Soul Catcher Page 9

  He turned to her one last time. “And if I am executed, the grotto belongs to you,” he said. “Then you can build that pathetic house of yours.”

  Aequor Plains

  13

  Aleco tied the coded message to the muscled leg of the falcon he’d lured. The simple harmony Father Giloth taught him was enough to gain the trust of any creature of flight, even though it was in a language Aleco couldn’t translate. The sound of his tune wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the old man’s, whose voice resonated perfectly with the words. Aleco’s song was always out of key, raspy, and overall unpleasant—which was why he insisted Accacia remain behind. Aleco refused to sing the lullaby in front of anyone. He watched the mighty bird soar through the never-ending sky, beating its powerful wings to rush to its destination—Orgoom Forest.

  The plains extended far over the horizon, stretching from the shore of the ocean to the forest of Aequor. The wind twisted through the slight hills of the plain, ruffling Aleco’s cloak and making the end of his cape dance at his feet. The winter season always announced its approach in this subtle way. Even with the protection of his thick gloves, Aleco’s knuckles cracked in the dry air. His skin felt like reptilian scales. His eyes remained locked to the blue heavens until a familiar voice shattered his reverence.

  “Look what I found.” The man sauntered over to Aleco, and spun a shiny dagger between his fingertips as he approached him. The man wore the dress of his guild: a black cloak with red trimming, a charcoal bow, and a concealing mask that covered his nostrils and lips, revealing only his deep brown eyes. The constant curve of his bushy eyebrows made him always appear displeased.

  Aleco sighed to himself. The guild must have spotted his advancement across the flat plains. Aleco was annoyed—he was in a hurry. “Pons,” Aleco replied. The Serpentine Guild was a secret society; an organization of thieves, assassins, and talented liars that performed the bidding of others for an immaculate price. While they lacked the morals and ethics of everyday men, they had strict rules that governed their assembly—Aleco had broken the biggest rule of all.

  Aleco’s muscled frame was constricted tight with tension. He gripped Stella’s metallic handle, ready to strike. Pons glanced down to Aleco’s hand. “Calm down, Aleco,” he said. He sheathed his dagger within his cloak. “I am not here to detain you—yet.”

  Aleco released his hold. “What do you want?”

  “Is that how you greet an old friend?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Pons laughed. “I have a missive for you.”

  “Not interested,” Aleco said as he turned away.

  “Too bad,” he said. “The reward is sixty lunas.”

  Aleco’s eyes widened. That was the largest payment offered—ever. “What is the missive?”

  “I thought you might change your mind,” he said. “The reward was posted by the Duke of Letumian, for the return of something very valuable—a woman, who is said to be highly alluring. All we have to do is return her alive—and unpillaged.”

  Aleco’s heart skipped a beat. His thoughts immediately turned to his new, irritating, traveling companion. He retained a stoic expression, his tone full of indifference. “What is the name of the wench?”

  Pons was quiet for a moment as he tried to recall the name of the woman he sought. He finally recovered the information. “Accacia—yes, that is the name.”

  Aleco’s heart fell into his stomach. “I’m not interested,” he repeated. Aleco walked away, leaving Pons on the field.

  Pons watched Aleco step away from him and the defiance boiled his blood. The light tone of his voice transformed into a growl. “Now I will have to detain you, Aleco.”

  Other members of the Serpentine Guild revealed themselves from the darkness of the trees, all of whom wore the same menacing attire, and stood alongside Pons with squared shoulders and menacing scowls. Their arrows were aimed at the center of Aleco’s broad back. He didn’t need to turn around to see their presence—he knew they were there.

  Aleco halted his departure and faced them. “What do you seek from me?” he asked. “If you need my assistance, you are bigger imbeciles than I gave you credit for. How difficult can it be to find a single, wandering whore?”

