3 - SOUL EATER

I did not have much to pack. The chamber in which I had grown up was a small, sparse box of black stone. I am, I would say, an average sized man, yet my bed, and this chamber, made me feel like a giant. I had an old wardrobe filled with robes; daily robes, ceremonial robes, night robes. They all looked more or less the same, plain and black. I stuffed them into a travel bag. What else? I had a few notes my mother had written a long time ago, and these I rolled up carefully and stored at the bottom of the bag. I had a silver ring I’d found washed up on the beach as a child, and this I slid onto the index finger of my left hand. There was really nothing else for me to back.

A small arch was cut into the sea-facing wall. Through it, I watched the thrashing of the sea, almost black in the early morning. The sun would soon rise. I intended to be on a boat as it did so. The Withered Isles weren’t far from the coast. I could make it to the continent today, although it would be a long and tireless day.

I knew very little about the outside world. I didn’t know how to camp. How to start a fire. I didn’t need how other people outside of the Isles operated. I was well versed in history, literature, art, and a multitude of other academic pursuits, but reading information in a book is a much different thing to experiencing the world.

More or less, I didn’t know what I was doing.

I knew only that I needed to kill the most powerful man in the world.

You might ask why.

I will tell you.

Allow me to introduce you to the Philosophy of Death.

We necromancers believe that the most beautiful and important thing is life. Without it, we wouldn’t have death. As an extension of this, we place great value in the soul; all living things have souls, and the souls of humans are the most powerful of all. When a person dies, their soul is dragged into the Void and then enters whatever realm lies beyond. This is the natural way of things, and is very special. In this way, souls last forever, and no one is ever truly gone.

Except, gods exist.

There are the Primordial Gods, and other divinities besides. All of them feed on souls. The more powerful they are, the more they feed, so that when a person dies, there is a significant chance that, instead of entering the Void, they will instead be caught in the jaws of a ravenous and awful god.

Gods are like cancer. They grow and grow and as they do so, they need more souls and more energy to sustain themselves. They upset the balance of the universe, and they will destroy it, and all life, if they are not stopped.

And that is why it is my destiny to destroy all gods.

Now, back to the most powerful man in the world.

Marak, who is Autarch of the Tiran Autarchy. Who has lived for more than three centuries. Who is said to have stolen power from the gods and intends to one day ascend to godhood himself.

You can, I’m sure, see our problem with that.

It is much easier to kill a would-be god than an actual god.

And so I must stop him before it is too late.

#

A surprise awaited me as I emerged from my chambers, travel-bag slung over one shoulder.

The hallways of Shadow Castle—which dominated Amel, the largest of our islands—were filled with my people. They lined the walls, all in their dark robes, hands held out so that as I passed between them, fingers brushed against my shoulders, my arms, my hands.

Six hundred and three people lived in Shadow Castle, including myself, and minus poor Salakan.

By the looks of it, all of them had turned out to see me.

Many were acolytes and initiates, the lowest ranks of our Order, and these kept their heads bowed as they passed. Others, full-fledged necromancers, wore their bone masks and clasped my hands in a show of respect. Then there were the elders, the Sanctified, the High Priests and Diviners. These did not touch me, but they offered the occasional reassuring smile, or whispered a word of encouragement, and I heard each one and felt my stride become a little more sure, a little more determined.

I could do this. I had to do it.

We of the Withered Isles are not expressive people. We do not often display love or emotion. An outsider might think that we are cold, dead things, but that’s not true. We’re still people. We feel, and desire, and love. We just show it differently.

I felt it all now. The love.

The support.

We were united in our cause.

I smiled at familiar faces, paused to trade words wtih them. There was Grasa, an older woman who was famously the best at fishing out of anyone of the Withered Isles; she had once taught me how to perfectly gut and prepare a fish. And there was Litirun, a man around my age, broad and strong, who I had exercised often with, and who had taught me how best to utilize my own muscles. Tarith was there and he pulled me into a hug. Tarith was my best friend. We had grown up together and gotten up to much mischief. If I had to say one thing about him, it would be that he was a good person, and that I looked up to him immensely.

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“Be safe,” he murmured as we embraced. “Don’t get yourself killed, you hear me?”

“Dying once was enough for me,” I said with a forced smile.

Tarith grimaced. He hadn’t yet undergone The Dying. “Yes, well. Listen, Aurion…perhaps I could come with you. The idea of you out there all alone…”

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate that, my friend. Truly. But I have a feeling I won’t be alone. I believe that my father intends to send someone with me.”

“Who?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know yet. I suppose I’ll soon find out.”

“Whoever it is, I doubt their company will be as good as mine.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” I stepped away from him. I wished that we could talk longer. That I had time to give all of these people a proper farewell.

But there simply wasn’t time.

“We’ll meet again,” I promised Tarith, and was then swept along down the hallway by encouraging hands.

I hadn’t quite realized how many people might care to see me go until that moment. Gladness swept through me, as did determination. They believed in me. Supported me. I possessed their trust, and each of them had made sacrifices so that I might fulfill my destiny.

