Soul Sacrifice: Spirit Shield Saga, #3

Soul Sacrifice

Spirit Shield Saga Book Three

Susan Faw

Author Susan Faw

So here we are again, on the cusp of a new book launch. It is an exciting time in an author’s journey, that time when you cast the seeds of your story to the winds and pray it finds the fertile minds of readers like you.

On April 1st, 2017, the first book of this series, Seer of Souls, won the Chanticleer Reviews Grand Prize ribbon for the Dante Rossetti awards category – best Young Adult Fiction of 2016. To win such an honour with a debut novel is nearly unheard of and the excitement of that announcement lingers with me, two weeks later.

I hope that if this is the first book of mine that you have picked up, that you will pause your read of this final novel and go back to the beginning and read the story from the start. Believe me when I say that there is a lot of great reading to be had!

I’d like to dedicate this final book of the series to my award winning team, who have been with me from the beginning and have filed off the rough edges of my words and thoughts, for they are the real geniuses behind this series.

Thank you, Pam Elise Harris, for sticking with me through thick and thin. The late night sessions and tears of frustration are part and parcel of creating a book worth reading. You polished my work of fiction. You have helped me reveal the diamond within both the book and my own skill set.

And Greg Simanson, you really do know how to take my rough cover concepts and pull out the essence of the story. A great cover is a window into the soul of the book and I love each and every one.

And finally to my beta/alpha reader and everything in between, Sylva Fae, who has always believed in my ability even when I didn’t believe it myself. Your encouragement and support has made all the difference.

COPYRIGHT © 2017 SUSAN FAW

All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.

Cover Design by Greg Simanson

Edited by Pam Elise Harris

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

PRINT ISBN 978-0-9953438-7-0

EPUB ISBN 978-0-9953438-6-3

Contents

1.The Village

2.The Cave

3.Plans Within Plans

4.The Return

5.Human Again

6.The Meeting Place

7.Bowls

8.Legendary

9.Abaeterno

10.The Way Out

11.The Letter

12.The Watcher

13.To Your Health

14.Two Loves

15.Riddles

16.A Werewolf’s Tale

17.Aid from an Unlikely Source

18.Morass-Fen

19.Slave for a Day

20.Captain Brennan

21.A Spy or Two

22.Duty’s Heavy Toll

23.Detour

24.The Journey Home

25.The Bargain

26.A Shaky Welcome

27.The Truth Dawns

28.The Witch’s Plan

29.Choose

30.Deal with the Devil

31.The Ancient Oak

32.So Close Yet So Far

33.Shielding the Shield

34.The Wall Walk

35.Sisterly Squabbles

36.Escape

37.A View of Home

38.Apples

39.Darkness Spreads

40.A Change of Leadership

41.The Old Captain

42.A Price to Pay

43.The Catacombs

44.A Family of Four

45.The First Bowl

46.Hell’s Fury

47.The End of the Line

48.Too Painful to Endure

49.The Second Bowl

50.The Gates of Hell

51.Brennus’ Kitchen

52.Flight from Hell

53.Parting Company

54.The Map

55.A Gift

56.Fetched

57.The Third Bowl

58.The Well of Souls

59.A God’s Intervention

60.Great Balls of Fire

61.The Final Battle

62.Soul Sacrifice

63.EPILOGUE

64.Sneak Peek Into Heart of Destiny

Chapter one

The Village

The Charun drifted along the path, enrobed in a veil of darkness, the trailing edge of its garment stirring eddies of dust as it passed. The spectral beings, spawn of the underworld, owned the dark and were indistinguishable from the surrounding shadows. In one gore-slimed hand, it grasped a decapitated head, bony fingers twisted in the straight black hair. It swayed toward a window of moonlight spilling onto the path, illuminating the first few rows of the otherwise solid wall of blackened tree trunks.

Silence greeted its passing. The normal nocturnal sounds of croaking frogs and chirping crickets faded, then stilled. As it reached the ring of moonlight, the tree trunks extended and sharpened into the shapes of additional Charun. The shadows rippled as they joined their brother by creation.

