The world was a hazy, shrouded blur as she was pulled from the ground like a corpse brought to life, tremoring and shaking from the cold. The fresh sting of air was a welcomed feeling in her lungs, though Emalia had yet to truly gather herself. She tried to widen her eyes and take a deep breath in a weak attempt at stirring herself back to consciousness, but the fog in her mind settled over everything, swallowing all like the lapping waves of the Kastilec sea. The water, lapping at the quays, bringing the scent of salt and ocean life through the wind holes, one of the few present pieces of nature she could experience beyond the Column’s confining walls, the briefest of city excursions.

  It was only the ocean that ever listened. And Sovina.

  “Emalia!” Sovina shouted, grabbing her arm, wrenching her up from the mountain’s frozen embrace. “We need to move!”

  “I can’t,” she wanted to say, but her throat felt frozen shut even if she had enough of a bearing to respond. But the world swam in and out of darkness. She tried focusing ahead, tried with all her might, but all she saw were moving shapes through a flurry of white.

  “Can you walk?” her guardian asked.

  The black was taking her again, her head dropping down, bobbing up, lungs barely working. Gods above, why was everything so tiring? Why was she shaking so?

  Sovina was speaking to someone else now. Emalia tried to follow but found herself listening to the incessant clatter of her own teeth instead. Suddenly, she was being moved, lifted. Someone with powerful arms was carrying her flat, pressed against their chest.

  “I can’t carry you,” Sovina whispered in her ear. “You need to hold on. Protis will take you to the cabin. Won’t you?”

  “Yes,” a voice came from above, harsh, grating, not unlike that of Raizak’s.

  “Go, we will follow.”

  There was more shouting further away. Sovina said something about Nifont, though Emalia could already feel the impossible hold of unconsciousness attempting to pry her away from reality. And then she went drifting, drifting. Floating through the darkness of space, of empty nothingness as the world shook and snow cut at her face. Running, dashing, grunts and hollers, and something groaning, close, so close. But the sound died quickly with a snap of struck flesh. She tried to think, tried to figure out what was going on, but it was far… far… Cold on her cheek.

  A need to hold on. A need to… Emalia’s eyelids fluttered open, and the world was white and shifting, speeding past, a blur of nothingness. A need to… They drifted closed, and she felt herself fall into a dark, empty sleep.

  …

  Oskar’s sword split the Dead one’s head like it was made of sandstone, smashing out into a bunch of frozen little pieces. Stung his arm something fierce, made him have to jiggle some life back into his wrist. In his other fist he held his round shield that’d been strapped over his back. He used it to bash a second walking corpse to give him enough space to strike. Its arms were raised to snatch ahold of him, so he only hit its shoulder, chopping into bone and knocking it firmly aside. Nifont was beside him without a shield of his own as usual, trying to keep up with his small blade with little success. The hole where the Dead had poured out from was two men wide and dark as the deepest cavern. It was also filled with moving corpses. At least two dozen that he could see.

  “Fucking die!” he roared, hacking at the Shambler till its bony skull was firmly battered to pieces. And yet, he had to retreat even more. “Die again, dammit!”

  They were only a few paces away from the edge now. Can’t do this for much longer. He pushed another corpse away with his shield, making enough of an opening to strike a big one getting too close to Nifont, who promptly finished it off.

  Oskar was about to call for a retreat when something flew past them. He raised his shield with wide eyes, but it was too big to be one of the Shamblers. No, it was Protis dashing past. One shambler tried to grab the Soulborne, but Protis just struck out and bisected its head from its torso in one brutal cut. Only then did Oskar see Emalia held in its other arm.

  “Gods above,” he whispered, and then the other two Soulborne were with them, ripping through Dead with clawed fingers and bared teeth. Took a moment to gather himself stuck staring, but Oskar did, and then joined in again.

  The flash of a curved blade to his other side told him Sovina had joined in. He spared her a glance, finding her eyes wide and wild, teeth bared, grunting and hissing like a rabid beast. Daecinus was not far away, though he was not fighting but doing some sort of ritual. Oskar would pay him more attention if he could, but there were Dead to kill. Or kill again, at least.

  And that he did. Hacking, slashing, shoving, bashing the skeletal monstrosities into pieces, praying there wouldn’t be a Greyskin hiding away in the depths somewhere. With the Soulborne, they handled the wave of corpses well enough. Nifont had a close call, getting surrounded by three of them, but even before Oskar could turn to assist, one of the Soulborne lept close and slammed into two of them, sending them hurtling off the cliffside before turning and ripping into the third.