I had to be strong. To do what I’d been asked to do.

My father waited for me at the end of the hallway. He fell in by my side and together we walked toward the archway that would deliver us into the cold, outside air.

“You have everything you need?” he asked.

“For the most part,” I said. “But I’ll need money, won’t I?”

My father nodded. “You’ll get it. Someone is waiting for you at the wharf. They’ll accompany you on your journey. I’ve given them a very large sum of Autarchy money—plus banking seals that will give you access to the fortune we’ve accumulated within the Autarchy banks.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I had no idea we had a fortune.”

“There was never a need to talk about it,” my father said distantly. “We have no use for their money—except now, in this endeavor. So you can see, what you embark upon now is a mission that has been planned and prepared for decades.”

“And this companion of mine…who will it be?”

He glanced down at me—my father was a tall man, whilst I was only of average height. His golden eyes burned bright behind his mask. “Her name is Justinia. She is of the Isles, although she left a decade ago and only just returned. She will be your guide, protector, advisor, and, I hope, friend.” He stopped walking for a moment, and so did I.

My father drew in a deep breath. “The path you’re about to walk is not an easy one. In fact, I suspect it will be long, cold, lonely, and endlessly unpleasant. You will suffer. You will cause offers to suffer. You will kill, and perhaps even lose your own life in the pursuit. You may, in fact, lose everything.” His eyes softened “Worse, I can not tell you how to achieve any of what I need you to achieve. It is simply unprecedented. You will need to figure it out yourself, Aurion. I would not ask anyone to do this alone. And so I hope Justinia will make things at least a little easier.”

I swallowed thickly. “And who is she, exactly? Why her?”

“She is a very formidable woman. She was sixteen when she left these Isles, and so never underwent The Dying. I gave her one directive only: to explore the Autarchy, learn their ways, and become the most capable companion possible to my son. She has, in other words, dedicated the last decade of her life to honing herself into a weapon and a tool for you to use.”

I tried to imagine that. Leaving home on her own, still a child, knowing that the next ten years of her life were to be dedicated to someone she’d never met—someone she wouldn’t meet for a long time. What sort of person could endure that?

We continued down the hallway and then passed beneath an archway decorated with inset skulls. These were the skulls of our ancestors, and they looked down upon us favorably. Outside, the wind was howling. Black clouds gathered up above, though soon the sun would rise and bless us with its light. I hoped that the weather would clear up. I didn’t fancy the idea of rowing across the strait in the midst of a storm. Having grown up on the Isles, I was naturally a strong swimmer, but nonetheless, the Abyssal Sea was treacherous, and had claimed the lives of far more accomplished swimmers and sailors than I.

A narrow stone path wove its way down the rocks that led to the wharf. A light fog partially obscured the way ahead. Through it, I could just make out a dark silhouette standing at the wharf. In the water, tied to a post, was the rowboat that would deliver us to Telemir.

“If she seems strange,” my father said quietly, “it’s only because she’s lived amongst them for so long. Her life has not been easy. But I assure you, you can trust her with your life. She is as dedicated to the cause as any of us, and she has sworn an oath to you.”

“She doesn’t even know me.”

“No. And yet she has, nonetheless, sworn one. She will be an extension of your will. But there is only one of her, Aurion. Treat her well. Keep her close. If the time ever comes when you feel as though a sacrifice must be made…ensure that you are not squandering her life for nothing.”

“Of course,” I said. The idea of having to sacrifice another person, and especially an ally, was inconceivable.

At the time, anyway.

It’s funny how things change.

“I’ll go no further,” my father said with a sigh, coming to a stop. “Wade ahead into the fog, my son. You know what you have to do. You know the end goal. Trust in yourself and in Justinia. Trust in the cause.”

I clenched my jaw. “May I be honest with you?”

“I suspect that, if there is ever a time for honesty, it is now.”

I looked into my father’s golden eyes. We’d never been close. I couldn't have even said with any real confidence that he loved me—or was capable of feeling love. And did I love him? I supposed that I did, in the way that a child feels obliged to love their parents, in the sense of owing them for the gift of life, and for a childhood mostly devoid of extreme discomfort and suffering.

Regardless, we’d never shared feelings before, not really. Nor had we had any ‘confessional’ moments. This was especially true of our lives after my mother had died.

I said, “I’m fucking terrified.”

My father grinned. It was such an uncharacteristic expression from him that it was actively disturbing. “You’d have to be insane to not be terrified.”

I nodded slowly. “Are you sure you don’t want to give this whole thing a go in my place?”

“It has to be you. You know that.”

I did know that. It had to be because many necromancers had sacrificed themselves in my name.

Their souls swirled around inside me, trapped, and slowly burned for fuel.

There are different types of necromancers, and various schools of necromancer.

I was a soul-eater. Not by choice—it was a curse I’d received, as I’ve said, while still inside my mother’s womb.

The two of us stood in silence. Searching, maybe, for last words.

Until inevitably deciding that there were none to be found.

“I’ll be back,” I said.

“Luck to you, Aurion. And may you live forever.”