In the middle of the clearing, a mound of rocks rose up from the ground, the pyramid a lighter grey against the harsher black of the grass. The Charun slid toward the pile of rocks and paused beside it to toss the severed head onto the pile.

Achak sucked in a hard breath. He lay in the brush at the edge of the clearing, his head peering around the side of a small cluster of boulders that hid the rest of his body. He dared not move a muscle, for as the usual night sounds faded away with the approach of the Charun, an anxiety he associated with impending death swept over the clearing. Nature itself rebelled against the unnaturalness of the Charun, and his own soul twisted in response. Achak knew without a doubt that any movement, any twitch, would alert them to his presence.

Dragging his eyes away from the Charun, he squinted at the pile of rocks around which the Charun had gathered. Why pile rocks in the middle of a clearing? It was strange behaviour even for a Charun. The moon cleared the covering cloud, and a brilliant beam fell on the rocks, illuminating them clearly for the first time. Achak’s mouth fell open in shock, and he bit down on his tongue to still his own cry of alarm. What he had at first thought to be rocks were not rocks at all. It was a pyramid of skulls. Primordial skulls. He had found the missing villagers. All of them.

***

Avery marched back and forth, her arms crossed over her chest, boots clicking on the tiled floor of the once prosperous inn. On reaching the end wall, she repeated the pacing, gnawing at her lower lip. The inn was empty despite it being dinnertime, a time when it should have been packed to overflowing with hungry people. But the hearth was cold. No fire had been laid, and no smells of cooking came from the kitchens. Flies buzzed around a bowl of decomposing fruit sitting in the middle of a table. Avery waved her hand at one that buzzed too close to her ear.

It had been this way in every building she had inspected. The people of the border village were simply gone, swept away as though by a tornado. But all of them at the same time? Why would they leave? Or were they taken? She was careful to not touch anything that was personal. She knew the imprint of their owners’ souls would bring flashes of visions of their last moments. She’d had visions like those in similar villages to this one on her ride to Faylea with Sharisha, and this time she refused to leave without finding answers. She would learn the truth of the mysterious disappearances once and for all but not until Achak returned. She would not enter those visions alone. She sensed a great danger in entering their soul streams.

Evening was falling. Avery picked up one of the full oil lanterns she had retrieved from a ledge where they had been stored during daylight hours. She had lit it earlier and carried it over to the stout oak door, wrenching it open with her right hand. She stepped out into the cool night. The village around her was as silent as the grave. Not even a dog remained to bark at her presence.

With a determined step, she marched to the end of the main street, passing a tin smithy with samples of the wares available inside nailed to the faded ship lap siding. Next to it, a whitewashed building with peeling paint and a series of steps mimicked the temple in Faylea. A weathered sign painted with faded images swung above the entrance. It bore faces she took to be representations of the gods.

On the other side of the street, a barbershop and dentist’s office were combined into one space and a large sign in the window advertised a two for one special. She dragged her eyes away from the distracting message as she reached the intersection of roads that gave the town its name, Crossroads.

She put the lantern down in the middle of the intersection and slowly rotated on the spot, searching for any sign of what had taken the villagers. By the meals left on tables and the closed signs flipped in store windows, she knew it must have occurred around the supper hour, at dusk or close to it, when most people would be in their homes or settling to their evening repast. People grouped in familiar settings by family units or with friends. Why this would make any difference, Avery was not sure. Maybe I am trying to find significance where there is none.

If her hunch was right, the phenomena should show if it was a natural occurrence. If it was not, then she would watch the sun set. Of course, there could be a more sinister reason for the disappearances.

She knelt to trim the lantern flame to its lowest setting then placed it behind her on the road. She was counting on her mortal presence to lure back whatever had attacked the villagers. As she straightened, the tattoos on her hands glowed blue as her spirit pulsed with nervous energy. Not that the tattoo was unique. In fact, she was covered from head to toe in tattoos, a gift of the Primordial temple and the priesthood of her heritage. She was marked so that all would know she was the true High Priestess of Faylea.

