Parasite Soul (13 page)

Two dark eyes stared back at him.

Simon screamed and tried to jump to his feet, with the result that
he banged his head violently and slumped to the boards, dazed. Through
the ringing in his head, he heard a dry chuckle from Jock. A cool hand
touched his cheek.

“Relax,” Sasha whispered. “I told you I was coming with you.”

“Are you alright?” Niu called.

When he could speak, Simon ignored Niu, directing his venom toward
Sasha, who regarded him impassively.

“What in Vanyon’s name… what are you doing in
here
?
Why… why aren’t you riding up
above
, with
Jock
?”

“I like it in here,” Sasha answered tonelessly. “It’s cool and
dark.”

“You crawled in here
intentionally
?” Simon’s voice was rising
to a hysterical pitch. With no change in expression, Sasha reached out
and flicked him in the lips. If nothing else, Simon was surprised enough
to stop yelling.

“Shh,” the girl admonished. “If you must scream, turn your
head. Your breath is like sour blood.”

Simon stared at her in disbelief. He opened his mouth to
chastise her further, then clamped it shut again, suddenly self-conscious about
his exhalations.

Niu was struggling up along his left side. Being slighter than
he was, she was having an easier time of it, but she managed to kick his shins
once or twice before she’d gotten herself settled.

“Sorry,” she said. Perhaps it was the lighting, but she didn’t
look well. As though to justify her decision, she continued: “This
is
a good idea, though. This will ensure us safe passage.”

“If you say so.” Simon was angry with her, with Sasha and
Jock, with King Minus and his daughter, and the world at large. Never
before had he hated his life quite so much. Still, Niu’s sudden apparent
ill-health tempered his anger with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” she replied briskly. “I experienced some pain in
my chest just a moment ago, but it has passed. No doubt I was
nervous. Do not concern yourself. This trip will be a
success. When we arrive, you will see.”

Simon turned his head to look at her; she lay only inches
away. Her eyes were searching his face anxiously, looking for reassurance
that she’d made the correct decision. He hadn’t seen her so apprehensive
before, and softened slightly.

“I suppose if Jock were planning to betray us,” he said slowly,
calming, “Sasha wouldn’t be in here with us.”

“Unless it was me you should be worried about,” Sasha added
solemnly. “I might be planning to eat you both.”

Simon didn’t know what to say to that. It was going to be a
long ride.

Jock slammed the hatch shut and, by the sound of it, vaulted into
his seat at the front of the cart. Niu’s face disappeared in the sudden
blackness. Simon fought a fresh urge to panic, and concentrated on a
fissure in the boards beneath him through which he could see the cobbles.
Moments later, following the crack of a whip, the cart lurched forward and they
were on their way.

Two turns later, it became apparent to Simon that he was going to
arrive at their destination battered and sore. The cart rattled over
potholes and into ruts indifferent to its soft, breathing cargo. The
third time Simon’s chin met the boards with an alarming crack, he joked
humorlessly that he would, at least, have a bruise to match the lump on his
head.

“I don’t bruise,” said Sasha.

“Right,” said Simon, who regretted speaking at all. Best to
ignore the girl; perhaps she would stop bothering him.

“I don’t,” she repeated. “Hit me. You’ll see.”

Simon pulled a face. “I’m not going to hit you.”

“I don’t bruise,” she continued, “Because I’m dead.”

Simon choked on his own saliva. Even Niu made a strangled
noise.

“Wh…what?” he stammered, turning his head. The girl was just a
black shape now, only her eyes glinting by the light of the fissure.
Simon recalled how cool her touch had been and a terrible chill of realization
clutched his spine.

“Dead,” Sasha repeated. “Like you will be one day. Maybe
today. Maybe not.”

“What do you mean, you are dead?” Niu whispered.

“Well, I’m a bruxa, aren’t I?”

“I do not know what that is.” The trepidation in Niu’s tone made it
clear that she didn’t want to. Simon, unfortunately, was well-versed in
Cannevish folklore. Every child in the kingdom had endured fireside tales
about these creatures. Stomach churning, he shuffled away from her as
best he could, but the cold truth was if she wanted to kill him, there was no
possibility of escaping her.

“A vampire,” he said, his throat constricting. “Not the
regular kind. An extra-powerful kind created by witchcraft.”

“Yes. My mother’s the witch,” Sasha told them. “She’s
dull, though. She’s very particular about my not leaving the inn.”

Simon didn’t much care about a bruxa’s family life. “Are you
going to kill us?”

Sasha thought about that. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t
think
so?”

“I ate last night. One of mother’s customers refused to pay
his tab.”

Simon moaned. There was no
possible
way this day could
get any worse.

“You are…” Niu hissed in his ear. “Squishing me.”

“Sorry.” In his haste to retreat from Sasha, Simon had
flattened Niu against the wall of the compartment. He repositioned
himself so that the handmaiden had wiggle room, but couldn’t bring himself to
shift much closer to the bruxa. Within the compartment silence fell,
bringing the clattering of the wheels, the clopping of hooves, and semi-distant
shouts from the marketplace into sharp focus. Simon might have wondered
if the people of Vanyon’s Parade were keeping themselves in check or whether a
riot was likely to ensue, but the dead girl to his right commanded most of his
attention.

“Is your name really Arles?” Sasha asked at length as the cart
started downslope, causing Simon to bump his already damaged head on the front
of the compartment.

“Yes,” said Simon through his teeth.

“I drank a man named Arles once.”

“My name is Simon, actually,” he amended hastily. Niu elbowed
him.

“Simon,” Sasha mused. “I’ve never killed a Simon.”

“So… your mother is a witch,” Niu interjected hastily. “Do you
know any magic, Sasha?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “I can make corpses dance.”

