The Eve of Wandering Souls

The market was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the holiday rush in full swing before every stall closed and transportation shutdown for the next daily cycle. It was the Eve of Wandering Souls, after all, the most sacred day of the Ashentide. Karst picked her way through the crowd, head down, watching the mass of feet moving about her. Her pack had enough groceries to last until the end of the week, and a new power supply for the old data pad. It was amazing what you could find on Murgeth Prime; the old pirate stronghold had become a legitimate - if unregulated - trade hub, a stunning variety of goods available from every corner of the galaxy. Even battery packs for fifty-year old data pads. She was grateful to the odd Automata in the market who had just what she needed – what was his name, T’laan, ‘Harbinger of the Something-something?’ – even if he was creepy.
She exited through the market gates, leaving the throngs of shoppers behind. The main boulevard was still wildly full, but there were at least enough gaps to make walking less of a competition for space. The hostel was a short distance away, set back off the street just enough to deaden a bit of the noise.
The local Ashentide customs had caught her off-guard. In the camps, the legends around the Eve of Wandering Souls were benign; place the photo of your loved-one on the shrine, light a chamass to light the way home, leave a simple gift, stay in your house for a cycle to receive the blessing. Easy, peaceful, nice. She wasn’t sure how well the last part worked, what with her entire people forced to live as refugees under the subjugation of tyrants, but… it was tradition.
The locals though! Here, the Wandering Souls of legend were far from friendly. The stories spoke of vengeful beings, demons and ghouls looking for anyone caught out, ready to enact terrible horrors for the crime of simply being outside. It wasn’t so much wandering souls as it was violent souls.
As a result, everything closed. Shops shut, families barred their doors, freighters and passenger liners pulled in and halted - nothing moves.
Karst guessed it was mostly an excuse to take a day off. It was good enough for her. A break was just what she needed.
The days since fleeing the camp had been a whirlwind. After her confrontation with the Sentinel drone, she had snuck out an old drainage tunnel, one of the few reliable routes in and out that the guards didn’t control. They thought it was blockaded, but the local militias had cleared it over and over again. It was a treacherous path; aside from toxic water and rotting garbage, travelers exited out into utter desolation, a great sandy expanse of blistering-hot nothing. Getting to another settlement was nearly impossible, and the city was usually so well guarded that reentry would certainly result in capture.
Good thing for her, a war had broken out. Horrible for everyone else, but it meant all the soldiers usually staffing the checkpoints were otherwise occupied and reassigned. She had waltzed right in.
Karst had not left the city with much. After passing off the keys to her place to Gomez - she figured the contents should be enough to clear the minimal debts she had - she grabbed a handful of key items and ran. She had a not-inconsiderable amount of cash in various currencies, a skimmer and her tool kit, her data cuff, blank ID’s and a splicer, a handful of tactical sponges wrapped in a towel, a toothbrush, and her favorite jacket. The items from her grandparents went into her backpack, the old data pad and holo frame sitting on top of the jumble.
And, of course, she had the pistols.
She had not used them since obliterating the Sentinel in the alley. They scared her - she had not expected them to work for her, and her alone - let alone to utterly annihilate the drone where it stood. Sure, she had taken them out of their case, studying the inlaid tooth and the immaculate blade edge, had felt the heat radiate through the grip under her hand… but fire them? Unleashing their power again was a terrifying prospect.
Getting the Roses off-world had been trouble enough. With anyone who could flee the fighting rushing to a transport, options were limited. Being wanted by the government made it worse, and there are only so many ships that will take you aboard without showing ID, let alone scanning your luggage. Luckily, more than a few captains have cash flow problems and even worse spending habits, so paying a little more for no-questions asked is doable. The ship she found was headed here, to Murgeth Prime, an excellent destination to disappear into.
A neighbor smiled at her as she stepped into the lobby, and she answered back with a closed-mouth grin. He reminded her of someone she used to work with, a jovial guy who built data miners for some of the local outfits. They used to stop off for ales sometimes.
He got shot up by some punks trying to corner the market, figuring they could take out the competition at the source. It was the type of thing that happened more often than she could count. And for nothing, in the end: the gangs just found someone else to assemble their gear, and life, as miserable as it was, went on.
The solitude since arriving three weeks ago had been jarring. She had always lived in tight quarters: transport ships, the hovels in the camp, a crowded apartment in the city. This place, her place was small, but it was hers. No one had entered it but herself since her landlord handed her the passcode.
The room was sparse, little more than a sleeping pad, some cabinets, and a kitchenette that included a hot plate and sink - and that was about it. No matter: it didn’t leak when it rained, and the door was sturdy. It was better than a lot of places she had called home.
Except for a small parcel, the groceries were put away, and she settled on the mat with the old data pad and the new power supply. A fine way to kill the hours, rebuilding her grandfather’s equipment.
As time ticked by, the sounds of the city faded away, replaced with the bumps and muted mumbling of her neighbors. One by one, their deadbolts clanked shut, locked away from the speculative spirits said to haunt this cycle.
Karst tinkered with the wiring after giving the case a good scrubbing. The screen seemed to be in decent shape, other than a ding in the lower right corner. She marveled at the name tape still affixed to the back: ‘SSGT. RAPHAEL SORENSEN.’
She slipped in the new fuel cell a few minutes from midnight, the terminals making a satisfying ker-chunk. She held down the power button, breath held in anticipation.
The screen was black.
The screen was black.
The screen was…
Lit! A chime played, a little startup tune sounding a greeting as the device booted. ‘Turns out I’m good at resurrecting ancient technology,’ she thought with a chuckle.
It didn’t appear that any data was corrupted. Tapping through the various sub menus, it looked like everything was still there. It was a treasure trove of information: maps, correspondence, copies of ID’s, financial records, holos (charmingly called “videos,” how quant), military textbooks, research notes… an overwhelming amount of data from the early days of Grandfather’s career. If there were clues to the origins of the Roses, to their powers, this was a good place to start, even if the sheer volume of information was daunting.
She flipped through the images tab. Tens of thousands of pictures were stored on board, stretching across two decades and dozens of worlds. Karst had no idea where to start.
She yawned. It was late. Everyone else had hushed up and gone to bed, cowering under their covers away from lurking ghosts. The stillness was enough to spook even her.
After a moment of searching, she spied an image of her grandparents, newly married, smiling for the camera atop some mountain or other. Lifetimes ago; not easy times, but better times. It was sweet.
She left the image open, and placed it on a cabinet, next to the holo frame already displaying a picture of her parents. Grabbing a torch, she lit the chamass candle, placing it aside the photos. Her own little Eve shrine, just like old times.
The candle would burn until morning, and would be relit at sundown tomorrow night, as had been done for centuries. It was a comforting ritual amidst the madness.
Karst settled onto the sleeping pad, and closed her eyes. She was grateful for tomorrow’s forced solitude, but knew it would pass all too quickly. Best to make the most of it.
Tonight, she could rest easy.

