XV: The Soul Catcher

 

After Laia and her companions depart for the Empire, my days are quiet. Too quiet. Death stalks the land. Food shortages in Delphinium. Wraiths murdering the Scholars who flee from Marinn. Efrits softening up the Tribes to weaken them before Keris Veturia’s invasion.

I should be losing sleep with all the ghosts I must pass.

But the Waiting Place remains stubbornly empty, other than a few spirits drifting through. The rustle of bare branches and the pattering of winter’s creatures are nothing against the silence of the place. It’s in this silence, as I scour the trees for ghosts, that I notice the rot.

The smell hits me first. It is the stench of a decaying animal, or fruit left to insects. It emanates from an evergreen near the River Dusk, one so wide that it would take twenty men standing fingertip to fingertip to encircle it.

On first glance, the behemoth appears healthy. But deep in its branches, needles that should be a rich green are a sickly orange. The earth at its base is spongy, leaving the tree’s roots exposed.

When I kneel to touch the soil, pain tears across my spirit. It’s raw and corrosive, every regret I’ve ever dwelled on, every mistake I’ve made. Beneath the pain is the hunger from my nightmares. It envelops me in blinding whiteness. I’m thrown back, and when I sit up, the feeling is gone, though my body still shakes.

“What the bleeding hells?” I gasp, but there is no one to hear me. I crawl back to the tree, touch the dirt. Nothing happens. The soil around the evergreen is as lifeless as the salt wastes west of Serra. Small carcasses litter the ground—beetles on their backs. Spiders curled into balls. A fledgling jay, its neck broken.

I don’t bother calling out to Mauth. He hasn’t spoken since the day Cain returned my memories.

Perhaps the memories caused this. Eating away at the forest the way they eat away at me. But I’ve had them for days and this rot is new.

“Little one.” I nearly jump out of my skin, but it’s only the Wisp.

“A girl walks the trees.” The Wisp tilts her head, as if wondering why I’m on the ground. “A human, near the western border. Do you think she knows where my lovey is?”

“A girl?” I scramble to my feet. “What girl?”

“Dark of hair and gold of eye. Heavy of heart and burdened by an ancient soul. She was here before.”

Laia. I reach for the map of the Waiting Place and find her quickly, a glowing dot due west. She must’ve just entered the wood.

“Karinna,” I say, not wanting to lose track of the spirit yet again. “Will you wait here for me? I’ll be back soon—we can talk.”

But Karinna fades into the trees, muttering to herself, lost once again in her search for her lovey.

I turn toward the setting sun. The girl’s presence might explain why there’s rot in the Waiting Place. If she’s harming the forest, I’ll need to persuade her to leave.

By the time I find her, the sky is thick with stars, and the treetops dance in the wind. She’s lit a fire. No ghosts watch her and there is no decay in the forest near her. She seems for all the world like a normal girl traversing a normal forest.

A memory seizes me. Her face hovering above mine in the Serran desert as rain poured down around us. I was poisoned—raving. It was Laia who kept me from drifting away, who tethered me to reality with her quiet, indomitable will. Stay with me. She put her hands on my face. They were gentle and cool and strong.

You are not welcome here. The words are on my lips, but I don’t speak. Instead I watch her. Perhaps if I look at her for long enough, I’ll see that ancient soul that the Wisp spoke of.

Or perhaps she’s simply beautiful, and looking at her feels like sunlight flowing into a room lost to the darkness for too long.

Stop, Soul Catcher. I shake myself and approach loudly, so as not to startle her. But even when I’m certain she’s heard me, she doesn’t look up. Her hair is thrown into a long braid beneath a black kerchief, and she stares fixedly at a simmering pot of water.

“I wondered how long it would take.” She removes the pot, adding cooler river water to it. Then she unhooks her cloak and starts pulling off her shirt.

I’m dumbfounded until I realize she’s bathing and I turn away, my neck hot.

“Laia of Serra,” I say. “You have trespassed into the Wa—”

“I swear to the skies, Elias, if you finish that sentence, I will tackle you. And you wouldn’t like it.”

Something twinges within, low in my body. A sly voice in my head urges me to say, Maybe I would.

“My name is not Elias.”

“It is to me.”

Her emotions are veiled, so I reach out with my magic. For a second, I get a sense of her. Sadness, anger, love, and . . . desire. She suddenly goes blank, as if a part of her is shoving me away.

“Do not do that to me.” Her voice vibrates with anger. “I’m not one of your ghosts.”

“I only want to understand why you are here. If you need something, I can give it to you, and you can go.”

“What I want, you cannot give me. Not yet, anyway.”

“You desire me,” I say. The quiet splash of water ceases. “I can satisfy you if that’s why you’re here. It’s easy enough and if it means you’ll leave, then I’m willing to do it.”

“Satisfy me? How kind of you.” She laughs, but it doesn’t sound joyful.

“Desire is simple. Like the need for shelter or warmth. And it won’t be unpleasant.”

I hear a soft step and turn, forgetting that she has stripped down to very little. I catch a glimpse of skin, curved and golden and tapering to the swell of her hips. She’s piled her hair on top of her head and her expression is preternaturally calm.

Shouldn’t have looked. I direct my gaze up toward the treetops, which are infinitely less interesting.

“You really think it will be so easy?” She runs a slim finger along my shoulder blades, before her hand settles in my hair and she comes around to face me. She rises on her toes and tugs me close, stopping before our lips touch.

“For me, Elias, desire is not simple. It is not shelter. It is not warmth. It is a fire that offers no light, only heat, ruinous and consuming. The longer you deny it, the hotter it burns. You forget shelter. You forget warmth. There is only that which you want and cannot have, and the desolation that follows.”

Her lashes, I note, are unusually long, but it’s the cool challenge in her eyes that makes me wonder why she doesn’t have the world in her thrall.

My hands move to her bare waist and I pull her closer. But doing so is a mistake, for I don’t expect her skin to be so soft, nor for the press of her body to evoke a cascading wave of heat in my own.