Soul Collector Read Online Rebecca Rennick

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)

Only the rarest of daughters born with hair of fire are destined to be marked as Soul Collectors. Chosen by Alamir, the God of death and the afterlife, they are feared and loathed. Forcing them to travel in their customary wooden wagons across the land, all so that they may collect the souls that call them. Few know their origins, and fewer still care to. The people may pray to the gods, but their servants are less than appreciated.
One such collector Sorrel embraces her destiny and duty. Enduring a lifetime of derision and solitude, she believes the ability to help a soul pass on in peace to be a gift. Something beautiful to be celebrated. Yet not all appreciate her efforts or believe her to be doing the good she speaks.
When an unexpected interaction with a soul leaves her questioning everything she has ever known, Sorrel must choose between her God’s demands and the demands of her heart. To follow her god given duty or follow the oddly alluring man who offers her that which she has desired her whole life. Unsure which choice is the right one, she must have faith in herself to succeed.




One strong breeze and I would easily fall over the edge of the cliff I stand upon. But I couldn’t stop myself. It has been a year since I last saw the sea. A year since I smelled the salt on the wind and felt the draw of the open waters. Life at sea is only a dream. A life longed for but as far beyond reach as the horizon beyond the sparkling blue water.

That doesn’t keep my heart from longing for it all the same.

I stand for a long while, letting the wind whip through my ruby hair, and the resonating heat from the setting sun warms my skin. Summer is ending and bleeding slowly into autumn. Within a few months’ time, I will be back home for the winter. Although the thought of home warms my heart, I long for more warm days. I spend more than my fair share of time alone, and winter only adds to it.

No matter how long I wish to stand here and watch the waters of the Cerulean Sea, the sun is almost gone behind me. Hiding behind the land in the far west. I’ve never been to those lands. Probably never will be. One more stone on the pile, slowly stacking one by one on top of my grave. Another regret, another dream unfulfilled.

Turning, I leave the sight of the only thing other than souls that calls to me, returning to Pearldrift, the first town on the coast I meet before heading north. Named such for its vibrant pearl industry. The sands and beaches below the cliff are rich in oysters, producing most of the pearls in circulation. Sent to all the jewelers and wealthy towns throughout the entire country.

The town is only a mile from the shore, close enough for daily trips but far enough to avoid too much wind and storms when the sea decides to act up. The walk takes very little time to trek. I’m used to walking. Others pass on their horses or small carts pulling their equipment and haul for the day. Most have already returned. Leaving only those needing that one last pearl, waiting until all light has vanished from the sky before venturing home.

I’ve been in town since this morning, so most are already aware of my presence. Still, it doesn’t lessen the effect I have on people. Knowing I’m here or not, they still do not care for me. Most avoid eye contact. Others leer with undisguised disdain. There are few that do not fear or loath me. There is not much I can do to change their minds. I ignore them and focus my attention somewhere down the street. Meeting no one’s stare, searching for the small side street I seek.

Hamish’s shop lies farther into town. He is the only shopkeep here that allows me to purchase from his shop without prejudice. A large man in his forties, I met him almost three years ago when I first came to Pearldrift. Nicer than any other shopkeeper in town, he took pity on my fifteen-year-old self and allowed me to buy bread and books from him. Since then, I don’t even bother with other establishments to buy my wares. They either overcharge or outright refuse service anyway. Nothing new.

Walking through the town’s streets, I try to keep to the edge. I have learned that walking in the middle of the lane causes more disturbance than anything else. So, I keep to the edge skirting around people and keeping one side firmly to the wall of the buildings and shops lining the streets.

Usually, the dirt and shell-lined roads stir plumes of white shell dust in the wake of carts and horses, but the first rain of fall has dampened the ground. Flattening it into a solid form. Not quite yet mud but not dry either. It’s in the in-between stage of solidity. A thick slime of crushed shells and softening earth.