  “Could get used to this!” Oskar shouted, smashing in the skull of one the Soulborne had crippled and downed. It stopped moving immediately, form broken enough whatever magic holding it together no longer worked.

  “Aye,” Nifont agreed.

  Oskar turned to Sovina when there wasn’t a dead one in front of him. “Sent her off with Protis?”

  “Yes.” The Column woman moved forward, hacking off decayed limbs and heads, her own whirlwind of focused hate. “She will make it. She will live.”

  “Don’t doubt it. Strong woman.”

  Sovina didn’t reply, just continuing to push forward. Oskar went to warn her, then let out a huff and motioned Nifont to follow with him.

  In a minute’s time, they were almost through. His arms were heavy and sore as if he’d been tied up and beaten for some crime. He smiled and tried not to think of his stupid youth.

  “Back, now!” Daecinus shouted.

  He did not need a second asking, giving one last push with his shield before taking a half dozen steps back from the mouth of the tunnel. Sovina, to her credit, did the same after some visible hesitation. Oskar noted that, for it was a hard thing to back up after the bloodlust takes you. Just as he and the others stopped, ready for the last wave, the score or more of Dead all went suddenly limp. As if the magic had just been up and pulled out of them. Only one was left standing—the least decomposed of all of them, with a nearly whole body kept frozen and whole—but it was quickly pounced upon and held down by the other Soulborne.

  Oskar blinked and looked at the scene again. But it was so. In fact, if he concentrated enough, he could see a faint light in the dreary shadow of the night. It was some sort of swirling mass, looking like blood in water or sediment sinking into the surf. The faint light drifted through the air, collecting fellow strands from the new graveyard of the Dead, collecting more of itself, picking up speed. Oskar took a knee, chest rising and falling, heart pounding, the rush of battle fading from his body as he stared at the Sorcery before him. Daecinus was walking forward, hands still by his sides—nothing like Feia’s displays with magic—and stone-faced. He stepped over the bodies with care, never taking his eyes from the Spirits above. Of all the treasures, I had to go after the one in a sinking city with an ancient Sorcerer inside. He remembered the look in Daecinus’s eyes earlier, and he felt cold. Boyars and commanders were one thing, but for someone like Daecinus to have the same icy, analytical mind? A Sorcerer? Just don’t get in his way. Or, if you do, kill him quick.

  The lights gathered into one narrow mass, brighter than before, and as Daecinus raised his head, they plunged down into the last of the Fleshwalkers. Oskar stared on, entranced, morbidly curious. The dead thing bucked and strained and twitched as its form grew, muscles enlargening as if fed pure strength and vitality, flesh sealing over exposed, decayed wounds. The creation of a Soulborne, then. As quickly as it began, it was over, with the two holding it stepping back, and Daecinus stopping before it.

  “Rise, creation,” he whispered, “breathe the breath of life.”

  That it did, and Oskar had to stop himself from raising his sword at the damn thing. It looked nearly the same as the others, hulking and tall, but with more exposed bone than others.

  “If you’re done,” Sovina said, already on the move, “then let’s go.”

  “I am.” Daecinus went to follow her, and the Soulborne quickly formed their forward perimeter yet again.

  Oskar stood on weak and tired knees, everything already aching—his wrist especially. Nifont and he followed the odd procession, weapons tucked away. With the prospect of more marching in the heavy snow, he certainly didn’t feel any younger, but he wouldn’t be a man of his word if he died out here in the cold, would he? And so he trudged on back, already shivering again, thinking of a warm fire and a safe roof, free of rotting Dead to enjoy the much-needed night’s sleep. And not quite the hero he imagined he’d be.

  …

  Emalia woke to find herself still suspended in air, held by someone darting through the snow, darkness all around. Her mind worked as she fought off the nausea welling within, sloshing against her insides like a cask sent tumbling down a flight of stairs. Eventually, it relented somewhat, giving way to a dull ache that reverberated throughout, filling her cold limbs and pain-ridden, stiff fingers and toes. I hope I’ve not lost any of them, she thought to herself, trying to wiggle her digits with limited success. But her life was no longer in her own hands, but the gods’. Raizak might decide to intervene upon her fate for failing him. And why shouldn’t he? She’d directly disobeyed his instructions, choosing to follow her own intuitions as if they were anything next to a god’s.

