Soulwoven: Exile

Prologue I

Prologue

I

One hundred and seventeen days before the destruction of Nutharion City

What was left of the light was fading.

It was the gray time between sunset and full dark, when the world falls deeper into shadow, and things lose their shapes. The time when you cling to the last shreds of light you can find, looking for shelter or a way to create your own illumination to keep the oncoming darkness at bay.

Litnig grabbed for a root and missed.

Cole caught his wrist and kept him from falling.

The brothers were working up a small, sandy cliff above a stream somewhere west of the River Lumos, heading for the sea and shivering in a light breeze. It was cold, but not freezing. Not as cold as it could’ve been.

Litnig felt as weak as a child. Cole had told him what happened after he passed out in the canoe—the river, the flood, the way Dil pulled him out of the water and breathed life back into his lungs. The rest he remembered for himself—the awful glow of Sherduan’s red eyes after the Duennin released it, the shame of fleeing for his life, Len’s sacrifice—

—tell my family I’m sorry—

The memories hurt. He didn’t want anyone else to die for him.

Cole’s face appeared at the top of the cliff. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Lips pressed thin with concern. The tiniest beginnings of a moustache starting to grow. His hair puffed out shaggily around his ears.

“C’mon, Lit,” he said. “Almost there.”

#

A mile or so from the top of the cliff, Litnig caught his first glimpse of the sea.

Its waters were charcoal gray in the dying light, and the sand around its edges looked the same color. Washed free of anything vibrant. Damp and miserable.

Like me.

Litnig listened to the others drag themselves along behind him.

It’ll get better, he told himself.

It had to.

#

By the time the light faded fully, he and the others were huddled in a little sheltered space between three dunes near the beach. Ryse, pale and cold in her white robe and finally willing to be near him again, had scavenged enough driftwood and dune grass to build a fire. The necromancer Leramis sat by her side. Quay Eldani—Eldan’s frowning prince and the one who’d led them all so far from home—was working off to one side in the flickering light, carefully writing a message in charcoal on a piece of parchment. The skinny, red-haired Sh’ma named Tsu’min who’d led them on the final stretch of their journey was out on the strand, turning his ancient eyes on the stars and the sea.

Cole had disappeared somewhere with Dil, the brown-haired girl from Lurathen he’d fallen in love with. They’d been spending more and more time alone.

Litnig was glad for that. Cole deserved to have someone in his life he could trust. Someone Litnig wouldn’t get killed.

I should go, he thought. As soon as I can. Before someone else gets hurt trying to protect me.

He settled against one of the dunes and let his head sink into the sand.

Something rustled on the other side of the fire. Ryse muttered a few words about needing a moment alone and wandered into the grass beyond the dunes. Leramis tensed. His dark eyes landed on Litnig.

Which was strange. He’d never seemed nervous around Litnig before. He’d always treated him like a nobody.

Why would he be nervous now?

He knows, Litnig thought. The necromancer’s eyes darted away from his, as if he didn’t want to be seen watching Litnig too closely. He knows what I am. Duennin. Born to burn the world. Monster. Unnatural. How could he—?

Litnig caught a flash of Ryse’s robe as she disappeared into the darkness, and he realized.

She knew.

He felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart. Her silence. Her sickness. The way she hadn’t been willing to look at him or let him close to her. The fear she’d seemed to have of him until their confrontation with the Duennin in Sherdu’il had been over.

She knew, and she didn’t tell me.

The tears crept forward again.

My mother, Ryse—they killed my mother.

If she’d told him, maybe he could’ve saved her. Maybe he could’ve saved Len too.

The anger of the dark walkers from his dream—the black statues whose gnashing teeth had set him on his path so many months ago—whispered through his chest. The strength he’d lost came with it, working its way through his veins like whisky or poison.

I don’t want your strength, he insisted.

It came all the same.

By the time Ryse returned from the grass and sat next to Leramis, the anger had grown hotter.

Let it go. You’re leaving anyway, remember? It doesn’t matter. Focus on the future.

Skeins of cloud scudded across the stars. The sea crashed its endless fingers against the shore, again and again.

Think about that, he thought.

It didn’t work. His mother’s pale hand stretched out on blood-soaked cobblestones in his memory. Len’s body hit the cliff wall with a wet crack.

“Good news!” Cole’s voice. His brother’s voice. Focus on that. “Dil thinks there’s oysters out in the water. Tomorrow morning she’ll see if she can get some.”

Everybody else smiled. They’d been eating mice and snakes for three days. It would be nice to have a proper meal.

Litnig’s frown didn’t crack. He stared at Ryse across the flames. She was beaming, running her hand through the fiery halo of her hair and laughing in relief with the necromancer she’d fallen in love with long ago.

You lied to me, he thought. How long did you know? And when did you tell Leramis?

People were clapping Dil on the back. The girl from Lurathen had a shy grin on her face. Cole’s hand slipped into hers. Someone talked about a bird’s nest they’d spotted atop one of the dunes and finding an animal to send Quay’s message with.

The sand around the firelight was a whirlwind of hope.

Litnig felt like a pit of darkness, festering at its edge.

-------

Thanks for reading! The commercial version launches 12/12/14. You can pre-order it now at http://www.amazon.com/Soulwoven-Exile-Jeff-Seymour-ebook/dp/B00NJ5CGDW/

Yours in sweat and ink,

Jeff