outrageous, the sort of thing no thief she had ever known would ever contemplate. But Rez and his gang made their living stealing souls.
No soul could be stolen from its owner, of course. Everybody knew that. Even Shel, who had always felt uneasy about the trading of souls. Something about the whole thing made her skin crawl and her stomach twist. But at least no soul could be stolen. Its owner must give it up freely, of their own will.
Once that happened, though, the soul was loose. That was Rez’s word for it, anyway. It could be absorbed, after a fashion, by its new owner. But it remained separate from that person’s own soul, and therefore it could be taken. For the thief who could pull that off and – perhaps far more importantly – find a buyer afterward, souls were the most valuable prize imaginable.
A soft knock sounded at the door, startling Shel out of her thoughts. Jerking her head up, she turned toward the door and wondered who it could be.
“Hello?”
The door opened slowly, and an indistinct figure moved into the room. Shel was surprised to recognize Sanook. The Shadowman.
“Am I disturbing you?” His voice was soft and silky, with a hint of sibilance. It was muffled slightly, and when a weak spear of dying sunlight found its way into the drooping hood of his heavy robes Shel saw that he wore a rigid, form-fitting mask covered with dark velvet and golden filigree. A tiny slit marked his mouth, and two more narrow openings allowed the Shadowman to see. She noticed he also wore gloves. No barest glimpse of his skin was visible. She wondered why.
“Sanook,” she greeted him, hesitating over the foreign-sounding name. Shadowmen, she thought, amazed at herself. This morning she hadn’t believed in the name. Following Rez’s stunning revelations, she was no longer sure.
“You are Shel,” Sanook said, coming further into the room and closing the door behind him. “I am told you have consented to join our little tribe.”
“I…Yes.” Shel cleared her throat nervously. What did he want? He was just standing there. Nothing was visible of the man but those impossibly dark eyes peering out through slits in his mask. Just standing there…
“Oh!” Shel blushed. “I'm sorry. Please, have a seat.”
Sanook bowed his cowled head and took the other chair. He settled himself slowly into it and shifted the chair slightly so that he was facing her.
“You have not met one of my kind before,” observed Sanook.
“Er, no,” Shel told him. She felt nervous and uncertain around the Shadowman. She had always heard they were wicked and deformed. They were tales to frighten children. She didn’t know what to say to him.
“Most people in your empire have not.”
“You're not from the empire?”
“No. I come from far away, as do all of my people. Few of us remain.”
“I'm sorry,” said Shel, who thought she had heard sadness in Sanook’s words. She thought back to those childhood scary stories of Shadowmen. Creatures of winter, they had been defeated and ultimately destroyed by the emperor long ago. Remembering what Rez had told her of the emperor, she wondered if he was the same one after all this time. The thought made her shudder.
“Do I frighten you, child?”
“No,” Shel insisted, realizing Sanook must have misunderstood her shudder. “I'm sorry, but no. It isn’t you. And don’t call me child.”
A strange sound, halfway between coughing and a dog’s bark, came from under the hood. Shel realized Sanook was laughing at her.
“What?” she demanded, bristling at the laughter. “What’s so funny?”
Sanook held up both hands, palms forward, in front of his chest. “You are frightened,” he said. “But you master your fear. That is good. Children become adults by mastering fear.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that, but decided he meant it as an admission she was no child. “Thank you. I think.”
“Tell me,” Sanook continued as if he hadn’t heard. “What do you
No soul could be stolen from its owner, of course. Everybody knew that. Even Shel, who had always felt uneasy about the trading of souls. Something about the whole thing made her skin crawl and her stomach twist. But at least no soul could be stolen. Its owner must give it up freely, of their own will.
Once that happened, though, the soul was loose. That was Rez’s word for it, anyway. It could be absorbed, after a fashion, by its new owner. But it remained separate from that person’s own soul, and therefore it could be taken. For the thief who could pull that off and – perhaps far more importantly – find a buyer afterward, souls were the most valuable prize imaginable.
A soft knock sounded at the door, startling Shel out of her thoughts. Jerking her head up, she turned toward the door and wondered who it could be.
“Hello?”
The door opened slowly, and an indistinct figure moved into the room. Shel was surprised to recognize Sanook. The Shadowman.
“Am I disturbing you?” His voice was soft and silky, with a hint of sibilance. It was muffled slightly, and when a weak spear of dying sunlight found its way into the drooping hood of his heavy robes Shel saw that he wore a rigid, form-fitting mask covered with dark velvet and golden filigree. A tiny slit marked his mouth, and two more narrow openings allowed the Shadowman to see. She noticed he also wore gloves. No barest glimpse of his skin was visible. She wondered why.
“Sanook,” she greeted him, hesitating over the foreign-sounding name. Shadowmen, she thought, amazed at herself. This morning she hadn’t believed in the name. Following Rez’s stunning revelations, she was no longer sure.
“You are Shel,” Sanook said, coming further into the room and closing the door behind him. “I am told you have consented to join our little tribe.”
“I…Yes.” Shel cleared her throat nervously. What did he want? He was just standing there. Nothing was visible of the man but those impossibly dark eyes peering out through slits in his mask. Just standing there…
“Oh!” Shel blushed. “I'm sorry. Please, have a seat.”
Sanook bowed his cowled head and took the other chair. He settled himself slowly into it and shifted the chair slightly so that he was facing her.
“You have not met one of my kind before,” observed Sanook.
“Er, no,” Shel told him. She felt nervous and uncertain around the Shadowman. She had always heard they were wicked and deformed. They were tales to frighten children. She didn’t know what to say to him.
“Most people in your empire have not.”
“You're not from the empire?”
“No. I come from far away, as do all of my people. Few of us remain.”
“I'm sorry,” said Shel, who thought she had heard sadness in Sanook’s words. She thought back to those childhood scary stories of Shadowmen. Creatures of winter, they had been defeated and ultimately destroyed by the emperor long ago. Remembering what Rez had told her of the emperor, she wondered if he was the same one after all this time. The thought made her shudder.
“Do I frighten you, child?”
“No,” Shel insisted, realizing Sanook must have misunderstood her shudder. “I'm sorry, but no. It isn’t you. And don’t call me child.”
A strange sound, halfway between coughing and a dog’s bark, came from under the hood. Shel realized Sanook was laughing at her.
“What?” she demanded, bristling at the laughter. “What’s so funny?”
Sanook held up both hands, palms forward, in front of his chest. “You are frightened,” he said. “But you master your fear. That is good. Children become adults by mastering fear.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that, but decided he meant it as an admission she was no child. “Thank you. I think.”
“Tell me,” Sanook continued as if he hadn’t heard. “What do you
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