kal had been sitting cross-legged on one of the mismatched carpets. The whole room had a makeshift quality and no sense of permanence. Shel looked at the honey-haired Kal again, a new suspicion taking root in her gut.

  “I'm in your gang’s secret hideout,” she guessed.

  One of Kal’s eyebrows lifted, and then the woman laughed. It was an easy laugh, and genuine. She had let go of Shel’s shoulders, but now she reached out with one hand and rested it on the girl’s arm. “I can see why he brought you here,” she said.

  Shel nodded, more in response to her own inner thoughts than to anything Kal had said. It made sense. Rez was a member of one of the gangs. There weren’t that many, even in so large a city, but there were a few. Thieves that banded together tended to live longer. But, Shel suddenly remembered, there were other criminal activities besides thieving. And she had never heard of a weaver thief.

  Shel looked at Kal, studying the woman. For her part, the honey-haired Kal didn’t seem to mind the scrutiny. She sat back down beside the straw mattress and waited patiently. There was a gentleness about her that Shel couldn’t deny. She didn’t think this woman was a murderer; but what about Rez? He’d said that man in the torture chamber was his friend, but he had slapped the man – hard – and wanted him to do something he didn’t want to. Who was Rez? What sort of gang was he in?

  “Are you…” Shel hesitated. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know how many people were in this gang, how many potential enemies she might face if they turned out to be unfriendly after all. But there was really only one way to find out. “Are you thieves?”

  Kal laughed again. Her green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Yes, Shel,” she said when her laughter subsided. “What did you think, you’d fallen in with a pack of murderers and scoundrels? We're thieves.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Shel said, though she was still not certain. Something about Rez had made her very uneasy. Kal was pleasant and friendly, but Shel couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. She didn’t understand what had happened to her back in the dungeon, but it obviously had to do with that strange, battered man – and with Rez. She decided to keep her eyes sharp. “So when do I meet the rest of the gang, then?”

  “Soon enough, I think,” said Kal, and then her expression turned serious. “You're not injured or sick or anything. Actually, we're really not sure what happened to you…Well, Rez might have an idea but he’s being even more tight-lipped than usual. We're all very curious about it, actually. Maybe you could…”

  Shel shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. It was possible Kal knew more than she let on, but Shel was finding it difficult not to trust the easy-smiling woman.

  “Well, that’s okay too,” Kal said with only a trace of disappointment, quickly masked with another good-natured chuckle. “You'll find that most people don’t really know what’s happening to them.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say.”

  “Not really.” Clearing her throat with a suddenly guarded expression, Kal changed the subject. “The rest of the gang are eager to meet you, you know. It’s not often Rez brings someone new to the hideout. The place is abuzz with gossip; everybody wants to know what he sees in you.”

  “Rez is your leader?”

  Kal regarded her slyly and didn’t answer right away. “You'll want to get cleaned up first, I imagine,” she said instead. “Forgive me for saying so, but you stink like the pits. That’s a stay in the dungeons for you. Nasty places. If you feel up to moving, I'll take you down to the baths. No one’s down there this time of day so you'll have some privacy…”

  Kal saw the suspicion returning to Shel’s face and sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Rez is our leader. And I'm sure he’d rather explain everything to you himself.”

  “He told you not to talk to me?”

  “What? Of course not!” Kal laughed again, but it wasn’t the same easy-going laughter from before. There was an edge to it, a self-consciousness. “He just doesn’t like anyone to steal his thunder, that’s all. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  ***

  Kal led Shel down a cramped, stone corridor to a narrow stair that twisted around on itself in a steep descent. They passed no one else on their way to the bathing chamber, which was three floors below the room in which Shel had woken. The air was cooler down here, and Shel suspected it might be underground.

  From the hallways and the staircase she had guessed they were in some kind of castle or fortress. Not that it told her much; the countryside was littered with forts and castles, some occupied but most long-abandoned. There had been no need for a standing army in the Great and Glorious Empire of the Long Summer since…

  Well, Shel didn’t know how long. Centuries. Possibly as long as the Long Summer. Shel had never
really thought about things like this before. As Kal led her into the baths, she wondered what other things she had never considered.

  The bath chamber was a long room with a low, arched ceiling. Dark stained stone pillars – some of them crumbling in places – supported the ceiling. Between the columns, in two rows along the sides of the room, were the baths. They were thick-walled bowls of copper large enough for a grown man to stretch out in, and deep enough to hold two feet of water. The tubs sat sunken halfway into the flagstone floor and were fed by large copper pipes that jutted from the wall above the head of each tub.

  A constant cloud of steam hovered beneath the low ceiling, and warm mist spread tendrils throughout the chamber. Wooden racks sat at the foot of many of the tubs, laden with towels and other bathing implements. There were long-handled wooden brushes with stiff bristles, and jars of scented oils.

  Kal went to one of the nearer tubs on the left-hand side of the room, Shel trailing behind her. The honey-haired thief went to the wall and turned a large, stiff iron wheel that stuck out from the wall above the copper pipe. There was a gurgling sound, and after a moment steaming hot water began to issue from the mouth of the pipe. It splashed into the tub in a growing torrent, rapidly filling the sunken tub. Kal shut off the flow, which dwindled to a trickle and then to an intermittent drip, when the tub was three quarters of the way full.

  “I'll leave you to it,” said Kal, turning away from the wall. Her smile was meant to reassure Shel. “I'll just be right outside. No one will bother you. Take as long as you like.”