Peculiar Soul - Chapter 42: Pitfalls

Chapter 42: Pitfalls

Do not spend your days in worry, or in doubt, or in fear. These are born of the unknown, the truths the world keeps from man. It is not necessary to know these truths in order to live contentedly; indeed, there are secrets that man will never know.

Instead, we are given faith. Faith that we are all set on our path, with the capacity to walk it and the will to contend with such tests as may fall in our way. The world is fair, at the end of things. To individual men it may give greater or lesser joy, but the balance is always kept.

Everything ends as it begins, and begins as it ends. The tree grows from soil to become soil. Between oblivion and oblivion, man flares brightly. The world began in unity, perfection and balance; have faith, and rejoice that it will once again be so.

– The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Secrets. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)

“Two rations,” Amira said, tossing a pile of wrapped food onto the table. “Each. You’ll need to eat them before we set out.”

There was a mutter of discontent from the group; they had found Safid field rations to be almost offensively bland. Charles picked his up, glaring at it for a moment before taking tiny bites of the enriched crackers that made up the bulk of the food.

Luc was staring at his with some trepidation. He looked over at Michael with wide eyes. “I’m not sure I can,” he murmured. “We ate two just last night – and we didn’t sleep that long, yes? My stomach…”

Michael shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of dry crumbs with a grimace. “Just take small bites,” he said. “What you felt last night, it was the gap between your body’s capabilities with and without her soul. The more food it has to work with while under her influence, the better off you’ll be.” He nodded at Emil, who was taking grim swigs of water between mouthfuls. “Like him, see?”

“Whether you understand it or not makes no difference,” Amira said. “All you need to know is that we are not leaving this barn until every one of you has adequately prepared yourself for the day’s journey. That means food, water and proper gear. I’ll not make Saleh a liar; he promised safety. If I were to withdraw my soul at the day’s end only to see one of your hearts give out, it would be very unfortunate.”

Emil looked up. “That’s a possibility?” he asked.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Amira said. “Two rations. At least one canteen of water, more if you can stomach it.”

Sobriquet took a gulp of tepid water and looked balefully at her second ration packet. “Your attention to our health is much appreciated,” she sighed. “Please know that any misgivings or imprecations you may hear are only the mutterings of the faithless and desperate.”

Amira smiled. “I could not take offense, I’ve eaten more of those than you’ll ever see; I know very well they taste like damp sawdust.” She shrugged. “It’s what keeps up here, in these wet highlands. Were we in Saf, with the air coming hot and dry off the plains, we might have had more palatable fare.”

“I imagine quite a few things would be different were we to have had this conversation in Saf,” Sobriquet muttered.

“Likely true.” Amira walked to a clear area in the barn and began to stretch, bending nearly double to touch her toes. “But I would guess I am more likely to meet you once more in Daressa than Saf.” She bent down across her other side, twisting her head to look at Michael. “Perhaps even in Ardalt.”

Michael offered a smile despite the implication of her words, shaking his head. “You’d like it there,” he said. “Nice and temperate.”

“So I’ve heard,” Amira replied, straightening up. “I wouldn’t mind if that’s where our paths cross next. There’s always an interesting change in people when they stand in their homeland after a long absence.”

“I doubt I’ll be returning.” Michael swallowed the last of his second ration, then chased it with a gulp of water to ensure it stayed put. “Agh – if I were to return, there’s a woman I’d find, one who cooked for me when I was a boy. Your rations have instilled a newfound appreciation for her efforts. One of only two people I’d wish to see.” He pushed at the wrappings of his ration on the table, his thoughts dwelling on Helene and Ricard. “But I don’t suppose that I will again.”

Amira frowned. “If you want to, then you should,” she said, shaking her head. “Gharics. Your priorities are baffling sometimes. You see your path so clearly and turn away – why?”

“Probably because he doesn’t relish the idea of being shot,” Charles said. “Lord or not, they don’t look favorably upon men that run to Saf with an armful of state secrets.”

“Then come with us, when Saf sails to Ardalt,” Amira said, twisting to stretch her arms. She caught Michael’s eye, and there was a sudden gravity to her gaze. “No harm would find you in my company.”

Michael was suddenly aware of Sobriquet’s eyes upon him. He sat up, and looked back at Amira. “It’s a generous offer,” he said. “But I doubt I shall be in a position to accept it, if that day comes.”