***

The room was unnaturally bright. And sweltering. She opened her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
The room was engulfed in flame, black smoke rolling across the ceiling. Every surface was ablaze, save the small patch near her bedding. The window shutters glowed white hot, impossible to pry open. The room was an inferno.
Karst stumbled toward the door, arms raised to protect against the flames, eyes squinting against the radiant heat and acrid smoke. She couldn’t reach it; too hot, jets of fire coiling up from underneath. She spun in place, looking for a way out.
No exits. The ceiling sagged, snapping and crackling as the joists were eaten away. She hunched over, trying to keep the smoke out of her eyes, to keep her mind clear.
Nothing. This was it. She turned to the chamass. Had she kicked it over? Did it burn down prematurely? It didn’t matter really, but it would be nice to know why she was going to die.
But the candle was still there on the makeshift altar, alongside the images from earlier that night, screens awash with colors amidst the horrid orange hue of the room.
And there was her grandfather.
He looked… not how she saw him the last time. Like she remembered him, from childhood, from better days. Stronger, vibrant. The smile on his face was as loving as ever, but tinged with that secret sadness he kept inside. The fire, the heat, the smoke, he didn’t seem to even notice.
She wondered if she was already dead.
“Hello, my dearest Karst,” he calmly spoke, a soothing voice amidst the chaos. “Bit of a situation to be in, isn’t it?”
She could scarcely believe what was happening. “I… how?” She coughed, hard, repeatedly, and tried to wave him off. “We have to get out of here!” She could barely see, embers and ash pouring into her eyes, great sooty tears leaving streaks down her face.
Grandfather gazed about the room, taking in the conflagration threatening to consume them all. “This? This is nothing.” He looked her steady in the eyes. “This is a baptismal fire. The start of something, not the end.”
She coughed loudly again, smoke stinging her lungs. The paint on the walls blackened, blistered, and peeled. She had never really contemplated what the end would feel like, but she hadn’t expected there to be hallucinations.
“I’m - COUGH - sorry. COUGH COUGH.” She fell to her knees, the floorboards knocked loose by the impact. “I tried - COUGH COUGH - tried to be better.”
Grandfather leaned down, and placed a firm hand on her cheek. He smiled again, but tears welled in his eyes.
“Oh, my dear, I know.” He brushed the hair off her face. “You’ve only just begun, and you will work wonders. Besides, there’s no need to fear the flames.” He grabbed her hand, and opened her palm. “They bow to your will.”
He slipped a Rose into her grip, the silvery metal smooth against her skin. She closed her fist, then her eyes.
She heard Grandfather’s voice one last time. “Thank you for remembering the altar. It was so nice to see you one more time.”
She collapsed to the floor.
“I love you, granddaughter.”

***

When she awoke, day had broken. Mid-day, in fact. She could hear her neighbors again; still shut in their dwellings, but willing to risk more noise and activity while it was light out.
The apartment was just as it had been last night when she went to bed. Nothing was burned. There was no smoke in the air. The candle softly glowed. Everything was exactly normal.
Except the data pad.
The image had changed. A new one was displayed, a particular one from amidst the thousands she would have had to sort through.
Through bleary eyes she examined it. It was of a table, covered in a map, and an odd artifact - one decorated with familiar runes. The map was a star map, and a certain system was circled. It was difficult to make out on the pixelated image, but amidst the DTG coordinates was a note:
“TYREZST. HOME.”
She said a silent ‘thank you.’
The rest of the day and into the late evening were spent researching, making plans, setting arrangements. It would be a long journey, and there was still a lot to figure out.
But it would start here, with a trip to a world her grandfather had been to before, one with a connection to her ancient ancestor. To where, she hoped, she could come to understand this “greater power” Grandfather had once spoken of. And, perhaps, find the source of Soren’s Roses.
***
The next morning, the streets were full again. Revelers had been out since just after midnight, enjoying another year of safety from cruel demons and malevolent ghosts. They danced, and laughed, and ate, and sang, and were thankful for another year of life, another reprieve from the other side. The long Eve had ended, and joy was in the air.
Karst walked among them, all her belongings in her pack, and basked in the joy around her. It was a good day, a new beginning, the end of the Ashentide season. Even though the long, cold Frostfall Eclipse would begin for so many, the mood was festive. The winter to come might be difficult, but for now it was time to celebrate.
She took a deep breath of the cool Autumn air, and smiled.

***

Karst and the Roses of Soren journeyed across the city, and the Huntsman followed…


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