Parasite Soul (29 page)

“Hez!” Oswald yelled, waving. “Good to see ya!”

The leshy nodded curtly, but Oswald’s imprudence was costly.
Thornton followed the giant’s gaze and stabbed a finger at the crouching
figure.

“There!
Up there!
Archers, bring that creature
down!” The lieutenant dodged a slashing branch and lopped it off.
Those few surviving archers who’d managed to keep their wits about them swung
to obey.

“No!” Oswald roared, horrified. He charged into the fray,
hurling guardsmen from his path as he barreled toward the archers. He
didn’t make it. With a sigh, as if in slow motion, several arrows flitted
skyward. They twinkled insolently at their apex and arched almost casually
toward the rooftop where Hezben stood undefended, his concentration entirely
consumed by controlling the oaks. Oswald crashed into the archers’ ranks,
breaking necks and pulverizing sternums with wild and terrifying abandon, but
the damage was done. One moment, the leshy stood grim and forbidding,
stern commander of a squadron of leafy death. The next, he bristled with
arrows. His expression barely changed as he toppled from the roof.

“Bastards!” Oswald bellowed, struggling through crowds of men toward
Thornton as the oaks became inert once more. Most of them, their roots
curling like the legs of dead spiders, could find no purchase on the
cobblestones and toppled to the ground in a rustling cloud of leaves. One
managed to remain standing, leaning at a crazy angle, branches sagging
despondently. Hezben twitched feebly on the cobbles where he’d fallen,
one leg kicking. An eternity seemed to pass before he lay still.

“Should I help him?” Sasha asked curiously, watching as Oswald
received wound after wound, a flurry of blows which barely put a dent in his
fury.

“Good idea,” Niu said, scooping up a fallen guard’s
shortsword. The bruxa was so disconnected from reality.

“Alright.” Sasha dropped Mask’s ruined body and dashed off across
the courtyard.

Two men appeared in the doorway behind Niu. She gave silent
thanks for Cihau’s lessons in agility and awareness as a descending blade
chipped stone where she’d stood only a split second earlier. Her attacker
reeled off balance; guided by purest instinct, Niu drove her shortsword into
his neck and jumped, kicking off the collapsing man’s shoulder and launching
herself into the air. She landed on a ledge over the door frame, smiling
down at the surviving soldier, who stared up in astonishment.

“S…surrender,” the guard faltered. Like lightning, Niu dropped
to her haunches and swung her left leg in a tight semi-circle. Before he
could react –
how slow these blocky folk of Cannevish were!
– he was
reeling backward, choking on his teeth. Niu wasn’t even sure he
understood what had happened to him, but any semblance of resistance had fled
him. He scurried backward, bug-eyed and clutching his bloody face.
Only when he determined that he was a safe distance from Niu did he dare to
turn his back and run.

Niu hopped down from her perch and surveyed the battlefield as she
retrieved the shortsword. Sasha had killed four guardsmen with little
more effort a man might use to crush a beetle. Her unnerving
expressionless ferocity was the last straw for the thoroughly demoralized
soldiers, all of whom, save for two men who stood with Lieutenant Thornton,
broke and ran. Oswald cracked these men’s heads together with a ferocity
which shattered their skulls, and then only the lieutenant remained. He stood
his ground, slashing at the giant. Oswald batted the blade away.

To his credit, the man stared death in the face with fearless
resignation. Oswald loomed over him, a great horned nightmare, shaking
and bloodied. No semblance of the gentle, jolly fellow Niu and met
remained. As Sasha stood nearby, licking blood from her fingers, the
giant violently clenched and unclenched his fists, the vein in his neck popping
starkly.

“Creature,” said Thornton grandly, perhaps aware of his audience of
townsfolk, peeping as they were from windows and from around corners.
“You are under
arrest.
”

He died immediately following this proclamation, as he surely knew
he would. His limp form hit the cobbles in an inglorious crumpled
heap. His final declaration, enthusiastically repeated by the town youth
for decades to come, long outlived his name.

Niu watched unhappily as a shaking Oswald picked his way across the
square to where Hezben lay. She watched the giant cradle the leshy to his
chest as tears streaked his bloody face and soaked his beard. She watched
him snap each arrow off and lift the wilting form in his arms. Without a
backward glance, Oswald stumped off down the street, his shoulders rounded and
quaking. He turned a corner and was lost from sight. Niu never saw
him again.