  Amidst her critical self-reflection, she turned up and looked at her carrier, though part of her already knew. Indeed, it was Protis, the hulking Soulborne Daecinus had raised, then augmented with the Souls of the zealot inquisitors of Deus. The backward, weak, Soul-fearing creatures they were, it was still an alarming thought to consider it was their essence pressed into this undead creation. If she were more interested in Sorcery, perhaps she would know more about Soulborne.

  “Do you know where you are going?” Emalia asked, her voice cracked and weak. Almost someone else’s to her ears.

  There was no break in its stride. Could it not be surprised? Or did it just know she was awake? “Yes.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  She strained to see the trail, but it was dark, and they were moving fast enough that the now-light falling snow made it hard to see, not to mention her own hazy, wobbly vision. “Thank you for helping me.”

  Protis did not reply.

  Emalia tried not to think it was a magic-altered corpse she was pressed up against, a dead man’s voice she was trying to talk to. Necromancy was not evil, nor was it necessarily wrong, but it was certainly uncomfortable. And not something she was too accustomed to as the Column had bans on Dead, for the most part. An attempted takeover over a century ago with Dead had seen to that change.

  And so, after a while, Emalia summoned up the courage to ask, “Do you know what your master thinks of me?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m wondering if it affects how you see me.”

  “Daecinus is wary. Cautious. Trusts little. He swims in black blood of creation and decay. Hunger all around. Must be watchful of the eaters.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, warding off a wave of dizzy pain, then asked, “The eaters? What does that mean?”

  “The ones who bite to sate deep hungers.”

  “Opportunists.”

  “Yes,” Protis drawled, voice like the rumble of thunder against the high-pitch winds of the mountain. “Opportunists.”

  “And does he consider me one? Does he think I’m a threat?” When the Soulborne did not respond, Emalia continued in a thin, weak voice that faltered in the wind, “Perhaps if you knew what he knew about me, you would leave me here to die. Or kill me and say it was the cold that did it.” She hardly knew why she was speaking such things, but they came forth anyway, the taxing exhaustion making them spill out of her like how words lept from a well-written page, begging to be read. Begging to be heard. “I have to do something terrible. I have to… I have no choice, lest my Soul be left behind! Lest I abandon everything I’ve lived for! You see, don’t you?”

  Protis did not speak but continued to run, its pace unbroken, unbothered. Finally, it said, “You threaten him.”

  “I’ve sworn him no harm until he knows the truth of his people… And I know that truth now. I will tell him in Drazivaska. I must.”

  “You will die.”

  She tried to turn and look up at the Soulborne’s ghoulish face but was too tired. “Do what you think is right. But this is for Raizak. This is a holy endeavor. And it has been set in the stones of time for well before your creation. And I… I am just a vessel for Raizak’s will.”

  “I save you now. You are innocent.”

  “Innocent? I’m… I haven’t…” The word stung. Nothing she was doing was close to a crime. Nothing she was doing was wrong. It couldn’t be. And a Soulborne’s comfort only put that to question. Only made her doubt herself. Innocent? Was she truly?

  It said nothing, which left Emalia itching, stewing. For whatever reason, she felt the need for an answer, for reassurance. Maybe it was because Protis was the closest to an impartial third party, a dispassionate voice of reason that she could find—as foolish as that sounded. But she needed to know. But Protis remained silent, and so did she, as they dashed through the cold night, unconsciousness slowly taking her once again as everything deepened into a numb blur.

  …

  “Fuck winter,” Oskar seethed, trudging through the deep snow, something cold and wet and itchy down his back, feet soaked, hands shaking and teeth clattering. “If I die here—”

  “You’ll kill the priestess yourself?” Nifont finished.

  “Damn you.”

  “You know, a war chief shouldn’t complain in front of his warriors as much as you do.”

  “I’ve no warriors here. Just you.”

  “Prick.”

  They chuckled as they went, heads bent down to avoid the wind. Even if the snow had mostly died down, it was still sharp and cruel on the skin. After a while, Oskar squinted ahead to Daecinus and Sovina. The latter seemed adamant to rush on ahead, pursuing Protis’s trail, but had a good enough grip on herself to remain with them—that warrior’s discipline doing her some good for once. And the Sorcerer was just staying close to his Dead up ahead, trudging up snow, keeping lookout with their more night-capable vision.

