A Feast of Souls: Araneae Nation, Book 2 (3 page)

“What are you up to?” My curiosity was less forced than his cheer. “What’s in them?”

“Seedlings, loam and cuttings from rare plants.” He patted a stool near his workbench and I sat. “On the topic of rare plants, I dried some dayflower seeds that didn’t sprout. I thought I may uncover some alternate use for them, and I think perhaps I have, but I wanted your opinion first.”

Pleased we had a new topic of conversation, I straightened on my seat. “You flatter me.”

“Perhaps
flatter
is too strong a word considering the nature of my curiosity.” His flinch was telling. “I did have a…personal reason for speaking with you, but I had other questions as well.”

Eager to regain our easy friendship, I encouraged him. “Ask. I’ll answer as best I can.”

“Your people,” he said. “Spirit walkers, like you, I mean, use dayflower oil as a calmative?”

“Yes.” I shifted but found no comfort. “Walkers from my clan use the oil to induce a dream state for our patients. We use it ourselves to reach a deep, meditative state conducive to healing.”

He sat opposite me. “Are you aware of any residual effects from such treatments?”

“Heavier doses induce coma for those beyond our help. As you saw with Rhys, in measured doses, it can impede the spread of venom until alternative treatment is available, assuming that is the patient’s choice.” I wondered at the point he was making. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Despite my promise to answer him, I sensed he was working up his nerve to ask me a question larger than the one we had left behind us in the hall, and Henri’s anxiety fueled mine.

He spun a tin on the table between us. “From the tests I’ve administered, your dayflower oil is similar in composition to oil of oregano.” A line appeared between his eyes. “I also found that depending on the part of the plant used, the pollen for example, has hallucinogenic properties.”

My fingers curled into my palms. “I don’t hear a question in that.”

“I found it fascinating that your entire clan’s medical arsenal was created from the parts of a single flower. It’s remarkable how you use everything from its pollen to its roots. I realize your beliefs mean your applications are somewhat…limited…and that restriction made me curious.”

I waited for the words he had such difficulty finding.

“If the results are accurate, and I see no reason why they wouldn’t be, is it not possible that instead of reaching this plateau of spiritual enlightenment, that it’s the hallucinogenic properties at work? That instead of healing a person’s soul from a mystical place between our world and the next, that common antibiotic has cured the ailment you sought to treat? I mean no disrespect, but I can’t fathom the notion of healing as you do. Risking lives… There must be a basis for positive results of such treatment in medical science. Otherwise…” His gaze met mine. “What I mean…”

Pain blossomed in my chest as his words staggered me. No wonder he had propositioned me in the tunnel. It was better to secure my favor before he insulted my heritage and earned my ire.

“Henri, I have no response I won’t regret later.” I stood on weak legs and spoke from a sore heart. “Perhaps when Rhys and Lourdes visit in the spring, you can come too. See the dayflowers bloom.” I kept my tongue civil. “You won’t pass up the chance to harvest your own specimens.”

“Mana.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

His implications cut deep, but from that wound, assurance bled.
Three days and I leave for home
…

The nights could not pass fast enough.

Chapter Two

Once in the hall, exhaustion beat a sluggish tempo behind my left eye. I rubbed my temples, grateful I kept white willow bark on hand for easing headaches. What I’d told Vaughn hadn’t been a lie. Stress made my gut knot. Strain made my hands tremble, or perhaps that was borne of fury.

If I brewed a cup of tea before sleeping, it might banish my grim thoughts. Sadly, there was no cure for removing the sting from Henri’s rejection. He was the one friend I counted among his clan, but it appeared I had been generous in my estimation of our mutual esteem.

I suppose he had viewed my success in healing Rhys as a puzzle worth solving. Now he had his answers…and his dayflower seedlings. While I doubted they’d thrived here, I regretted the gift.

Cool wind swirled dust about my ankles and set my nape tingling. This far belowground, the crisp breeze nipping my heels meant one thing. There was no vent down here, no source of fresh air.

