Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes (22 page)

“Ah,” said the Keeper, stepping back and nodding to herself. “I see. Yes. I know the question you must answer.” 

“Then ask,” said Caina, her throat dry. 

“You are a nightfighter of the Ghosts,” said the Keeper, “and your actions have saved millions of lives. You do not like to think about it, and prefer to pass the credit for your victories on to others, or to mere chance. Yet if not for you, Caina Amalas, Malarae would have been destroyed, Rasadda would have burned, Cyrica Urbana would have sunk into the ocean, and Mihaela of Catekharon would have unleashed a war to drown the mortal world in blood. All those lives, saved because of your actions.”

“It was chance,” said Caina. “Had I been slower, or my enemies faster…”

“That was not my question,” said the Keeper. “You are the Balarigar, the demonslayer, whether you wish it or not. But still that is not my question. You are a Ghost nightfighter, the Balarigar, the savior of millions…and you love a man. Corvalis Aberon, the assassin, the bastard son of the First Magus. This is my question, Caina Amalas of the Ghosts. Could you kill Corvalis?”

“What?” said Caina. “That is a stupid question. I am not going to kill him.” 

“Whether or not you are going to kill him,” said the Keeper, “was not my question. The question was if you could kill him. If he betrayed you and took a different lover. If he betrayed the Ghosts to the Magisterium. If he returned to the Kindred and resumed his old ways. If he assisted a renegade sorcerer. Could you then kill him?”

Caina said nothing, the awful question thundering in her mind.

There had been a reason she had forgiven Corvalis after Catekharon. He had sided with Claudia over her…and because of that, Caina had almost been killed. But she had forgiven him. He had sided with his sister, his only family. She could not blame him for that. 

But if he had sided with the Magisterium, if he betrayed the Ghosts…

Caina knew what she was capable of, what she could do if she felt it justified. A large part of her had grown cold and hard and merciless. Most men and women had never killed anyone. But not Caina. The innocent part of her had withered away. She could kill without hesitation, without guilt. 

“Yes,” whispered Caina. “Gods forgive me, I don’t want to, but if it came to it, if he betrayed the Ghosts…yes, I could.”

The Keeper stared at her for a long moment, then nodded.

“You could,” said the Keeper. “It is a difficult thing for mortals to understand the deep darkness that lurks within their souls. For only by knowing your soul can you hope to master it.”

Caina said nothing.

The Keeper lifted a hand. “Go. You have passed all three trials, and you have earned the right to the ashes of the phoenix spirits. Use the power wisely.”

She rippled and vanished into nothingness, and the gallery blurred around Caina. When the blurring stopped, she found herself at the end of the gallery, in the middle of an archway opening into a vast nave of black stone. 

She took a moment to steady herself, waiting until her eyes stopped stinging from the tears. 

Then Caina strode into nave, looking around in wonder. The black floor and walls and columns and ceiling gleamed, and the huge windows, taller than any tower in Malarae, glowed with a fiery light. The effect was stark and strange and alien, yet nonetheless beautiful. 

Thousands of stone niches dotted the floor in orderly rows, and Caina saw that some of them held glowing golden embers.

The ashes of the phoenix spirits.

She stepped forward, and a man of golden fire dropped from an opening in the ceiling, his shining wings spread around him. Caina flinched in alarm, raising her dagger, though she doubted she could land a blow before the creature burned her.

Yet the phoenix spirit ignored her. It circled the great fane twice, and then folded its wings and floated to one of the empty niches. The spirit stood motionless for a moment, flames writhing around its limbs and wings. It lifted its face to the ceiling and extended its arms. 

And then golden fire exploded in all directions from the phoenix spirit.

Caina jumped back in alarm, the heat washing over her like a wave. Had she been any closer, the flames would have devoured her. She shielded her eyes from the glare, squinting as brilliant golden radiance filled the vast fane. On and on it went, the floor trembling with the power.

And at last the golden glow faded.

Caina opened her eyes, wiping sweat from her face, and saw that the phoenix spirit had disappeared.

In its place, the shallow niche had been half-filled with glowing golden embers. 

The ashes of a phoenix spirit. 

Caina strode forward, and knelt besides the phoenix spirit’s glowing ashes. She reached for the satchel, hanging half-forgotten at her side, and drew out the metal flask. The sigils upon its side glowed with pale blue light. Caina lowered her hand towards the ashes, fearing the heat. But the ashes of the phoenix spirit only gave off a gentle, steady warmth, like fresh-baked cakes pulled from the oven.

She dipped the flask into the ashes, filled it, and returned it to the satchel. 

Caina stood and looked around the fane. There was no sign of any movement, and she started the long walk back to the gallery of black stone.