She pulled the precious bone knife, also a gift of the temple, from her boot as a precaution. It was at times like this that she longed for her twin brother, Cayden. He had been missing for a week now, ever since the confrontation in the sacred clearing with Artio, their sister in truth. Born of the gods, Cayden and Avery shared a bond that they had yet to fully comprehend. Ever since the clearing, she could not hear his voice. His voice had been with her all her life, a telepathic connection forged of their common ancestry she was only now beginning to understand. Bereft of that security, her loneliness threatened to overwhelm her. Cayden’s absence highlighted her sense of vulnerability. More and more, she leaned on Achak, not only as a companion but also for support and counsel. She was growing quite fond of him. Hurry back, Achak. I don’t want to face this alone.

The only warning she had was a slight creeping chill that raised the hair on the back of her neck. She dropped to her knees and slashed out with the blade wrought in the mystic temple of Faylea. It sliced cleanly into the inky cloak that materialized in front of her then slowed as it became mired, stuck in a gelatinous mass. The Charun staggered, as though suddenly made of flesh. It howled. The sound was like fingernails on slate, a high-pitched screeching wail. Then, it staggered back, bucking in the air. With a pop it exploded, black flecks sparkling in the lamplight, then vanished. Taking advantage of the moment of surprise, Avery quickly thumbed the light higher on the lantern, revealing three more Charun descending from a black slash in the night air through which she could see flickering fires and a river of lava. The portal closed behind them, and the three remaining Charun surrounded her, their eyes locked on her bone blade.

They shied from the light, preferring to work in darkness.

Avery wished she had brought more than one lamp, but she would not have been able to thumb the wick to a high enough flame simultaneously on multiple lanterns. She’d feared that the distraction factor of lighting multiple lamps would prove fatal. One would have to do. The light would not stop them, but having a ring of lit lanterns might have warned them away. No, she wanted to attract them and now she would have to deal with the threat, alone.

With a growl, she cried, Shadow-cursed minions! You have no place here! Go back to the abyss wherein your dwells your mistress!

The Charun on her right hissed in a bone-shivering whisper that grated along her nerves. Daughter of Morpheus. My mistress will be so pleased. Long has she wanted to see you. She has your brother, you know. I can hear his howls day and night. He feeds us. Delicious, the soul of a god.

Avery spat at the hem of the Charun’s cloak. You lie. Cayden is stronger than you know. He will kill you all.

The Charun chuckled, the sound reminiscent of angry monkeys. Now who lies, godling? He cannot kill. To do so would be to stab himself. He will die. He will die because he will fail to kill my mistress. It is his fatal weakness. Perhaps if the need is great enough? But he will never have that chance, will he? And then there is the wizard. Such long-lived souls…so delicious! They will feed us for all eternity. Its voice faded into a lisping hiss.

Fury swept over Avery. With a blood-curdling scream, she hurled herself at the mocking Charun, knife flashing. The Charun drew their blackened blades and met her advance, tightening the circle to cut off her escape, but Avery dropped and rolled past them. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of motion as Achak launched himself out of the woods. Grasped in his hands was a heavy wooden axe. He raised it high over his head and throwing his weight behind the effort, launched it at the closest monster.

Get away from her! he roared as the axe left his hand. It spun head over haft through the air to land with an audible thud, pinning the sword-clutching hand of the nearest Charun to its chest. The axe buried itself deep into the floating body.

Achak could not sense a reaction. Possibly because it was already dead, it did not use body language as did the living. The Charun simply stared at the offending weapon. Then, a skeletal hand emerged from the opposite sleeve, and it pulled the axe out of its body. The damaged hand fell to the ground with a rattle of bones, the sword clutched in the severed appendage rolling away across the grass. None of this impeded the Charun. It rotated, spinning on the spot to face Achak, and then whipped the axe through the air to send it spinning toward him. He dived behind a tree trunk just in time, as his own axe imbedded itself in the timber by his head. The injured Charun staggered, toppling over with a screech as Avery buried her blade in its back. It twitched then stilled, but Avery did not hang around to see if it was dead. Wrenching her bone knife loose of the putrid body, she ran to Achak’s side just as he pulled twin swords from his back strapped sheaths.

