“Aiden, Sire.”
“Ah, Aiden, what a name—it seems to be a warrior’s name, is it not?” I was aware of nothing of the sort, but he acted like the warrior-kind, similar to the man, Keil, who my brother kept at his side like a sad guardian knight, who never would be; he was a warrior from Tolston. But finding someone—anyone–from the kingdom of Tolston was incredibly rare. Tolston was the first kingdom to fall because they utterly destroyed themselves. Restoring that kingdom would be an impossibility.
“I am of the warrior people, yes, sire, of Tolston.”
“How many more soulless have we lost?” I asked as I leaned upon my shovel.
“Nine have died this day.”
I nodded. “How many more crystals have we obtained from the mine?” I waited, aware of each second it took him before he answered, jerking my head to the side, wondering if that was also something he was interested in knowing. I had turnedhim soulless before the journey to the cave, because he was scheduled to attend the same school as Emma. I noted that he seemed very much alert. I couldn't recall exactly how old of a soulless he was, though, which was not entirely rare—for I had created many. Keeping track of the soulless, once changed, wasn't important. What was important was that they would never give their souls to the corruptor. After their souls had been removed, they could stay with me, or they could leave. Many chose to stay because it was all a bit confusing at first, navigating a soulless life. They always remembered at least something from their lives—some memories were stronger than others and lingered longer, until they began the bleeding process. It was hard to know which soulless would remember what, or if a soulless would remember anything at all of significance. The process was unique for each one, but once the bleeding started, the end was inevitably near.
“I do not know.”
Seven seconds. I nodded, so he only investigated thepeople. Hestill cared about life and human things. I wondered how long it would take before he, too, had no cares at all, like the rest of them. Some started out that way. Some were reasonably upset at their loss of melody.
“How has school been for you?” I asked, while moving hair from off my forehead with my arm, trying to avoid the dirt on my hands if at all possible. I watched as Aiden dug one last hole, and then stopped to look at me. I counted how long it took him to toss the pile of dirt behind him after he shovelled. Three seconds. So far, he wasn't losing energy—not slowing down.
“Fine, it’s tedious,” he answered, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, adding a smudge of dirt to his face.
“Thisis tedious,” I grunted, pointing to the fresh graves we dug for the last few soulless who died.
“That’s true, Sire. Although this is a work that is done with hands and not with the mind, which makes it much easier for me.” It was spoken like a true warrior. Warriors were trained from a young age to understand how to use their muscle strength to the best of their abilities to defeat the enemy.
“Your soulless state getting you bad grades, Aiden?”
He looked at me, the blackness of his eyes obvious, yet something was different about him. I just couldn't pinpoint it, but I would.
“Yes,” he said before digging again. The sun was about to set, and we needed to get those bodies buried that night. I didn't have time for it in the morning.
“Ah, well, maybe you could ask Ashlyn to tutor you?” I suggested. Ashlyn was a friend of Emma’s. If Aiden got close to Ashlyn, it could help me get closer to Emma.
“Tutor?” he asked as if the word was foreign to him. Aiden was not like the other soulless, not volatile and not easily enraged. He was level-headed, and still, weeks after being created, he was mostly normal. Whenever he seemed not to know a word, however, I wondered how much longer I had left with the boy. He was the easiest one to control, and he was always the first to get started as well as to finish a task. That kind of help was priceless. Time was always counted. Those we grew to care about always left in the end. I was not unaware of that fact. In fact, I understood it more than most, I was certain. But it was still not easy. I had hoped that Earth would be different.
“A tutor is someone who helps you learn,” I said, tossing out the last shovelful of dirt from the last of the graves. I motioned for Aiden to walk with me to the tightly wrapped and tied up bodies. At first, I had commissioned boxes for the soulless dead, as a courtesy for them to be laid to rest; however, after I had ordered about fifty boxes, I realized that suspicion was growing, and I could no longer use the lie that I worked for a funeralhome. Too many people were dying, too close together. I bought the boxes in groups of ten, but on my fifth order, the look I received from the gentleman salesman caused me to understand that I could no longer keep that practice up.
Blankets worked just as well. I dug the graves deep enough that no animal could get to them, and I wrapped and bound them with their hands crossed over their hearts to send them to the Creator with well-wishes that their souls might reunite with their bodies, someday. Aiden helped me, and one by one, we picked up the bodies and swung them into their graves. I didn't know any of their names. There was no need to know their names. I wasn't exactly sure why I had remembered Aiden’s. Perhaps, it was also part of my melody. I could feel myself become more soft as each day passed. We were outside until three in the morning as we finished piling on the last of the dirt over the last grave.
“You are a hard worker, warrior Aiden,” I said as we walked back to the house. There were twenty soulless residents there, many laying on the large expansive basement floor in sleeping bags, waiting out their time until death took them. They came and they went, although most tended to stay.
“Thank you, Sire,” he said with his head down.
