The Seekers: Soul Ties. Anton Anderson

      Haileen took another glance at the forest, but all looked safe.

      «It is true, I only read some books about them. But some time ago I started to wonder: how do other species live? The saxum’s culture seems to be quite interesting, just like their gear! And I am also curious what is it like to have both females and males? The authors of our books are mostly igni, so they could not really explain.»

      «Huh!» Iskrila took a second to think. «Can’t say I’m that curious, but since you are – just go ask them! Take a vacation and find out!»

      «Well, no…» Haileen snickered. «I cannot leave Sabiri to do everything on her own. So, where are we moving these helmets? And why? And do we have any left for our own use?»

      «To Drowners. They also need to learn how to make these. They’ll take the samples farther to the other villages.»

      «That is a great idea!» Haileen went to put the helmet back into the crate. «Do you think we could also start selling them soon? Each time we visit Imbrergoso, Jaesa complains we do not make enough money to expand.»

      «Well, she’s their chief – of course she wants as much money for Drowners as possible. If they can secure the materials and find the buyers, then sure…»

      Before Iskrila could finish the sentence, an irresistible force jerked her body down. An arrow flew by, barely missing her head.

      «Group up!» Haileen’s command pierced the air.

      Trying to ignore the invisible hammer smashing something deep inside her chest, Iskrila raised her shield, tried to look around… But there was no one to carry out the order. With the corner of her eye, Iskrila saw how Aip, the third guard, fell down on the ground with a few arrows sticking from her shoulder and neck. Where are they hiding? So many bushes all around her – the enemy could be anywhere!

      Run! There was no other thought in Iskrila’s mind. She had to! Was it her own thought? Or was it the artifact’s that was hanging under her clothes, inflaming her every nerve with its heartbeat and horror? What would Sabiri do? The road looked clear, if she only could…

      A sharp, piercing pain suddenly ripped into her leg. Trying not to fall, Iskrila glanced at Haileen, hoping she could see the attackers. That calm face looked so out of place right then. An arrow landed in the wooden cart right near Haileen’s head, but still it failed to make her flinch.

      What was the plan? How could they get away? Why was Haileen dropping her spear on the ground? Why was she doing the same with her shield? Suddenly, Iskrila’s wounded leg gave up, forcing her to kneel.

      Shit!

      She knew it was hopeless the moment it happened, but she just had to try! Iskrila dropped her own weapon and shield, then turned around to finally see the attackers.

      The igni, a whole bunch of them. Good armor and weapons. Some of them were still hiding in the bushes, but the rest were already creeping towards them. Keeping the defeated foe under a constant aim of bows, they surrounded the caravan. Now Iskrila could see the sigil on their armor.

      That can’t be right! Iskrila blinked, then looked again, squinting her eyes to better see the pattern. What?

      «Who the fuck are you?» escaped from her mouth.

      It was so hard to speak under the artifact’s toll, that she had to spit out each word in rhythm with its magical heartbeat.

      «Why the damn do you wear Drowners’ sigil?»

      Those words made the attackers pause. After exchanging confused looks, they decided to not say anything. Instead, two of them aimed their bows directly at her face.

      Looking death in the eye was sadly familiar. The sudden weight of horror, pinning her down to the ground. The way she remembered Sabiri and every other person dear to her, completely unable to focus on any of them, unable to say goodbye. The way her heart was pumping blood through her veins, in sync with that fucking artifact that had failed to warn her in time. The pain in her leg, echoing with every beat. The helplessness, watching another enemy coming close to her, kneeling down, putting her hand on the arrow in her wounded leg. Her face was so close to Iskrila, and on that face… Was it pain she saw on it? Guilt? Shame? Disgust? The igni pulled…

      Doubt

      Today was a good day, by any definition. Frolicking birds were filling the air with their songs. They made their nests on a Land crumb – a piece of a rock and dirt, slowly floating hundreds of meters into the sky. Safe from land predators, the Land crumbs were a nearly perfect place to be safe and to raise offspring.

      When such rocks flew above her head, they always reminded Sabiri about the good old times when her own children were home. Now they’d all left in search of something new and exciting. Yes, that meant she was living alone with Iskrila for a few years now. The house seemed too big and too empty. But it was okay. Sabiri was proud of her children, and she did everything to enable them to go wherever they wanted.

      Warm, gentle wind was stroking her skin. No one bothered her. The breakfast Iskrila made this morning was amazing. Yet, she felt no joy. No joy at all.

      Sabiri was sitting on a wide bench near her house, trying to get some work done. Dark-orange skin on her palm was muddy with black ink – she was too lazy to wait for it to dry when she wrote. Her red eyes were staring at a single point without moving. To one of her big horns, twisted like a spiral staircase and narrowing at the top, was pinned a small piece of paper. It was quietly rustling in the wind, making sure she wouldn’t forget to read it. Her thick leather jacket could stop a knife, like the one she was carrying in a holster on her shorts. But the main weapon was a sword, attached to Sabiri’s belt.

      A big table in front of her was used for meals about as often as for work. She wished the work was as enjoyable as a meal with good company, but it was still nicer to read and write under the bright sun than with a lamp. A pile of scrolls in front of her seemed endless and useless: maps, duty rosters, schedules, supply inventories… The smell of old paper was teasing her long nose, but today there was no joy in it. Smaller, unrolled pieces of paper were laying all around, even on the blue grass under her hooves – that was mail. A beautiful quill was sitting in a bottle of ink, waiting to be used.

      The more she looked at the map, the more frustrated she got. There it was, the Great Lake. Four igni villages were dispersed evenly over its bank.

      Imbralestan, named after the beautiful vapor that rises in the air when it rains upon the lava lakes. The name has transformed greatly over the years, and now people of Imbralestan were usually called just the Vapors.

      Poinistan, marking their chief’s love for the scarlet color. The Scarlets, in fact, all seemed to like red.

      Imbrergoso, or Drowners in casual speech.

      And, finally, Coracastan – her home. Sabiri still hadn’t asked Star about the name’s origin. As she recalled, Star didn’t really like to dance, but maybe she used to? It was almost three hundred years ago, after all.

      Sabiri was born much later, but just in time to take part in building the road that encircled all the villages. Later, the igni and other species all around the Lands connected their own paths to the road, ending the villages’ seclusion. Star had so many hopes of becoming a transport or a trade hub in these parts, but it never happened. All major places of trading and crafts were eventually interconnected by straighter and wider roads, leaving the villages with few visitors.

      She needed a distraction, to stretch her legs. There were still a few hours before lunch so almost everyone was working, leaving the streets empty. Sabiri always liked to look around when she walked. Their village was considered rather large, with about three and a half hundred population and