“Tell him.”

My knees locked so hard, so fast, I stumbled. “Hello?”

No answer.

One cautious step forward and pain radiated from my shoulder. I spun and met the surprised gaze of the spirit I’d summoned earlier. So he’d expected his jab to pass through me. Well, I had too.

Sweet wine rose bitter up the back of my throat. On his palm sat a tin,
my
tin, the one I filled with burnt offerings, the one I must have forgotten to put in my pocket after Vaughn startled me.

When the spirit poked my shoulder, more insistent, I rocked on my heels, and he bared those vicious teeth of his. Heart pounding, I realized how foolish I’d been to forget such a basic tenet.

Offerings burnt to summon a spirit link its essence to yours.
Old Father’s voice rang through my head.
Leave nothing behind. Leave it no power over you. Leave it no gateway into this world.

Relishing his newfound ability, the spirit tossed me against the tunnel wall and braced his forearm across my throat. While I gasped for air, he turned his head and kept his face in shadow.

“Tell him,”
he said again.

“I don’t…understand.” I gulped. “Who do you…mean?”

More pressure. More dots danced before my eyes. Wind howled.
“Tell him.”

It was impossible for him to watch my every move while his head was turned. I made use of his blind spot and fumbled the pocket of my gown. Nestled beside the crystal was a bag of herbs. I carried dragon’s blood at all times. It was the strongest bane against spirits. Thank the gods for small mercies. As I fought the tie and clutched the herb in my hand, I asked, “Tell him what?”

He traced the spot where fangs had rasped not so long ago.
“Tell
him
.”

A flicker of fear for Vaughn raised hairs along my nape. “I’m sorry.” But the spirit gave me no choice.

I shook my hand, and dried herbs caught the wind and pelted him. His howl of rage gave me the opening I needed to cup his mouth with my palm and force a generous handful of herb inside. He snapped at me, fangs ripping through my palm, but I held tight and prayed to the gods until his form swirled and vanished with a throttled cry of fury. I leaned against the wall until I could breathe again. My head cracked on packed dirt, but I welcomed the reminder I was alive.

Vision swimming, I blinked the ground into focus.
No tin.
I swallowed hard and tasted bile. Oily residue coated my palm. The first time touching a spirit in this world and it had left a mark.

I would bind the wound with blessed herbs and keep an eye out for infection.

Three more days, two really, and I would leave Erania. My head pounded as a plan formed.

Ward my room. Hide from this spirit. Pray I survived yet another visit to the in-between.

Air whooshed from my lungs. I woke gasping on the tiles. Cold sweat slicked my nightdress to my body. Salt stung my eyes as the room came into focus. My heart skittered.
Not my room.
I coughed, tasting blood and rolling onto my side. A gilded mirror reflected the mess of black hair twisting over my shoulder and the white gown pooling on the floor around me.
Gold.
Araneidae gold glinted on every surface of the room. I owned nothing as fine as the baubles glittering welcome around me.

This was not my bedroom. This was not my home. I was buried deep in the Araneidae nest.

I touched my chest and winced. Gods but that
hurt
.

Every time I ripped my soul from my body, I swore I’d never do it again. Yet here I lay, my body trembling from reentry, my soul panicked. How soon the spirit forgot this world. How short the memory of the body. Echoes of life rang through empty shells left from my brethren who had lost their way back to this world. I had no anchor here, not without Old Father guiding my walk.

Panting as I rolled flat onto my back, I exhaled through those doubts. I’d find a stout anchor or I’d stop crossing into the spiritlands.
What use is a spirit walker who ignores her true calling?
I asked myself a better question.
What use is a dead spirit walker?
Why, none at all, that’s what.

With a curse and a shove, I sat upright, checking each corner where herb sachets sat barring the spirit or those of his ilk from entering my room. I had knelt for so long before crumpling, my legs were numb. Still, it was worth the risk. My prayers were spoken and the room emitted a faint light as the protection charm activated. Bone tired, weary from exertion, I rubbed my eyes.