  Their arrows were now directed at his heart. “Your tracking skills supersede all of ours—combined,” Pons said. “We need to complete this task quickly, so we need all the assistance possible. The Chief will be very displeased if another hunter finds her and claims the tenure.” Pons approached Aleco. “You may have emancipated yourself from our organization, a crime punishable by death let me remind you, but you will never escape our hold—we will always find you, Aleco. And one day, when we finally have exhausted our use for you, we will kill you.” The guildsman grasped his shoulder and glanced down at the familiar black sword Aleco carried. “Fortunately, for you, today is not that day.” Pons released his hold and the other men retracted their bows. “By the way, Aleco, if we do not locate this woman soon and someone else beats us to it, the blame will be placed upon you—and your death will be imminent. So, I suggest you work quickly.”

  Aleco clenched his jaw. If he valued his life, he would have to return Accacia and force her to endure the torture he promised to protect her from. If he refused, he would be killed. What was more important—her life or his own? The once problematic decision suddenly became an easy one. “I will find her and return her to you,” he said. “Keep the coin—I have no need for it.” Aleco turned away from the group and began his departure.

  “We look forward to your return, Aleco.”

  Severstein Sea

  14

  Accacia was doodling in the sand with her slender finger when Aleco returned to the grotto. “What is that supposed to be?” Aleco asked as he stared at her indistinct drawings. She looked up and grinned at him, dismissing his cheeky comment, and displayed her obvious delight at his safe return. She rose from the sand and opened her arms.

  Aleco recognized her intent. He stepped away from her oncoming embrace and advanced to the alcove. Her face fell in a frown at his rejection, unsure what caused his abrupt mood swing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then stared at his receding back. As he walked, he listened to the waves of the ocean crash against the shore, along with the sharp cries of the seagulls as they paraded the beach, battling one another for their next meal. The sun was setting in the horizon, splashing the sky with a blood-red tint.

  He entered the cave with Accacia in tow. Aleco pulled back his hood, inhaled the salty air and filled his lungs with the acrid smell he was so familiar with—the scent of home. The sour sting of his nostrils calmed his anxiety.

  Aleco removed his heavy cloak and tossed it onto the bed frame. Accacia gasped, still unaccustomed to his chilling appearance. Aleco ignored her—she was going to have to get used to it.

  Accacia regained her composure. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said. She sat before the fire across the room. Aleco fell into the chair by his bedside and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He didn’t respond to her comment, but took a drink from his glass instead. He watched the flames in the hearth and reflected on the afternoon. Aleco didn’t know how he could keep Accacia safe from the guild as well as the Letumian soldiers. He knew he couldn’t hide her in his cave forever.

  “What troubles you, Aleco?” she asked.

  He took another drink and ignored her question. Accacia stared at him but he didn’t look her way. She knew he wasn’t going to respond. Accacia opened the detailed writings of the Asquith people and continued to read where she left off.

  As Aleco withdrew the Soul Catcher from his pocket, he caressed it with his calloused fingers and felt the smooth surface of the stone. He closed his eyes and deposited his memory from the day, detailing the decision he had made in regard to Accacia’s return. The reflection of past events allowed Aleco to solidify his decisions or change them if need be.

  Accacia watched his movements. She saw him drop the gem upon the table in e
xchange for his throat-burning beverage. Aleco had stored a flashback within the stone and Accacia wondered if the memory would explain his sour mood. She had seen him angry before but he never ignored her like this. He was hiding something.

  Aleco placed his glass on the table and closed his eyes. Accacia rose from her comfortable chair by the roaring flames and retrieved Roslyn’s Blade from her pack. She lit the dry leaves and watched the smoke fill the enclosed room.

  She crept across the den and stood next to Aleco. The lines of his face were absent and his shoulders relaxed with ease. His fingers still gripped his glass of whiskey like a child holding onto a piece of candy. He didn’t look as intimidating when he was asleep. When Accacia could put her vision of the duke from her mind, she saw Aleco for the man he really was. A man nothing like his brother. They shared identical features and nothing more.

  While Aleco’s responses were short and full of anger, his words were always honest and concise—which is why Accacia trusted him. He was a master assassin but he was also a watchful protector. What Accacia recognized most in him was a broken heart—which they both shared. He never admitted his true affection for her but Accacia knew he was fond of her, despite his harsh comments.

