Orb of Souls

Chapter 1

Splash!

Fly . . . .

Splash!

Fly . . . .

Splash!

Fly . . .

Splash! Splash! Splash!

I win! grinned Kyla as her smooth pebble sank to the bottom of the clear water.

Yours didn’t go as far as mine though. Kymb retorted, knowing full well her victory meant that he would have to give Greta her foot rub and there was no way his stubborn sister would concede to a five-splash-distance win.

You aren’t really going to make me rub Greta’s stinky feet are you? I mean it wasn’t a real bet was it? Kymb asked hopefully, his blue eyes widening, one dark eyebrow arching.

Stop! Kyla told him firmly. Kymb, your endearing, begging face won’t work on me. I’m the only girl in town who’s immune to it! She added, playfully making a mirror mocking face of her own. Unlike her twin, she was so fair it was hard to tell where her pale skin ended and her long, blonde hair began, making her feline, emerald eyes all the more hypnotic.

You’re one to talk, Kyla. All the boys in the town would rub Greta’s feet for a week if you asked them. Actually, that’s a good idea why don’t you ask them to gently caress the bunions?

Kyla punched her brother playfully on the arm and ran for cover as he kicked up icy cold water from the river in her direction.

Coward! Kymb yelled.

Bully!

Ggrrrruuufff joined in a short, stocky dog that appeared from the river carrying a piece of muddy leather and shaking itself off all over Kymb, who grimaced in resignation at the icy shower from the quick, brown-eyed mutt.

Well done, Twig! laughed Kyla, Good boy, teach him a lesson—and put down that vile thing in your mouth, I promise it’s dinner time soon.

At the word ‘dinner’, his triangular ears shot up and his short brown and white tail began oscillating, frantically back and forth. He dropped the slimy leather and began jumping around in circles, barking.

Come on Kymb, we’d better get back before we get into any more trouble. If Twig keeps up his barking Greta will find out about him and we’ll never see him again. Grab your buckets and Twig . . . please be quiet. You know the rules.

The little hound ceased barking and sat down, cocking his brown head to one side. He opened his mouth allowing his long, pink tongue to loll out as though smiling. Twig blinked an eye, a gesture Kyla had always taken as a cheeky wink.

The threesome set off up the sandy riverbank, the setting sun elongated their shadows across the dirt track as the twins hauled their water buckets expertly from so much practice. The small dog danced around their feet, darting in and out of fallen tree stumps, ambushing Kymb’s feet playfully and helpfully removing forest debris from his beloved human’s paths.

As they arrived at the crest of the grassy hill leading to the wooden tavern, Twig expertly skirted off around the surrounding hedge to the woodpile where he wiggled his furry body through a gap in the logs to his blankets, which were snugly housed inside his own makeshift log cabin. It was perfectly safe there; Greta and Dovye never chopped or collected wood. That was one of the twins’ many chores at the tavern.

Kymb and Kyla had lived and worked at the Riverside Inn since they were five years old. They had been abandoned by their birth parents and Greta was deep down, for all her harsh exterior and hidings, a caring woman who had taken in the small children. The Inn was a bustling, loud tavern with some 10-guest rooms upstairs. On the ground level was an oak bar, and tables for the best food in town, made by Dovye. Greta manned the bar and kept an eagle eye on the customers and their bills. She was quick to stop any nonsense and ran the place with an iron fist. Dovye spent most of his time in the kitchen but the punters would eagerly seek out his advice and his friendly smile. A small effigy of the god Korsben watched over the tavern from its place behind the bar, this was the favoured God of Greta and Dovye.

The twins kept mainly to the background, collecting water, chopping wood and cleaning the cups and plates. This did not stop them from finding plenty of time to get up to all sorts of mischief around the town and its surrounding areas.

Greta was short for Margareta, but Leif help anyone who called her by her full name. Once, a gentleman made this mistake and was never allowed back in the Tavern to drink again. That is, until Dovye calmed her down and she allowed the man in question to apologise, most sincerely, by complimenting her on her excellent appearance . . . in public, in writing. It was a masterpiece of epic poetry that had taken pride of place, over the large fireplace in the dining area. Kymb was in charge of polishing the shiny frame. Dovye was a kind, small man who spoke in a gentle voice. He could tell a good yarn and often had the twins eagerly anticipating a good tale; from the creation to children’s fables of magical creatures. Dovye made all the stories come to life.

The twins were therefore unsurprised that as they approached, Greta was waiting for them. Her arms smartly folded over her ample bosom as she watched the twosome haul the last three buckets of the day towards the kitchen back door. Her mouth was pursed so tightly in her impatient state that it resembled a cat’s bottom.