The two remaining Charun hesitated. What had been easy odds was now an even challenge. They silently conferred, and then the air shimmered. A blast of scorching heat forced Avery and Achak to back away, throwing up their arms to shield their face. The slash in the air opened once again, and the Charun slid through the opening, retreating into the underworld. The smell of sulphur wrinkled Avery’s nose, and she buried it in her sleeve but still she coughed. Achak took a step forward intent on giving chase, but with a blinding flash and a clap of sound the rift closed. Silence descended as Achak and Avery swung around to the bodies of the slain Charun, intent on examining them, but they shimmered and vanished before their eyes.

By the gods! Avery swore. All that fighting and the corpses vanish? What are they, Achak? How are they connected to Helga? She knelt by the spot where the slain Charun had lain, running her hand over the soil, searching the ground. When they faded away, the axe had simply toppled over and lay in the grass. No sign that something had died there remained. No blood, not even a crush to the blackened shoots of grass revealed in the weak lamplight. It was as though they had never existed. Surely I did not imagine that battle.

Achak bent over and picked up his axe and ran his finger along the flat of the chiseled blade. A smear of black ooze appeared briefly on his finger and then flashed and vanished. They are called Charun. I think they cannot exist in this world except by enchantment. As soon as they are parted from the enchantment, they are pulled back to the underworld, which is surely where they are spawned, being Helga’s creation. He pulled a cloth from his tunic and wiped down the axe head, then sheathed it back into his hip belt. Good thing I stopped to grab this, he gestured with the axe, in that farrier shop down the street. It came in handy.

You look like a walking butcher. Avery eyed him and his broad shoulders as she rose, dusting off her hands. Not that I am complaining, mind you. She let her gaze wander around the empty village. The chirping of crickets had returned. Should we stay the night? They know we are here.

Achak’s answer was to pick up the lantern and walk down the street. They also know we are not easy prey. I do not believe she will not send another attack tonight. It isn’t her way, is it? Helga likes to win, and what fails, she abandons. Isn’t that what you said? Avery followed the bobbing light back to the heart of the village but did not answer. Achak pushed open the door of the inn, grabbing a second lantern off the shelf. He fed a splint into his flame and lit the second, then headed into the kitchen, shouldering the door open. There must be food in here somewhere.

Avery pulled open an icebox set into a wall. The block of ice that would have cooled it was reduced to a third of its normal size, not having been replenished with blocks from the height of the mountain. But what was there still cooled the interior. She pulled out cheese and sausage and a basket full of tomatoes and edible pea pods and carried them to the wooden prep block in the center of the kitchen. Grab that crock of pickled onions on the top shelf there, she said, pointing at an earthenware jug.

Achak pulled it down. Written across the side in grease pencil were the words pickled onions—first crop. He placed the crock on the butcher block. Avery scooped out a sizable portion of onions, slicing them in half. A quick search of the cooler produced some flatbread and a further search unveiled a crock of spicy pickled eggs, which she quickly mashed into a spread.

They placed everything on a tray and then wandered back to the common room, pausing only to pull a jug of ale from the cooled cask sitting on the bar. Then they slid into a booth. Silently, they fell into the food, ravenous after the hard day’s travel and the ensuing fight.

As the munching slowed down, Achak sat back with a satisfied sigh. I found the villagers, he said as he dragged the last of his bread through the egg mixture and topped it with sausage and tomato. He popped it into his mouth and chewed, watching Avery’s reaction.

She paused, a tender pea pod halfway to her mouth. You did? She frowned at the food, as though it had offended her on some deep level. Her hand returned it to her plate, and she picked up her glass of chilled ale. She watched, fascinated, as a drop of condensation rolled down the side of her mug. I take it that none were alive.

You could say that. Achak raised his glass, somber eyes locked on her downturned face. To the departed souls who have left us this bounty. We will avenge you.

Avery raised her glass. A smile curved her lips but her eyes remained troubled, clouded with worry. "To departed souls. We will avenge you. She drank. Now, let’s plan our takeover of Faylea."