###

She could not tell how long she spent walking through the gallery. Time did not work the same way in the netherworld as it did in the mortal world. It could have been an hour or a week, or anything in between.

But at last Caina found herself atop the stairs outside the Sacellum of the Living Flame, the vast shifting plain stretching before her. 

There was no sign of the Moroaica.

It seemed that the Moroaica had kept her promise. She had helped Caina reach the Sacellum alive, and then departed.

Caina’s hand dipped into the satchel, curling around the flask of phoenix ashes. Even through the metal, she felt the warmth of the ashes. Jadriga had kept her bargain.

Yet Caina still felt as if she had been cheated somehow. Or as if the Moroaica was playing a trick.

She let go of the flask and started down the stairs, and broke into a jog when she returned to the gleaming black road.

She could worry about the Moroaica later. Perhaps Jadriga had been honest, and had aided Caina in hopes of gaining her help in the future. Or maybe Jadriga had another motive.

Caina’s jog broke into a loping run.

Right now she had more pressing concerns.

Like getting out of the netherworld alive before the phobomorphic spirits, or worse things, realized that Jadriga had departed. 

Caina ran, the terrain rippling and shifting around her. It seemed to be changing faster now, cycling from grassland to dead forest to swamp to deserted city and back again with every beat of her heart. Was it reacting to her ragged emotional state after the ordeals of the Sacellum? Or responding to the power in the phoenix ashes?

That was a disturbing thought. The Alchemists might not be the only ones to crave the power of the ashes. The other creatures of the netherworld might desire the ashes as well.

She looked up and saw the spirits flying overhead.

More of the phobomorphic spirits in their ragged gray robes, hundreds of them, soared after her. There were other creatures as well, things that looked like winged wolves or flying serpents. Some of the creatures were unlike anything she had ever seen before, ghastly fusions of flying eyes and beating wings and writhing tentacles.

And all of them, every last one of the spirits, was heading for her.

Caina sprinted, her aching legs and hips protesting against the effort. The mass of spirits dove for her, and she saw more misshapen forms racing across the plains, creatures that looked like wolves, albeit wolves the size of oxen.

The square of white light, the gate back to the material world, appeared ahead. She saw Sinan and the Immortals standing beyond it, frozen in the space between heartbeats. Could the spirits follow her through the gate? No, a spirit needed to possess a physical body to enter the mortal world. 

Perhaps that was what they wanted with her.

Or they merely wanted to rip her to bloody shreds.

The mass of spirits closed around her in eerie silence, and Caina threw herself forward with one final burst of speed.

She slammed into the square of white light, and gray mist rose up to swallow the world. Caina felt herself falling, the gray mist billowing around her.

Then light filled her vision, and she came to a staggering halt in the dining hall of the Lord Ambassador’s residence, the Immortals surrounding her. Sinan took an alarmed step back, pointing that fork at her face, while Mahdriva gasped.

“By the Living Flame,” said Tanzir. “That was…that was quick.”

Caina looked at him, her breath rasping through her teeth.

She heard herself laughing, and could not make herself stop.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Quick.”

Chapter 22 - The Master Alchemist

“The ashes,” said Sinan, keeping the fork leveled at her. “Do you have the ashes?” He growled. “Stop laughing and tell me if you have the damned ashes!” 

Caina managed to get herself under control. 

“Yes,” she said, reaching into the satchel with her free hand, “yes, I found your precious ashes.” 

The Immortals pointed their scimitars at her, their veins pulsing with blue light.

“Your dagger,” said Sinan. “Put it away. Now.”

Caina scowled and slid her ghostsilver dagger into its sheath.

“You.” Sinan waved his free hand at an Immortal. “Take the ashes from her.”

The hulking Immortal strode towards her, and Caina dropped the flask into the Immortal’s extended hand. The Immortal turned, and Sinan snatched the flask. He examined it, and then opened it and peered inside.

“This is it,” he breathed. “Yes. Well done, Ghost. Very well done, indeed. You succeeded where so many others have failed.” 

“Master,” said one of the Immortals in a basso voice. “Kill her. Now. If she was strong enough to survive the perils of the netherworld, she is strong enough to threaten your plans. Kill her now.”

Caina said nothing. The Immortal’s suggestion was a good one. She would stop Sinan, if she could find a way. But that did not seem likely. Especially since the Immortals could kill her with ease.

Sinan shook his head. “Leave her alive and unharmed, for now. She succeeded in bringing back the ashes once, and she can do so again, if I require additional materials.”

“I fear that is unwise, Master,” said the Immortal, glowing eyes fixed on Caina. “This one is dangerous. Better to kill her now, before…”

“I said no!” said Sinan. “Do not question your master, dog. If I require your opinion, I shall ask for it. Otherwise do as I have commanded and hold your tongue.”

