Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) (39 page)

A wave of despair seemed to crash over Astlin’s head, but Sulaiman approached her.

“Faerda’s Chosen speaks wisdom. Yet his order is not called to battle such foes. Mine was. Though our Patron long ago forsook us, his ways of war remain known to me.”

Astlin wrung her hands. “Do you mean you’ll fight this thing?”

“I mean that not all wars are waged with strength of arms, that a clean heart is more fearsome than any sword, and that I can gift you such a weapon if only you wish to receive it.”

“I do,” she said, and she felt as if her soul were a stagnant pool whose long-sealed floodgates had opened.

“Kneel,” said Sulaiman.

Astlin knelt on the soft grass. She felt all eyes in the clearing—and those hidden in the trees—watching her. It was like going on trial all over again.

I am with you,
came Xander’s quiet reassurance.
I’ll always be with you.

“Reveal your vicious deeds to me,” said Sulaiman. “Speak them in secret, heart-to-heart and mind-to-mind.”

“Everything?”

“Every deed whose stain you would have cleansed from your soul.”

Sulaiman’s offer kindled a longing in Astlin to unburden herself, but doubts arose with thoughts of her sisters.

“I have no right to ask this. But whatever I tell you, will it stay between us?”

Sulaiman showed no emotion. “Eldest and most solemn vows bind me to secrecy. Though the god who stood witness betrayed my confidence, I will keep yours, even should I be damned again.”

Astlin divulged every cruel, selfish, and petty act she could remember in one telepathic burst. She entertained a fearful image of Sulaiman collapsing, or even striking her; but a momentary frown was his only reaction.

“Declare your true sorrow for these errors,” Sulaiman said, “and vow never to repeat them.”

Holding back the scalding liquid that sought to flow from her eyes took great effort, and Astlin couldn’t keep her voice from trembling.

“I wish I’d never lived to do those things. And before I’d do anything like that again—” She lost the fine control needed to form words, but composed herself enough to whisper, “I’d rather die.”

Sulaiman nodded. “The rite now binds me to exact reparation befitting your crimes. I attest that you have made a pilgrimage to a holy site, and have pledged to take up arms against servants of the Void. In light of these worthy acts, I declare justice satisfied.”

Sulaiman laid his callused hand on Astlin’s head. Soft white light shone from his palm and made her hair glow like a sunset.

“Rise,” he said.

Astlin stood. “What else do I have to do?”

“The light of the Well has washed away the stain of your guilt. Now you must strive to perfect virtue and avoid wickedness.”

“But I still feel guilty.”

“You opened your soul to the light I shone upon it,” said Sulaiman. “The prana expelled the Void left by your evil acts. The harm you caused to others, the chaos you loosed upon the world, and the offense you gave to any gods who cared to take it remains; and those wounds I have not the power to mend.”

Jarsaal approached and raised his hand, palm outward. “It is well. Faerda has purified the souldancer of fire. The
Irminsul
will receive her. Also, Sulaiman Iason is a true priest and vessel of Faerda’s light. He is worthy to battle her foes.”

“That only leaves you,” Cook said with a sidelong glance at Tefler.

“No.” Tefler’s wry grin never left his face. “No one’s shining a light on my soul. It took years to perfect my vices. No way I’m starting over.”

Jarsaal’s nostrils flared. “Even now you will not repent? What a wretched creature!”

“Hold that thought,” said Cook. “You just gave Sulaiman a pass. Why is that?”

“He is a channel of Faerda’s light,” Jarsaal said. “I dare not bar its path.”

“Thanks, just checking.” Cook turned back to Tefler. “The Dawn Gen worship prana, so—”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tefler sighed. He looked to the edge of the clearing, where Gen with slender bows and curious faces had come forward to join their brothers in the circle.

“Hey, you,” Tefler called to a Gen holding a wooden club. “Did you hit me?”

The Gen gave no reply, but Tefler strode toward him with his hand open. “No hard feelings. You were just doing your job.”

The Gen exchanged looks with those on his left and right before putting away his club and gripping Tefler’s hand.

Before Astlin could shield her eyes, a burst of white light enveloped both men. If Sulaiman’s display had been like an operagoer lighting a match in a dark theater, Tefler was shining a spotlight.

