Soulsworn by Terry C. Simpson Page A

person.”
    “Is that good or bad?”
    “Good, I suppose.” Nerisse looked down at her forearms, face filled with wonderment. “The one other time I partook of the remains, it was a tiny amount. Father wanted to see my reaction. That was a pittance compared to this power. Why didn’t Father keep it to himself? He might still be alive if he had it at his disposal.”
    “He did have it. That box wasn’t the only one.” Aidah nodded toward the empty container.
    “And he still died?”
    Aidah shrugged, melancholy easing over her like a dark cloud. “When your father gave the Dracodar remains to me, he made me promise to remind you of the shortcomings. He said you aren’t all-powerful despite what you might think or feel. And you will tire faster when you meld, so do so sparingly, reserving your strength for dire circumstances.”
    “Yes, I remember.” Disappointment colored Nerisse’s tone.
    “Whatever you feel might be tempting, but please take heed of your father’s warning.”
    “I will, Mother, I promise,” Nerisse said. “Now tell me what happened while I slept.”
    The girl listened to Aidah’s retelling of the morning’s events as she ate. She was on her third helping of eggs, creamed oats, coffee, and apple pastries by the time Clara sat up.
    Clara rubbed at her eyes. She squinted at Nerisse and Aidah. “Mama? Neri?”
    “Yes, pumpkin?” Aidah strode to her daughter’s bedside and picked her up.
    “I had a dream.” Clara clung to Aidah’s neck. “A bad man said Papa and Gaston were dead. And then another man was trying to take me from you and Neri.”
    Aidah stiffened. At first she considered not telling her daughter the truth, but Clara would know she lied. Instead, she said, “Remember when I told you a time will come when the Gods ask us to live with them?” Clara nodded. “Papa and Gaston have gone to be with the Dominion.” A low moan issued from Clara’s lips, the air warm and wet on Aidah’s neck. “It’s fine, my little pumpkin, they’re in a happier place now. As for this man, that was just a dream. I’ll never let anyone take you.”
    “Neither will I,” Nerisse said. She came over, hugged Aidah with one arm, and stroked her sister’s head with the other.
    They remained that way for a while, comforting each other. Aidah needed it as much as her children. Their closeness, the smell and feel of them, gave her a sense of completeness, a sense of purpose.
    Nerisse led Clara to the table while Aidah prepared the little girl’s breakfast. Soon Clara was eating with as much gusto as her sister had been. Aidah smiled. The girls talked and laughed with each other, almost making Aidah forget their current predicament. A knock on the door, followed by Lomin’s voice, served as a grim reminder. The girls finished up promptly, and wrapped in the folds of hooded cloaks, they snuck down to the wagons.
    Lomin had hired ten other fighting men as part of their escort. He sent them outside Garangal in separate pairings so as not to draw attention to the full group. Aran and Lomin remained with Aidah and the children. When the time came for them to leave they slipped in among a stream of wagons and people leaving the town to head north. Aidah peeked outside on several occasions, expecting to see Blades giving chase. All she saw was the other refugees. Before long her wagons were trundling along the Empire Road as the sun cast its glow across rolling plains and farmland.
    A week avoiding small towns and villages brought them to a field within sight of Torens, a quarter of the way to the Chanting City. The girls had spent most of the trip playing. Clara acted almost as if things were normal. She did have one or two moments where she would become melancholy, but it pleased Aidah to see her smile. However, nightmares still plagued Clara’s sleep. She often whispered of Gaston and Kesta. Worst of all, she mumbled about the stranger she feared would take her. Clara had also renamed two of her