Fractured Souls Page 3

  “I’m just hoping to see them—I mean you, again.” Diovan scowled. “Fuck, that was an unfortunate slip of the tongue.”

  Aryana nudged Diovan’s side with her elbow, despite being weakened, then turned her attention to Rayse. “Be safe.”

  “You too.” Rayse tried to fake a comforting smile, but he’d smiled so little over the last sixty years that he’d almost forgotten how to. He braced himself as he turned to face the wailing portal. It pulsed with magic. With each passing moment, the fog within it darkened, and the shrieking of the souls grew louder.

  He shared a brief nod with Shen, then stepped into the gateway.

  Rayse ears throbbed. It was like someone had poked a rapier into his eardrums and wouldn’t stop digging the weapon deeper. The shrieks of the souls were louder than anything he’d ever heard, as if there were an entire platoon of dragons roaring in his ears, just more high-pitched and unbearably screechy.

  It felt like claws were trying to buckle him down and stop him from entering the other side. He fought against the force that pulled him back. Then, abruptly, his head made a loud, cracking sound against a wall, before he was flung onto a dusty cobblestone ground. He sucked in a sharp breath and slid to his feet. His head reeled from the suddenness of it all.

  The air around him was stiff and dry. Bustling echoed in the distance, similar to the sounds heard in a city. It took a second to realize that they were in one—surrounded by brick walls, and chattering voices which blended into noise, and the grime of a cramped civilization.

  He surveyed his surroundings for Shen.

  The portal glowered at him. He was in a dark alleyway, alone. He walked down the dim street, curious about what was happening in the city of Ayesrial. Sunlight hit his face as he left the darkness, but the city was anything but bright. It was overcast with a brown-red sky, almost like it was twilight. They had left during midday in Gaia. Did time run differently here?

  He surveyed the streets. A couple of men in purple uniforms, both shorter than he was, shoved past him.

  “Watch where you’re going, twat,” the purple-uniformed one said. He spat at Rayse, who dodged it. The man cast Rayse a beady glance, as if contemplating whether he should be offended that Rayse didn’t suffer his spit. He decided not to pick a fight, gave Rayse a once-over, then harrumphed and sauntered off.

  Rayse’s knuckles tickled with the need to punch the guy in the face, but he drew back. He didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention to himself. He crept back into the shadows of the alley.

  It took a long time for Shen to appear. Rayse waited a minute… then two… After ten, Rayse found himself panicking—had he lost his friend to those souls in the portal?

  It took a total of fifteen minutes before Shen was thrown onto the wall, the same way Rayse had been. But unlike Rayse, Shen didn’t stand up soon after. He was on the ground, moaning, the whole of his right arm covered in blood. He pushed himself off the cobblestone before slumping back onto the ground with a thud.

  “Shen?” Rayse asked, padding closer with wary footsteps. “What happened?”

  His friend’s sweat glistened, even in the shade where they hid. “One of those spirits… happened to take on physical form. I had to fight it off.”

  Rayse inspected Shen’s arm. The wound didn’t look serious—at least not for a dragon. “It’s not healing.”

  “No,” Shen said. He was breathing so hard that he almost sounded like he was gasping. “Must be something to do with the black magic.”

  Rayse cursed. He remembered years back, when Constance was still around, Fraser’s patrol had been injured by black magic as well. They’d deteriorated at a rate unlike any he’d seen, and soon perished. “You’ll be okay,” he said, attempting to comfort himself as much as he was Shen. “You’ll be okay… we just need to get you to a proper healer. They’ll know what to do.”

  3

  Rayse was at his wit’s end. He was going to lose his friend. Hours had passed. Shen was still lying there, alone in the alley, as Rayse frantically searched for a healer. It was a nearly impossible job to do in this mess of a city.

  He pushed his way out of the bar, muttering a string of curses.

  “We don’t need beggars around here!” a drunk man yelled at Rayse.

  Rayse spun around and spat at the ground, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  That was the second bar he had visited. Still no information.

