The Soulstoy Inheritance (Beatrice Harrow Series Book 2) Page 4

  But I wasn’t weak anymore, and I couldn’t rely on people anymore. This kingdom needed my help, even if they were forced to receive it my way. I pulled away from Harbringer and sprinted in the direction of the wolf, my eyes still closed. The feeling of running through the field with my connection open and my vision thrown into darkness was exhilarating, the long grass tickling my legs, the wind blowing through my hair, and most of all, the buzzing energy that flew past me, and sprang up before me. After a while, I had to open my eyes as I neared the first mountain ridge, and then I also slowed my pace, not wanting to alarm the animal.

  I could feel it close by, stalking just beyond the first ridge, lower down now, as if it had moved nearer. I crouched down and scaled the smooth rock on my hands and knees, pulling the dagger from my belt just in case. When I reached the peak, I paused. I dropped my glamor carefully, as I still wasn’t sure of my new hunger urges, but the small burn in my throat was nothing to what I was used to, so I began to slide down the ridge.

  That was when it attacked. I could feel it preparing—the bunching of muscles, the abrupt burst of power—and I dashed to the side, jumping off the rocky edge into a narrow cavern between the two peaks. It slid against the stones, confused at my sudden disappearance, but when it turned, I could tell that it had found me again, and I lashed out immediately with my wind elemental. Its paws scraped against the stone as it slid a short distance backward, and then it was fighting against me and winning, gaining ground even as I pushed it backwards. He was a scrawny thing, with shaggy brown fur and wild, glowing eyes.

  I wanted to kill him quickly, painlessly if I could, and from what my father had told me, that was exactly what the death ability would do. The problem was that I refused to use that ability on anyone, even an animal that I planned to feed to a starving village. So instead, I focused on the energy that bound the wolf together. I stumbled backwards, trying to get a better grip on it, as I would only have one chance to get it right, and just as he pounced, I tried to yank the energy into myself. I might have even succeeded, if he hadn’t proved to be a lot faster than he had been moving so far. His claws caught my arm just as another shape hurled itself from the ridge and slammed the shaggy grey body into the opposite rock-face. I stumbled and fell into the rock, trying to remember how to breathe as Harbringer stood, slung the dead wolf over his shoulder and turned to me with a raised brow.

  “I want to go again,” I said.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “The blood will attract more of them.”

  He frowned, and then nodded. “Alright, but lets move back to the field.”

  I hurried after him, more than happy not to get stuck in that cavern with another wolf, and we jogged a short distance into the field, where Harbringer dropped the wolf carcass. I closed my eyes again, feeling the sting on my shoulder, and didn’t have to wait long before another, much larger concentration of energy began to move toward us. My eyes flew open in shock, and I turned to Harbringer.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “There are three of them.”

  I held the knife out before me in preparation.

  “Just out of interest, how would you hold up against three of them?”

  “Depends how hungry they are.”

  I could see them then, one brown, another grey and another black. The black wolf was the biggest, and she led the small pack as they stalked toward us, and then they were running and I had no more time to think.

  Kill, I thought, just kill them. The death ability was deceptively easy to draw on, and the black wolf yelped, stumbling mid-stride before falling. The others barely slowed, and I lashed out at them too, until the last—the brown wolf—fell seconds away from reaching me.

  It was silent for a little while, and then I spoke to Harbringer, who I could feel behind me.

  “I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would, is that a terrible thing?”

  “I think you can forgive yourself for feeding a mass of hungry peasants,” he answered, fingers trailing briefly across my back before he stepped around me and moved to the furthest two wolves, grabbing a back leg of each, and carrying them to the one he had dropped earlier, throwing it over his shoulder again.

  I moved to the only remaining wolf and grabbed its two front paws, dragging it back to my horse, where Harbringer slung it over the back of the saddle. We rode fast back to the center of the town, because I was beginning to get worried that they might cook Grenlow, Rohan or Cereen if I left them there too long. The three were still stationed where I had left them, however, and Cereen was bent, playing with a small, dirty girl before the fire. She looked up when we reached them and Harbringer handed off the wolf carcasses to a few women that hurried forward to skin and string them up.

  Once again I couldn’t read the look on her face, but I thought that she seemed relieved. Grenlow appeared at my side, eyes on my arm.

  “It won’t stop them, you know.”

  It was the first time he had spoken to me devoid of formality, and it made me soften toward him, if only a little bit.

  “I didn’t expect it would. Tell me something Grenlow, do you eat that stuff as well?”

  He looked away, and that was all the answer I needed, though he spoke anyway.

  “Not anymore,” he said. “Not while you are in charge.”

  He walked away then, and I turned from the fire, catching my horse’s reigns as I went and walking along the road until I spotted a cottage that I was sure was empty. I tied the horse up again and removed his saddle, giving him a quick brush down, and setting the half sack of feed that had been tied to his back on the ground where he would be able to nudge it open.

  The door was half kicked-in, so I merely manoeuvred myself over the splintered remains and brushed a space clean in the corner of the room, below a window. I spread the blanket out that I had retrieved from the saddle and peeled off my boots, folding myself onto the blanket to better examine my shoulder. Three cuts ran deep, and half of the right side of my shirt was stained with blood by this point. I was surprised, because they didn’t seem that painful, but they would scar, and probably needed stitching.