Chapter two

The Cave

Deep within a cave, carved into the side of the tallest mountain, set on the Cathairian side of the Highland Spine, a butterfly flitted. It soared from flower to flower, dipping its proboscis into the bell-shaped trumpet vine encircling the opening in the ceiling of the cave. From flower to flower it flew, intent on its task, but it did not see the danger of the lurking darkness, the oozing shadow that waited just below the lip of the crater, the only opening that was free of enchantments.

But it wasn’t, really. Death shrouded the opening, allowing nothing to enter and nothing to leave. The thin layer of the underworld would only allow passage in one form, as a spirit, a soul. The butterfly had no soul.

When its wings inadvertently touched the black mist, it flashed into ashes in an instant. The black mist sent out tendrils, searching for a soul to steal, but this time it went away hungry. With a whine, it sank back below the rim to wait for the next unwary soul.

Cayden’s eyes followed the drift of ash as it fell through the opening, and a great sadness arose within him. Another life lost because he sat within the underworld arguing with his sister. A sister who did not know mortality as he knew it, who did not appreciate the frailty of life, the flash of human existence and, yes, of animal existence. She did not understand how precious those lives were to the owners of those souls. How could she? She had never been mortal.

He ground his teeth in frustration. How can I get through to her? Impress upon her the crime she is committing? I don’t know the half of her plans, yet what little I have seen scares me.

There, he had admitted it. He was afraid. He felt no shame in being afraid. He was apprehensive, though. He had already died once. This time, if he died, he knew it would be forever. I don’t want to die. I have too much to live for, even in this form. He shivered, thinking of Ziona. Ziona, he sent to her via their telepathic connection. My love, please stay away! I beg you!

He did not know if the link was broken or disrupted. Ever since he had entered Helga’s realm, which he knew to be a gateway to the underworld, his soul connection with Ziona was intermittent at best. He still lived, but it was as though the connections of their souls were being smothered. Perhaps I am dead. No, that is not possible. I would not feel her at all then. I must still live. It’s this place. His fists were clenched as tight as a spring in a wound clock. He forced his fingers to relax, taking a deep breath.

Focus on the task at hand.

Ziona, do not enter. I can feel you coming. You must listen to me. Do not enter. He paced the chamber, reaching out with his soul, cursing the limitations of his all-too-human body. Yet it was all he had to work with. Their merged souls could transcend the barrier; he was sure of it. What he was not sure of, was the risk to their mortal bodies. I have a plan. Ziona. Can you hear me?

Frustrated at the silence, he strode over to Mordecai and peeled back his swollen right eyelid. You look like hell.

Mordecai squinted back with his usable eye, blue and sharp as ever. You do not look much better, my boy. Is that a leftover from Helga’s rejection of your plan? Cayden looked down at his torn sleeve, the gash deep and hastily bound with strips of cloth torn from his shirt. The blood had oozed through for a long time, eventually trickling to a stop. Crusty dried flakes fell from his arm as he bent it. With the other hand, he absently brushed off the last of the blood.

Yeah, well as to that, she seemed to take offense to the idea that we were equals. Cayden shifted the bloodied bandage and winced as the stuck hair on his arm pulled. Helga has lost the charm she once had. She was famous for her tea parties, back in the day. His voice trailed away, and his mind shifted focus as a long distant memory floated to the surface.

***

He and Avery (Alfreda as she was named then) were maybe ten years old. Artio was eleven and Helga nine. They had been sitting on cushions on the floor of one of the chateaus of the gods. A lacy tablecloth had been spread over a low table, and a child-sized china set graced the table. Helga had placed every cup and saucer just so. The cup’s curved handle pointed at four o’clock. The child-sized luncheon silverware precisely lined up under the cup, equidistant from the other cutlery. A tri-layered sconce tray with a golden handle occupied the center of the table, each layer loaded with a selection of dainty finger sandwiches.

