Page 3 of To Trap a Soul

Just as he considered it, his bodiless spirit felt a tingle.

Weldir drew back and let himself fall through the crystal waters of his layered self to go back to the chamber of his mind. Although he was further from his stomach, the wails of scared souls could still be heard as if they did so right in his non-existent ear.

He ignored them as best as he could as he opened up his viewing eye – a disc that let him see onto Earth. The magic was murky, proving just how little power he currently had. It was enough for him to see along the border of his mist – a black cloud that floated on the edge of a narrow Demon-made crevasse. His mana was too overtaxed to shroud the land below, so the most he could do was circle the cliff edge of the gap in the earth that would continue to grow wider little by little each day, forcing his reach wide as well.

So far, the lengthy canyon only struck through the middle of this large land mass – the name of it he didn’t know. Soon enough, it would grow to be a formidable size. He worried it would consume all the world if it wasn’t stopped.

But that wasn’t why he was here. The disturbance he felt wasn’t due to the rare Demons that continued to come through a portal situated in the middle of the canyon’s base. His interest was on...humans.And he knew only two types of humans came to the edge of the Veil.

Those dumb enough to stare into the abyss in curiosity, and those cruel enough to think of other stupider means.

It’s another sacrifice,Weldir thought, as he watched five men drag a woman to the edge of a deathly cliff-fall.

The men wore leather armour, and Weldir didn’t understand enough about humans to know if they were truly soldiers of some great land, or just people who had bought their garments for self-protection. They appeared dirty, each in different stages of beard growth, and the quality of their clothing differed.

The woman they dragged through his mist was tall, and her lithe legs stumbled over themselves in tiredness. The skirts of her pale-yellow dress were caked in dirt, while leaves and twigs were tangled in her long locks of wavy blonde hair framing bright-blue eyes. The bruises, scrapes, and gauntness of dehydration were noticeable on her fair skin and cracked lips.

She looked so worn from her adventure that she didn’t even put up a fight. Bleak, tired eyes suggested perhaps she’d already accepted her fate.

I could save her.

Unfortunately, the men appeared spooked from a twig snapping nearby and shuffled towards the edge of the cliff. Then they carelessly tossed her poor body forward. Her skirts caught and flapped in the wind as she fell a kilometre to her death. She was too winded and afraid to scream, and the sounds of the men’s frantic chanting overshadowed any other noise from her.

They usually prayed to whatever cruel deity would even ask of thisbeforethey launched their offering off the edge. But they were quick to run, as if they knew lingering meant certain death.

Weldir tsked.Not enough time.

But the impact did mean her soul was untainted by the decay of Demons who would come to eventually eat her corpse.

When he moved his mist to collect it, he brought it straight to his side, and it gave him a little more strength than usual when he opened his mouth and chose to consume it. All the others waiting for him... they were too rotten for him to want to try.

What a waste of cherished life.

He found this behaviour, this insanity of sacrificing innocent women to the canyon, vulgar and brutish. It also only strengthened the very monsters they were trying to rid themselves of, making their situation worse.

Perhaps next time, then.

Maybe the conversation would also go better than the last time he tried to speak to a sacrifice. One who had been stabbed and left at the edge to die of her wound.

Before long, he groaned when a new scream was added to the crescendo already singing for him. Her voice was even more ear-piercing than the others.

Fresher. More pained.

More startled.

Once more, the claws of his essence ripped into himself...

April 24th, 1683

Between her feet, potato and carrot skins fell into a shallow wooden bucket. Two sets of hands belonging to two different people skilfully worked their blades, both ensuring they didn’t cut into the meat of their paler palms.

Comfortable silence had long fallen between them as they watched the afternoon sun descend towards the horizon. Minimal dust glittered through the beams of golden sunlight shining into their neat and tidy home, letting the afternoon feel tranquil. It would be many hours before night truly began to fall, and the mesmerising hues of dusk still had yet to paint the sky.

There was little reason to fear, especially as the house she sat in was well secure and warm. It was simple in nature, although rather generous in size for a farmhouse. Its wooden walls and tall ceilings had been built by her grandfather, and so far, it had stood the test of time with very few leaks and flooding.

Then again, he’d been an intuitive, hardworking man.

She sat in the kitchen, staring out the window, with the dining table next to her and a counter right before her. Thekitchen hearth was deeper into the nook, ensuring it was safely away from anything flammable. She was unable to see beyond a hallway that had a sharp right angle to it that lead further into the house, especially with someone in the way.

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