For an eternal moment, she stared blankly out over the
carnage. The events of the past few minutes – for minutes were all that
had passed – seemed unreal to her. In her dreams, she remembered the
bloody aftermath in the style of some nightmarish painting. Several
ruined figures still stirred, which seemed cruel, as many of them were
certainly dying. Others had lost limbs or at least the use of them.
Sasha wandered among them, pausing here and there to sample some unfortunate’s
flesh. Niu hoped the bruxa might find enough mercy in her soul to end the
lives of the most grievously wounded.

Her brain slowly slipped back into focus. She kicked the
unmoving body of the masked man once, twice, to make certain he was truly
dead. But could she be sure? Did a vampire die so easily? It
wasn’t worth the risk, she decided. She lifted her shortsword.

With a curious spitting, snarling sound, Mask lurched upward,
inhumanely fast. Niu’s blow glanced off the remnants of his buckled brace
and the sword spun out of her grip. Though the effort clearly cost him,
the vampire took her by the throat and slammed her against the doorframe.
Head dangling grotesquely from a few tenacious strips of flesh and a visibly broken
spinal column, Mask struggled to recover from his exertion. He twined the
fingers of his free hand in his long, golden hair and carefully raised it to
stare Niu in the face. Two points of hate glared murder at her from a
visage which had been bludgeoned beyond recognition as his jaw sagged open to
reveal rows of splintered stubs. Sasha had really done a number on him.

The creature’s grip began to falter almost immediately. He’d
used up the last of his energy avoiding Niu’s sword. He was trying to
throttle her, trying to bite her, but he could not coordinate his efforts, like
a puppet with only one string. Niu tried to extricate herself for only a
moment before switching tactics. Reaching around, she took the shredded
remains of his broken neck in both hands, and twisted. The soft
pop
was surprisingly muted. His head came free. The vampire’s body dropped
and did not stir again; his head joined the rest of him shortly thereafter.

Raising one eyebrow, Niu prodded the corpse with her boot.
Nice
try
. She knelt and wiped her messy hands on Mask’s cloak.

Then
Simon
, she remembered, as though his name had been
shouted across the plains of her mind.

Heart in mouth, she turned back into the prison and ran for the
stairs.

Simon awoke next to someone. No, that wasn’t right:
whoever he was with, certainly a stranger, wasn’t
next
to him, not
physically. More like he woke with someone
inside
him. He
could feel a presence, squirming and swirling in his subconscious, a patch of
darkness studying him, probing at his thoughts.

Whatever had invaded him –
the heartstopper?
– Simon thrust
it to the back of his compromised mind as he stared about the small, dark
chamber he found himself in. It looked like a crypt; and not one of the
nice ones that a nobleman might find himself at rest within, but a dank,
roughly hewn pit edged with stone slabs and dripping with moisture.
Skulls, both real and carved, were set into the walls. He lay on a slab,
and to his left and right were other slabs, four in total. Only one of
these was occupied by a coffin.

But I’m not dead!
Simon thought
anxiously. He sat up. Was he trapped in here? Sealed
in? Would anyone hear him if he called for help? His voice emerged
as the faintest of dry croaks. He took a breath to bellow for assistance,
to no effect. He was able to suck in air, and it technically filled his
lungs briefly before escaping as a soft sigh, but he wasn’t breathing.
Fumbling for his wrist, he felt it. No pulse.

Good Lord Vanyon. I’m dead
!

The darkness in his mind uncoiled, probing tendrils searching his
dismayed brain.

Not dead. Not exactly.

Who are you?

You’ll be getting to know me well. Relax. Stop trying to
react as a human does. That’s behind you. You’re not even scared; your
mind is just telling you that you
should
be.

I’m not human anymore?
Simon
should have felt devastated, but he knew the voice was right: whomever he
once had been, he was no longer that person. Fear and dismay was no
longer an appropriate reaction.

Not entirely.

Are you the sword?

A soft chuckle.
No
.

It occurred to Simon that he shouldn’t even be able to see in the
pitch darkness. He frowned around, testing eyes which were certainly more
than human. Everything glowed, faintly green.

I understand
, he told his
passenger.
I know what you are. But how…?

In answer, a shaft of light spilled into the chamber as a door
ground open. A familiar figure stood there, slim and detached, head
cocked.

“Oh good,” said Sasha tonelessly. “You’re awake.”

