Chapter 8

Ishaan’s head was spinning with all of the information that had been thrown at him for the last, however long it had been. They three of them had asked questions until they were all blue in the face and none of the Body had been less than forthcoming about the answers. They hadn’t come from a technologically advanced planet; they were magical in nature and there were no weapons onboard the vessel that they referred to as the house. They weren’t combatants, they were a lost, failing civilization that was in desperate search for a new home before they died in space.

Through the entire recitation, the Soul had sat there in her chair at the center with that serene unbroken smile on her face. He could practically smell the desperation on the others so what made the Soul so serene? He vowed to find out and when the meeting finally broke up, they were ushered to a different area of the house and served a sumptuous meal. One that they were all anxious about trying to eat.

“Be at ease, we have prepared it with an eye to ingredients of your home. There should be nothing harmful to you.” The Soul started eating, as did the rest of the Body. Clearly demonstrating that they meant no harm.

Damien took a single spoonful of the creamy soup and signaled to the rest of them that it was delicious. Ishaan was next into the breach. It was a cold soup, which he hadn’t been expecting. It tasted almost exactly like a creamier borsht and it was utterly delicious. He lost track of the courses but by the time that they were stuffed there was a sweet course served and the remainder of the Body left leaving only the three humans and the Soul.

Ishaan hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her all night. She’d been carefully serene and blank, like it was her job to be those things. He’d found himself wondering what it took to crack that careful exterior, what she was like beneath it, and what her name was. She’d only been referred to as ‘My Soul’ all night, but that couldn’t be her name. He’d ask her if he ever got her alone, maybe she’d tell him.

After dinner, they were asked if they wanted to leave or if they desired a room for the night. As one, they all agreed to stay, and the Soul nodded before walking ahead of them through the halls and showing them to three adjacent chambers. “Rest well, the rooms are interconnected by mirrors so that you need not leave if you wish to speak to each other.

Ishaan laid a hand on the handle to the door and watched her walk away, noting the carefully laid cloak of what looked like feathers across her back. They were hard to see around the guards who had skin-like cloaks draped over their backs. He was curious, more than curious. Curious enough that he had trouble sleeping. He waited for a while, it might have been an hour or so before he got up and tried the door to his chamber. It was as unlocked and unguarded as he’d thought. The Soul had trusted them, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

It was certainly dangerous.

As he stepped into the hall the first thing, he heard was a soft song in that gentle rolling tongue that the Flight spoke in when there was no translating spell in the way. It was a beautiful song, echoing into the air, seemingly coming from the walls. The notes rose and fell and suddenly he felt calm and slack, incapable of much thought or action. That immediately put him on his guard as more individuals appeared from the doors that lined the corridor. They moved trance-like, all of them in the same direction, all of them with the same hungry look in their eye, and all of them had those strange cloaks on their backs.

Ishaan followed them; he was seemingly unnoticed in the wake of the people of the Flight. They were all too focused on the song and their destination. It was probably an idiot move to follow them, he should probably return to his chamber and wait until dawn. That was what Damien would do and say and would probably drag him back by his hair and sit on him for being an idiot. But Damien wasn’t here, and Ishaan was beyond curious at the avarice and hunger in the Flight’s eyes.

He followed in their wake, down and down a wide, spiraling stair and into the guts of the house. The room beneath was enormous, it could hold many times the number of the assembly that was gathering. The cavernous room smelled dry, almost arid and it was lit by gold-blue crystals that formed a massive cluster at the top center of the space. He should leave, whatever was going to happen wasn’t for him. The song was magnetic, it drew him into the room until he stood amid the Flight and could see the source of the song that drew him.

The Soul was standing in the middle of the floor and the song was coming from her. Gently rolling notes spilling from her like water as the Flight settled on the benches that ringed the floor in rising rows, like an amphitheater. He huddled towards the back, resisting the song that was trying to draw him in, to draw him closer. The song rose on one final note, too high and long to have come from a human throat. When the note died, it seemed like the Flight woke up and looked around before looking down at the slim figure in the center of the room.