Chapter Thirteen
Over the course of the following days, my mind spirals around questions, around the crystal, around the intent of fracturing my soul. And as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to touch it a second time.
The destruction once caused was enough.
I’m still trying to decipher the fractured images and grasp the meaning of the overwhelming rage.
The places are unfamiliar—except for the last—the one where I saw myself. I’ve no doubt that was the library of the hells.
But whose eyes did I view through?
Were those memories? Were they mine?
Or were they those of the other half of my soul?
I’ve a harvest of questions and a drought of answers.
Overwhelmed and rendered numb by the recent discovery, I opted to have the obsidian box locked away. Below in the stronghold. It sits guarded, behind several wards, and in the same cell as Thalion’s soul crystal, Fated Celestials, and the glamouring ring.
Now knowing what it is, I don’t like being parted from it—from me. But until I find a solution, it’s safer there than in my wardrobe.
And my twisted mind understands the why—to a degree.
The necromantic practice of soul fracturing is common.
It’s used to gain control over a mortal’s soul, making them easier to command.
But it’s done posthumously, rendering the soul incapable of sustaining or reanimating the mortal body of a person.
That doesn’t mean the fragments lack a use.
They’re placed in the flesh of a deceased animal—a crow, a snake, a cat—anything capable of observing unnoticed.
These unfortunate souls are known as call creatures.
They serve as a necromancer’s eyes and ears in places they cannot or dare not be.
Netharis is no necromancer.
And I am no call creature.
Control Netharis already had—my contract encompassed more than I realized, or remembered. Why fracture my soul? I would imagine the blood magic spells required to maintain a fractured soul are costly. Would Netharis pay that price?
And if so, why?
I assume Netharis is the one responsible for fracturing my soul.
I’m not sure who else it could be.
Which plunges me into waters I’ve no idea how to navigate, and burdens me with questions I don’t know how to go about answering. To make matters worse, the veilflowers in the courtyard…
They have to be a result of the tear in the veil.
News of the new courtyard garden ripped through Ollora faster than hellfire. And despite the warnings, the danger they pose, people have been coming in droves to see the beauty of the otherworldly flowers for themselves.
I stare through the tall window of the fourth floor.
They come still.
Hardly sunrise and a crowd has amassed before the protective ward near the courtyard entry. Cyran and a dozen other royal guard stand between the curious spectators, keeping them well away from the ward. The people edge as close as possible while staying out of reach of the guard.
It’s even drawn artists for gods’ sake.
A few sit out there still, having worked through the night to capture the scene under the stars.
The veilflowers flooded the courtyard two days ago, and in that time they’ve grown.
At night, the blue glow of the flowers illuminates the Moon Temple and Castle Erus—making it easily visible from anywhere in the city.
During the day, the velvet green leaves shimmer in the sun and follow the light as time passes.
Even now, with the sun about to break upon the horizon, the leaves stretch and broaden themselves, ready to feel the sun upon them.
Ollora now features its own terrarium-like spectacle of a plant that shouldn’t exist in this realm.
I cannot fault them for wanting to see it.
But if these people knew, if they understood what veilflowers are capable of, they wouldn’t stand and stare in awe. In the veil, the vines are damning. They ensnare wandering souls, disrupting the flow of the primordial order. Once a soul is trapped, it’s better to leave it.
In most cases, freeing it is more work than it’s worth.
Netharis decided prevention the superior approach.
During my early years as a Death Bringer, I learned how to destroy veilflower vines. Those not in bloom can be uprooted with relative ease. Netharis tasked scores of demons with scouring the veil and turning copses of the vines to ash.
But once they bloom… destroying them requires bloodstone.
And Netharis trusted no demon enough for that.
Vines in full bloom, while rare, are best avoided. Any soul unfortunate enough to become ensnared is granted an eternity in the veil. Which, perhaps for a hells-bound soul, doesn’t seem as horrible an end.
But lingering in the veil warps a soul.
It twists them, creating wraiths, death knights, ghasts, and other errant souls. Once a soul reaches that point, there’s no redemption. The veil is meant to act as a corridor, one with many passageways leading to the heavens or the hells.
