Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) (22 page)

Caina told herself that, several times.

With those troubling thoughts, she lay down upon her bunk and drifted to sleep.

###

And in her sleep, she dreamed. 

Again she stood in the Desert of Candles, the cold wind moaning around her, her skirts rippling around her legs. The dry white fountain stood before her, the crystalline statue of the beautiful woman and her children standing upon the central plinth. Caina now knew that the statues were Nasser’s wife and children, that he had seen his family die in front of him. He had watched his family die in front of him, and yet he had continued on, for centuries. 

Caina had seen her father die in front of her, had seen Halfdan and Corvalis die. 

But if Sulaman was correct, she would not have to continue on much longer. There was a peculiar sort of relief to it. Yet the thought of her friends and allies brought sadness. She would have to leave them behind, leave the work unfinished. 

She thought of Kylon and the sadness sharpened into pain. 

“So your end is coming, my darling demonslayer?”

Caina turned as Samnirdamnus, djinni of the Azure Court and Knight of Wind and Air, approached her.

He had appeared to her in many forms, sometimes as Kylon, sometimes as Corvalis, sometimes as the Emperor Alexius Naerius or others. Today, for some reason, he wore the form of Halfdan, a man with iron-gray hair and the build of a manual laborer, clad in the furred robe of a merchant. His eyes burned with the smokeless flame of the djinn. 

Caina stared at him for a moment. 

“My end?” said Caina. “Then you see my death as well?”

“The poet warned you,” said Samnirdamnus. He stopped a few places away, the smokeless flame throwing stark shadows across the hard lines of Halfdan’s face. “He foresaw your death.”

“He did,” said Caina. “Was he correct?”

“He spoke the truth of his vision,” said Samnirdamnus. “Should you continue to the Staff and Seal of Iramis, should you lay hands upon them, you will surely die.” 

“I know,” said Caina. “But what happens if I turn back?” 

“You will die as well,” said Samnirdamnus, “when Callatas triumphs, for if you turn back, he shall achieve his victory.” 

“Fine, then,” said Caina. “I die either way. So I might as well die in the way that stops Callatas and prevents the Apotheosis.”

“Yes,” murmured Samnirdamnus, “I thought you would say that. You are the demonslayer, the Balarigar, and it is not in your nature to turn aside. Even if the path leads you to destruction. Not when it can save others who shall have what you never will.”

Caina said nothing, looking at the ghostly blue gloom of the Desert. 

“Will it?” said Caina. “Can I save them if I do this?”

“Their future is uncertain,” said Samnirdamnus. “But that is better than the certainty that awaits the world if Callatas prevails.”

His form shivered and blurred, and became Kylon. Caina’s heart caught in her throat. He looked the way Kylon had on the day she had met him in Marsis, strong and proud in his gray leather armor, the sea-colored cloak blowing from his shoulders, a sword of storm-forged steel resting upon his hip. 

“Kylon,” said Caina. “If I do this…his future is uncertain as well?”

“This is so,” said Samnirdamnus. 

Caina nodded, blinked, and looked away. “Good. That is…good.” 

“You love him,” said Samnirdamnus. 

Caina closed her eyes. “Yes.” 

“So you can admit it to yourself, if to no one else.”

Caina opened one eye. “I admitted it to you. Does that not count? Of course, you’re in my head, so I assume you know everything that I know. Do you even understand what it means to love someone?”

For a long moment Samnirdamnus said nothing, the cold wind stirring Kylon’s cloak. 

“No,” said the djinni at last. “I do not.”

“Why not?” said Caina. 

“Love is not required of the djinn of the Azure Court,” said Samnirdamnus. “It is an alien thing to us, just as the material world is alien to us. We have duty. We have obligation. We have our tasks laid upon us. That is sufficient. What use do we have for love? That is the province of mortals.” 

“You told me,” said Caina, “that you had been looking for me. Or for someone like me. Were you looking for someone who could find the Staff and the Seal?”

“No,” said Samnirdamnus. “I thought you might have been the one I sought, the one who would be the key…”

“What key?” said Caina. 

The djinni smirked. “The star is the key to the crystal.”

“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “If I’m about to die, you could at least tell me what that stupid prophecy means.”

“I thought you were the one I sought,” said Samnirdamnus, “but if you die, then it seems that I was wrong.” 

They stood in silence for a moment. 

“All right,” said Caina. “I’m not the one you were looking for. I’m going to die. Since it seems we are about to have a parting of the ways, can you tell me nothing useful?” 

