Soulbound: Chapter One

With only a few weeks left until Soulbound's debut, I figured I should make an offer to the Internet gods and give you a sneak-preview of the first chapter! Now, Soulbound switches points of view throughout the book, and the POVs change from chapter to chapter (think George R.R. Martin's A song of Ice and Fire), but I hope that won't discourage you! If I get enough interest, I'll post part of Chapter Two next week...and do a partial chapter each week until the book is released. ;)

The strain on Eti’s back grew as he bolted through the forest. He darted between the trees, careful to hug the shadows lest sunlight sear his skin. Every breath tasted of blood and tore at his throat, but he couldn’t rest. To stop was to die.

He tripped on a rock, and his face struck the hard earth. The sheathed blade at his side rammed him in the ribs, and he moaned. Had the sword not been enchanted, he would have left it behind months ago. Most ekra had little use for physical weapons, for in the stead of blades and firearms, they battled with magic.

The smell of pine mulch wafted from the ground, turning bitter under the dry scent of dawn. He lay still for a moment, gasping as adrenaline pulsed through his limbs. It begged him to rise, to stagger to his feet and flee the blinding sun, but sharp pain sprang up his leg the moment he shifted.

He groaned as he struggled to his feet. His ankle had been sprained, no doubt, and he sent part of his blood-mite to his foot rather than take time to tend to the wound. Skin and muscle tingled, and the slightest of twitches strummed along his leg as his blood-mite worked.

Blood-mites, masses of congealed, living blood, served as the circulatory system for all ekra, and took residence under their decaying skin, amongst their magic-infused muscles. No ekra could live without a blood-mite, for they couldn't breathe, heal, digest or move unless the mite assisted.

The mite split apart and slipped through his veins, using them as a highway to reach the affected area. The numb tingling of his skin built as agony lessened, and though his foot was not healed, the temporary relief would have to do.

The sun continued to rise, growing brighter and stronger, and the oncoming heat of dawn stabbed through the trees, a warning that sunlight would soon devour his flesh if he didn't find shelter. The way the breeze changed—a sudden shift in temperature, from the cool of evening to the dryness of daylight—sent a thrill of terror through him.

Eti tested his wounded ankle and, pleased at his mite’s work, sprinted on, ignoring small snaps of pain each time his injured foot struck the hard ground.

Just ahead was a clearing, but morning light already swathed the grass and shrubbery within. He swerved to evade it and slammed into a tree, his entire right side numbing from the impact. He lost his footing and rolled down a hillside, smashing into saplings and rocks, his sheathed scimitar jabbing him. Loose sod crumbled in his fingers as he scrabbled for handholds.

As he rolled, his gaze caught the white light of dawn in short glimpses. The sun had risen. His time was up.

He grasped a sapling with a three-fingered, mold-mottled hand, and long, yellowed nails dug into the tree's soft bark. Dirt and rocks tumbled past him, and when dawn’s rays touched his hand, he bit back a cry of agony. The golden light seared his knuckles, peeling flesh away like singed paper.

Seconds later he gained his feet and ran again, cradling his wounded hand as the mite slid into his burnt digits. He tried not to look at the gleaming white bone. The blood-mite lurched, sick from the pain and reek of charred flesh, and his skin bubbled and swelled where the mite worked.

Krávaldîn lie ahead. All he had to do was survive long enough to cross the field beyond the tree line, and he would be safe—at least as safe as an ekra could be in a city such as Krávaldîn. Less than two days ago, bandits had taken his cloak, his only protection against the searing anger of the sun, and they’d been tracking him since. Ekra souls won a high price in illegal trade. Most ekra were safe within amüli cities, where thieves rarely ventured for fear of the law, and Krávaldîn was his only chance for survival—his only chance to find the one.

No other way but to run through the light. If I die, so be it, but I cannot hide away another day with them on my trail. They would find me, even in the forest.

Eti cleared the trees and launched forward. In the open, he was free to use magic, to speed through the grasses and shrubbery, and he cast a quick spell, calling upon the gods to aid him in his race for life. Magical heat surged through his legs, empowering them. Sunlight nipped his flesh, but red walls of stone marbled with white stood less than a quarter-mile away. So close. He was so close. The gates loomed, mammoth in size, yet miniscule compared to the wall of sheer rock that encircled three-quarters of the city.

He struck the gates and shrieked for help as he pounded against the stone.

Two amüli guards swooped from above, their wings thumping against the cold morning air as they descended. Eti clawed at the wall of rock as sunlight bubbled his skin. Flesh popped, sizzled, and smoked, and the fumes of his burning body fogged his thoughts, pain whipping through his form as he sank to the ground.

"Let me in!"

"Open the gates!" roared an amüli.

A loud boom reverberated through the air. Ropes and chains creaked as the gates groaned open, showering the ekra with red dust, and the moment a gap appeared, he squeezed into the shadow of the city wall. Sweat rolled along his brow and between two short horns kissed with dried blood.

The two amüli slipped into the city behind him. Soft and fleshy, the amüli were bipedal creatures, and feathered wings trembled at their backs. Narrowed eyes gazed at him, and they narrowed even farther as he panted on the ground. It was hard to believe these weak-looking creatures made up the strongest country in the world.

Their cities, towns, and settlements blanketed the Northern provinces, and grew larger by the year. They were an infection, a scourge the ekra wished to see fall from power. In addition to their numbers and military prowess, these creatures’ history of violence toward his people surfaced in his mind. Countless had fallen to their greed and expansion, and the ekra clans retreated further and further south, until many lost contact with their sisters and brothers. Those on the eastern continent had not been heard from in decades.