Amira exhaled, long and slow, then straightened up. “Even with clear sight of the path ahead, we are often surprised at its turnings,” she said. “But you’re right; that is an offer for a far-off day. Here, now, it is time to run.” Her soul swept out to infuse them with power once more, and Michael’s breath caught with the giddy rush of it.

A corner of his mind noted that it would be dangerous to grow fond of this sensation. Michael breathed deeply and contemplated the idea for a moment, turning it over to inspect its facets. Yes, Amira was aware of the effect she had on them. Yes, her overtures about aligning with Saf were earnest. It was likely not an accident that Saleh had placed them in her care; she was intoxicating in more ways than one. In nearly every way, Michael admitted. He let his eyes linger on her, watching her movements blur into fluid grace.

She met his gaze and smiled. Ice crackled in his gut; he had always had trouble glimpsing her emotions past the inflexible stone of her soul. He had presumed that they hid within her, obscured, but as he looked into her eyes they were cavernous, empty, yawning wide save for a glitter of feral joy.

If you want to, then you should.

Michael suppressed a shudder and turned away, adrenaline thrilling in every nerve. He had not properly appreciated why Saf was so dangerous before, not even after meeting Saleh. Amira’s views were simpler, though. Pure. She illustrated the tight circle of Safid philosophy in its most brutal form.

He shook his head and looked over to Sobriquet. She had been watching him as well, and met his eyes rather than look away when he turned. Michael saw her inquiry, her concern – then relief. She smiled and turned to her pack, deftly strapping it tight with her good hand.

“Ready?” Amira called, receiving nods and affirmative grunts in response. “Good.” She smiled and pushed the barn doors open, moving the heavy wood without breaking stride. The others followed, and in moments they were out amid the hazy morning twilight. Their steps lengthened, quickened; the dew shook loose in sprays of glittering droplets as they raced across the field.

Michael put weighty thoughts of philosophy and temptation out of his mind. There would be other decisions to agonize over in the future, other dilemmas to contemplate late into sleepless nights. In the moment there was only the sweep of chill air against his face and the blur of greenery that sped past. Not everything pleasant was a trap. He ran, and let himself enjoy it.

Two days passed in the same manner, running through country by day and seeking whatever shelter offered itself at nightfall. The barn they had first used proved to be the best-appointed of their safehouses, and indeed the only one that could properly be called a house at all; the first night saw them sprawled under a smooth overhang of rock, the second amid a stand of broad, sheltering oak.

Michael had improved upon the grove’s twisting roots somewhat; he coaxed them upward to make several raised, flat spots for them to rest. If Amira thought this use of his power frivolous she did not mention it.

On the afternoon of the third day they drew close to the port of Siad. Michael saw it first from a ridge, the dark blot of buildings and tangled roads making a sharp contrast to the glittering waters of the strait. Ships steamed in and out of the docks; a few smaller Ember steamers slid past with darkness clinging about their stern. Michael’s thoughts turned to Spark’s vessel, months ago.

“Such a face,” Amira commented, raising an eyebrow at his expression. “Has the city done something to offend you?”

Michael looked at her, jarred from his thoughts; after a moment he shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just stray thoughts.”

“The mind often knows things before it realizes them,” she replied, turning to look out at the distant city. “Glimpses of the greater truths your soul understands, half-seen in an instant of divinity. Gone as quickly as it came.” Amira turned back to him and smiled. “So what was it, this memory of yours?”

“Not a pleasant one.” Michael pursed his lips. “An attack by an Ember steamer, some months back. I haven’t chanced to see one since that day.” He managed a small smile. “Something I’ll have to get used to if we’re traveling near the strait. They’re common enough; they can’t all be harbingers of doom.” His smile fell. “Besides, the other men involved are all dead now.”

Amira hummed, then shrugged. “Sometimes it slips through our fingers,” she said. “Most of the time. It may come to you later, in hindsight.”

“Not every idle thought means something profound,” Sobriquet said, walking up to stand beside them. “Minds wander, some more than others.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “I doubt any take the practice as literally as you,” he replied.

“I suppose I am something of an expert in the field,” Sobriquet deadpanned.

Amira smiled at her; Michael was beginning to notice an eerie similarity between her smiles, as if she had learned the movements by rote. “Would you mind lending your expertise, then?” she asked. “Siad is an obvious stop on our route to Goitxea; regardless of Saleh’s deceptions I expect that the Ardans will have some people waiting here.”