  “Oy, Daecinus,” Oskar shouted out over the winds, “how many of these Soulborne you plan on making? We going to have a small army by the time we return to civilization?”

  “If it were up to me, yes,” he replied, barely glancing back.

  “I get worried about that, you know. One already would enough attention. A few dozen more won’t help us any.”

  “I understand the dangers. You should not concern yourself with me by then.”

  “Why, you plan on leaving us?”

  A long pause, then the ancient Sorcerer drifted back to walk closer to Nifont and him. “I may have to. Emalia has said before that Drazivaska may hold the truth of my people. If I discover it, I shall not remain with you, for her promise of peace will end.”

  “I see.” Oskar glanced up to the Soulborne, taller than any man. “And I figure you don’t want to have to kill the two of them, eh?”

  “It is so.”

  “Noble,” Nifont said from the side.

  “Mh. ‘Tis.” Oskar nodded and nudged Daecinus. “And you know, if it comes down to it, we still have your back. Wouldn’t like to draw blades myself, but I don’t abide by human sacrifice, and especially not if it's in the favor of the Column.”

  He seemed to take this in, then gave a firm, quick nod. “I appreciate your support, but I would not wish you to lose your arrangement with her. It seems a fortunate one.”

  “Deals come and go. But big grey men pulled out of sinking cities? They are a rare breed.” Oskar snickered and patted him on the shoulder. Daecinus didn’t say much to that except smile and return to walking with Sovina and the dead, giving Oskar a chance to glance to Nifont and shrug. “Man’s got a point.”

  “Figure she’s got another ruin full of jewels after Drazivaska?”

  He felt for his ruby and smiled as his fingers grazed over it, hidden away. “Let’s hope she does. And hope it doesn’t come down to a fight between them. Wouldn’t want to find myself on the other side of Sovina’s blade, I say. Especially when she’s angry… Nor those Soulborne. Especially not them.”

  “I can drink to that.”

  “Ahead!” came the woman in question’s voice.

  They both looked up, squinting through the dry, cold wind, and saw the rough outline of a cabin not forty paces away.

  “Well, by all the scheming gods above,” Oskar muttered. “We made it back alive.” He felt himself smile, skin slow to move with how stiff everything was. There was a faint glow inside the cabin and a stream of smoke from the broken cobble chimney above. He smiled even wider at that. “You ready for a fire, old fisher?”

  “Fuck your ancestors. And yes, I am.”

  Sovina was sprinting off ahead, and maybe it was the joyous relief of seeing shelter finally and the prospect of escaping the frozen doom Oskar was nearly certain would take them, but he found himself running too. Nifont, even Daecinus—they all ran ahead like children coming home to a call for dinner. Even his frozen, protesting joints and aching muscles didn’t stop him from reaching the door out of breath and grinning wide.

  He caught up to Sovina as she pounded on it, shaking the handle ineffectively. “Let me in!”

  After a bit of movement inside, and the sound of something scraping wood, the door opened and revealed a looming Stanilo. “It is good to see your return.”

  “Emalia?”

  He pivoted, allowing her view and entry, for the priestess was near the fire, sat upon the hardpacked dirt floor, a defensive Protis less than a pace away, watching them. Sovina quickly ran over, earning a protest from Stanilo, who was staring at her snow-covered boots. He sighed and turned back.

  “Any casualties?” Oskar asked, gripping his second by the arm.

  “None. You?”

  “Close call, but no. Found some bony Shamblers out there.”

  His eyebrows raised. “That’s a find. Glad you’re fine, Chief.”

  “Aye. Me too.” He looked back, but everyone was inside already, so he stomped off his boots and entered fully, closing the door behind. The now four Soulborne came to Daecinus, who instructed them to remain by the door and out of the way. Oskar had a mind to ask him to keep the creepy fucks outside, but after all they’d done for the band, he figured a little protection from the elements would do them good. And if he had seen correctly, they had been slowing down in the snow. So maybe all the exertion tired them out too, or something of the sort, at least. As Stanilo talked about their finding the cabin and all the mundane details he loved to go into sometimes, Oskar let his gaze wander over to an unconscious Emalia. She was pale with a tint of blue. Feia wasn’t far away, grinding something up and mixing it with water, but Sovina was bent over her now, fussing over her clothes and hair and making sure she was warm enough. He smiled, then looked away. Was always good to have a loyal friend when everything else went to shit.