The Immortal said nothing. 

“Do not fear,” said Caina, keeping her voice cold and arrogant. Delay, she had to delay until Corvalis and Tomard arrived. “Your master is wise to keep me alive.”

Sinan walked towards his work table, the flask of ashes in hand. “You would say anything to save your life now.”

“He is wise to keep me alive,” said Caina, “because he is a pathetic coward.”

Tanzir’s jaw fell open in surprise, and Sinan looked at her with a glare.

“Oh?” said the Alchemist, his voice low and dangerous. “A coward, am I?”

“I have seen the netherworld, Ibrahmus Sinan,” said Caina. Provoking him like this was a foolish game, but the longer she held his attention, the longer it kept him from killing Mahdriva…and the more time Corvalis had to arrive with the militia. “I have seen spirits that hunt mortals and wear the faces of your greatest fears. I have seen the Sacellum of the Living Flame, and I have faced the trials that defend the chamber of the ashes. All this I have done, Ibrahmus Sinan, and I have returned…but you have not. So your master is wise to keep me alive, Immortal. For if he botches the Elixir Rejuvenata and requires more ashes, he is too weak to claim them himself.” 

Sinan smirked. “Then I am the wiser. A clever man uses others as his tools, rather than exposing himself to danger.” 

“You would not last five minutes in the netherworld, Sinan,” said Caina. “And you have the temerity to call yourself an Alchemist.”

His smirk changed to a sneer. “I claimed the power of an Alchemist because it was mine by right. Just as I shall claim both mastery and immortality.”

“You stole the ashes from me,” said Caina, “because you were too much of a craven dog to find them yourself. Because you were too afraid to lose your precious life.”

“Why should I risk it,” said Sinan, “when immortality lies at hand?”

“Because all men die,” said Caina, “and you are too much of a coward to see that. Whether you die tonight when you botch your Elixir or in a thousand years when your enemies finally overpower you, you will die. And you are too fearful to accept that.”

“If you are so eager to throw your life away,” said Sinan, “then I will have the Immortals take it.”

“And if you make an error preparing your Elixir,” said Caina, “will you go into the netherworld yourself to claim new ashes?”

Sinan’s sneer turned into a scowl. “I will send more Guards. Or perhaps some of the Immortals.”

Caina looked at the hulking Immortals and laughed. “Yes, I’m sure they’ll be able to defeat the riddles surrounding the Sacellum.” 

“It is not a concern,” said Sinan, gesturing with the fork, “since I will make no errors preparing the Elixir.” 

“You’ve done magnificently so far,” said Caina. “I doubt I need to lift a hand against you. You’ll kill yourself when you botch the formula.” 

He scoffed and turned away.

“You are not fit,” said Caina, hoping to keep his attention, “to call yourself an Alchemist.” 

Sinan glared back at her, a dangerous glint in his black eyes. “Oh?” 

“I saw the bones of Alchemists in the Sacellum of the Living Flame,” said Caina. “They, at least, had the courage to risk the journey. They didn’t hide behind kidnapped Imperial Guards. They didn’t force a woman to go through the gate for them. They died, aye, but they were men…and you’re just a cringing child.”

“Be silent,” said Sinan. 

“You were born a slave, weren’t you?” said Caina. “That is all you are fit to be. A slave for men greater and bolder than yourself. You ought to be washing their boots and polishing their floors, not…”

“Be silent!” roared Sinan.

“Not strutting about in an Alchemist’s robes like a child playing in his father’s armor,” said Caina, ignoring Sinan’s interruption. “You’re a dog, Sinan. No, you’re less than a dog. A dog will die for its master. You’re a worm. You’re not fit to be anything but a slave…”

“I said to be silent!” screamed Sinan, thrusting the fork at her, the air tingling with sorcerous power. 

Caina just had time to realize that she had pushed Sinan too far, and then an arc of blue-white lightning leapt from the fork and slammed in her chest.

Everything went white.

When her vision cleared, Caina found herself on her back, her arms and legs twitching. To her surprise, she was still alive. After a moment she found that she could sit up, though her arms and legs throbbed and her chest felt as if it had been burned. 

“If she interferes with me,” said Sinan, standing at the work table, “kill her. If she tries to escape, kill her. If she tries to rescues the girl or the emir, kill her.” He turned his head and glared at her. “Do not try my patience, Ghost. If you annoy me again, I will kill you and take my chances.” 

Caina stood, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs. “You make such a persuasive argument.” 

Sinan ignored her. 

