A Feast of Souls: Araneae Nation, Book 2 Page 13

  “Not me.” Lleu smiled up at the sun. “Erania numbed me in places I didn’t know I had.”

  I snorted.

  He winked.

  Vaughn growled, “You’re all in high spirits.”

  “I’m not.” Bram scratched his forearm. “I can’t say I’ve ever been to Cathis, and arriving in the midst of a plague is not how I’d prefer to acquaint myself with your clan home or clansmen.” He sighed when he drew blood. “Besides the fact the yellow death is lethal to males…and I don’t much care whether it’s mercy or murder. I want my head facing forward when I die, thank you.”

  Something he said struck a chord with me. “How could it be mercy?”

  Refusing to meet my gaze, Bram stared ahead. “There are worse things than death, Walker. I shouldn’t have to lecture you on those. Killing a wife…a daughter…even to spare them…” His throat worked. “It’s easier to kill a friend, a son, a father, than to kill a member of the fairer sex.”

  Lleu found his handful of dried fruits of sudden interest while curiosity sharpened Vaughn’s features. He must have heard the same echo of personal experience in Bram’s words as I had. It made me wonder why he had defected to the Araneidae. Gold or clout seemed the most likely of reasons. It saddened me to admit few would have witnessed the atrocities committed and chosen to side with the victimized clan rather than the aggressors, his home clan, without compensation.

  Perhaps I had judged him too harshly. If his maven required such grim service from him and his clansmen, then a fresh start among a peaceful clan would be a blessing worth more than gold.

  The question remaining was…what events transpired in Siciia that drove its clan to execute such drastic measures? Had Bram experienced the plague? Would that explain his apprehension?

  Hmm. It bore thinking upon. I would consult Vaughn later, once his mood improved.

  “How far are we from Cathis?” If the darkness of Vaughn’s disposition was proportionate to our proximity, I feared for his constitution by the time of our arrival. “I have never been.” Old Father forbade me to accompany him on his visits to Isolde. “What is the city like? Your clan?”

  “Meet one Mimetidae and you’ve met them all.” Vaughn addressed no one in particular. Yet his tone made Bram and Lleu exchange a glance. They urged their varanus to lag far behind ours.

  “I have met several.” I scoffed. “Your clansmen are no more alike than mine are.”

  “I have heard the slurs spoken against Cathis.” He shifted in his saddle for comfort. “That it is a land of nightmares, that skulls and bones adorn our gates, skins line the walls of our homes.”

  I had heard such rumors too, and Rhys was reluctant to deny them.

  I had to ask, “Is there any truth to their claims?”

  His smile was cruel as he turned on me. “Chinedu once said all lore holds a grain of truth.”

  “You’re trying to frighten me.” His foul mood stoked my own. “I don’t appreciate it.”

  For an instant, his expression softened. “I’m sure Rhys confided in you.” His voice hardened as he said, “He isn’t comfortable there. He doesn’t belong there. Whatever he said, you must—”

  “He’s the bastard son of their maven.” I strove for calm. “Rhys was raised among a peaceful clan, and he was ill-prepared for Isolde’s welcome into the Mimetidae fold after so many years.”

  “You would have had my mother dishonor my father by bringing her bastard into our clan in his declining years?” Vaughn snapped. “Father would have gutted Rhys, and Mother knew it. Be thankful we left him where he was, or you’d have no reason for this ill-advised mission of yours.”

  Leather reins bit into my hands. “You think I made this journey for your brother’s benefit?”

  He glanced away. “You told your maven as much.”

  “I told my maven what she wanted to hear.”

  “Did you?” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you telling me what I want to hear now?”

  I set my jaw.

  “Take your time to find your answer.” He smirked. “Lies have a way of compounding.”

  “Rhys is a consideration of mine, as I know he is for you.” My voice remained level as my hands shook. “I saw you. When Lourdes brought Rhys to me, he was bleeding and poisoned, and she begged for my help, and I saw you. Not the indifference you’ve cultivated, not the anger you both carry, but the truth. You love your brother. Have you considered what this means for you if Isolde dies? Beyond your concern for her, beyond Rhys’s welfare, I’d like to know if you spared a single thought for the fate you’re rushing into? If you’re too late, your clansmen will kill you.”

