Page 37 of Between Soul and Vessel
“I need a strand of your hair,” I whispered, reaching through the bars.
“Why?” she asked groggily as she slowly started to prop herself up on her elbow.
“Long story, and I’m working on very little time.” I jiggled my hand. “Hair. Now.”
Sage eyed me suspiciously before she plucked a white strand and handed it over. I unfurled a handkerchief and placed it inside, swiftly folding it up.
“Wait,” she whispered, her voice almost pleading.
“There’s no time,” I said then raced back to my private chambers.
The flame of a flickering candle cast long shadows across my desk as I worked.
I dipped the end of the quill into the bottle of ink and then began to write my urgent message on a small slip of paper, my fingers pressing down on the ends to keep it from curling.
When I was done, I took turns blowing and waving my hand over the ink in a bid to dry it. When it looked dry, I performed a small test by dabbing my thumb on the paper. Removing it, I turned my hand over and inspected my thumb—it was clean. Deciding that was good enough, I swiftly rolled up the paper.
Turning my attention to the handkerchief, which was sitting beside the bottle of ink, I unfolded it. I plucked the white hair, and with careful fingers, I wound it around the roll of paper, tying it gently.
Rushing to the window, I undid the brass latch and shoved it open. A burst of night air passed by me, toying with the blank papers on my desk while teasing the flame of the candle.
Chanting in the language of my mother’s people, I tossed the small scroll out the window. My breath caught as it tumbled, heading for the ground. I chanted harder, pouring every ounce of my power into my words, into my magic.
A second before the paper hit the ground, the wind listened. It swept it back up into the air, sending it hurtling off into the distance. Relief filled me, but my job was far from done. My message had a long way to travel, and it was my power that was necessary to get it to where it needed to go. So, I chanted.
And chanted.
I chanted through the remainder of the night, until the sun had risen and there was nothing more I could give. Until my body was spent of energy and power. Until my muscles had gone numb and my tongue felt like it was made of lead.
Legs giving out, I crumpled to the floor in a heap of exhaustion.
Please workwere the last two words that crossed my mind before I lost consciousness.
Sage
Dust sputtered out from the ceiling, plummeting around me each time the roaring crowd above cheered in victory. The building shook so violently, I wondered if it all might come crashing down.
I sat on the sandy ground, my wrists in shackles, chained to the wall behind me.
Directly across from me was a looming iron gate, stained with blood and ichor. To my right, there were more prisoners, each one of them shackled, their faces covered.
Metal screeched against metal as the iron gate in front of me swung open. Two armor-clad guards stepped inside—their gauntlets clasped around a man’s wrists as they dragged his corpse behind them. Matted, brown hair, stained with ichor and pebbled with sand, hung over his downturned head. His legs, full of lacerations and vicious, deep wounds, dragged behind him, a gilded river of his life’s essencetrailing after him, marring the sands.
My eyes widened at the corners—a grotesque, fist-sized hole was in the center of his back, going all the way through to the other side. The flesh was tattered, gaping. Gory.
“Always start the pile back here. By the end of the day, there will be hundreds of bodies, so it’s important to give yourself enough room for them all,” directed the shorter guard, her voice authoritative. Confident. “Also, always remove face coverings from the corpses. We use them for the other prisoners. As this one’s face covering didn’t make it through the fight, we don’t have to worry about it, but for the ones that do, we’ll create a separate pile.”
“Understood,” the other one answered swiftly as they discarded the body. She seemed eager to please. A new trainee, no doubt.
“When the event is over, the vuleeries will come for the corpses.” The shorter guard’s tone became grave. “Ensure you do not get in their way. Some do not differentiate between living and dead.”
“I’ve heard quite a few . . . unpleasant stories about them. I will make sure to keep my distance.”
“Good.” The guard grinned at her. “You are going to do just fine here.”
Cheering erupted and another plume of dust fell from the floor above. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be over. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, as I heard hundreds, if not thousands, of voices begin to chant one word over and overagain—
Crush. Crush. Crush.