“You are going,” said Samnirdamnus, “to the place where it began.”

Caina gestured at the fountain. “I thought this was where it began, the day that Iramis burned.”

“This was the end of the beginning,” said Samnirdamnus. “This was when Callatas locked himself onto his path, a path that ends with the Apotheosis. But his path did not begin when Iramis burned.”

“Where did it begin, then?” said Caina. “In the Tomb of Kharnaces?”

“No,” said Samnirdamnus. “Callatas’s path began in Iramis itself. The Tomb of Kharnaces, though, was where he learned of his path. Where he learned the secrets of the nagataaru.” 

“He learned them from Kharnaces?” said Caina. “Then Kharnaces truly is still…alive?” 

“In a certain sense,” said Samnirdamnus. “Great Necromancers can exist for a long time, even from the perspective of spirits. Of course, you already know this.”

“I do,” said Caina, thinking of Rhames and the Moroaica. “If Callatas first learned of the nagataaru in the Tomb, what can you tell me about Kharnaces?” 

“The Maatish considered him a heretic, for he forsook the gods of Maat to offer prayers to the nagataaru,” said Samnirdamnus. “Yet he was more than that, far more. He was a genius, possessed of great skill and vision. He was also completely and utterly insane.” 

“That’s not a good combination,” said Caina. 

“Indeed not,” said Samnirdamnus. “The Maatish certainly thought not, which was why they exiled him to Pyramid Isle before the Herald of Ruin destroyed the Kingdom of the Rising Sun. In time, Kharnaces learned to reach beyond his imprisonment, and the loremasters of Iramis fought him, binding him further within his Tomb.”

“So why did Callatas go there?” said Caina. 

“I do not know,” said Samnirdamnus. “Something happened to him in Iramis, something that made him seek secrets of terrible power. So he went to the Tomb of Kharnaces, and spent some years there, doing I know not what. When he returned, he stole the Star of Iramis and demanded the Staff of Iramis and the Seal of Iramis, and you know what happened after that.” 

“Is Kharnaces still hibernating?” said Caina.

“I do not know,” said Samnirdamnus.

“You don’t?” said Caina. “Why not? You can see almost anywhere.”

“I cannot see inside his Tomb,” said Samnirdamnus, “for the wards surrounding his Tomb are far too powerful. Beware, my darling demonslayer.”

“Of something specific?” said Caina. “Or simply everything?”

“Of destiny,” said Samnirdamnus. “For if you continue upon your path, your death awaits you…but a Great Necromancer is powerful enough to warp fate.”

Caina frowned. “Warp fate?”

“There are two potential fates before you,” said Samnirdamnus. “Your death, or the victory of Callatas in his Apotheosis. Yet Kharnaces is powerful enough to rework destiny into a third image.”

“What fate is that?” said Caina.

“The darkness in the Tomb of Kharnaces,” said Samnirdamnus, “devours all other possible fates.”

The dream ended, but Caina had a hard time sleeping after that.

###

“I hate to point out the obvious,” said Morgant, “but it’s possible that we overlooked something of importance.” 

“Oh?” said Kylon. “Just what is that?”

He stood with Caina and Morgant and the others on the
Sandstorm’s
forecastle, near the ballistae on the bow. Kylon and the others spent most of their time near the ballistae. Murat’s crew was a gang of cutthroats and murderers, but Murat’s iron fist kept them in line. Yet there was no reason to aggravate the crew, and more than one of them had cast covetous glances towards Annarah. Kylon was certain Annarah could defuse any situation without violence, but Morgant would deal with it by killing anyone who hassled Annarah, and that would lead to an open battle with the crew. 

Best to avoid the problem entirely, so they spent a lot of time on the forecastle. Nasser stood in the center, calm as ever, Laertes at his side. Annarah stood at the railing, watching the sea with what seemed like genuine pleasure. Morgant hovered at her side like a shadow. 

Caina stood alone a few yards away, leaning against the railing as she stared at the sea, her face blank and her eyes distant, her emotional sense clouded and dark. 

“Well, if we are successful,” said Morgant. “If we retrieve the relics…what the hell are we going to do with them? I assume they’re too powerful to be destroyed. Any hiding place we find won’t be as secure as the one on Pyramid Isle.” 

“That is an excellent point,” said Annarah. “I fear we may retrieve the relics only to hand them over to Callatas.”

Caina straightened up from the railing and turned. “I have an idea about that.”

“Oh? Do elaborate, Master Ciaran,” said Morgant.

“Catekharon,” said Caina and Kylon in unison.