  A swath of people moved in front of him, through the city streets, too occupied with minding their own business to care about Rayse. It reminded him somewhat of Everndale before it fell, but it had more dragon-esque qualities. In the air were dragon males in half form, darting about the city, many carrying goods. He’d thought the Everstones were the largest conglomeration of dragons. He couldn’t have been farther from the truth. There had to be thousands of them here. There were even little ones—not dragonlings, but fully grown dragons of a different variety, flitting about.

  The fashion and the way the dragons carried themselves did not look prosperous, however. Their clothes were tattered and covered in dirt, and many inhabitants didn’t even wear shoes.

  He could see a few mishram amongst the crowds as well. They felt different compared to the ones in Gaia. They weren’t servants, being pushed around by dragons, but searching the crowds for… something. They reminded Rayse of watchdogs.

  He peered down at his sparrow-vellum:

  Hurry.

  That was the last word Shen had scribbled. And it was an hour ago.

  A chill crawled past him. Shen hadn’t responded to any of the messages Rayse had hastily written after that.

  Rayse walked down a few more streets, wasting another good half-hour, before stepping into another quaint-looking bar. In Ayesrial, everything seemed decrepit except for the alcohol economy. The dragons and humans—mostly the humans—here appeared to enjoy drinking immensely, perhaps to drown the pains of the shit-hole they were stuck in.

  He couldn’t blame them. He often did the same thing himself, even though alcohol hardly did anything to lessen his emotions. He had to drink a gallon before feeling anything.

  He walked up to the counter. “Ma’am,” he said to the bartender, “I need your help.”

  The paunchy woman raised an eyebrow. “Your order?”

  He tensed his jaw. “I don’t have any money for drinks, unfortunately.” For that same reason, countless other places had made him leave. They certainly had information up their sleeves, but were unwilling to share them without coin. He had some savings to spare—but only those from his world. One bartender had thrown the coin he’d shown earlier past his face. The Ayesrialians had a different form of currency than people in Gaia.

  The woman pointed. “The door’s right there—kindly make your way out.”

  He swallowed his pride. “Please.” He had considered using force earlier, but the dragon men in these parts were many, and witches were scattered amongst them. He doubted he stood a chance. That didn’t surprise him. The past sixty years had woken him from his younger confidence. He now understood the breadth of both the world and his own weaknesses.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll pay with my time, later. I can run errands, manual labor. Just let me know where the nearest healer is. My friend is dying.” He knew he looked pathetic—like a stray, pitiful dog, not the proud dragon he once had been. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

  The bartender squinted. She leaned back and rubbed her wrinkled lips together, studying him for a moment, which felt too long.

  Then she shook her head. “Damn Catrina, always giving me trouble.” She gestured to a little girl sitting in a corner. “Emilia, you know what to do. This one wants to go there too.”

  Rayse frowned. “Go where?”

  “Can’t say. We have to keep the location a secret. There’s mishram all around here.” She lowered her voice. “Can’t let the Mother know where that place is.”

  A little girl ran up to him. If not for the pigtails, he could have almost mistaken her for a boy. She wore a shabby excuse for a shirt, and dirt covered most of her features. The hair in her pigtails could have been blond, but it was so matted and dull that Rayse couldn’t tell.

  “Come with me,” the child said in her high-pitched voice, and wrapped her little fingers around his. He allowed her to drag him away, not knowing what to expect.

  “Where’s your friend?” Emilia asked.

  “Uh…” Rayse dug through his memory. “I saw a sign which said the Trigolar Inn around the corner.”

  Emilia nodded, then darted off. She meandered through the crowds with the grace of a cat. He struggled to keep up, despite his dexterity. Damn that Mother, the girl was swift.

  The surroundings started getting more familiar as Rayse followed the little girl. He had to summon his wings and fly across the streets to match her pace, and even then, he almost lost her a few times. He found himself in front of the Trigolar Inn soon after.

  It was so nearby? The city was a maze. He had been walking for more than hour.