Caina hobbled across the dining hall, expecting the Immortals to stop her. But Sinan had told them only to stop her if she tried to escape or interfere with his work. She crossed the dining hall and stopped where Tanzir and Mahdriva sat bound to their chairs. Mahdriva’s face was numb and wooden, her cheeks wet with tears. Tanzir simply looked terrified.

Six Immortals followed her, their expressions impassive, scimitars in their hands. 

“You’re still alive,” said Tanzir. “When that lightning struck you, I thought…”

Caina shrugged. “I suspect I did not annoy him as much as I thought.”  

Her skin tingled as Sinan began casting spells over his work table. 

“You should flee,” said Mahdriva, her voice a whisper. “Ardaiza met this fate, as did Ranai. It was foolish of me to think I could escape it. Go, before it is too late. Why should you die with me?”

“No,” said Caina. “This isn’t over.” 

“It is,” said Mahdriva, bowing her head. “My father tried to save me, and you tried to save me…but it is too late.”

“Forgive me, Ghost,” said Tanzir, “but I fear that the lady is correct. You should go while you still can.”

“A fine idea,” said Caina, looking at the Immortals. “But I suspect they can outrun me.”

The Immortals gave no answer.

She had to find a way to stall. Corvalis and Tomard were on their way. And she could not leave Mahdriva and Tanzir to Sinan’s mercy. Nor could she leave the Imperial Guards, or Lord Titus or Halfdan himself, still unconscious and bound in their chairs. Gods, if only Caina could find a way to wake the unconscious Guards!

Tanzir licked his lips. “The…the netherworld. What was it like? It seemed like you were gone for less than a few seconds, but when you came back…you looked as if you had spoken to your own spirit.”

“I did,” said Caina. She did not want to think about that, not until she had found a way to beat Sinan. “Repeatedly, even.” 

Sinan’s voice repeated an incantation over and over again, the arcane force in the air sharpening. A faint breeze stirred through the dining hall, tugging at Caina’s shadow-cloak. Caina suspected the next phase of Sinan’s spells would not take very long. Otherwise he would have withdrawn with Mahdriva to a more secure location.

Which meant he expected to complete his Elixir and kill Tanzir long before any help arrived. 

If Caina pierced the skin of the sleeping Guards with her ghostsilver dagger, would that wake them? It might, but the Immortals would realize what was happening and kill her long before she awakened a useful number of Guards. 

She stared at Sinan’s back, watching as he summoned power.

At his unprotected back.

He was far away, but she thought she could put a throwing knife into him. One to wound him and get his attention. The next to plunge into his throat. Caina felt the weight of the blades at her belt. The Immortals would cut her down, of course, but with Sinan dead they would have no reason to harm Tanzir, and certainly no more reason to hurt Mahdriva. There was the possibility that Sinan had a warding spell to block steel blades, but he might have become complacent. 

And a dark part of her mind murmured that it would be worth the sacrifice, if only to keep her from becoming the sorceress she had seen in the netherworld…

She started to reach for the knives in her belt, and Sinan threw out his hands and shouted the final words of his spell. Golden light blazed around him, and Caina felt a surge of sorcerous power. More golden light radiated from a crystal vial the size of a man’s fist upon the table. The liquid within looked like luminescent honey, and Caina felt power rolling off it like the heat from the furnaces in Ark’s foundry. 

“Yes,” whispered Sinan, holding up the crystalline vial. “Yes!” He turned and smirked at Caina. “You brought far more phoenix ashes than I needed, Ghost. Only a pinch is required. After I complete this vial, I shall have enough phoenix ashes left to over to create Elixir for centuries.” 

Caina said nothing, still weighing the possibility of hitting Sinan with a thrown knife. 

“And now,” said Sinan, putting down the vial of glowing liquid, “the final component.”

He picked up a long dagger from the worktable and turned towards Mahdriva. 

“No,” whispered Mahdriva. “Please, no. Not this. Not my child. No.”

Sinan ignored her and started forward. 

Caina’s hand fell towards her belt, and the nearest Immortals lifted their scimitars.

“Please,” said Mahdriva, weeping. “I will do anything. Anything at all. Just spare my child. Please!”

“You two,” said Sinan, pointing at a pair of Immortals. “Hold her still. This will get messy.”

Caina took a deep breath, steadying herself. She would have only one chance to put a knife in Sinan’s throat.

Sinan glanced at her and stopped, frowning.

“Actually,” he said, “I have enough ashes that I have no further need of the Ghost. Kill her at once.”

A dozen Immortals turned to face her, ready to strike with their scimitars.

Caina snatched a throwing knife from her belt and drew back her arm, ready to fling it at Sinan.

And as she did, the skylights overhead exploded.