How long does it take you two to get water? she demanded as she hustled them into the steaming kitchen. Kymb and Kyla placed their buckets under the large pine table at the heart of the kitchen. It was decorated, as usual, with freshly baked rolls, chopped vegetables and cold meats.

How did you manage to get so wet, boy? Don’t you know how to fill up your bucket without falling into the stream? She frowned at Kyla, I don’t know what you’re smiling about, young lady! You’re almost as bad as he is. Clean yourselves up and get the tankards washed, they aren’t going to wash themselves now are they? she paused for breath and took a long sniff up her hawk-like nose, which was an over dramatized version of inhaled disappointment. She sharply left wet handprints across the twins’ backsides after the opportunity had presented itself. This was to physically remind them never to tarry during their chores. Then she turned her back on the wincing duo and left through the serving door out into the bustling tavern.

Kymb mimicked Greta’s voice, put two fresh rolls up his shirt, and folded his arms over them, What’s the matter, boy? Don’t you know how to fill up a bucket? How long do you take? Does she ever wait for an answer? he added as his sister wiped tears of laughter off her face.

Kymb tossed Kyla one of his ‘bosoms’ and began subtly pocketing food to take to their woodpile guest. The twins set about the practice of preparing trays with cold meats for the customers and slicing rolls into halves. They had a steaming pot over the fire for dish washing and it was already brimming over with tankards. Tonight there seemed to be a larger crowd than usual and the twins knew it would be a long time before they felt the relief of their beds. Not that they found much relief there, straw pallets crawling with biting insects was hardly a good way to spend a night, but compared to washing dishes and ladling stew, it seemed like a small kiss from Leif herself.

Sometime after the stew was half gone, Dovye came into the kitchen carrying a tray of empty pitchers. His cream apron had two brown streaks down the front from constant hand wiping and his wrinkled eyes were still laughing from some joke he’d just shared with a customer.

Hello, you two. How was the stream? Manage to keep dry or did the Water Charmers drag you under and swim you off to their underwater castle? He winked, They did that to me many a time when I were a boy, they don’t seem to bother with boring grown-ups much. They say we don’t smell as tempting!

The twins smiled at Dovye’s reference to the Water Charmers and although they pretended to know they were a lot of made up nonsense, they could never help but wonder if maybe all of Dovye’s magical stories may just be true—they certainly hoped they were. Kymb had even thought he had caught a glimpse of a Bush-hugger or a Water Charmer, but he kept that to himself, lest his sister tease him rotten.

Hi Dovye. They chorused.

Don’t forget to eat something now before it all runs out; I’m sure we’re all going to be rushed off our feet tonight. Our travelling performer just rode into town and we’re packed to the rafters.

He winked at the twins and deftly put the tray by the washtub with one hand and picked up another one stacked with clean tankards in the other. He exited into the hustle of the bar.

How those two ever got married is beyond me! Kyla mumbled as she began to clean Dovye’s recent deposits.

The twins knew that, as far as the tavern was concerned, they were to work there unseen by the customers. However, the lure of the travelling performer was more than their curiosity could bear. It sounded like too much fun to be missed by a pair of excitable children who would rather see a show than work. After they had fed the dog and done the majority of their chores, they made the decision to get into trouble.

The twins knew all the best places in the tavern and were quite adept at sneaking around. One of their favourite places to watch the night unfold and gather gossip was from behind an ornate crockery case that displayed Greta’s pottery. None of these plates, bowls or cups were ever for use in the tavern; they merely sat on shelves looking proudly unused and lonely. It partitioned the kitchen from the main bar like an unused door; Kymb and Kyla could comfortably get a good view of the packed house. It was hot and smoky.

They spotted some of the regular customers; old farmer Jeefers in mud-caked boots, widow Catryn making eyes at the blacksmith and a whole lot of village folk that only came to the tavern on special occasions.

All were enthralled by the story the man at the front was recounting.

. . . And that, my friends is why you never let a squirrel wear your nightgown! he laughed in a melodious voice.

The whole room erupted with laughter; the curious man on the raised platform fascinated the customers. He was tall and slim; dressed in a collage of colourful clothing. He had an infectious, white smile and cheeky twinkling eyes that were so hypnotic that you could barely look into them without feeling just a little drowsy. One was blue, the other emerald green. His dark, wavy hair seemed to accentuate his gestures and framed a handsome face. He was of indeterminable age, anything between 20 and 45.

The ladies in the tavern were more than happy to feast their eyes upon him.

Now I shall tell you a story of my Grandmamma, he announced theatrically. Actually, I’ll let my Grandmamma tell you the story for herself . . . He turned his back on the audience and donned a cloak, and when he turned around the room gasped with astonishment at the quick transition he had made from handsome man to old crone.

