THE ABSENCE OF SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 1) Read online

  The Absence of Soul

  American-English version

  Amanda Twigg

  Doors to the Library

  If you learn to love this world as much as I do, unlock the Hux Hall library for free access to documents, maps, and personnel files. You will find the key at the end of the story.

  Army Ranks

  Senior Ranks:

  Chief Warrior

  Chief Warrior Elect

  Warrior First

  Warrior Second

  Warrior Third

  Warrior Fourth

  Specialization/City Chief

  Basic Ranks:

  Citizen- birth to eighteen years

  Cadet -in soldier training (three year course)

  Soldier - on completion of soldier training

  Warrior - on acceptance into Warrior Hall

  Sub Grades

  Trainee - applied to Warrior and specialist ranks

  One-bar- basic level achieved/not always awarded

  Two-bar - competent level achieved

  Three-bar - expert level achieved

  Chapter 1

  Landra dawdled outside her father’s command room clutching a summons. Any training session with Chief Hux promised pain, and the timing of this one couldn’t be worse. Rather than knock, she traced a finger along the woodgrain door she knew was there, but her gaze slid beyond, as if seeing through glass.

  Shelk. So, now I see through wood?

  This had only happened once before, so she dismissed the vision. Better to return to her room now rather than face Father and expose her flaw. No punishment could match the disgrace of having magic. She took a deep breath and pulled her tunic away from her chest. By narrowing her eyes and refocusing, she brought the door back into view. The sight of blessed woodgrain calmed her Soul, giving her the chance to gather her thoughts.

  What would a soldier do now? Not run, for sure.

  Her heart craved a Warrior’s future, one where she competed in the championships, traveled the six cities, and looked for love. Magic didn’t fit in with that, so rather than submit to fear, she bunched her fist and knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Inside the room, oversized wooden furniture and an equipped combat area reflected her father’s personality, and slippers by a chair made this look like his home, but his armor-clad figure looked suited for war. He might be Chief Warrior Griffin Hux, commander of six cities, but she still thought of him as Father.

  “Fight me,” he said, pinning her with a terrible stare,

  Woah. No “nice to see you, daughter.” Just “fight me.”

  He moved to the mat’s center and sank into a fighting stance. Ceiling lights bounced pink rays off his battle spikes and highlighted the gold twists in his Warrior-length hair.

  For all her denials, Landra couldn’t hide from magic. She might not be seeing through doors now, but aura sight was her constant bane. A glow surrounded her father, shrouding him in turbulent shades. Deep blue, almost black. Is that temper? Fury?

  “What are you waiting for, Landra? Fight me.”

  The threat-like challenge sped her drumming heartbeat. An empty stomach, over-trained limbs, and a flimsy tunic weren’t any preparation for this. She stood to careful attention and considered her next words. “Father, have I done something wrong?”

  A nerve twitched in his bristly cheek. His gold-flecked eyes gave nothing away, but his readied muscles offered a warning. He surged forward, slamming her to the floor and chasing the air from her lungs. His arm trapped her neck, and he pressed home the hold.

  “It’s Chief Hux in here. And tell me, daughter, have you done something wrong?”

  Can’t breathe. Stop. She kicked her legs as panic took hold. This wasn’t training. It was an attack. No amount of arguing with Trainer Winton warranted this beating, leaving magic as her only possible crime. Years of suppressed fear bubbled up. Discovered now? Shelk.

  “Father, I—”

  “Show me some spirit, girl. Make this a fight.”

  As Landra’s vision blurred, she pushed on his arm. An unexpected release allowed air into her lungs. She curled over her belly and spluttered as Father rolled to his feet and resumed his battle crouch. He swished the blade in menacing sweeps.

  “Good!” he said. “Now, show me what you can do.”

  Good? I nearly died. Is that what he wanted? Magic-cursed soldiers earned temple demotions or exile, but a flawed Chief Warrior’s daughter was different. Her existence could provoke a leadership challenge or civil war. Would he remove her to save the base? Every day of the week.

  She rubbed her throat and eased to her feet. Father darted forward again and swiped his pink blade across her bare arm. Her hand flew to the wound, and she gasped. The cut wasn’t deep, but blood squeezed through her fingers and her skin burned. Angry red lines spidered outward from the gash, sensitizing her body and turning her dread into outrage.

  A magic blade? Oh, Father, the irony. D’you know what you’ve done?

  “Stop staring,” he said. “That cut’s barely bleeding.”

  Landra wanted to protest, but the curse of having visions was hers alone. Father could no more see the weapon’s magical tracks than he could view her aura. She licked the red liquid from her fingers, and a hot, metallic taste seared her tongue. The sensation made her fury soar. Not my fault. She dropped into a fighting crouch, ready to battle. “Let’s fight.”

  “At last.”

  “But it’s not fair. You have a knife.”

  “Take it, then.” He wasn’t offering the blade; she had to fight for it.

  She circled, her gaze locked on the weapon. “I’m a citizen. You can’t expect me to match Warrior training.”

  “You won’t if you bellyache. You might not be cadet age, but I’ve paid tutors to hone your skills and harden your fists. Show me what my credits have bought and take the knife.”