The bastards.

Still, they had let him into the city rather than leave him out to burn to death, which was something he should be happy at, he supposed. Recent years had seen fewer ekra deaths behind amüli walls, but only due to the treaty forcing the Amüli Republic to offer shelter to all ekra who asked it.

"I need your papers, necromancer," said the guard, and he shifted his weight from foot-to-foot.

Necromancer—only an amüli could call an ekra that and make it sound like a curse. Their detestable attitude and inherent belief in their superiority had become a common encounter for Eti of late, yet he considered what a queer sight he must be, with his bluish, moldy flesh and black, pit-like eyes. Two horns jutted from his forehead, crusted with old blood, which cracked and popped, seared like cooking fat from the sunlight. His nails were long, sharp, and yellowed from age, his skin tough and leathery, sewn together with black thread, and gaping pus-filled wounds speckled his arms, neck, chest, and face where the slabs of flesh met.

Yes, he must've looked like an abomination. Many had treated him as such.

Now wasn't the time to debate appearances, though, nor could he rebuke their insults. The two nations kept to a tenuous alliance, and the slightest offense could trigger a war neither could afford. No, better for him to remain low, act the servant, and pray for a quick entry to Krávaldîn. Goddess knew he couldn't face the sunlight again.

Eti withdrew a set of documents from his ribs. Like many ekra, his ribs were covered in the barest film of flesh, and within the cage lived his blood-mite. Dozens of glittering chains of various alloys were strung between his ribs. "Please hurry. I need to find a place to rest."

The guard smiled as he took the papers, revealing white, rounded teeth. "From the Southlands, eh, necromancer?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"I see you’re on official business."

"Yes."

"Looking for something?"

He grimaced in irritation while his mite squirmed at the question, but the symbiont went about its work, trying to heal the boils covering his body. Flesh twined together, stitching tighter and tighter, and he didn't need to look to know that the swelling of his ankle lessened with each passing second, that scabs covered his burnt knuckles, shoulders, and back. Strength returned slowly to his weak leg, like the thawing of a numbed limb, and the ekra straightened. Fully erect, Eti stood a head and a half higher than most amüli.

The guards stepped back and one licked his lips.

"Looking for something, necromancer?" the first asked again, an edge to his tone as he reached for a small, alien weapon at his side.

Necromancer, indeed. "I am on sabbatical." The lie flew from his tongue, just as it had in every other amüli town.

Despite the weapon’s compact size, Eti did not wish for the amüli to draw the firearm. Guns, they call them. Tales of these pistols had flowed southward after an amüli raid on a neighboring clan further north. Since then, many ekra had left their hunting grounds, Eti included, though he had not run in fear.

Some months ago, an elder ekra had come across his clan during their trek north for the summer months and warned them that he had met an amüli with the intent of drawing a goddess, Matrisk, onto the mortal plane. Gods and goddesses could only touch Inrugia, the world of the ekra and amüli, for brief spurts, and only when the Inrugians cast magic.

If what this travelling ekra claimed was true and an amüli sought to bring Matrisk to Inrugia, the resulting destruction could end everything. Matrisk was the goddess of flesh, the source of offensive magic and self-destruction, whereas Ilandere-karais embodied the neutral source. To stop the tipping of power, he and dozens of other young ekra sojourned across Inrugia to find the vessel, the ekra through whom Ilandere-karais could come to the mortal world without shattering it, and end this amüli’s mad dream.

When he’d reached the castle of Ozenrik some weeks before, the ruling amüli lord had demanded to know his business. It was a mistake to answer honestly, for word of his sojourn could spread and the one he sought might flee into hiding. He had succumbed, though, and explained that he searched for an ekra of the Avi caste—a caste reserved to the few ekra who could bind with a god. The amüli lord had asked little else but gold from him before releasing him.

"Ah," the guard murmured, scratching his chin. Hair grew from his face, and that paired with his fleshy features looked so alien. He marked Eti’s papers with a seal, allowing the ekra within the city walls. "Well, welcome to Krávaldîn. How long will you be staying?"

"No more than a week."

"Good. Get going."

Eti took his papers before dashing along the edge of the wall, staying within the deepest shadows. And that was when the enchanted blade at his side reacted for the first time.

He shivered at the vibrations. They were slight, but strong enough to bring him to a stop. He tightened his grip around the hilt, the cool metal easing the warmth of burnt flesh from his aching fingers. Before Eti had left the Southlands, his elder and mentor, Sha’eti, had cast a spell on the blade, explaining that it would only tremble if the goddess’s vessel dwelled within range of the weapon.

Joy mingled with shock; after months of scouring every amüli castle, town, and city, after leaving his sibling and his clan behind to seek someone who might not even exist, and after all but losing hope, the spell on the scimitar had triggered. Only one other place resulted in the slightest reaction from the blade, and that had turned out to be a false positive.

Two months ago, outside of the amüli hub of Reaivyk, the City of Knives, he had expected to find the Avi ekra hiding in the Lacefields. The gigantic blades of obsidian that pierced the air offered the shelter and anonymity the Avi might seek. For weeks he scoured the hellish landscape, and still nothing more came from his sword—no trembling, no reaction of any kind.

Of all places, though, the Avi was here, in the amüli capital, the largest city in the world, a place where anyone could find it—and a place where everyone might overlook it. Eti crouched beside the wall and closed his eyes. The last place I expected to find it, yet here the Avi lives. I have reached the end of my sojourn at last.