Soulsworn by Terry C. Simpson Page A

back on her pillow, staring at the wooden ceiling, and nursing her wrath. Vengeance had filled her thoughts since Nerisse’s revelation. Clara’s deteriorating condition made her crave it. The girl had taken to dancing with her imaginary father and brother, her dolls never far from her side. She sang with them all each night on the road until she fell asleep. On many occasions Aidah had found herself watching Clara slumber, ready to comfort her from the rampant nightmares.
    When sleep would eventually take Aidah, dreams assaulted her. They were of Clara’s death, her madness at some small village or town within the Empire, or of Ainslen and the box. Most were of the western kingdoms where Clara grew more ill by the day. She woke each morning, often in cold sweats, reliving the things she saw: Clara on her deathbed, colorful lights swathing the sky like those reflected from a crystal, and the woman, the unnaturally beautiful woman with silver hair, dressed in blue who seemed so familiar. The woman would point and mouth some words, but no sound followed.
    Nerisse had spent most days in a black mood as she carried the weight of blame. Aidah had tried, but neither words nor actions comforted her daughter. Nerisse had taken to practicing the sword and melding with Lomin again, which Aidah supposed was a good thing, a way to work off the girl’s dispirited condition.
    She felt so helpless. Melanil should’ve been their place of safety, a new life, but now they might have to go farther still, beyond the Chanting City into lands unknown. And Clara’s sanity, possibly her life, hung in the balance.
    A week, Aidah thought, a week until I petition the Patriarch, and another month and a half to reach Danalyn. And there’s still the distance to Casda Esdan, with Clara growing worse all the while. She had begun to harbor doubts due to her dreams, but Clara’s condition made the situation seem hopeless. If her rate of deterioration continued, Clara would be completely insane or dead before Danalyn, much less Casda Esdan. To compound matters was this growing need to see Ainslen suffer.
    I’ve always been faithful to you, Oh Gods, why do you now test me in such a way? Why have you turned your back on me? Or is this a part of your plan? Are you already showing me the way? Her brow wrinkled at her question. She considered her next destination: Melanil, home of the Grand Chantry and the Order of the Dominion, the most pious of places and people.
    She shook her head, wondering how she had not seen it before. This was the Dominion’s intention all along. Not to avoid the wisemen, but to bring Clara to them. The wisemen were blessed. They would have the cure she sought. At the same time she would be able to put her riches to use under their protection, plot Ainslen’s demise. For the first time in months Aidah fell asleep with a smile.
    The dreams came as they always did of late. She traveled across Carador into Berendal. After a stop at Casda Esdan, the world shifted. Lush rolling plains, small forests, rivers, and lakes in the kingdom of Aladel swept across her vision. Cities dotted the landscape, towers in brick, silver, or bronze, glinting in the sunlight, spearing the heavens. It was as if she were a great bird, swooping over the land, warm winds ruffling her hair as they would feathers. She basked in the feel of it, smiled in wonderment at the beauty of the orchid laden plains, the colors like paint splashed across a canvas.
    And then the plains ended.
    No gradual lessening of forests into copses and then into single trees. No shrubs and grass becoming brown and faded. One moment the vegetation was vibrant, dancing in the breeze, its wildlife thriving, the scent of flowers carried on the wind, and the next it was gone, all of it, replaced by barren, stony ground, shale, and sand.
    Black clouds swarmed sections of the sky, swirling this way and that before diving in a long, dark stream. Similar masses rose into the air like a pall of