  “Knock knock.”

  I looked up. Harbringer was standing in the broken doorway, nudging pieces of wood out of his way with his elbow.

  “The absence of a door probably negates the usual etiquette,” I pointed out.

  He rolled his eyes, and after finally making an opening big enough to fit through, he ducked through the doorway and came to kneel beside me. I noticed that he had a blanket slung over his arm, and a small drawstring bag hanging from his free hand.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it.

  He pulled it open instead of answering me, and as the medical supplies fell onto my blanket, I sighed.

  “Not this again.”

  He laughed, and then pulled out a pair of scissors, carefully cutting away the sleeve of my shirt.

  “Maybe you should have been a healer,” I noted as he cleaned the wound and began to string a needle together.

  He pinched the edges of the first gouge together and I looked away, feeling the sickening tug of skin as he began to close the wound.

  “I don’t think I would have been a good healer.”

  “Why? You seem perfectly capable to me.”

  “You forget that I feel everything you feel.”

  “I…” I never forget, I almost said, before I realised that he was right.

  I rarely forgot his ability when I wanted to keep my thoughts to myself, but I didn’t often think about the ramifications for him.

  “That must be hard,” I eventually said, “but surely the perks would outweigh the side-effects?”

  “People tend to distrust me, or else they avoid me altogether, because they hate the idea of someone being in their mind, seeing their most private thoughts. But yes, there are moments where I am grateful I have this gift in particular.”

  “Do you ever ignore it, to try and give people privacy?”


  “As much as I can.”

  “You don’t seem to do that with me.”

  “I can’t.” He didn’t even bat an eyelid.

  I blinked, surprised at his answer. “Why?”

  “Because I’m always overstepping a line with you, Harrow, right from the first day. I want to be able to stop myself before I do something I’ll never be able to take back. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

  His eyes flicked to mine and I flinched, because it wasn’t often that people reminded me of that night. I had done a remarkable job of forgetting it, of burying the pain deep. It was only a shadow now, a shadow of remembered trauma, as if it had merely been a story of another girl. He looked away from me again and tied off his last stitch, moving onto the next laceration in silence. I wanted to say something to reassure him, even as I prepared to speak, only silence prevailed, and eventually I let my mouth fall closed. After he finished stitching me up, he cleaned off my arm again and wrapped it tightly in a bandage. I looked down at it and then handed him the scissors again.

  “May as well cut the other sleeve off now. At least it will look even.”

  He took the scissors and leaned back as if to consider the task before him. “It looks better this way.”

  I groaned and took the scissors from him, attempting to wrangle the sleeve free myself, until he conceded and took control of the situation, half cutting, half ripping the material away. When he was finished, he threw the scraps aside and then stepped over a small pile of rubble to clear a section of the floor off for his blanket. Grenlow appeared in the doorway just as Harbringer’s tall form disappeared behind the pile of debris separating us. From the looks he shot us, it seemed as though he was surprised to find us sleeping separately.

  “Not everything Nareon says is true, Grenlow,” I muttered. “You should know that better than me.”

  He seemed to colour beneath the golden pallor of his skin. The tint made his usual shade seem grey beneath the synfee shine. Sickly. “Sorry, Lady Beatrice. The others have settled in the house next door, we’ll take turns guarding through the night.”

  “There’s no point. If someone tries to kill me, I’m sure I’ll wake up.”

  “But then what would you do?” I heard Harbringer ask. He was amused.

  I frowned. “I’d scream, so that you could do something about it.”

  Grenlow grimaced. “I’ll be outside.” He pulled his head back through the doorway. I watched his torso turn as he seated himself against the section of wall beside the doorframe.

  I shifted on my blanket to stare at the pile of wood chippings and dust balls, wondering why Harbringer even bothered. No matter what he piled between us, he would still know when I was thinking about him, and it would still make things uncomfortable, even if he couldn’t see me.

  “Go to sleep, Beatrice Harrow.”

  I glared at the pile and turned onto my back. “You know what? I don’t even care what your reasoning is. You need to learn to butt out.”

  He laughed. “You think this little pile of rubbish will protect you?” Our meager barrier seemed to tremble, as though he had prodded it from the other side.

  “I’m not scared of you, Harbringer.”

  “Yes you are, Siren.”

  Chapter Four

  The Pain in Trust, the Life in Dust

  The next morning I rose early, planning on spending some time healing what I could of the Flintwood land before we moved on to Red Ridge. I expected Harbringer to still be asleep, but both him and his blanket were gone. Cereen was leaning against the outside of the cottage, and unfurled herself gracefully when she saw me.

  “Morning,” I offered.

  She looked up at the sky, noting the barest rays of the sun that had begun to stain the horizon. The peaks in the distance were a dark, dark blue. Almost made black by the arrival of morning, tracing a hint of fire along each jagged peak.

  “So it is.”

  “Have you seen Harbringer?”

