The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 5b

PAIN & PROMISES

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Harric left Kogan and Farley and lugged his gear to the stables. He found Caris at a work table where the garrison repaired harness. "Hey," he said, as he tossed his saddle bag over the rail behind Snapper.

When she saw him, she cursed, and fumbled with a chisel that she held awkwardly in her right hand. In her left hand she held a hammer. It took half a heartbeat for Harric to register the wild intensity to her expression, and another to realize she'd laid the back of her right hand on the work table, palm-up, fingers converging on the chisel to balance it vertically on the base of one finger.

He didn't need to guess it rested on her ring finger.

Harric lunged to her side and grabbed away the chisel. "What the Black Moon are you doing?"

"Dammit, Harric!" She tore the tool from his grasp and held it out of reach as he grappled with her armored limb. Snarling, she shoved him back and slapped her hand back on the table.

Harric bounced back and dove for the only thing he could reach in time, her hammer arm.

"Please, Caris!"

Furious, she jerked her arm away and thrust the hammer and chisel into his hands. "You do it, then." Laying her finger on the table, she waited, chest heaving, eyes burning holes into Harric.

Harric dropped the chisel as if it were a viper, and when she stooped to retrieve it he kicked it away. "Moons take it, Caris. Stop it. You can't do that to yourself."

A rough sob escaped her. Eyes brimming, she seized the front of his shirt. Half carrying him, half spinning him as if leading in a dance, she bore him to rear of an empty stall and pinned him against the planks. Splinters of the rough-hewn wood jabbed through his shirt into the skin of his back. Tears wet her cheeks. Through clenched teeth, she said, "I—cannot—live—with this ring."

Harric's throat grew tight as tears burned his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Caris," he said. "I hate that ring. I hate the way it hurts you. I hate that it was my hand that gave it to you. I wish every day it were on my finger." He scanned her face and found only pain and shame there. "I can't know what it must feel like, but I hate that you have to feel it, and I wish I could do something about it."

"I'll tell you how it feels, Harric. It makes me think of you all the time. I can't stop it. Like a stupid song stuck in my head. And it hurts." She pounded her breastplate as if she could dampen the pain behind it. "I want to chop my heart out, too."

She turned to leave him, but he scuttled around her to block her path. Judging by the determination in her eye, she was going for the chisel again.

"Just wait," he said, heart and mind racing. "You don't even know if it would work to cut it off. Brolli said it could really hurt you if it is forced off somehow. It's magic. He said it is enchanted to stay on. And even if you cut your whole finger off—or cut the ring itself in two—its enchantments are entwined in your mind and your heart. Tearing them out could hurt you in ways you can't even see—not to mention maim your sword hand."

Caris groaned, and hung her head. Some of the tension drained from her shoulders. She extended one hand to the side to steady herself against a plank partition between stalls.

"Please," said Harric. "The first thing we'll do when we get to Brolli's people is go to the magicians who made it; they'll know how to do it safely."

Raising both hands to cover her ears, she squeezed her eyes closed and sank to her knees, the leather harness of her armor creaking.

Harric took a step back. He didn't expect her to fall into one of her horse-touched fits right here, not with her horse so near, but he wanted to give her space. He knew she was probably reaching out to Rag with her horse-touched senses and drawing on that kinship to steady herself.