  Now his jaw set.

  “Is this trip worth the risk? You could hire on with another clan, become a true mercenary. It would save your life. Your brother, well, despite what I told my aunt, there is enough gold lining Lourdes’s coffers to buy loyalty from the best swordsmen.” I clarified, “Well, the second best.” The Mimetidae were truly unmatched in their skill with blades.

  “Mother will live,” Vaughn said. “Cathis is her home, and she will not cede it to another.”

  I was not so cruel as to guide his thoughts down darker paths. An ailing maven with no allies in prime position for a coup… I shook my head. From what I had seen, her people were loyal to her. Their devotion to Brynmor had been an absolute, and their allegiance applied to Vaughn, I was sure.

  As to the nature of her sickness, its connection to the plague, we’d learn those details soon.

  “Your arrogance is showing.” I tightened the reins. “Do tuck it in before we reach Cathis.”

  Another nudge and Sakwa slowed until Bram and Lleu caught up to me. Vaughn rode ahead, his shoulders tense. Both males’ gazes raked me. “Well, that could have gone better.”

  “I doubt that.” Bram shrugged. “But it could have gone far worse.”

  I slanted him a glance. “Thanks for leaving me to my fate.”

  “You’re poking an ursus with a thorn in his paw,” Lleu said. “Hearing you side with Rhys in any matter won’t win you any thanks from Vaughn. He trusts you, admires you, and he wants—”

  “—you all to himself,” Bram finished.

  “Yes, well.” I strangled on my response. “Rhys is my cousin, and he will always be a part of my life. Thorn in his paw or not, Vaughn must move past his old hurt. I don’t favor one of them over the other. They are impossible to compare. One is family. The other is, well, he’s Vaughn.”

  “Females,” Bram muttered. “They don’t understand the workings of the male mind.”

  Lleu grumbled agreement. “It’s obvious. You’d think she’d see what’s in front of her.”

  I scowled. “What are you two gabbing about?” Could they make less sense? Probably.

  “Vaughn destroyed his mother’s life. Think about that, the type of strain that places on their relationship. Her husband killed the male she loved, because of Vaughn,” Bram said. “Strangers reared the only piece of her lover Isolde had left, their child, instead of her, because of Vaughn.”

  “He’s right.” Lleu sighed. “Isolde loves him, but it’s not the same love she has for Rhys, and it never will be. Vaughn has felt that lack, borne that guilt, since I’ve known him—all his life.”

  Cold anger sparked in my chest as uncharitable thoughts welled in me.

  “It wasn’t his fault.” As I spoke the words, I tasted the truth of them. “When Kowatsi…what happened…what Brynmor did to them…none of that was Vaughn’s fault. Isolde broke her vows. Kowatsi knew the risks he took should Brynmor discover them. And Brynmor, well, I have heard he loved Isolde fiercely, enough that he elevated her from his servant to his wife. His heart must have been broken to discover his love wasn’t enough for her. Then her pregnancy…” I shook my head. “He must have loved her very much since he let her birth Rhys rather than the alternative.”

  “Ah. Clarity at last,” Bram said with a smirk.

  I was beginning to dislike him for those smirks.
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  “Tell him that.” Lleu’s nod was decisive. “He needs to hear it from someone he trusts.”

  “He doesn’t trust you?” Even I trusted the softhearted giant, and that revelation startled me.

  “In most things, I guess he does.” Lleu hesitated. “In this…we lived those events together.”

  “And you can’t tell him his perceptions are skewed because he was a child at the time, when you were a child as well.” I hummed, thoughtful. “I will speak to him once his mood improves.”

  Lleu winced. “I don’t know if we have that much time between here and Cathis. Maybe—”

  A throaty howl raised hairs along my nape. I hadn’t spotted Brynmor since leaving Beltania, and his pack had been even scarcer. The grasslands were flat and wide. Tall grasses brushed the elbows of our varanus and tickled my ankles. When I spied a black, furry ear twitching amid the pale yellow stalks, I jerked in the saddle, startling Sakwa, who hissed until I scratched her neck.

