River of Souls (River of Souls 0.50)

* * *

The horse died in the western passes, after the bandit attack. Asa fought off his attackers, then fled, but only three weeks had passed since that early spring morning in Karda. Snows made the broken, narrow roads even more difficult, and the bandits’ horses were small-foot ponies, well used to these parts. They easily outpaced his gelding, and would have overtaken him, except for the spell from Asa’s cousin.

The spell’s potency had a limit, however. Three times he used the magic to cast a veil between him and his attackers. Three times the bandits regrouped and tracked him over the frost-limned path. His magic was not enough. He had to break the trail completely.

Asa rode as fast as he dared. Once he was certain of a moment’s safety, he leapt from the horse’s back. He wrapped the reins around his hand and drew his sword. „Ei rûf ane gotter. Ei rûf ane Lir unde Toc unde der strom.”

I call upon the gods. Upon Lir and Toc and the magic current.

The old invocation to the gods, from the days before the Empire, when the tribes of Erythandra rode into the southern plains, conquering.

A strong green scent filled the air, like the aroma of spice boxes from Andelizien, like the herb-laden closet where his mother stored her most precious silken gowns. Asa swallowed against the sudden upsurge of memory, then set the point of his sword to his horse’s neck.

The beast started at the first prick, then bucked hard. Asa dragged the horse’s head down, braced himself against the mountain, and drove his sword into its neck. Blood poured over his hands in a rush. The horse sank to its knees with a strange high cry that went on and on, until Asa pressed the blade home.

Blood and more blood. He

thought he must vomit from the stink. Moving blindly, he unbuckled the smallest and most important saddlebag. He laid that to one side, away from the struggling animal, then set his shoulder against his horse and shoved until he thought his heart might burst from the effort. Ei rûf ane Lir. No, for death he had to call upon Lir’s brother, Toc the Blind, Toc the warrior god. Ei rûf ane Toc. Ei rûf…

The horse gave a shudder and rolled over the side of the cliff. Asa fell against a rock. Eyes closed, heart thrumming, he listened as the still-living body slithered down the mountainside. His hands felt sticky with blood. He wiped them on his trousers, then returned the sword to its sheath, forgetting until too late to clean the blade. His old sword master would tell him exactly how careless that was.

Careless. He nearly laughed, nearly cried.

He might have stood there another hour, but the echo of hoofbeats plucked him from inactivity. The bandits. They had to believe he’d gone over the cliff with his horse. He slung the saddlebag over his shoulder, checked his sword and knives once more, and ran.

* * *

He left the main trail for a crooked footpath that wound upward into the barren heights. Here were the true middle mountains, the stony ridge dividing Ysterien from the dying Erythandran Empire. It was an empty land. He walked alone except for his thoughts and his dreams. At night, the stars were like a carpet of salt in the blackness, like a river of souls, crossing to new lives.

He had almost forgotten about the rest of the living world when he rounded an enormous boulder, only to find himself a few feet away from a spotted lynx, crouched over a hare. The lynx glanced up and stared at him with golden eyes. Its fur was tawny and thick, the ears tufted. Blood stained its muzzle.

The lynx growled. Asa started back and fumbled for his sword. He had it drawn when the lynx seized the hare in its jaws and darted away.

Asa blew out a breath and resheathed his sword with tremulous hands.

After that, he headed down slope, seeking the lower trails, but these ended in rockslides or among the thick pine forests. So he retraced his steps upward and east, over a shoulder of bare rock, along melt streams edged by jagged blue ice, and between fantastical columns etched by wind and cracking cold.

It was among these columns that a late spring snowstorm overtook him.

Within moments he was lost in a blinding cloud of white. He pulled his hood low over his face and struggled forward against the wind. Already snow covered the trail. Asa slipped on a patch of hidden ice and struck an unseen rock, so hard it drove the breath from his body. Numb and blind, he stumbled to his feet, fell again, then crawled through the drifts until he reached a rocky overhang. It was such a relief to be free of the wind that he collapsed into a heap. He had no spells to drive away so much cold. He was shaking too hard to speak the ones he did have for fire. When the storm passed, and a band of trappers came upon him, Asa was curled into a stiff knot, gripping the saddlebag to his chest.

Hands hooked under his elbows and hauled him upright. The frost had sealed his eyes shut. One of the strangers spat and rubbed a gloved hand over the lids until Asa could open them. A dark brown face peered at him, the skin furrowed and scored, the eyes like swift straight lines drawn in ink. The stranger spoke to an unseen companion. Then he (she?) and the other slung Asa’s arms over their shoulders. He tried to protest, but his tongue refused to cooperate. The strangers were not unnecessarily rough, but he was a tall young man, and they could not help the bumping and jolting as they dragged him to their own camp and laid him next to the bright blur of a fire.

Someone rested a hand over his forehead.

Ei rûf ane gôtter…ane Lir unde Toc…

A cloud of magic bloomed around him—its sharp green scent a hundred times more powerful than the spells learned from his cousin. He gave a sudden gasp. A hand pressed him backward against the hard earth. He slept.

* * *

Once more he dreamed of past lives, of one in particular.

Sleep, Adele. A woman’s voice, deep like a murmuring dove. Sleep, my heart.

I sleep, said Asa who was Adele. What is it?

A hand brushed over his chest, her chest. So light, like a feather dancing over her bare skin. Her belly rippled with desire, and she turned toward the woman with a groan. There is but one way I can sleep after this.