  “The Power Thief went hunting. He caught a few wild dogs and some dozen turkeys, it should be enough to tide the people over for another few days, and then they will go straight back to eating—”

  “Yeah alright,” I cut across her, “I get the picture, thanks.”

  Her mouth twitched, and I assumed that she was pleased to have rattled me. I gave my horse a pat and began to walk back down the road toward the center of town, only half-surprised when she fell into step behind me. The fire pit had burnt out, and the gathering site of the night before was now abandoned, so I sat on one of the many rotting wooden benches that ringed the pit and closed my eyes.

  I reached for the barrier that closed off my connection to the world around me and paused in shock. It was already open… and in fact, it seemed that it had been open all night. My eyes flew open and I jerked up from the seat, staring around at the small clearing that marked the town’s center. It all looked the same as it had the day before. I fell back onto the seat and put a hand to my throat, arriving at the chilling conclusion that I had also been golden all night.

  No wonder Harbringer had placed a pile of wood between us.

  Shakily, I pulled my glamor back into place, unease settling heavily in the depths of my awareness.

  “Lady Beatrice?” Cereen was staring at me, a faint alarm colouring her features.

  “It’s nothing,” I assured her.

  She fell back a step, and I settled into examining the clearing. When no answers immediately came to me, I pushed back to my feet and ran back to the cottage, Cereen close on my heels. Once inside, I tried my best to ignore her.

  “Nareon. I have a question.”

  Cereen, who had stationed herself outside again, immediately appeared in the doorway, just as Nareon happened into existence.

  “Flintwood?” he asked, not noticing the other woman yet. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to Red Ridge.”

  “I see. And to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of my presence in this expectantly un-pleasurable place?”

  “I left my connection open all night last night, but nothing has changed. Am I… am I broken or something?”

  He threw his head back and laughed.

  “The opposite. You’re better, stronger, more in control.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did the Power Thief let you come here alone?”

  “Would you even be angry if he had?”

  Nareon grinned. “No, I think some separation between you two is a good thing.”

  “Well it’s not going to happen,” said Harbringer from the doorway.

  He crouched through the opening and moved to the wall, leaning back against it with his arms and legs crossed, as though he were there to supervise.

  “Pity.” Nareon’s mouth turned down at the side in a semblance of a scowl, and then he seemed to spot Cereen, who had re-appeared in the doorway, eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Ah, Fire Elementalist. I remember you.”

  Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out, and eventually Nareon simply turned away from her again.

  “Well, as delightful as these visits are, I still have work to do—”

  “What on earth could you really be doing?” I asked, unable to help myself. “You’re supposed to be dead, Nareon.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” He ignored my question and dug into his pocket, pulling out a small wooden token with a carved coat of arms delicately set into the surface.

  I recognised it immediately as the token he had given me on our second meeting. He had said to show it to any of the other Tainted Creatures, should they approach me—that it would protect me in some way.

  “Don’t leave it behind again,” Nareon said, tossing it into the air.

  I reached out and caught it, disbelief forcing a stiffness into the action. He had even threaded a braided band through the top of the token, so that I could wear it around my wrist.

  “How did you get it?” I asked, slipping it o
ver my hand.

  “I emptied your book bag like so,” he mimed lifting something more reminiscent of a sack of concrete, “and then I picked it up, how else?” This, he demonstrated, by sorting through invisible paraphernalia that apparently rivaled myself in height.

  “Yes but how?” I ignored his theatrics. “I thought you couldn’t appear unless I summoned you?”

  “Things change.” He grinned, white teeth flashing insolently, and then he disappeared again.

  “I thought you couldn’t disappear until I banished you either,” I whispered, staring at the spot where he had stood.

  My eyes met Harbringer’s. Although he was frowning, he didn’t appear anywhere near as afraid as I felt, and I was terrified. With shaking legs, I pushed out of the doorway again and headed back to the centre of town. Cereen hung back now that Harbringer was with me. A few early morning stragglers had appeared by the time I reached the bench that I had vacated. They moved about the clearing, absorbed in their various tasks. I sat down and let my head fall into my hands, busying myself with the simple and uncomplicated task of drawing one breath after the other before I opened the connection again.

  Think of something good, I tried to tell myself, something happy. A series of images flashed through my mind—my friends’ faces; the dark brown of Hazen’s gaze; and my father’s ruffled orange hair, illuminated by the hallway lantern as he stood in my doorway. His posture was relaxed, his eyes calm. I could almost smell him, and he smelt like home. I saw myself twirling in a ludicrous dress while Rose and Miriam laughed, and then, as if the floodgates had suddenly been unlocked, I began to sob. Harbinger slid onto the seat next to me and pulled me into his side, but I only turned my face into his dirt-stained shirt and cried harder.

  The falling of rain did not clear the fog of my sorrow until it was falling hard enough that the sound of it was a persistent roar, demanding the attention of my unwilling senses. I could feel the droplets, fat and cold, falling into my hair and soaking through my clothes; the damp scent of wet soil permeated my nostrils; and the taste of precipitation had crept into the corner of my mouth. When I had no tears left to cry, I took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted my face to wash the sorrow clean. People had begun to gather, staring up at the sky in astonishment. A woman had fallen to her knees. She seemed to be weeping. Was that relief?