quiet, the way one might speak at a graveside. “They have returned. We are sure of that. And I think there may be one in the High Kingdom itself—at least one—thought I do not know exactly where.”
The abbot breathed in sharply. “I have heard nothing of such a creature in our lands.”
Salvator nodded. “I may be the only one who knows about it.”
The abbot raised an eyebrow.
Salvator ran a hand through his short black hair, a nervous gesture. “I seem to be . . . aware of its presence. As one might be aware of something just outside the limits of one’s vision. Sometimes I awaken at night with a strange scent in my nostrils, as if the thing has actually been inside my chamber—a sweet and smothering scent, that my very soul reviles—yet even though I tell myself it was only a dream, I know deep inside that it was more than that. With the same sure instinct that my mother knew her visions at the Throne of Tears were true, I know that mine are as well.” His hand fell back down by his side. “You see now why I have come to you.”
“Does your mother know?” the abbot asked quietly.
Salvator shook his head.
“How long has this been going on?”
“I first sensed its presence the night of my coronation. Though I didn’t know what it was at the time. Nor did it seem a particularly significant event back then; I thought I was just having bad dreams.” He laughed shortly. “I was having a lot of nightmares in those days.
“But night after night the feeling persisted. It would come to me most often in that moment between waking and sleeping, when the soul is most vulnerable to supernatural powers. Something was in the High Kingdom that should not be, I was sure of it, and its nature made my skin crawl. Yet why had I become aware of its presence so abruptly? I had not developed any special powers between one day and the next. All I could think of was that the High Kingdom had become mine that day. No longer my father’s territory, or my mother’s, but my own. The thing that I was sensing might have been present in it for some time already, but that night it became a threat to me, personally. And so I had become aware of it. Without any idea of what it truly was or what its presence signified.” He paused. “I was afraid that if I revealed such thoughts to others, they might deem me mad. I was afraid that I was mad. I dared not confide in anyone.
“Then came the Alkali campaign. I traveled up north and met with the Guardians, and they showed me the relics that Rhys had collected. Pieces of an actual Souleater.” He shuddered, remembering that day. “As I touched them, as I felt their texture beneath my fingertips, I suddenly smelled that same sweet and foul odor that had come to me so often in the night. And it was as if that scent pulled aside a veil that had been blinding me. Suddenly I knew, with utter certainty, that the presence I been sensing for so many nights was one of these ancient demons.
“So now I know it for a fact: There is a Souleater in my territory. It seems that I sense its presence as surely as a solitary predator can sense when a rival enters its territory. Animal instinct, visceral and pure.” Again he paused. “You understand, Father, I have shared this with no one. Until today.”
The abbot nodded solemnly. It was clear from his expression that he did not think Salvator was mad, which was at least a step in the right direction. “If the lyr are witches,” he said thoughtfully, “then you bear the touch of their witchery in your veins. Given what we know about their history, one should not be surprised by such a manifestation.”
“My mother’s blood is especially powerful,” Salvator provided. “I don’t really understand all the details of that, but it’s the reason they chose her for the Alkali mission. Apparently she has some special capacity that the other lyr don’t, a gift that allows her to connect with any descendent of the Seven Bloodlines.
The abbot breathed in sharply. “I have heard nothing of such a creature in our lands.”
Salvator nodded. “I may be the only one who knows about it.”
The abbot raised an eyebrow.
Salvator ran a hand through his short black hair, a nervous gesture. “I seem to be . . . aware of its presence. As one might be aware of something just outside the limits of one’s vision. Sometimes I awaken at night with a strange scent in my nostrils, as if the thing has actually been inside my chamber—a sweet and smothering scent, that my very soul reviles—yet even though I tell myself it was only a dream, I know deep inside that it was more than that. With the same sure instinct that my mother knew her visions at the Throne of Tears were true, I know that mine are as well.” His hand fell back down by his side. “You see now why I have come to you.”
“Does your mother know?” the abbot asked quietly.
Salvator shook his head.
“How long has this been going on?”
“I first sensed its presence the night of my coronation. Though I didn’t know what it was at the time. Nor did it seem a particularly significant event back then; I thought I was just having bad dreams.” He laughed shortly. “I was having a lot of nightmares in those days.
“But night after night the feeling persisted. It would come to me most often in that moment between waking and sleeping, when the soul is most vulnerable to supernatural powers. Something was in the High Kingdom that should not be, I was sure of it, and its nature made my skin crawl. Yet why had I become aware of its presence so abruptly? I had not developed any special powers between one day and the next. All I could think of was that the High Kingdom had become mine that day. No longer my father’s territory, or my mother’s, but my own. The thing that I was sensing might have been present in it for some time already, but that night it became a threat to me, personally. And so I had become aware of it. Without any idea of what it truly was or what its presence signified.” He paused. “I was afraid that if I revealed such thoughts to others, they might deem me mad. I was afraid that I was mad. I dared not confide in anyone.
“Then came the Alkali campaign. I traveled up north and met with the Guardians, and they showed me the relics that Rhys had collected. Pieces of an actual Souleater.” He shuddered, remembering that day. “As I touched them, as I felt their texture beneath my fingertips, I suddenly smelled that same sweet and foul odor that had come to me so often in the night. And it was as if that scent pulled aside a veil that had been blinding me. Suddenly I knew, with utter certainty, that the presence I been sensing for so many nights was one of these ancient demons.
“So now I know it for a fact: There is a Souleater in my territory. It seems that I sense its presence as surely as a solitary predator can sense when a rival enters its territory. Animal instinct, visceral and pure.” Again he paused. “You understand, Father, I have shared this with no one. Until today.”
The abbot nodded solemnly. It was clear from his expression that he did not think Salvator was mad, which was at least a step in the right direction. “If the lyr are witches,” he said thoughtfully, “then you bear the touch of their witchery in your veins. Given what we know about their history, one should not be surprised by such a manifestation.”
“My mother’s blood is especially powerful,” Salvator provided. “I don’t really understand all the details of that, but it’s the reason they chose her for the Alkali mission. Apparently she has some special capacity that the other lyr don’t, a gift that allows her to connect with any descendent of the Seven Bloodlines.
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