  Accacia stroked his blond hair with her thin fingers and watched his face fall deeper into peace. She felt very guilty about her actions—but he left her no choice. She grabbed his Soul Catcher from the tabletop and took it to the fire. His stone was charcoal gray and infused with nearly invisible lines of white. She grasped it within her palm and concentrated.

  This was her first time accessing stored memories from a Soul Catcher so the process was unfamiliar. Accacia closed her eyes and experienced darkness for a few minutes, just the blackness behind her sealed eyelids. She was about to abandon the task when she found herself standing inside a black room.

  The dark marble floor mirrored the depictions on the walls in a perfect portrait. She looked at the tile beneath her feet and saw the dancing images in the reflection of the ground. Accacia looked up and saw the dynamic memories covering every inch of the charcoal walls, films of different flashbacks playing infinitely. The supernatural experience felt eerily physical. Accacia felt the cold floor beneath her bare feet, felt the chill in the static air outline her skin, and listened to the voices of characters in each of the scenes.

  She had to decide which biography she desired to see. The original intent was to discover the mysterious events of that afternoon, but now Accacia was unsure where to begin. She spotted a younger version of Aleco to her right with a bloody blade grasped within his palm. His visage looked sinister and his crystal blue eyes flashed with menace. It took her a moment to realize the crazed man was not Aleco, but his brother, Drake. She decided to investigate this memory.

  She stopped before the reel, unsure how to proceed. She pressed her hand against the stone wall, which bit her palm with cold instantly, but she held her ground. Every meaningful picture before her vanished and every light evaporated. Accacia was as just as blind as if her eyes were shut. She held her breath as fear coursed through her; she hoped she didn’t break something. A quiet hum filled the room and washed over Accacia’s ears. The sound was pleasant and she hummed along to the tune. She wondered if the stone was communicating with her. The memory was projected onto the wall. Accacia closed her eyes at the unexpected brightness. She squinted against the light and saw the memoir playing before her. Accacia fell forward.

  She landed in a room that she recognized. Her feet identified the rug beneath her and she felt the tapestry between her toes. She looked down at the golden rug; it was in the exact place she remembered seeing it last. Accacia examined the room. She saw the grand fireplace to her right and the oil paintings on the walls, which depicted the rose garden outside the terrace. Accacia knew she was in Aleutian Keep.

  Accacia lived in this very bedroom for many painful years. She eyed the magnificent master bed, recalling the countless nights she slept alongside the duke. She remembered all the horrific things that happened there. She peered outside the tall windows and spotted the city of Letumian at the grounds of the keep. She used to gaze through the glass aperture for hours, yearning for the freedom she would never get. Accacia looked to the bedside and realized she wasn’t alone. Aleco leaned over a lifeless figure on the mattress.

  “Mother,” he cried. The adolescent boy shook her thin shoulders. “Stay with me. Please stay with me.” The young man squeezed her hand and kissed the delicate skin with his lips. He kneeled beside the bed. “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “I’m going to get help. You are going to be okay. I’ll return with the midwives.” Aleco turned away.

  “Darling,” she whispered. Her quiet words stopped his advance. “There isn’t—time.”

  Blood covered the sheets and seeped into the mattress. Accacia saw it drip onto the floor onto Aleco’s boots, and she fought the urge to vomit. His mother’s dress was sullied with the blood that left her body. The life-sustaining fluid bubbled from the gaping wound in her chest, making her eyes flutter—she didn’t have much time.

  The tears poured from Aleco’s eyes and splashed onto his mother’s hand. She squeezed his palm as hard as she could. “Aleco, you need to leave,” she said. Her words came out slow and weak. “He’ll be back.”

  “Who was it?” he asked. Aleco glanced at her bloody wound and knew she wouldn’t survive. It was a miracle she was even speaking. The sword had penetrated her chest, directly into her heart. Aleco didn’t know how she was still breathing. “I won’t leave you,” he said.