Cayden—I was called Caerwyn then—remembered his hunger and fidgeting on the cushion, impatient to dive into the food. The gods, including their father Morpheus and his human wife (their mother) could be seen through the tall glass garden doors, thrown open wide to tempt in a breeze. They reclined on loungers, and servants moved amongst them, topping off goblets of wine. They were deep in conversation, the rumble of voices a distant thunder.

Caerwyn rose to go ask his father if he could eat, just as Helga backed out through a side door, clutching a tall teapot decorated with unicorns. She walked slowly and carefully, afraid that she would slosh it over the sides or out the spout, which was slightly steaming.

Caerwyn threw himself back down, fanning his face. Hot tea? Why did you bring hot tea? I am already hot! he whined.

Helga glared at him, placing the teapot precisely on the coaster decorated with pressed flowers.

Because this is tea time, you dolt. You have tea at tea time. If you want milk and cookies, go see Nana. Caerwyn glared at her.

Alfreda piped up, It looks lovely, Helga, and I’m starving!

Artio, as usual, ignored the proceedings, her nose buried in a book about the movement of the planets. She flipped a page, completely engrossed in the words and pictures.

Helga placed her hands on her hips and with a murderous glare said, Why is it that everyone ignores me when it’s tea time? Artio! she snapped, in a tone that was a near perfect imitation of their mother. Put the book away!

Artio looked up, blinking owlishly. Is the tea ready?

Helga rolled her eyes then poured tea for everyone.

Caerwyn pouted. Artio started reading again. Alfreda with a bright smile said, Oh! This is so much fun! I love it when we all play together. Can we do this again tomorrow? Helga?

Helga slammed the teapot down glaring at Caerwyn and Artio who were ignoring their tea and all her careful preparations. Alfreda’s chirping syrupy voice only accentuated her anger. Play? I never play…except to win. Helga stomped over to the doorway beyond where the gods sat, stopping short in the opening, in the lee of the shadow created by the balcony overhead.

She melted against the frame, listening hard. Caerwyn’s eyes followed his sister, and it was then that he heard the voices drifting through the doorway.

No, it cannot be. The mortals do not know how to rule themselves. They are celestial children. They do not have the lifespan to acquire the wisdom needed for self-governance. They do not have the lessons of the ages as a resource. One century maximum, maybe part of a second, but not nearly enough to mature into a race capable of self-governance.

Then let me set my children as their governors. They are of both worlds. They will have the knowledge and experience of the gods and of mortals…no wait! I know you disagree, but there are things to learn from the mortals. Their mortality grants them clarity of sight that is often lost in long debate. I know this because I have lived amongst them.

The gods’ voices rose, angry rumblings that rolled out of the temple as thunder.

Aegir leaned forward around his wife, Ran, sloshing some ale over the side of his tankard. Red-nosed and red faced, Morpheus’s brother burped then glared at him. Ran stretched her willowy body, encased in a seafoam gown that clung to every glorious, goddess curve. Her eyes scanned the city below, watching the labours of the people, especially the men. Those she studied intently.

Then you are a fool said Aegir. His eyes flickered past Morpheus to his wife, Groa, a lesser mortal supposedly with the talent of a seer, although no one had ever heard her prophesy anything. What good is an oracle who doesn’t receive viewings? Aegir thought, a sneer creeping across his upper lip.

Morpheus’s face darkened at the insult. He rose in his chair, his hands clenched tight.

Helga shrank back further into the shadows, ambling slowly to the tea table, lost in thought.

***

Cayden jerked back to the present as his arm seared with pain. He clutched it for a second till the pain passed then bent low to scoop Mordecai’s arm around his shoulders. He hauled the old wizard to his feet.

We need to keep going. There must be an exit out of this hellhole somewhere. Let’s keep looking.

Cayden grabbed the lantern in his other hand, and they shuffled off together down the closest dark tunnel.

Chapter three

Plans Within Plans

Helga lifted her knife from the scratch drawn across the arm of the Soul Fetch, her lips stretching into a tight smile. So, this doll is connected to your soul, dear brother! How very useful. I think it’s time to send you on a little journey. Flee if you want. Run even. But in the end, you will serve my purposes. Let’s see where you go if I open the