Simon heard Niu’s lips smack as she opened them then shut them
again.

Shortly thereafter, the cart began to slow. Simon heard
voices, sharp demands for Jock to pull over. The youth complied.
Simon held his breath, unsure whether he was more afraid of the soldiers
or the thing next to him. Would Jock betray them? He didn’t know,
but felt small, lost and sick at heart as he waited to find out. Niu,
detecting his fear, took his hand and squeezed. Her touch revived him.
Had she attempted to retract her hand, he would have refused to let go.

“Where are you headed and what is your cargo?” Rumbled a bass voice.

“Dullahan’s Grave, to sell millet and rye,” Jock answered
easily. Simon questioned why he’d chosen that blighted town as his cover
story’s destination, but was grateful he hadn’t settled on Brand.

The solider grunted. “You won’t mind if we check your cargo,
then.”

“I won’t mind so long as you don’t do it damage.” Jock’s cheeky tone
suggested that he was enjoying himself.

Makes one of us
, Simon thought, then
remembered Sasha
. Well, possibly two
.

Tense minutes passed as the guard rifled through the contents of the
cart, with Jock occasionally protesting their intrusions for the sake of
theater. Simon fought to repress a cough, the itch of which hadn’t
germinated until he’d begun thinking how important it was
not
to.
Eventually, to his utter disbelief, the soldiers cleared Jock and the cart
rattled onward.

“I told you,” Niu whispered, and shook her sweaty hand free.

A few uncomfortable, silent miles down the road, Jock pulled
over. Simon’s heart thundered as he wondered what the youth might be up
to. When a sudden shafts of daylight striped the compartment, it took
Simon a moment to realize that the hatch had been unlatched.

“Nobody around for miles,” Jock called. “You lot may as well
come out and stretch your legs for a bit before the next checkpoint.”

“I’ll stay here, I think,” Sasha said.

Simon couldn’t escape the stifling little deathtrap fast
enough. He stood blinking and stretching in the glorious sunlight,
soaking it in gratefully as he drank in the steep forested walls of the valley
as they rose to stark, snowy peaks.
Almost home
.

Niu followed him out with a little more composure.

“How far is it to the next checkpoint?” she asked.

“Several miles,” Jock answered vaguely. “Ride in the back
until we get close, if you like.”

“I would like,” said Simon fervently.

The remainder of their passage through the valley passed agreeably
enough. With the King’s soldiers concentrated on the northern and
southern checkpoints, there was no guard presence. The mountains flanking
them were majestic and beautiful, if a trifle oppressive for a youth who’d
grown up on the prairies. A few tiny hamlets hugged the slopes, their
occupants tending to small farms. Occasionally a flock of sheep would
block the road; Jock would yell at them and crack his whip until they trundled
on their way, but that was the height of their difficulties. Whatever had
ailed Niu seemed to have passed. When it came time for she and Simon and
to crawl back into the smuggling compartment, as unenthused about rejoining
Sasha as he was, Simon did so without complaint. He was reasonably
confident that if Jock had planned to betray them, he would have done so
already.

The trip took most of the day. The light was fast fading
before the soldiers manning the northern checkpoint gave the contents of the
cart a cursory glance and waved it through, satisfied that Jock had already
contended with a south gate inspection. A mile or so later, Jock released
Simon from the smuggling compartment for what he sincerely hoped was the last
time. This time, Sasha also emerged, pale and glum as ever but mildly
curious about her surroundings.

Past the mountain range which bisected the kingdom – known to Simon
and most rural northerners The Banshee’s Teeth, but as the Earthbreak by their
southern neighbors – the land was flat and fertile. Diminishing tracts of
forest retreated before ever-encroaching farmland; the lumber was shipped
primarily to Vingate. Visitors found northern Cannevish quaint and
rustic, a monotonous land of fields and farms. Following Simon’s
unpleasant excursion into the southland, he found the tranquility to be incredibly
soothing. Quiet little farmsteads dotted about a peaceful countryside
were a balm for his soul, and he wondered why he’d ever wanted to leave.

It was the damn sword,
he thought
.
It changed me. Holding it made me think I could be something I am
not. As foolish as it sounds, that sword was responsible for all of this.
Then, after some further introspection and with a hint of embarrassment,
Alright,
Simon. You can’t blame your follies on an inanimate object. It’s
not as though that silly shortsword Niu bought gave you delusions of
grandeur. You just thought you could be more than a peasant. Now
you know better.

That night, Jock turned onto a small side road and they camped by a
small pond surrounded by long-untended fields. To Simon’s surprise, the
horses were allowed to roam free; their master had unshakable confidence that
they wouldn’t wander far. Jock had brought provisions enough to satisfy
their hunger, although the bloodsucking Sasha was left wanting. As the
four of them ringed the campfire, three of them seated but Sasha standing.
Simon kept a wary eye on the bruxa, his fingers twitching toward his
shortsword every time she shifted.

One more day
, he thought, anticipation
mingled with gnawing anxiety
. One more day and I’ll be home.

“You folk going to tell me where we’re headed?” Jock wondered, his
mouth full of bread and cheese. “Dullahan’s Grave? West Hanging?”

Simon couldn’t see the harm in telling him now. “Brand.”

“Mmmph,” Jock said, swallowed thickly, and tried again. “What’s
there?”

“My father.”

“Damn, Arles,” Jock said, stretching out comfortably, “You’ve gone
to a lot of hassle just to visit your pa.”

“Arles isn’t his real name,” Sasha contributed. She was
standing with her feet nearly in the fire, arms dangling listlessly.

“I would never’ve guessed,” Jock said dryly. “Don’t get a lot
of real names in my line of business.”

Niu was poking the fire with a stick. “How long have you
worked for Sasha’s… mother?”