“If Saleh predicted that much, doesn’t he have his own people watching for Ardans skulking about?” Sobriquet asked.

“Likely as not,” Amira acknowledged. “But none of them are you.”

Sobriquet snorted, but Michael sensed an irritated satisfaction at the compliment; she was not immune to Amira’s oddly-charming manner, and it annoyed her greatly. He hid a smile as Sobriquet closed her eyes, her soul flashing outward from her physical body.

In a few moments her eyes opened once more. “Nothing obvious,” she said. “It’s a decently-large city, though. Lots of people. It wouldn’t be hard to lose a group of men against that background, if they prepared correctly – and they have to know I’d be looking.”

“Useful information to know,” Amira murmured. “Thank you for your candor.”

Sobriquet gave her a flat look, then shook her head. “We’re just passing through, right?” she asked. “It’s too early in the day for us to stop.”

Amira nodded. “Resupply only,” she confirmed. “There’s a small town south of here I’d like to get to before dark. Siad is too busy.”

She began to walk down the slope towards the city, keeping her stride to a more comfortable pace now that they were within view of the walls. Sobriquet’s protection notwithstanding, someone would sight the dust from their passage were they to travel at full speed.

“It’s pretty, yes?” Luc remarked. “Clean, spacious, on the water. What I remember of Esrou was – not like this.” He shook his head. “Cramped and smoky. Mud and crumbling bricks, not grassy fields.”

“Every town looks nicer from a distance,” Charles said. “It’ll feel less clean when you can smell the fishmarket, I’d wager.”

Luc managed a small smile. “Fish would be wonderful,” he said. “I’d put up with whatever smells they have if it means eating something other than ration bars.”

Charles cocked his head, then turned to the front. “He’s got a point. Any chance of scrounging some real food while we’re here, even if just for tonight?”

“We won’t be going down by the docks,” Amira said. “Only to the garrison command on the outskirts. Saleh will have-”

Something hit Michael in the chest, just off-center. Amira broke off to look as he picked it up. Deformed as it was, Michael’s mind didn’t recognize it as a bullet until the echoing report of the shot reached them. His eyes widened.

“Ah,” Amira sighed. “That will be the Ardans.”

Another bullet struck the ground near them, sending up a puff of dirt. A third hit Vernon in the shoulder, sending him stumbling back – but unharmed. Sobriquet looked down at the bullet, then up at Amira.

“I assume this is the reason Saleh wanted you to guide us up,” she said. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.” She turned to face the nearest buildings of the city, squinting; some figures were visible on a nearby rooftop, a light cloud of gunsmoke hanging above them. “I believe those are our gentlemen.”

She closed her eyes; Michael saw a blur of distortion above the riflemen. It shot downward to dance among the distant figures, appendages reaching out to touch each in turn. In a moment Sobriquet opened her eyes once more.

“Everyone’s safely asleep. Two gunmen, five more who I assume are either auspices or similar.” She looked over at Michael. “And one Ember. Your friend, Vincent.”

Michael felt a chill at the name. “Sibyl followed us here?” he asked.

“I doubt it,” Amira said. “Saleh believes they’ll keep her back from our lines after your confrontation a few days ago.” She stretched her arms and smiled. “She’s too valuable to risk. If she had been here, they might have seen that I was your guide and reconsidered their tactics. As it stands…”

She looked up at the building, then crouched down. “Don’t walk any further away,” she said. “You’ll stray out of my blessing, and there may be more of them.” Amira bared her teeth, her legs tensing – then jumped with a force that rippled dust upward from the ground and sent vibrations through Michael’s legs.

He looked up, stunned, as she sailed through the air towards the rooftops. Her landing provoked another plume of dust, any noise lost in the clamor of men shouting and calling out after the gunfire from within the garrison. Flows of troops had begun to stream out from the city; units of men in Safid uniforms moved in a crouch between buildings.

“What was that?” Michael asked.

Sobriquet looked at him, then shrugged. “I presume she’s about to kill those men,” she said. “It wouldn’t be wise to let them confirm our route to the Ardans.”

The cold that had begun to spread through his chest seized; he looked up at the rooftop. “She’s going to kill Vincent?” he asked. “Wait, no, we have to-”

“Have to what?” Sobriquet asked, her eyes narrowing. “Michael, whatever you might have thought of him in the past, he’s just tried to kill you for the second time. He’s our enemy, mine and yours.”