Astlin heard a chorus of murmurs before her vision cleared. When it did she saw Tefler strolling toward her, leaving the Gen—his hand swollen to twice normal size by a sudden excessive growth of skin—groaning in his wake.

A crowd descended on Tefler’s victim, talking excitedly among themselves. Jarsaal looked as if he’d walked in on Faerda in the shower.

“I think we’re done here,” Tefler said.

A ball of light streaked from the
Exarch’s
bow and thundered past the
Serapis’
bridge. Profanity-laced shouts rose from the crew stations below the Wheel. To Zan’s magnified senses, the other ship was close enough to touch.

Engage the Working suppression field,
said Malachi.

Zan had no idea what he meant until a stream of knowledge entered his mind. After that, he knew exactly what to do. He brought the
Serapis
to a stop. The
Irminsul’s
trunk filled his view.

“The
Exarch
is still advancing,” a crewman said. “They’re readying another shot.”

At Zan’s whim, an expanding bubble of invisible static burst outward from the
Serapis
. The field overtook the
Exarch
, which simply fell from the sky. It hit the
Irminsul’s
trunk and crumpled like a tin can, toppling end over end as it dropped out of sight.

“What was that?” the shipwright asked.

“The suppression field,” said Gid. “Who broke the command lock?”

Zan saw a flitting black shape at the edge of the
Serapis’
vision. A searing green-white line arced between the two ships. Burning pain stabbed into his side as the hull shook.

Gid rounded on Zan. “What just hit us?”

“We lost eyes on the battle when that field went up,” the shipwright said. “It didn’t stop whatever that was, though.”

“This is bad,” another crewman chimed in. “Something just gouged a chunk out of the port side. There’s no residual heat or stress—almost like that hull section vanished.”

Help me,
thought Zan.

Malachi didn’t answer for a long moment.
This enemy’s weapons and tactics are outside my experience.

Another line of light slashed across Zan’s vision, leaving a clean-edged cut just beyond the bridge canopy. His face burned with pain.

“That was a warning,” said Gid. “They’d rather we surrender than make them shoot us down.”

“It’s a weaponized translator,” said Th’ix. “Keep away, or they’ll board us!”

The bridge began to fill with green-white light. Zan moved the
Serapis
by reflex, jerking the huge ether-runner sharply to port. The light faded.

“They’re cutting right through our defenses,” the shipwright said. “Maybe it works both ways.”

“What the hell,” said Gid. “Lower the suppression field, ready weapons, and target the nexus-runner.”

Zan hesitated, waiting for Malachi’s advice. The Steersman’s brooding presence remained, but he never spoke.

“Somebody drop that field!” Gid barked.

Zan complied.

“I’ve got a visual on the target,” one of the gunners said, “but I can’t get a lock.”

Zan caught sight of the nexus-runner, which orbited its much larger foe like a hornet harassing a wolf. No matter how he tried to evade it, the
Ashlam
easily kept up. Another lance of light stabbed into the
Serapis’
stern and scourged Zan’s lower back.

“Target visually and open fire,” said Gid.

In his mind’s eye, Zan saw one of three drum-shaped turrets rise from the dorsal hull. The drum filled the air with bright amber dots as it spun. The
Ashlam
weaved and rolled, slipping between the intermittent lines of fire.

“Load torpedoes,” said Gid. “Fire energy projectors.”

Annoyance edged the shipwright’s voice. “There aren’t enough hands for every weapon. Thirty percent is the best we can do.”

“I don’t care if you have to throw rocks! Just get them off our back.”

Heavy ordnance and indigo tracers flew from the
Serapis
. Several shots hit the
Irminsul
, carving fire-wreathed craters in its trunk.

Gid rushed forward to stand beneath the Wheel. “Try coaxing them into the forward tube’s line of fire.”

Zan watched the
Ashlam
spin to avoid a blue beam of coherent energy. A green-white nimbus signaled its readiness to return fire. The
Serapis’
turret loosed a spray of amber sparks, and the nexus-runner dove sharply in advance of the burning motes.

“I’ve got her!” one of the gunners said. A torpedo sped from the
Serapis’
bow, sailed over the nexus-runner, and exploded against the
Irminsul
.