  “Where’s the meat, Stanilo?” he asked, slapping him on the back and going over to greet the other men. “Where’s the meat, I ask! Got any for your hero of a leader? The one who slew a hundred corpses out there? Tell ‘em, Nifont.”

  “Two hundred,” the man muttered, already lying down to sleep.

  “Two hundred! My memory was off from all the killing! Or rekilling, I suppose, hah!” He grinned wide and threw an arm around Waker, who just offered him a piece of salted meat warmed to a bubbling savoriness over the fire. “Oh, I knew I liked you, lad!”

  They all laughed, and he dug in.

  Just like that, all was right in the world again. Sometimes, living the life of a simple mercenary was a wonderful thing, he figured, drinking from his wineskin and lying back. With all the bodies packed into the small cabin, the warm fire piled high with scavenged wood, it was proper toasty, and Oskar smiled as he freed himself of his mail and stiff, smelly gambeson. Even if it might not last, all was right, and he drifted off, tired, happy, and without a single thought of tomorrow’s march.

  …

  “I thought I’d lost you,” Sovina whispered above her.

  Emalia could barely open her eyes. Her face felt stiff and beyond her control as if the muscles refused to cooperate. She knew the cold had rendered her a hostage in her own body, and that it was imperative she raise her temperature in a steady, consistent manner—this much she remembered from her readings—so it was good they were inside and before a fire. But it was odd, for the room seemed like her own, and she felt as if they were in the Column again, and she was in her own bed. Then whose voices were murmuring up from all around? That question confused her, made her afraid, but her heart didn’t thump in her chest as it should; instead, it felt like a weak, distant pulse. Like she was dying.

  “Am I…” she tried to say, but her voice was cracked, feeble, and faint in her throat. She tried to swallow and try again, but Sovina shushed her.

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to speak.” Sovina leaned close, holding her, the warmth of her palms rubbing a steady pattern from Emalia’s shoulders to her hands. She stopped, and Emalia felt sad for it. “Here, Feia says you need to drink this.”

  Something touched her lips, and Emalia opened her mouth to swallow. The liquid was bitter, but warm, and she could feel it down her throat and into her stomach, heating her from the inside. It felt nice.

  “Feia says you shouldn’t be alive with how long you were buried,” Sovina whispered to her. “The cold alone could be fatal, but you didn’t have enough air… It was Raizak, Column-Sister, he bargained with Rotaal, with the other gods, and kept you alive. You are a prophet. That’s what some of the others are saying.” She paused, and Emalia, on the verge of unconsciousness, hung on and tried to listen. Sovina rarely spoke like this. There was something in her voice that seemed different, though in her haze, Emalia could not say what it was. “But I already knew this. And I would thank the gods for your survival, but I think they were only part of it. You lived for you are brave and strong, for you have heart… A warrior such as I should be jealous of such wealth of virtues in a priestess.” She chuckled. Her hands slid around Emalia’s arms and pulled her into an embrace. “Your conviction, your will, your strength—I can only hope I can be enough to deserve my place beside you.”

  And to this, Emalia was pulled away by the Spirits of dreams, thoughts of words she might say snatched away by the cruelties of sleep. She could only hope to remember when she woke. Remember what she wished to say. Remember what she felt in the waning moments of awareness, Sovina pressed against her, warm in the heat of the fire, the touch of skin, the safety in her presence.

  She dreamed a different kind of dream. The kind that warmed her cheeks and made her wake in the middle of the night, wishing to be asleep at once and returned to that world, yet ashamed to desire it. The cabin was lit with the crackling fire, heavy with the smell of sweat and lingering scents of cooked meat. There were three looming figures near the door, and she started before realizing they were merely the Soulborne. Eyes like dark crystals reflecting flames, staring back at her. She was staring at Protis, and it was watching her. Slowly, she settled back into the pile of cloaks and blankets from others of the band. A kind gesture. The alchemical glass was nowhere to be seen, and she hoped Feia had recovered it but knew it was likely gone forever, lost to the snow. Did they know she had it? That it had saved her with its warmth? Melting the snow enough so that she might breathe and stay warm? She looked at Protis and wondered what it was thinking. If it was weighing her life and her oaths.

  Slowly, painfully, she rolled over and away from the creatures, finding Sovina next to her, asleep. Emalia looked at her, face peaceful, contented in rest, close to her own. How can you doubt your place beside me? she thought, looking at the woman next to her. Of all people, how can you doubt yourself?

  Emalia smiled and closed her eyes, letting sleep take her this time.