As we walked in silence between the still living bodies, I could hear Shadrict’s—no,mymelody reaching out, searching for her, for Emma. I closed the door to my office and sat in my chair, leaving Aiden to rest. I looked at my hands as they shook, emotions coursing through me. I was used to dirt, used to soot and ash, even used to other sickening and filthy things, but that did not mean I hated any unclean things any less. I was used to death, too. In the dungeons where I had spent most of my life, I saw my fair share of prisoners being carried in alive and then carried out dead. I heard their pleas to the Ancients, night after night, and while it was an annoyance, death had neveraffected me so much before having reclaimed my soul. I walked to the connected bathroom and washed my hands and face, still hearing the melody in the background. I watched as the white sink filled with black, dirty water, counted the number of times that I moved my hands under the flow of water, the number of times I washed and rinsed until the water went from muddy brown to clear. Six. I looked up at my face in the mirror, streaked with sweat and dirt. My nose, twisted at an odd angle, never caused me much concern, but it was the thing that made me stand out from my brother the most. I had never been able to see my reflection while imprisoned, other than in the puddle on the floor that formed in the cooler months within my cell. But even then, I didn't care about my appearance, but people cared on Earth—appearance mattered. Appearance was powerful. Earth was a young world, and the Earth humans still had much to learn about their vain ideals. It was one of the corruptors' more basic tools.
I stripped off my clothes and turned on the shower, wanting that shower to release me from the filth that had overtaken me. The dirt and grime from the graves seemed embedded in my skin; it felt as if a mark had been left there, and it needed to be washed away. I had taken many showers since arriving in this realm called Earth, and I reveled in the ability to clean myself whenever I wished. Something so basic to so many, yet for me, that had never been a part of my life before. As I stood under the spray again, the melody called to me.Why did my father give Shadrict my soul? Did the Ancients favor him and despise me so much in return?I turned off the water and toweled my body. As I dressed and walked to the main room, a few soulless sat on the couches facing the large windows that showcased the beautiful forest behind it. My new life was a life filled with color along with room to move around in, and there were so many wonderful things to see. I stood in awe at the luxury before me: the newlife I had always wanted. It was a life away from darkness, and yet, as I watched a soulless walk past me, the darkness in his eyes and the soiled clothing that he wore, I thought,here I stand among the darkest things I had ever known, and yet, am I not their creator?
Chapter three
Itucked the crystal into the pocket of my jacket as I left the house. The walk was a long one, but I needed to be away from the last of the soulless, those who were barely holding onto their lives. Aiden was with them, and although it was only a matter of time for him, too, I was sure that he could be left alone with them for a little while, as I took some time to gather my thoughts.
I had a plan. I had a rather well-developed, lengthy, and thought-out plan, actually. The next step was to find out the truth of it all, the truthfor real–for a shadow of uncertainty began to rise within me.Is the soul I took from Shad truly mine?Did my father really strip me of my soul, and did he really give it to his favorite son?It did call to me. There was no doubt about that. Just as I held it in my hands or in my coat pocket, I could hear it almost like a siren’s call to me, to take it as my own. I had heard of those ancient, blessed sirens, people with tails of fish– merpeople—who sang the melodies of the sea, and they had the ability to control the fathoms of the deep, the ability to lure men to their deaths.Is this melody a siren’s melody? Will I be luredto my death, too? No,I wouldn't because that soul’s melody was mine—it had to be.
It had been three days—seventy-two hours—four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes—two hundred fifty-nine thousand, two hundred seconds, and yet, I was too much of a coward to do the one thing that I had desired for my entire existence. I had yet to accept the melody as my own. I had sacrificed everything for that moment. I had all that I needed. I could leave Earth, arrive on Terra, and live a life that was my own—somewhere where my father and Tarick couldn't imprison me. I felt cold around me as my memories brought back nightmares from my past. I paused from my walk to close my eyes and focus on the things in the memory that I always could control. My breathing. I couldn't control the number of shouts, the number of whippings I had endured. I couldn't control some of the ways my body would move, but I could control my mouth, I could control my breathing, and I could close my eyes so I didn't have to see the crimson streams on the walls that I would have to clean up later. I breathed in and out. The smell of that forest was not the same scent as that of my dungeon cave with the coppery, iron blood that smelled so disgusting in that damp prison cell where I had spent most of my life.
“Restore his soul!” The shout of my father’s loud rumbling voice in my memory caused me to flinch. Tarick hit me again and again with his leather strap. His eyes always looked rabid as if he were sick, and all he could do was beat me until he died. How I had wished for that. At first, I thought my father was begging Tarick to give me back my soul, but as time and more beatings came, I felt as if I was some sort of experiment to them. Was Tarick capable of restoring souls? Was that Haleston’s gift?
As the memory washed over me and finally ended, I opened my eyes and reminded myself that I was not on Terra. I was nowhere near Tarick nor my father. I was safe.
I pulled the black crystal from my pocket. It was warm in my hands, as all the midnight crystals were when they held melodies inside of them. I reached a specific grove of trees and leaned against one of them, moving the stone with my fingertips, watching it, and wondering what I should do.Should I really do it?I had spent thousands of hours going over those questions and the weak worries in my mind. I had written out two hundred and sixty-nine reasons why it was just how I had been without my melody all of this time—that I deserved to be reunited with it.It called to me, didn't it?My brother had it all of his life. It was my turn.