Michael’s mouth felt dry. He sent his sight upward, straining at the limits of his vision to gain a glimpse of the rooftop. He saw one figure moving at a leisurely pace; as he watched, it brought its foot up – then down, hard. There was a twinge in his chest.

“He saved me from my father,” Michael murmured, watching Amira move to the next body. “We traveled together, he introduced me to Jeorg. He-”

Michael’s thoughts stumbled to a halt. He pulled his sight back and looked at Sobriquet in a panic, her eyes widening at his sudden motion.

“He can’t die,” he rasped. “He can’t, we’ve done too much together.”

Charles snorted. “Listen, lordling-”

Sobriquet’s hand snapped upward to point at Charles; he cut off mid-sentence in surprised confusion. Her eyes never left Michael. “You mean affinity,” she said. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Michael said, clenching his fists. “I can’t be sure, but it feels – look, can’t you persuade Amira to hand him over for interrogation? Something, anything.”

“He was there at the front, he knows about your soul,” Sobriquet said. “At least enough that you don’t want him talking to the Safid. I didn’t knock them out from charity, you know. We don’t want the Ardans wagging their tongues about you before we’re safely away from Safid lands. If he wakes and talks-”

Michael shook his head, thoughts racing, words failing half-formed before he could speak them. The feeling of wrongness built around him, coalescing into a small knot of pain, an ache just beneath his ribs.

His eyes widened, and he sent his sight up once more. The fire burned bright in him, pushing his sight farther, sharpening until he saw the minute figure of a man with messy dark hair slumped backwards against a chimney. The man’s arms moved in quick, jerky motions, his face contorted in a grimace. For a moment Michael’s eyes saw him reclined in Annabel’s cart, sleeping fitfully on their way to see Jeorg.

Amira stood over him, disinterestedly drawing her leg back.

Michael watched as she kicked through Vincent’s chest.

The pain flared, driving Michael to his knees; his vision skewed wildly to the side. He was lying on his back. Sobriquet rushed to kneel beside him.

“Stand back,” he croaked. “Veil-”

Blinding light assaulted his eyes, streaming from the soul hanging in front of him. It was a modest-sized soul, compared to some, but far from the smallest he had seen in the river overhead. This one did not merely glow, however. It twisted and burned, roiling with tongues of white flame.

It began to drift slowly toward Michael, a branch floating inexorably closer to the waterfall. He felt the heat of the flames on his face. There was a sense of confrontation from it, of recklessness and camaraderie. Easy anger and laughter in equal portions. Michael dropped to his knees, watching it come. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry it turned out like this. I don’t know if you can hear me – if you’re still you at all.”

There was no reaction. The soul continued to draw closer; rather than let it catch him in the face, Michael lifted his hand and held it out palm-open. It floated for a moment just shy of his skin before the flames wrapped around his outstretched arm. They burned warm and intense, almost masking the molten pain of the Ember soul as it flooded through his arm.

Michael winced; he felt a tear track down his cheek before bubbling away into steam. The last of the light disappeared; he clenched his fist and watched the dwindling flames dance across his fingers. “Thank you for saving me,” he whispered. “No matter what else happened – I wouldn’t be here without you.”

The fire condensed within him, a second candleflame flaring bright beside Clair’s. As for the soul – Michael stood and turned to look. His soul hung against the inky black of the void, only a little bigger than before. There was a richness to it that was new, however, a subtle sense of texture and variety to its glow.

He frowned, taking a step forward-

His eyes opened. The air smelled of smoke and scorched hair. The grass crackled against his fingers as he levered himself upright; he looked down and saw that he was in the center of a small oval of scorched grasses. Charles and Vernon were busily stamping out the last of the fires at its perimeter. The light around them seemed odd as well, the flames at their feet shimmering with jeweled facets.

Sobriquet stood over him, looking down with concern. “You’re still drawing on it,” she said, nodding at his hands.

Michael looked and saw the familiar blurred, dim skew of light hanging around his fingers, darkness bending inwards and distorting with ripples of rising heat. He felt his heart speed, then slow as he took a deep breath, raising his hands.

Jeorg had been right when he said the universe knew form and light best. The Ember soul felt more like Stefan’s than the rest, churning away without any effort on Michael’s part. It knew without his direction what it was supposed to do, how to work – how to exist. He contemplated it for a moment.