  She smiled at her son. “Go. Nothing can be done.” She ran her thumb over the surface of his hand, savoring the last moment she had with him. The coldness of her touch pricked his skin. Aleco knew she only had seconds left.

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Please,” she begged. She cupped his face with the last of her strength. “Do as I say.”

  Aleco locked his reddened eyes onto hers and memorized the final glimpse of her elegant face. Even in her last moments, she wore a beautiful smile to shield her son from the truth of her agony. He looked to the still figure beside her—the corpse of his father—who passed just minutes earlier. They stabbed him in the chest as well and he had died quickly—his mother wasn’t so fortunate.

  “Goodbye.” He kissed her on the brow.

  “For now,” she whispered, and closed her eyes for the last time.

  He kissed her hand again before he rose to his feet. Accacia cried to herself as she watched. It was the most painful scene she had ever witnessed. Aleco stifled his last cry then concentrated on an escape route. He would honor his mother’s last request. He turned away—but it was too late.

  Drake and the cavalry entered the doorway and saw the bloody massacre. Aleco sighed in relief—he thought the murderer had come for him. His brother’s eyes flashed with anger as he stared at Aleco. Aleco understood his fury.

  “How could you do this?” he asked. “How could you kill them?”

  Aleco looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

  He stood next to the bodies of his executed parents, and his clothes were drenched in their blood. Only then did Aleco notice the soiled sword at his feet—it was his. Aleco looked at the blade in surprise; it should be in his room. The evidence of the scene was incriminating and Aleco realized he was being framed.

  “It wasn’t me,” he yelled. “I didn’t do this. You know I didn’t.”

  “Why?” Drake shouted. “Why did you do this? You actually thought you could get away with it?”

  “Drake, listen to me—”

  “I will not,” he spat. “You killed them so you would receive the crown. You couldn’t wait for them to perish by natural causes. That’s why, isn’t it?”

  “No!”

  Drake grabbed the sword from the ground and pointed the blade at Aleco. “You’re a traitor.” He jabbed the sword at his brother. Aleco just barely stepped away from the tip of the blade. “You deserve to die like a traitor
.” The soldiers shouted their approval from behind him.

  Aleco’s heart quickened at the scene. No one believed he was innocent—not even his own brother. Sweat dripped down his forehead as the truth sank in—he was going to be killed for a crime he didn’t commit. “Drake, please,” he begged. “I didn’t do this. You have to believe me.”

  “Be silent,” he commanded. Drake walked closer to him with the blade held at the ready. Aleco stepped further back towards the bed. “And I do believe you,” he whispered so only Aleco could hear him.

  Aleco stared at him. Drake met his gaze with a sinister smile. He trembled at the revelation; he was being framed by his own twin.

  Drake stepped back and dropped his smile. He raised his voice so everyone could hear his words. “We may appear to be the same man, but I’m not like you, brother,” he said. “I am not a murderer.” Drake tossed Aleco’s bloody sword to the ground and walked away. “Kill him,” he commanded.

  Accacia drifted from the scene, relieved the end of the memory had come to pass—she couldn’t force herself to watch it any longer. Accacia’s grief-stricken tears poured down her curved face as Aleco’s memory echoed in her mind. When she conjured the image of his destroyed façade, she sobbed harder—she grieved for him. Accacia needed to return to his side immediately. It was essential for Aleco to understand how much she cared for him—that he wasn’t alone in his affliction.

  She floated in the infinite darkness until she felt the familiar cold marble beneath her feet—she had returned to the sanctuary of his stored memories. Accacia felt the wet tears stick to her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve.

  Accacia witnessed the devastating collapse of Aleco’s world. Now she understood the origin of his anger and private suffering. She, too, had grieved the death of both her mother and father, but at least she had been fortuitous enough not to be a bystander of their demise. Accacia hugged herself tightly. Not only was he falsely charged with the murder of his own parents, but was framed by his very own sibling—by his twin.