A soft sigh of well-oiled hinges and my bedroom door peeked open.

I felt foolish for asking, “Is someone there?”

“Why are you sitting on the floor when you have a perfectly good bed?”

I squinted, but my eyes were weak, my reflexes dull. “Vaughn?”

The door opened a fraction to allow a view of his scowl. “You’ve forgotten me already?”

“No, I—” I shook my head to clear the mental fog. “What are you doing in my room?”

His gaze traveled up the length of my bare thigh. I tucked my legs beneath me, arranging my gown so only my toes were visible. The infuriating male stared until I tucked my feet in too.

“You said you wanted to go.” His eyes sparkled. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” With my head and sight clear, I noticed the nicked boots he wore. His pants and shirt were plain, textured and thick. A travel cloak tied at his neck and his fingers tapped a sword hilt. “We’re leaving so soon? I thought we had days left in Erania.” Had I exhausted myself warding my room for nothing?

“Plans have changed. We’re leaving now.” He glanced past his shoulder, then slid inside my room and shut the door on a soft
snick
.

“What’s happened?” I held my breath until his expression softened.

“I decided if one little mouse learned of our meeting, then rats might have as well. I think it’s in our best interest to leave now while we still have the advantage.” He tossed a bag at my feet. “I had to guess at your sizes, but I wager I got them close.”

I stared up at him. “You brought me clothes?”

“I don’t remember you being quite this slow.” He frowned. “Did your nightcap sack you?”

I covered my mouth and managed a muffled, “How did you know I was drinking earlier?”

“As long as we’ve known one another and you have to ask?” He tapped the side of his nose.

“Oh.”
Witty, Mana, very witty.
I settled on a comfortable lie. “I think you’re right. The sweet wine was more potent than I realized.” It was easier than explaining the wards I had constructed.

“The Araneidae don’t serve sweet wine.” His face split in a grin. “Gods’ web, it’s no wonder you’re having trouble remembering your name.” He inhaled. “The
akash
was imported for Rhys and the other males, not for little mice like you. Come on. Let me help you get changed.”

That snapped me to attention. “I can dress on my own.”

His dark brows rose. “Are you sure? You don’t look steady.”

Determined to prove him wrong, I shoved to my feet and locked my knees so I didn’t weave. “Thank you, but I can handle things from here. You can wait outside for me, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll wait right here, if
you
don’t mind.” He braced his legs wide. “I can’t go ducking in and out of rooms. It’ll draw attention I went through pains to avoid.” He gave me his back. “Better?”

“That will do.” I upended the bag onto my bed, and my jaw dropped. “I can’t accept these.”

His head fell back on his shoulders. “And why not?”

I ran the silken fabric through my fingers. “I can’t afford these. That’s why. My gown—”

“Your gown is too thin, too green and too difficult for you to wear while riding. Now, make sure you put the vest next to your skin. The shirt, pants and coat, well, you know where they go.”

Lifting the vest in question, I inspected it, and my stomach roiled. It was woven from fine gold thread, the style and color unmistakable. “This is Araneidae armor. It’s worth more gold than I’ll see in my life.”

The Araneidae had made their fortune spinning their silk into armor. Their artisans, all male except for Lourdes, spun threads ten times the strength of any known metal. Their armor made even hardened mercenaries weep with yearning, and I held a vest made in my size in my hands.

“Don’t consider the fabric, consider what it protects.” He paused. “A life is irreplaceable.”

I fisted the fabric until my knuckles turned white. Pining for home did me no good if I didn’t live to see it. Before I lost my nerve, I shucked my nightdress and shrugged the armor into place. Warm fabric slinked over my skin, almost lighter than my gown. With the same blind purpose, I dressed in the rest of the clothes he’d brought me. I kept my shoes, but I made use of his socks.