Where did that handsome man who was up here go? The character droned, He looked just like my 6th husband.

How many husbands have you had? shouted a heckler from the crowd.

Five! replied the old woman.

This brought more laughter from the spectators and the hidden audience behind the cupboard. The performer momentarily glanced in the twins’ direction and winked. His face was somewhat familiar to the hiding duo but neither could put their finger on the reason why. They could not help but grin back.

I’d be happy to consider you, young man; though I generally prefer my men to have some hair on their heads . . .

The performer’s voice faltered and from the back of the room, a decidedly evil chill wafted into the tavern. The raucous crowd fell eerily quiet as the hair on the back of their necks raised.

Shadows in the doorway cast sinister silhouettes over the recently merry room. Cold night air lingered after the dark shapes as they stomped through the tavern, silence permeating every nook and cranny. Soldiers of Naip—the meanest warriors of the land. Dressed in the colours of death and pain, their red and black adorned presence had breached the cosiness of the Inn.

Ale. Now. ordered the captain. He did not speak loudly but the silence amplified his words as if they had been shouted and uneasiness rippled through the crowd. He shifted his heavily weighted armour belt, his swords and daggers sang in metallic chorus, feeding the disconcerted atmosphere. It was as though a cloud had suddenly covered the sun.

We’re looking for pairs of siblings in the village. Cooperate or pay the price.

From behind the cupboard, Kymb and Kyla held hands as a familiar ringing in their ears began. The ear ringing had been a constant companion throughout their short lives as a precursor of danger, but never had the ringing been so loud and tympanic.

Chapter 2

The performer jumped gracefully from the stage and leant against the crockery cupboard behind which the twins were crouched, trembling. They remembered the year of the cull, when Naip’s soldiers had rampaged across the lands butchering siblings. Dark times of terror and distrust came flooding back to the twins like a nightmare, a memory they had deeply buried. A five year old’s defence against the horrors they had seen and heard. It was when they had been abandoned by their birth parents.

Although the details were hazy, the twins could still recall the overwhelming fear that accompanied the time. Kymb vaguely remembered biting a square piece of toast and manipulating it to create teeth mark shapes, when it had been forcibly removed from his hand and someone had grabbed him. He remembered being upset that he had almost made a perfect arrow shape and wasn’t allowed to finish. The same person had whispered to him soothingly and guided him into Greta’s arms. He recalled that from his small height she had looked like a giant and so he studied her feet. Brown shoes, laces, scuff marks on the inside, a dark stain on the toe. A frantic conversation went on far above his dark brown mop of hair, the panic was clear, the words were jumbled; ‘look after them, back when I can, keep safe, important to the world’. Kymb had pushed these memories into the safe part of his mind, the dark bit in the back left hand corner, patrolled by little head guards. He kept them there like bothersome, immortal prisoners. Seeing Naip’s soldiers, the memory prisoners shook their bars and screeched from the dark corner, yelling fearful images into his listening mind.

It was happening again. Last time, they were saved by the fact that they were by then, adopted and hidden. Greta had insisted that the children be neither seen nor heard. The twins had thought she was being mean, but in their current situation they realised that Greta’s actions may have been for a purpose . . . to save them from certain death.

The group of soldiers circled the room, eyeing the fear paralysed travellers and villagers. The soldiers were the toughest, meanest men and women from the realm. They had experienced such extreme suffering in their lives that they had turned to the Goddess Naip and pledged to Her. They had all embraced pain and torture and had become the givers of it rather than the receivers. This was clearly visible in their mannerisms, looks and bearing. Worse yet, Naip had trained them to do her bidding and her ‘creations’ and priestesses aided them. The old adage if you can’t beat them join them applied to each of them. It would not be long before a fearful, ale-addled customer pointed out that twins lived at the Inn.

I’m sure you two have some sort of emergency exit here, whispered the voice of the performer into the plates, I suggest you prepare to leave through it on my signal. Then meet me on the path by the river.

Kymb was the first to respond with a start. Awakening from the crushing fear that immobilised them. Done. Just give us the word.

He squeezed Kyla’s hand in anticipation and nodded at her encouragingly, in the knowledge that seeing these soldiers would have swirled up dark memories in her head too. They both knew which exit they would use. It had been the secret passageway that Twig had used to creep into their bedroom for years. It conveniently led out to the area behind the tavern, where they walked to collect water. Now they understood Greta and Dovye’s insistence that the children keep a pack ready to leave. Greta had said it was in case she got fed up with their idleness, but again, the twins began to realise that Greta’s shrewd mind was one-step ahead in a dangerous game.

"Ah! I see we have a larger