Soulwoven: Exile

Chapter 29

~29~

Nineteen days before the destruction of Nutharion City

The sun shone on Litnig through a curtain of mist as he passed under the wall that encircled Du Fenlan. The waters of the River Deru babbled quietly next to him, the fog of a cold night finally beginning to burn from them as the sun rose higher and the morning warmed up.

He'd had time to think, over the long walk back from the mountains, and his thoughts had left him feeling painfully alone. He was acutely aware of the throngs of Aleani that opened before him, closed behind him, stared as he passed. Acutely aware of the whispers. The same reactions had accompanied him in Du Fenlan before, but then there'd been others to share the eyes with. Cole. Ryse.

It was harder, alone.

Ahead, the low white buildings, colored awnings, and towering columns of Du Fenlan sprawled between the dark river and the throne-shaped peak that cradled the city, shrouded in mist.

Litnig felt like they were part of another world, and he was no more than a ghost catching glimpses of them on his way to whatever came next.

#

When he reached the dusty flagstones of the plaza in which he'd met Maia, he stopped and looked for her. She wasn't there.

She went home, stupid, he thought. He scratched at his beard as he walked toward the house of Clan Heramsun, the only place he could think of to ask after his friends. He hadn't quite gotten used to the beard yet, nor decided if he would keep it. The sooner you stop looking for her, the happier you'll be.

Simple and difficult. Like everything in his life seemed to be.

Find Ryse, he told himself. The crowd slowed ahead, bunching around a fire breather's antics. Then find Eshan and the dragon and stop them.

"Lit-nig J-hinn," someone rasped under the noise of the crowd.

The hairs on Litnig's neck stood up. A hand closed on his shoulder, and then the voice was in his ear, hot and fetid. "I am fhrend."

Litnig turned. The hand belonged to a tall man in a brown cloak. His eyes were pale yellow, his nostrils flat and snakelike, his skin white and scaly.

Litnig remembered a pitching ship filled with monsters and a spear through his back. His blood pooling beneath him. Ryse screaming. Leramis pulling lightning from the sky.

He tore out of the Lost One's grip and twisted away from it, reached for his sword, opened his eyes to the River.

The Lost One let him go.

It spread its arms wide, palms out. It had shoulder-length white hair and a strong, wiry body. The River swirled in playful whirlwinds around it, like snow kicked up on the plains in winter. The motion didn't feel threatening.

The Lost One licked its lips and smiled.

Something in its expression reminded Litnig of the way Maia looked at him at times—like he was a child to be taught and guided.

Litnig let go of his sword hilt.

"I have nhews of yhor bhrother," the Lost One said.

The crowds around them brushed by, staring at the Lost One now instead of Litnig. A cold, crisp breeze kicked up from the north. The Lost One gestured toward the ridge of the mountain that held Heramsun House. Its eyes shone. "But I do not s-hay et here."