“Are you going to be able to stop it?” Sobriquet asked. “If Amira comes back before you can get it under control-”

Her words shoved Michael’s sense of focus rudely back into place; if he could not control Vincent’s soul then he was inviting disaster on her return. Even the patch of scorched grass would be-

No, he had to focus on the soul. He turned his attention inward, feeling out the boundaries of the change that had transpired within him. The forge-glow of iron leapt out at him, smoldering in the dark. He gathered it, felt the light twist and bend around him as heat grew in his palms – then let it disperse, stopping the flow.

The heat died; the fire lost its jeweled glow. He raised his hands and saw no distortion or blur of darkened light.

Sobriquet reached down and seized one hand, hauling him to his feet. “What a mess,” she muttered, looking at the roughly Michael-sized spot of ash. “Amira is going to have some questions.”

“She’s not the only one,” Charles said, brushing ash off his trouser leg. “What in Ghar’s moldy bones was that? You’re an Ember now?”

Michael met his eyes and saw the familiar fear there, fear of the unknown. Of him. He felt it from all of them to some degree, though the timbre was different in each. Sobriquet worried for him, Vernon brimmed with the shock of realizing a truth he had known but never quite believed. Charles and Emil stood wary, their panic that of the hunter who senses danger he cannot see lurking in the woods.

And there was Luc. Michael turned to look and found him trembling, a fragmented storm of fear and shock whirling within him. His eyes were wide, showing their whites; he was staring at Michael’s hand as if the darkness and heat still danced there.

Sobriquet cleared her throat. “Michael’s soul is unique,” she said. “He can receive multiple souls, you knew that already.”

“There’s a difference between knowing and seeing,” Vernon said, shaking his head. “That was – something.”

Charles took a step back. “Just because he died close to you?” he asked.

“No,” Michael said, suddenly feeling very tired despite Amira’s strength still pulsing through him. “We had traveled together. He saved my life. There’s a connection that forms, and sometimes that draws the soul to me.”

An odd look came over Charles’s face, his emotions growing suddenly quiet. “Did you take Gerard’s soul?” he asked.

Michael shook his head. “It didn’t come to me,” he said, looking around. He still felt fear from the others; Luc was avoiding his eyes. “I don’t have control over how it happens.”

“What if I don’t want you to have my soul?” Charles asked.

“Don’t die,” Sobriquet sighed, stepping in between the two men. “Simple as that. If you want to talk about it more we can do that later; Amira will be back any moment.” She pointed toward the charred oval in the grass. “One of the bullets sparked a fire. It spread to this size before we stopped it. Everyone got that?”

Emil looked down doubtfully at the ashes. “Seems thin,” he objected.

“Then let me do the talking if she asks,” Sobriquet said. “This is life or death; I don’t know what Saf would do if they found out about Michael’s soul but we probably won’t like it. I’m hoping we’re far, far away by then, ideally safe in Mendian.” She rounded on Charles, staring up at him. “Life or death. You understand?”

He took a breath, then let it out with a slow nod of his head. “I understand that part,” he said grudgingly. “But we’re not done with this conversation.”

“I expected no less,” Sobriquet sighed. “Now please, let’s be quiet and wait for Amira to return.”

Michael forced himself to relax, to let the tension bleed from his muscles. In the distance a figure was racing toward them across the plains; Amira arrived moments later. Her boots were bloody where dust had not caked over the gore, dark spots staining her trousers and speckling up her shirt.

She slowed to a casual walk as she drew closer, her eyes gliding over to the burnt patch. “A problem?” she asked.

“Bullet sparked a fire,” Sobriquet lied. “We handled it.”

Amira hummed and walked closer, scraping the toe of her boot over the ashes – then shrugged. “We should be off before too many soldiers arrive to investigate. Our mission is not known among the ranks, and Saleh cautioned that it should stay that way.”

“Prudent,” Sobriquet agreed, flaring relief. “Lead on.”

Michael fell in behind her with the others as Amira gradually worked up to a full-out run. There had been joy in running, before; he felt none of that now. He was surrounded by fear. Men shouted in the distance, children cried at the noise of their passage.

Michael ran, and focused instead on the twinned flames burning within him. Clair’s – and Vincent’s, whole and distinct from the soul he had taken. He felt the man within the fire, his confidence and aggression. His anger. Michael ran with his eyes on the flame and wondered if the anger was for him.