  “You all right there?” Lleu touched my arm, and I jumped again.

  Sakwa glared at me over her shoulder through slit eyes.

  “The canis are in the grasses.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants legs.

  “Not many other places they could be.” Lleu flinched when another howl sounded from someplace to our right. “They make a right bit of noise when they’re riled, don’t they? Loud buggers.”

  Straining, I craned my neck and scanned the area. “I wonder what stirred them.”

  “Whatever it is, Vaughn doesn’t seem pleased.” He pointed ahead. “He’s on to something.”

  “Can’t you scent the problem?” He was Mimetidae after all.

  “I can try.” He lifted his chin, inhaled. Strange he hailed from a clan of trackers, yet the use of his nose hadn’t occurred to him.

  “Well?” I prompted, curious what he might discover before Vaughn deigned inform us.

  Coughing through a series of panted breaths, he said, “Rot. Something nasty lies ahead.”

  A shiver traveled the length of my spine.

  Vaughn held up his hand, and our procession halted as he slid from his mount into the grass. When he squatted, grasses shielded him from the neck down. He rocked forward on his haunches and appeared to prod something on the ground. A moment later, he hefted a skull on the edge of his sword. Meat and fur clung to bone, but there was more. Wrongness clung to the remains. If I strained, I could make out the wisps of the soul already departed. Echoes of life resonated to the bone in most living things, but there was a curious absence of life energies about the skull, as if whatever spirit had once dwelled there had long since passed. Odd since its decay ripened the air.

  “Gods’ web, Vaughn, think of what you’re getting on your sword.” Lleu’s voice boomed.

  “Of all the lives his sword must have ended, you’re scolding him for getting animal blood on it?” I had drawn Vaughn’s attention too. “Is the rest of the body there? Or perhaps more bodies?”

  There was a slight chance an aural reading might provide us with information about its cause of death. Besides the fact I was curious as to how the soul had been snuffed out so thoroughly. It seemed this was a prime opportunity to examine a victim other than those I had studied in Beltania.

  Perhaps the clue to what spared our home and clansmen lay in these bodies.

  “There are several, another herd.” Vaughn let the skull tumble. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “I want to see the bodies.” I ignored his scowl as I dismounted. “Animals have spirits too.”

  Canis song picked up member by member, until we were surrounded by the pack’s music.

  Vaughn startled when Brynmor’s head nudged his elbow. “So I am reminded.”

  When Vaughn dared to scratch behind his ears, I swore his father smiled.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wading through the grass to reach Vaughn gave me time to prepare myself. I pressed a hand to my stomach. The stench hit first. I remembered the smell of rot from the varanus I’d attended, but this was worse. Those had been fresh corpses. These were days old, left in the heat to spoil.

  “Don’t touch them,” Vaughn cautioned me.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m not the one going around jabbing things with my sword.”

  Lleu choked on a laugh. “She has you there.”

  “Quiet,” Vaughn ordered, returning his attention to me. “Well? You and I are the only ones who have seen two sets of victims.” He withdrew a cloth from his pocket and cleaned his sword. “The manner of death is identical to the herd of pecora I encountered on my last journey through Beltania. What of the varanus? Your maven mentioned they were slaughtered while in a barn?”

  I nodded, settling onto the ground a ways from the bodies. “We isolated the sick animals in one barn away from the others. So few were ill, we didn’t realize it was the plague at first. Then, a clanswoman of ours went to fetch her husband and stumbled across the carnage. The handlers with their necks broken, the varanus split open and the stench…it’s worse now than it was then.”

  “Has anything else…peculiar…been found?” he asked, mirroring my position.

  “Do you mean was another wing found? No. There was only the one, and its authenticity is in doubt.” I crossed my legs and steadied my breathing. “Chinedu gathered specialists to examine the wing. None of the scholars agree on what sort of animal would have such large appendages or what role they may play in transmitting the plague. Creatures on that scale would be noticed.”

  “Hmm.” He watched Brynmor cross to me. “It was once customary to claim a token or leave one’s mark at the scene of a coup. It’s possible whoever is behind the deaths and disappearances left a clue to their identity.” He drummed his fingers on his crossed ankles. “These are strange times.”