Acting on a dim memory, Zan’s mind seized the turret from a shipwright’s fumbling hands. He didn’t waste time thinking. He just opened fire. His nimble foe dodged the first volley only to face the choice of dodging the next or colliding with the tree. Three amber flecks punched smoking holes through the nexus-runner’s wing. The
Ashlam
veered away but in the next instant a torpedo ripped one black blade from its trident-shaped hull. The Night Gen vessel pitched downward in an uncontrolled spin, trailing black smoke.

Zan was so immersed in the
Serapis
that it took him a moment to realize that someone was pulling his sleeve. He focused on his own body, heard men cheering, and saw Th’ix tugging on his arm.

“Wake up!” said the imp. “The fire souldancer spoke to me. The others are in a clearing below. We need to collect them.”

The gold lady needs me,
thought Zan. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

“I brought a ship.”

Zan’s announcement greeted Astlin when she filed onto the
Serapis’
bridge with Cook, Tefler, and Sulaiman. The air souldancer stood beaming atop a lighted circular platform much like the Wheel on her father’s ship.

The walk from the airlift had given Astlin plenty of time to marvel at the shipwrights’ work. Their achievement left her amazed and slightly disturbed. It wasn’t just the ship’s colossal scale, but the sense of returning to a long dead world that haunted her.

“I don’t think Sulaiman had this in mind,” she told Zan, “but thanks.”

Sulaiman looked over the large command center’s rows of weapon stations. “The lot is cast. Nonetheless, strength may serve in place of guile.”

An older man stormed forward and straightening his gold-rimmed glasses before speaking. “We are not going through this again. You need a ship? Spend twenty years rebuilding your own!”

“Come on, Gid,” said Cook. “Would you rather give the
Serapis
to Shaiel?”

“No.” Gid gestured to the newcomers. “That doesn’t mean I’ll hand her over to these clowns.”

Tefler sank into a navigator’s chair and rested his feet on the console. “We worked our asses off to restore this ship. Not for a god’s lackeys; for
us
.”

Gid studied Tefler and Cook. “I know you two. I don’t know these other pirates from Ebrim.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Astlin touched the minds of the bridge crew. They clutched their heads but managed to block her thoughts no better than a windowpane blocked light.

Xander groaned—if a bodiless soul could do such a thing—deepening Astlin’s unease.

Gid’s face softened. “That’s quite a story. I wish I didn’t believe it.”

“We don’t want to steal your ship,” Astlin said. “We just need to borrow it. And like it or not, Zan’s your steersman.”

“That is interesting,” said Gid. “No one else could link with it.”

Cook turned to the Wheel. “Do you know why that is, Zan?”

Zan’s face took on a familiar empty expression. Not for the first time, Astlin wondered what went through his mind during such episodes.

Is he listening to voices in his head?
She considered checking, but decided it would be hypocritical.

“I don’t know why,” Zan said after a long moment.

“The greycloaks will not idly suffer this loss,” Sulaiman told Gid. “Will you join us against them or surrender to Shaiel?”

“That’s not much of a choice.” Gid looked over his men’s nervous faces and sighed. “Looks like we’re with you. The only question is, where are we going?”

“Any objection to Keth?” asked Cook.

“It’s the closest Cardinal Sphere,” said Astlin, “and Shaiel didn’t promise it to the Night Gen.”

Gid scratched his chin. “I don’t necessarily take their disinterest as a recommendation. But we may as well try Keth. If it doesn’t work out, there’s always Temil.”

Astlin’s footsteps echoed through the
Serapis’
steel grey halls alongside those of Sulaiman, Tefler, and Cook. They hadn’t seen another soul since leaving the command deck, and the giant ship’s emptiness made her feel lonely despite the closeness of her friends.

You did well,
Xander told her.

“All I did was show the shipwrights we’re on the same side.”

“I know,” said Tefler. “I was there.”

Astlin suppressed her panic at realizing she’d spoken aloud. “I mean it’s good they listened to reason.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy her friends, but Cook’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer.

“A small victory,” said Sulaiman. “We still must find the smith, and every moment we delay is a boon to our foes.”

“The shipwrights just want to take on the rest of the crew and their families,” Astlin said. “Besides, we need more hands to run the ship.”

She and her friends stepped from the ship’s metal corridors to the
Irminsul’s
living dock. A large crowd stood gathered about fifty yards away atop a wide flight of wooden stairs. Reaching the stairway’s foot revealed that the crowd consisted of frightened civilians herded together like sheep by a dozen greycloaks.