“But how...?” Simon repeated aloud.

“Check your arm,” Sasha suggested. “No, the right one.”

Simon stared at an extensive, bafflingly complex pattern carved into
his dead flesh. Vines intertwined with spiral patterns, fringed with what
looked like the teeth of some giant carnivore. He wasn’t sure what he was
looking at, but as the work had been done with a knife, he was sure it should
have hurt. Instead, he felt it tingle slightly, distantly, as though from
across a void.

“Necromantic tattoos,” he said at length.

“I told you I’d show you my work one day.”

“And who am I sharing my body with?” Simon thought he should
care a lot more, but increasingly found that he didn’t. With his initial
fears having subsided, his feelings were as muted and remote as his physical
pain.

“There was only one vampire soul on the scene, and I had to work
fast,” Sasha said apologetically. “Princess Tiera’s brother Merequio, if
you remember the man in the mask.”

Simon wanted to shudder but found that his new consciousness was unperturbed.
“The man who was going to kill Niu.” He searched his subdued
feelings. Did he still love Niu? He discovered that he did not, but
that he felt some manner of detached affection for her. The yearning was
blessedly gone. “Is she alright?”

“She is fine.”

“And you thought I would want to share a soul with the creature
which was trying to kill her.”

If Sasha cocked her head any further, her neck would break.
“Don’t be rude. You are he now, and he you.”

“Will I have to kill people to survive?”

The bruxa didn’t attempt to sugarcoat the truth. “Yes.”

Simon thought about that. He knew he ought to feel repulsed,
horrified. He didn’t. The vampire in him was hungry, and he shared
its thirst.

“But
you
can control yourself,” he mused. “You pick and
choose. You’re not a mindless killer.”

“Not most days,” Sasha agreed.

The door opened again and Niu slipped in. She wore her
travelling cloak over a traditional Cannevish blouse and skirt which were both
too big for her lithe frame. Taking immediate stock of Simon’s
wakefulness, her first words were nonetheless to Sasha. “How is he?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“They’re fine,” Sasha echoed.

“Good.” Genuine relief mingled with apprehension in Niu’s
voice. “We were certain we had lost you.” She came closer.
The vampire within Simon coiled with hunger, but he fought it back.
Reluctantly. Whereas before Niu had simply been beautiful, she now looked
equally scrumptious, a choice cut of rare steak. That complicated things,
but if Sasha could restrain herself from killing her friends, so too could
Simon.

“I’m glad you survived,” he said truthfully, as the vampire rumbled
in discontent.

Niu smiled awkwardly. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” Simon admitted. Niu’s eyes lit with alarm, and she
glanced at Sasha.

“It’s normal,” the bruxa said. “We’ll have to find someone to
feed him.”

“Won’t animals do?” Niu asked nervously.

The vampire within recoiled in disgust.

“We’re not
savages
,” Sasha admonished, brow slightly
furrowed. “That day I was forced to eat chickens was one of the worst of
my life. No. My mother is upstairs. She’ll do for a first
meal, I think.”

“We’re in Vanyon’s Parade, then?” Simon asked.

Sasha nodded. “I was able to bind your souls together
temporarily, but not to complete the necromantic transference. Mother is
the only person I know who can do that.”

“And she just agreed to help? After sending hunters to kill
you?”

Sasha smiled slightly. “Oh, she agreed. I was out in the
world long enough to learn a thing or two about the extent of her abilities. I
suppose I didn’t fully believe that she wasn’t pulling my strings until she was
forced to send hunters after me. She
couldn’t
just unmake me
herself, as she’d always threatened. If she was able, that’s exactly what
she would have done. She has no power over me. And I am
very
persuasive.”

“Good for you.” Simon echoed the smile. It felt strange,
like something
humans
did.

“I’ll bring her down momentarily. You’ll have to excuse the
fact that she’s already a bit of a mess. She might not be as filling as
you’d hope, not anymore.” Sasha disappeared out the doorway.

Niu looked deeply uncomfortable at being left alone with the two of
Simon, but she made a valiant attempt at conversation.

“Well,” she said, too-brightly. “It must be a relief to be alive.”

“I suppose.” Simon searched his feelings, what little remained of
them. “I would have never known otherwise if you and Sasha hadn’t brought
me back, so I can’t say.”

