SoulQuest by Percival Constantine Page B

dead. As much as he hated the thought of killing her, if that was the only option, he would do everything in his power to be the one to walk away.
    “Right, I suppose it’s come to this.” Templar raised the weapon and activated the switch. The pulse sword flared to life and Reyche almost seemed mesmerized by the glowing blade. He advanced, delivering a downward slash from left to right. The energy blade cut across Reyche’s stomach, burning her clothes and flesh. She shrieked and recoiled. Templar backed up a bit as well, sliding into a fencing stance.  
    “It may not be my desire to cause you harm, but don’t think I’m unwilling to do just that,” he said. “Now listen to me, Reyche: you are not yourself. You are being used as a pawn.”
    Reyche didn’t seem to respond to his words. She bared her fangs at him, her eyes still retaining that same blank stare. Her pupils took a brief glance away from him and she saw something that caused a flicker of recognition in her face. Templar took notice and followed her line of sight to the image of Illuminist star above the altar. He also noticed she wore that same symbol as a pendant on her necklace. That would explain why she had come here.
    “Who are you really, Reyche?” he asked. “Before you came here, who were you?”
    Reyche snapped back to attention and growled. Templar raised his arms up. “You are not from Serenity, are you?”
    Reyche shook her head. The sorcery that clouded her mind and controlled her actions began to dispel. There were flashes in her mind of something else...

    “Reyche!”
    The young woman looked up from the leather-bound book resting in her lap. She smiled at her mother’s approach from the house to the garden and stood, laying the book on the table beside her.  
    “Is he ready?” asked Reyche.
    Her mother nodded. “You mean if that old jalopy of your father’s is finally working, then yes, so you’d best get moving before it breaks down again.”
    “Perfect!” said Reyche and she practically jumped as she picked up the book, shutting it and clasping it to her breast. Her mother gently laid a hand on her arm.
    “Are you certain about this pilgrimage? There are many dangers outside Tarzu.”
    Reyche rolled her eyes. “How many times are we going to have this discussion?”
    “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. You’ve never left the village and now you’re going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.”  
    “I’ll be fine.” She patted the book. “The Presence will watch out for me.”
    “I’ll pray for the angels to watch over you, but I still want you to be careful. It’s a dangerous journey you’re going on.”
    Reyche smiled and went up to her mother, planting a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. “Stop worrying so much, Mama. Spiritual journeys aren’t supposed to be a walk in the park. If they were, what’d be the point?”
    Her mother feigned a half-smile. “I suppose. Come on, let’s go see if your father’s ready to go.”
    The pair walked around the back of the small two-bedroom house to the front yard. A man in his fifties picked up a sack and loaded it into the back compartment of a two-door rusted vehicle. He was a farmer by trade, pretty much the only kind of work in the village of Tarzu. A lifetime of labor added an appearance of ten years to his stocky frame, but his bushy, handlebar mustache maintained its black color.  
    “We ready?” he asked, upon seeing his wife and daughter. “It’s about a twenty minute ride to the station and the train leaves in an hour, so we’d best hustle.”
    “Depends, is that rust-bucket in working order now?” asked his wife.
    “It’ll make the trip, s’long as the damned radiator don’t spring another leak.”
    “No blaspheming in the house.”
    “Ain’t in the house.”
    “You know what I mean,” she said as she gave a wave of dismissal to her husband and faced her daughter. She placed her hands on Reyche’s shoulders and looked her up