  “Shh.” I silenced Vaughn when Brynmor lay down and placed his head in my lap. Our faint connection pulsed in sheens of blues behind my eyelids. Inhale. Exhale. Focus on the souls here.

  A vibrant green thread spun from my soul, and I imagined a noose at the end catching on the gates of the spiritlands. With effort, my soul climbed from my body, ascended until I hovered over the threshold from which I could never return. As always, the temptation to cross beckoned.

  “No.” Brynmor stood beside me as a male, his hand on my shoulder. “Ask your questions so we can leave this place.” He glanced past me with a puzzled frown. “What is that? Is it yours?”

  He lifted the thread I’d used and offered it to me.

  “It’s a construct of my…” I smoothed my thumb over the silken line, gasping when I saw my bright green thread shot with black strands. “I don’t understand.” I stared at Brynmor, at the trail left behind him. His thread pulsed black. Meaning this thread must belong to… “Vaughn.”

  The cord was tied to me and the world below, not Brynmor, and who but a Mimetidae would have a life thread that pulsed with their clan’s colors and with the same black as Vaughn’s eyes?

  I placed a hand over my chest, and it ached sweetly.

  “I don’t see anything or anyone here.” Brynmor’s projection drew me from my thoughts.

  Turning a slow circle, I realized he was right. We were alone. If spirits had languished here, they would have been summoned to me, brought to this place to speak and then to be dispatched.

  “This isn’t the spiritlands, merely the gate. All those who cross the threshold must remain.”

  Brynmor took a cautious step back. “You could have warned me.”

  “I was surprised you came.”

  “My son…” he began. “Vaughn is worried. You should have told him your intentions.”

  “Oh.” I was so used to slipping between worlds, so unused to explaining myself. My grip on the thread tightened. Vaughn had anchored me without even realizing what he was doing. I was amazed. I trusted myself to go alone when Old Father was unavailable for assistance, but this. It humbled and shamed me. “You’re right. I should have warned Vaughn first. We’ll return
now.”

  Following the thread, my soul found the way down into the world and back into my body. I braced for the rush of sensation, the return of my physical senses, and slipped into consciousness.

  The world rocked beneath me, and my balance shifted.

  “Mana?” Vaughn’s mouth was at my ear, his murmured prayers easing the descent back into my skin.

  I tilted my head back. His brow furrowed as he traced the curve of my cheek. Lleu and Bram stood one at each of his shoulders. They both released audible sighs when Vaughn crushed me to his chest. Gasping for breath, I fought another ascent. He had almost squeezed my soul right out of me.

  “I can’t…breathe.” My voice was a whisper.

  “You left without telling me. Your body was cold…and your eyes…” A shudder ripped through him. “Never leave me like that again.” He rocked me. “I’ll have your word you won’t.”

  “You know I can’t give you that.” I circled his neck with my arms and pressed my face into his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have told you, but you’ve seen me meditate before, so I didn’t—”

  He silenced me with a kiss, the harsh pressure of his lips against mine. His groan vibrated in his chest, and I placed my hand over his heart, imagining the black thread of his lifeline tossed to me. Was this connection with him what couples felt when they tied their life threads? If so, I was ruined. Warmth, assurance, fear, anger, all pulsed through that wispy thread until I’d settled fully into myself and that precious link between us evaporated, leaving me bereft, yearning for him in ways that bespoke of permanence. Dangerous the way he aroused those hungers in me with ease.

  “Once,” he said. “I saw you ascend one time, and I realize now the pains Old Father took to ensure you appeared as if you slept rather than…” His breath came harsh, ragged against my ear.

  Lifeless staring, vacant eyes, a husk without a soul, yes, I could imagine what he’d seen.

  Pressing kisses along his jaw, I whispered, “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  His laugh startled me. “I don’t think there’s a word for what you did to me.” Air hissed from between his teeth when he resettled me across his lap. Hard male flesh rested against my spine. I groaned when his nostrils flared, knowing he had scented my response to his kisses, to his touch.