  That again.

  Father’s bulk, reach, and experience outmatched her own, but her peripheral vision took in a weapons display where locking clips hugged five swords and three knives to the wall. Faking left and dodging right, she sprinted toward them across the mat. He read the move and intercepted. He tackled her off the mat and rolled her over the desk, sloshing a half-downed mug of scute into the air.

  Before she could recover, he followed up his move, ramming her back into a bookcase and trapping her hand beneath his knee.

  “It’s against combat rules to leave the mat,” he said.

  “So is drawing blood.”

  He pinned her throat with the knife, and its magic burned her skin. Any more pressure, and her blood would gush. Had it really come to this? A hysterical laugh escaped, and she sucked in his scute-laced breath. At least he had to get drunk for the battle. It didn’t help her mood.

  “Fight me,” he said again.

  Why? To justify the kill? Saliva dried in her mouth. She longed to be cherished, but her father’s muscled body pressed against her chest, offering something darker. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve this.

  Enough!

  Landra drove a knee into his groin and watched his agony register.

  Is that what you want? Are you happy now?

  His leg shifted, and his face boiled. With the space it gave her, she twisted free. A leg sweep unweighted him, and she chased him down to the floor.

  That’s for all I’ve endured hiding my flaw. You’ve no idea.

  She set her teeth to his thumb knuckle and crunched. His fingers sprang open, and she snatched the knife.

  And that’s for making me fight.

  She darted back to the mat, set her stance, and rolled the knife between her palms.
Her aura tumbled around her hands in violent swirls, and her shoulders heaved. “Now, I’m ready.”

  Father sagged back to the floor with a sigh of inevitability.

  “Get up. Let’s do this.” She beckoned him back with the knife tip. The weapon’s bone handle sat perfectly in her hand, sending a rush of energy through her body. The fight hadn’t been her idea, but she would see it to the end.

  Her father climbed to his feet and shook his head. “No, that’s enough.”

  “Enough of what? Are you coming back to the mat or shall I fight you there?”

  “Neither. We’re done. I’ve seen what you can do.”

  Frustration fueled her battle rage, making her fingers tremble around the knife handle. “You wanted me to fight, and now I’m ready. All you’ve seen is scrapping. What’s the matter? Doesn’t my style suit your image of a Warrior? I thought you wanted me to prove my worth.”

  He leaned back to rest against his desk and pressed a hand to his ribs. “You already did.”

  Landra was sure she hadn’t. “I broke the rules. I fought like—”

  “Like you wanted to survive?”

  “I brawled. I can do better.”

  “You don’t need to do better.”

  Uncertainty rolled Landra’s stomach. Her father had calmed too quickly, and his aura had settled into a uniform shade of blue. She’d been fighting for her life, and now he’d just stopped.

  He lifted his gaze to capture her attention. “Look at the knife.”

  She eyed the blade’s unnatural gleam of power. A carved Warrior image on the handle tugged a memory loose.

  “It’s the Collector, Landra. A symbol of office.”

  Images of Father wearing the knife to his investiture flitted across her awareness. What did that have to do with the fight? A host of possibilities surfaced—all of them impossible. “I…” She couldn’t make sense of her father’s words.

  “Believe it, Landra. Taking the knife completed the succession rite and sealed your future. One day, you will become chief.” He tightened his pose and offered a grim salute. “Congratulations on your promotion, Chief Elect.”

  “But… But…”

  What about my magic?

  Chapter 2

  If it wasn’t for the early morning stomp of boot heels outside her door, Landra might have logged the previous night’s events as a scute-induced dream. Her small room hadn’t changed, with its basic furniture and a rail of uniforms acting as a backdrop to her citizen’s life, but she sensed the unusual activity heralded change. Snuggling in bed and scrunching her blanket to her chin, she sought out the familiar paw-shaped knot in the ceiling’s grain. Floating pink threads obscured the shape but at least the wood hadn’t disappeared.

  She hadn’t slept. How could she? The job Father had inflicted on her was beyond her capabilities and didn’t make sense. Of all the possible reasons for her late-night battle, leadership succession had been the furthest from her mind. Hadn’t her brother been groomed for that role? Then, there was her magic. If she understood how it worked, maybe she could control the visions. They were becoming more troublesome—just when the need for secrecy had grown.

  A paper appeared through the gap under her door.

  Different. Wrong!

  She glared at the offending message and then swung her legs from the bed. Stiff muscles locked her body into a sheet of pain, and her head rattled like her brains were loose.

  Woah! Did I age ten years in my sleep? Got to see Medic Gren.

  Balancing her pained body, she shuffled across the room to glare at the intruding paper. Even the chief’s daughter had to collect mail from the scribing hall’s notice board, so a hand-delivered message felt wrong, right down to her bones. She set her doubts aside and considered the duty Father had tasked her to perform. It didn’t matter that it was a mistake. Things would be different now.

  She eased down to retrieve the note and felt the wafer-thin, recycled paper of a newsletter. The championship candidate pool had grown by twelve, a section of ring thirty-two had closed for repairs, and Chief Hux’s inspection of the Warrior guard was set for midday. Of the four rank changes listed, one Templer was scheduled to take the exile train to the remote lands.