Morgant’s lip twitched in amusement, just a little. 

“What about Catekharon?” said Nasser. “The city has an evil reputation.”

“One that is not entirely deserved, my lord,” said Annarah. “The Masked Sages of Catekharon wield great power, but they absent themselves from the affairs of the world and devote themselves to study. They could use their power for good, true, but at least they have the restraint not to use their power to conquer.”

“I have friends among the Sages of the Scholae,” said Caina. “Well. Not friends, exactly, but people who owe me their lives.”

“More reliable than a friend,” said Laertes. 

“Once we find the relics,” said Caina, “we can take them to Catekharon and secure them within the Tower of Study. I have never encountered stronger warding spells in my life.”

“Nor have I,” said Kylon, remembering. 

“Once the regalia is inside the Tower of Study, the relics will be safe,” said Caina. “The Sages would not give them to Callatas, and even Callatas could not force his way past their defenses.” 

“A solid plan,” said Nasser. “Barring better alternatives, I believe that is how we should proceed once we return.” 

“You two,” said Morgant, his pointing finger twitching back and forth between Kylon and Caina. “You were in Catekharon at the same time? That’s halfway around the world, all the way on the other side of Anshan.” 

“It was a long time ago,” said Caina. Actually, it hadn’t been very long ago, but Kylon understood. The last few years had felt like an eternity. 

“I see,” said Nasser. “It must have been…four years ago, when the Scholae claimed to possess a weapon that would end warfare forever.”

“They didn’t,” said Caina. “It was a…monstrous thing, powered by the souls of murdered victims. I was there as part of the Ghosts. Kylon was there as a representative of the Assembly. We managed to stop what was happening before it got worse.”

“Indeed?” said Nasser. “I suspected that you two had known each other before coming to Istarinmul, but I had no idea you had worked together. Perhaps I should not have been surprised. The Craven’s Tower, the Inferno…you two make a remarkably effective team.”

Caina snorted. “Given how often we almost died during those misadventures, I wouldn’t say that.” 

“You fight well together,” said Laertes. “When I was in the Legion the tribunes of the first cohort and the second cohort often worked together. Individually, they were capable. Together, though, they had bursts of brilliance.”

Caina looked at Kylon, another flare of intense emotion going through her aura, though it did not show on her face.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I suppose we are, at that.” She turned back to the others. “I’m going to lie down for a while. I fear the sea does not agree with me.”

She left before anyone could answer, vanishing below deck once more.

“Seasick,” said Laertes. “Didn’t want anyone to see him throw up all over his boots. A competent man, our Master Ciaran, but too proud for his own good.” 

“It just as well,” said Nasser. “Murat would charge us more if we vomited upon his deck. Come. It’s time we checked in with our valiant captain.” 

He left the forecastle and headed for the stern with Laertes, leaving Kylon alone with Morgant and Annarah. Kylon rolled his shoulders and stretched. He decided to go to the empty hold, to practice his sword forms and take his mind off…well, everything.

“Lord Kylon,” said Annarah as he turned to go.

He looked at the loremaster. She had tied back her silver hair, and it blew behind her in a flickering banner. Her green eyes and silver hair, stark against her dark skin, gave her a strange, ethereal sort of beauty.

“Yes?” said Kylon.

“Might I ask you a direct question?” said Annarah.

Behind her Morgant rolled his eyes. 

“Of course,” said Kylon.

“You were once married,” said Annarah. 

“I was,” said Kylon. “I assume you know what happened. Morgant must have mentioned it.”

“I am sorry,” said Annarah. “I knew the Red Huntress, long ago, before she was called that. She was once a slave in Callatas’s household.”

Kylon frowned. “Truly? I did not know that. Did he…make her into what she is now?”

“He did,” said Annarah, “but she was hardly an innocent when he found her. After Callatas left Iramis and forsook the Words of Lore, he went to Istarinmul and became an Alchemist. There he purchased a palace and acquired slaves to manage it, perhaps as a testament that he had left Iramisian ways behind, for slavery was forbidden in Iramis. The Huntress was a slave in his household, a cook, I believe. She became the chief of Callatas’s household by murdering her rivals, sometimes with her own hands, sometimes with poison or help hired through stolen gold or her own body. When Callatas returned from the Tomb of Kharnaces, she was one of his first experiments with summoning a nagataaru into a living host…and the vile creature known as the Red Huntress was created. She does not control her nagataaru, but neither does the nagataaru control her, and together they have carved a swath of murder across the decades.”