Niu looked troubled. “That is still you, though, is it not,
Simon? I know you are sharing a body, but…”

Whatever he was, he had access the memories of the youth known as
Simon Dragonslayer, so he supposed he must be. “It’s still me.”

Niu traced one finger delicately along the slimy stonework.
She looked hesitant, even pained. Simon waited, and at length she
unburdened herself.

“While you were dead,” she asked, “Did you… did you walk in the
halls of your Afterworld, as you expected? Did you meet your god?”

There was a tremor in her voice. She wasn’t mocking him.
For all her belief in a practical, logical world, she truly wanted to
know. Simon understood: she desperately wanted Cihau to be alive,
somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, and he was. “There was nothing.
Not even consciousness.”

Her smile was unconvincing. “Of course not. It is as I
told you. A silly legend.” Her eyes were very bright.

“Silly,” Simon agreed softly.

“Well, then. What are your plans now? Will you still
take me home to Jynn?”

Simon wasn’t sure how she wanted him to answer.

“Of course,” he said.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I could find my own
way.”

“No, no,” Simon said. “I told you I’d take you home and I
will.” There was no longer any longing in his soul for Niu, neither for
her affection nor her approval, but he’d said it, and he had no other
plans. And he
was
fond of her. Even death hadn’t taken that
from him.

Niu couldn’t have failed to notice the change in his demeanor.
A strange look of desolation crossed her face that Simon wasn’t certain how to
interpret. Had her affections for him evolved, too late? Was she
just sorry for him? Simon wasn’t sure that the new, dead him possessed
the humanity to differentiate, so he changed the subject.

“The princess?” he asked.

“Dead.”

“Good,” said Simon, but he could no longer feel any depth of hatred
for the woman who had killed him. “She said her father was dead,
too. Cannevish is going to fall into chaos.”

Niu nodded. “The kingdom is leaderless. The nobles are
squabbling for control. There is talk of Tiera’s betrothed, Prince
Stannix, claiming Cannevish for Quell. This is not going down well with
the people of Cannevish. Verivista and other neighboring kingdoms are
certainly looking at this kingdom with hungry eyes. War seems inevitable.
Civil war, invasion. It will not be a good time to be in Cannevish.”

“Good thing we’re leaving, then,” Simon said. Vampire-him, he
discovered, didn’t concern himself much with petty political strife or the
national borders bickered over by tribes of men. Let the humans mindlessly
slaughter one another over invisible boundaries. The chaos would allow
vampire-him to hunt in peace. Another thought struck him. “And the
sword?”

Niu looked shifty. “Sasha asked her mother about it. And
when I say ‘asked’…” She trailed away, looking a little ill.

Simon nodded impatiently.
Tortured, yes. Not my
problem.

“The blade was infected by an ancient, spectral parasite, just as
the leshy told us. It might have latched itself onto any object. It
happened to choose a sword. Touching the sword allowed it to take up
residence in your mind. It fed on the life force of those whose hearts
you stopped. When you died, however, it fled your body. You are no
longer infected.”

“Tiera was infected, too.”

“Yes.” Niu began to circle the crypt in a jerky manner which
he dimly recalled suggested agitation. “It can possess multiple victims.”

“What happened to it?”

Niu chuckled bitterly. “Someone accidentally touched it while
she was checking Princess Tiera for signs of life.”

“’Someone?’ Who?” Simon said blankly. Then, “
Oh.
”

“I wasn’t expecting the princess to be carrying it.”

“Naturally.” Simon didn’t know what to say. He knew this
development was truly devastating for Niu, but he no longer understood how to
feel more than the shadow of sympathy.

Silence reigned for a long moment. Niu glanced repeatedly at
the door to the crypt, as though she longed to flee. Simon made no move
to stop her. He was weak and needed to feed. After Sasha returned
with his meal, he would have the strength to absorb everything that had
happened.

“Quite a team we could make,” Niu said at length.

Simon thought about that. He, Sasha, and a woman who could
kill with her feelings. Was there a force in this kingdom or any other
who could challenge them? A smile flickered about his lips.

This will be fun
, the vampire within
crowed.
Wild, bloody fun!

“It could be great,” he admitted.

Niu returned the smile uncertainly. “To Jynn, then?”

Simon sank back on his elbows and thought about a life free of the
burden of deep emotion; better yet, a life where it would take a small army to
bring down the triple threat of himself, Sasha, and Niu.

“To wherever we damn well please,” he said.

THE END