Demons take advantage. They dangle the promise of finding solace in exchange for service, resulting in errant souls hunting others, those untouched by an extended stay in the veil.
Here, in the living realm, there are no souls to trap.
What purpose do veilflowers serve here?
Of course, I shared everything I know about the vines with Ryc. Despite his ability to peer into the veil, he was largely unfamiliar with the danger veilflowers pose. Seeing into the veil and walking it are worlds apart. The perils of the slip-like domain aren’t a threat when separated by realms.
He dispersed the knowledge through the royal guard and an ordinance was issued within the same hour the vines appeared. It was an official notice warning Ollorans to keep their distance and a request for interested researchers to reach out.
I scoff a laugh to myself as I watch another small group of people join the crowd. My amusement quickly fades as it becomes clear both Oraphia and Raevi walk with them.
Raevi… I’ve seen little of her in recent days.
Hardly a glimpse in passing since she left me in Ryc’s study.
Her question about Fate and what happens after rings in my head. Will Nektos leave her to live as she wishes? Will she be rewarded for fulfilling her role? Or is a finished Fate a precursor to death?
I can’t imagine the state of her mind.
But I do hope she stays.
I do hope she remains here, hidden, trying to build the life she wants the way she wants it. Ryc would keep her safe, just as he keeps me safe, regardless of how much time she believes she has left.
Lifting the mug clasped between my hands to my lips, I sip, and immediately grimace. My tea went cold hours ago as I’ve sat here, lost in thought. Reluctant to swallow, I force the tea down.
A sudden streak of white amid the veilflowers pulls my attention and my head swings.
It’s not the raven.
It’s a soaring notepad, flying from one researcher to another.
The ordinance Ryc sent out was met with enthusiastic reply. Since then, Castle Erus has filled with researchers from across the country eager and ready to learn everything they can about the enigmatic flowers.
I’d rather them study the raven.
It has to be some kind of old magic entity.
What else could glide through wards as if they didn’t exist?
Why come to Ollora?
Why persistently seek me out?
Could it be a god?
One of the primordials perhaps?
The raven, compared to the veilflowers, is a far worthier subject of study in my humble opinion. But, in the same breath, neither the raven nor the veilflowers are as pressing as the soul crystal. Figuring out the raven will have to wait.
I’ve a soul to mend.
My soul, no less.
While soul fracturing is common necromantic practice, I can’t say the same for soul mending. In fact, I know of no necromantic ritual or blood magic spell for mending a fractured mortal soul.
That doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist.
Which makes my first task finding it.
Naturally, my mind flies to the library of the hells. There are countless necromantic grimoires and blood magic tomes—they’re how I learned to become a proficient bloodmage. A wealth of information lies left and I simply need access.
Simply.
There’s nothing simple about accessing the hells now.
In fact, I’d like to avoid returning to the hells. Especially considering the upheaval it caused when I left. And I doubt Vaelyn would welcome me with warm, open arms.
No, I need a demon willing to search on my behalf.
Eve suggested Druka. And I would trust Druka enough for this. But following hours of Eve trying to reach her through their demonic channel and receiving silence, Druka isn’t an easy solution.
If I could reach Ylara…
And thus, for the last two days, I’ve thrown myself into tearing through Castle Erus’ library searching for a solution. A way to get a message to the hells. If necromancers and blood mages can commune with the dead and with demons, I should be able to do the same.
While Ryc attends to the political and social cataclysm the veilflowers have left in their wake, I conduct my own research. With Eve’s help.
Two days of searching.
Two days of nothing.
But at the very least, Ryc and I agree. Mending my soul is imperative. I cannot continue to exist with half a soul. The fact I have for as long as I have is either a miracle or Netharis’ design. And with Netharis gone, I may soon follow.
A fractured soul expends energy.
It burns out.
I’ve no reason to believe I won’t do the same.
How long it takes depends upon the strength of the soul.
And I’d rather not waste time figuring out how long I have left.
More than that, this Joining requires Ryc and I to exchange pieces of our souls. Ryc isn’t willing to attempt the ritual until my soul has been mended. Nowhere in The Joining does it denote how large a piece.
I’m thankful for his concern, but it places me on a tight timeline.
I’ve mere weeks to figure this out.