  He spotted the alleyway they’d come from, and scrambled to find Shen. His worry deepened when he saw Shen splayed flat on the ground, drained of color and barely breathing.

  “Dragon’s cunt,” he said, rushing toward his friend.

  “He doesn’t have much time left,” Emilia said.

  He lifted his companion up. Rayse doubted Shen could open his eyes even if he tried.

  Emilia drew beads from her pocket. “All right, then.”

  Rayse’s lips parted in shock. “You’re a witch?”

  “I’ll have to take some precautions.” She spread her hand in front of Rayse, and he braced himself for impact. “Yakas iloise vernak vis ilas.”

  Ray
se sensed a light tingle.

  “Good,” Emilia said. “You’re not the enemy.” She turned around, murmured another spell, and gestured. A greenish portal opened in front of them. “It’s not made of black magic, so it can’t transport so many people. But it should be enough for three,” Emilia said.

  Rayse tried not to gawk. This little girl’s control of the art rivaled many of the water witches’. He hadn’t seen them cast any spells regarding teleportation. Aryana always said those required too much affinity with the art, and the only way to circumvent the lack of talent was black magic.

  Emilia stepped toward the portal. “Follow me.” She entered it. The magic swallowed her.

  Rayse did as told, carrying Shen with him. He tried not to grimace at the memory of entering Ayesrial. The black cloud he’d had to step through was the stuff nightmares were made of.

  He opened his eyes to a barren region. The same brown sky hovered over them. The grass, or lack of it, lay flat in front of him, extending toward the shadows of a city. He didn’t realize how grand the city was when he was stuck in the muck of it. Buildings that sprouted from the horizon climbed toward the sky. In the middle of the stretch of them was the tallest structure he’d ever seen, with a sharp, swirling spire that towered over its peers. Tiny dots—seemingly birds—flew over the city. Rayse had to squint with his heightened eyesight before realizing those dots weren’t birds, but dragons.

  “Over here,” Emilia said behind him.

  He turned around, and was met by the walls of a three-story mansion. This building paled in comparison to those in the city, but it was pristine, lined with white bricks, and tiled with shingles that looked like someone wiped them clean every day. It stood out in this barren land—like a single seedling in a field of ashes.

  “Catrina should be tending to the sick,” Emilia said. “Come with me.”

  Rayse hadn’t failed to notice how mature the girl seemed, despite her age. She couldn’t be older than ten.

  Still carrying Shen, Rayse padded behind their guide. Indoors, the wooden floors seemed fresh and new. They were constructed even better than his subjects’ old lodgings in Dragon Keep.

  They entered what looked like an infirmary. Emilia rapped on the open door. “Catrina? I’ve brought newcomers.”

  Rayse didn’t think much of the woman at first, but as she neared, he sensed a foreign sensation constricting his chest. Catrina had long lashes, and hair so long it reached her waist. She braided it to one side. She wore a black long-sleeved dress, which brushed against the ground as she stood. Wrapped around her pale neck was a long shawl, which reminded him of Greta. She wore a waist belt containing vials of strange liquid, most likely medicine.

  Rayse stood, enraptured by her beauty.

  She peered up at him, and he saw her golden, dewy eyes. Her plump, pinkish lips parted, and Rayse felt wanting constricting his chest.

  Could he have a second mate?

  After all, his bond with Constance had broken sixty years ago.

  It was the only reason why his dragon didn’t go insane. Constance had simply vanished, like a dream. But he still remembered her touch, her love. The ache of knowing he’d lost her entirely broke a piece of him away every day.

  His dragon preened inside his mind, ready to seduce this woman. He reprimanded his bestial side. He wasn’t supposed to be so traitorous to his own emotions.

  Catrina ambled forward with grace rivaling the Dragon Mother herself. “He was touched by dark magic?” she asked, immediately seeing to the matter at hand. She inspected Shen and gestured for Rayse to lay his friend on an empty bed. Rayse sensed discomfort emanating from her, but perhaps he was imagining things.