  That’s trouble. Temple bods won’t like that.

  Before she could consider the implications, her touch found a second, thicker paper below the top sheet. She pressed it to her nose and sniffed, marveling at the fresh smell, but her soldier practicality was offended by the extravagance. Chief Hux’s precisely penned script marked the sheet.

  First siren - sword training (apartment armory)

  Second siren – history (apartment library)

  Third siren – SEE ME!

  Anyone accidentally seeing the schedule would think it an average morning for Landra, with a combination of soldier training beyond her rank, studies, and a reprimand. She knew it was more and took his personal summons to mean that he meant to go through with his plan. Third siren felt like a long time off, so she decided to catch a word with him before duties started.

  With a good amount of wincing and groaning, she struggled into a standard blue training tunic and pants, sharp enough to satisfy Father but practical enough for her scheduled sword session. Her rash from the Collector smarted where the ridged web pattern stood proud of her skin, but there was nothing to do about that now. Before choosing a jacket, she forced herself to consider the knife.

  She leaned her belly against a disused planter that ran the length of the room and peeked inside. A pink gleam leaked out from one edge of the cloak she’d used as a cover, as if the Collector refused to be forgotten. Clearly, the knife couldn’t stay there for any inspection officer to find.

  Why didn’t I take dispensation to keep my room private? But she knew why. She’d wanted to be one of the soldiers—normal. Now, that decision was biting her in the ass, and normality was gone. She buckled an old knife strap over her complaining shoulders and slotted the knife into the sheath at her back. She’d take the shelking thing to Father, and he would know where it should go. After slinging on a loose jacket, wriggling the knife into a good position, and fastening her buckles, she yanked the door inward. A guard facing into the corridor and occupying the full height of the doorway blocked her exit.

  A Warrior. Careful.

  The hair gave him away. Landra couldn’t wait until she entered Warrior Hall, so she could start growing her hair. It was a symbol of power and experience every soldier aspired to wear.

  She guessed the dark curls draped down this guard’s back must represent twenty years of growth—a seasoned Warrior and member of the elite guard for sure. The array of achievement ribbons on his ceremonial cloak proved it. She tried ignoring his Warrior blue aura, but its wavy edges demanded her attention. Few auras had such ill-defined limits, and her gaze kept tracking its amorphous patterns.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said with a small cough.

  “Stay inside,” he answered over his shoulder, allowing her to see the ranking insignia cut into the shorter hair above his right ear.

  What the…?

  This wasn’t just an elite guard. Four lines cut below a “W” identified him as the Warrior Fourth, and the addition of an “R” marked him as a ranger. There was only one Warrior Fourth, but seeing a ranger in the city was even more of a rarity. The freedom to wander the six cities and remote lands was an intoxicating temptation. So, when this man could travel anywhere, why was he outside her door?

  “I have to go out,” she said.

  “Sword training’s not until first siren. You can leave ahead of time to grab breakfast, but not yet.”

  Landra stared, shocked that the Warrior Fourth knew her schedule. She had expected changes to her life but hadn’t guessed how quickly they would take hold. “Hux Hall is my home.” Her face heated. “Are you ordering me to stay in my room?”

  “Yes.”

  Yes? What am I? A child?

  Landra suspected this loss of freedom constitu
ted her first sacrifice as chief elect. An ache stiffened her back, reminding her that it was the second. She’d already sacrificed her fit body, even if that was a temporary inconvenience.

  “I need to leave at once. I’m Chief Hux’s daughter.”

  The guard gave a salute to two soldiers marching down the apartment’s narrow corridor before he spun around. The dark, weather-roughened skin showing above his scraggy beard conveyed no emotion, but the short sword strapped to his chest told Landra that he was on Warrior duty. His work-worn uniform looked well below inspection level, contrasting with the crisp, clean ceremonial pleats of his cloak.

  “I know who you are. And it still baffles me how you escaped the Junior barracks before cadet age. No one else gets to live at home with family. And here I am, not even cleaned up from my stint in the remote lands. I don’t know what I did to deserve babysitting duty. Maybe I pulled a low assessment score or maybe our new Warrior Second doesn’t like my face, but I’m stuck here with you, so I’d appreciate some quiet.”

  Landra’s face burned. “I’m not a child, and I can look after myself.”

  The guard’s face twisted into a smirk. “I hear you can scrap, but it takes more than that to be a soldier. And at least one person thinks you need protection.” He glanced down the corridor in the direction of Chief Hux’s command room.

  “That’s because …”

  Landra bit her lip. Chief Hux had sworn her to silence, and she wouldn’t divulge her secret at the first chance. “I need to see Chief Hux now.”

  The guard edged forward, using one hand to push her back into the room. “That’s not possible,” he told her, before closing the door.

  “I—”

  Shelking bastard!

  Landra stood there, mouth gaping. Gaining respect from Warriors was going to be tough. After staring at the door’s wooden grain for too long, she yanked the handle. It wouldn’t budge, so she banged on the panel for several minutes before it opened.