  “We came through the portal,” Rayse said, “from the… uh… outside, and Shen here didn’t make it through in one piece.”

  “From Gaia, huh?” She pursed her lips. “Through the entrance portal? Weak black magic, then. I can work with this.”

  “Can you?”

  “Sh.” She raised a finger. “Step aside. This will take concentration.”

  Rayse didn’t want to argue, lest his delays cost his friend’s life. He positioned himself a healthy distance from her. Catrina… she was beauty personified. He bit back disgust at his lust. He was supposed to only have one mate—Constance. Had that been a sham? Mated males weren’t meant to find other women attractive.

  But then, he wasn’t really mated anymore, was he? Something had shattered their bond.

  For sixty years, emptiness had consumed him. He’d been spared true insanity by the disappearance of the mate bond. It was as if Constance stopped existing entirely… vanished. Sometimes he questioned his sanity, but others confirmed she truly had been there.

  Magic sprayed from Catrina’s fingertips. She muttered spells, incomprehensible to him, in a soft whisper. When all was done, she exhaled and slumped backward with closed eyes.

  He managed to spot the paling of her skin with his sharp eyesight. A protectiveness he hadn’t sensed in a long time snapped at him. His shoulders tensed, and he experienced the urge to pick her up and smooth a hand over her cheek and ask if she was all right. The last person he’d worried for this way was Constance. Was he betraying his long-lost mate? He didn’t deserve to find companionship again… not after what he’d done.

  “Is he going to be okay?” he asked. Remorse that he cared more to talk to this female than inquire as to the state of his friend seeped into him.

  She inhaled a deep, slow breath. “He’ll manage.”

  “But he was touched by black magic.”

  “A small amount, and weak at that. Nothing too much for me to handle.”

  “Are you all right? You’re looking a little strained.” He wanted to swoop in to support her with his weight. To caress her and make her feel better with his comfort.

  What was wrong with him?

  “Employing this sort of healing can be difficult on the body.” She smoothed her hand over her temple. “But if I rest some, I’ll be back to normal. Thank you for your concern.” She stood up, swaying slightly. He was ready to grab her should she fall, but a few of her nurses beat him to it. “What brings you here?” she asked.

  His mind snapped from the fog this woman had placed over him. Constance. He was meant to find her. How could the simple sight of this healer replace the love he’d been aching and pining for all these years so easily? Perhaps it was because of the similarities. They shared the same features—eyes, hair, lips, and even the way they frowned.

  Still, Catrina wasn’t her. Even if Constance wore a different skin, Rayse would be able to recognize her at first glance…

  Wouldn’t he?

  “We’re looking for someone,” Rayse said.

  “You’re not going to find that person,” Catrina replied sharply.

  “What?”

  “Ayesrial is enormous. There are thousands, hundreds of thousands of people in the city.”

  “I have time.”

  “Whoever it is, he or she isn’t worth your time. Leave while you can. I can gather enough magic in a week or so, and I’ll send you away. Your being here is a danger to us all.”

  “I spent ages trying to get here.”

  “The Dragon Mother doesn’t like outsiders. This place is away from her eyes, but as a goddess, she’s still something to reckon with. If she finds you, we’ll all be dead.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “But I’m not. You’re not welcome here.”

  “I’ve waited sixty years to find that woman. I owe her this much. I failed her. I loved her.”

  Her eyes twitched slightly, from annoyance, probably. He didn’t know why she was being so difficult. “Well,” Catrina said, “I’m not the one who owes that debt, so please, spare us all and remove yourself from this place.”

  Emilia came rushing in before he could rebut. She scampered up to Catrina. “There’s another one at the door waiting for you.”

  Catrina gave Rayse a sharp look. “One of my nurses will lead you to proper lodgings. The injured one will have to stay here in the meanwhile for supervision. Your welcome will only last until I can supply enough magic for your trip home.”

  “You can’t force me to go,” he said.

  “Oh, believe me—I can.” She snapped her fingers and muttered something inaudible.