Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts (14 page)

They were at his room now, and he tried to let go of Melody’s hand so he could open the door, but she refused. Instead, she opened it for him, then stepped inside after.

Waiting for him on his bed were the bowl, silver chains, and various gems of the chrysarium. The very sight of it made Nathaniel’s stomach clench.

“Grandmother?” he asked.

“We need to know,” she said, walking over to the curtains and pulling them shut to darken the room. “Too many questions, too many threats to Luther’s plan. We
have
to know anything and everything that we can.” She turned to him. “You’ve been blessed with the sight by our beloved Karak, and such a blessing cannot go unused. It is a sin to take the gifts we’ve been given and bury them deep in the earth to remain hidden forever.”

“I don’t want to,” he said, first quietly, then louder. “I don’t want to!”

“You must!”

She reached for his shoulder, and he yanked away.

“I’ll tell Mother!” he shouted at her, and this finally seemed to make her pause. His grandmother’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly he felt very young and very alone.

“You won’t,” she said.

“Why not? I don’t want to
do
this anymore.”

“Because deep down, you know I’m right.” She took a single step toward him, her body shrouded in shadows due to the heavy curtains. “Because you’ve seen his face, haven’t you? Never the same, except for the eyes, those burning eyes. Even thinking about him makes you scared, doesn’t it? Well, he makes me scared, too. He’s old, as old as mankind itself, and we must prepare for his arrival. We must be
ready
. This city must be made righteous. It must be made faithful.”

She pointed to the chrysarium.

“Karak’s voice waits for you in the darkness. Do not deny the power of our god. The coming days are the prelude to the fated hour. This is your chance, Nathaniel. Your chance to be something special. Your chance to change the fate of the entire world.”

Every word she said put a weight on his shoulders, and he felt it settling, felt it pushing down at his resistance. Was he really so important? These visions, if Karak had chosen them for him … did it mean he was special? As special as his grandmother claimed?

“I don’t understand them,” he said.

“Just try,” she said. “And even if you do not, I and those I serve still may.”

Slowly, Nathaniel approached the chrysarium as if it were a snake that might bite him. It’d been several weeks since he last succumbed to one of the visions, at least while awake. His dreams, on the other hand, he never remembered come morning, but every time he awoke, his heart was racing, his hands shaking, his body covered with sweat. The very idea of seeing whatever it was, of whatever his mind somehow blanked out, terrified him to his very core.

His fingers touched the bowl, and he was surprised by its warmth. Swallowing down a dry lump in his throat, he leaned closer, staring into the very center of the slender bowl. Beside him, Melody began to pray, her words spidery things that made no sense to his ears. The gems rattled, glowing from their centers as if an infinitesimal fire had begun to burn within them. Melody’s words quickened, the darkness in the center of the chrysarium deepened, and then the gems lifted one by one into the air, stretching the length of their thin silver chains. Nathaniel felt himself being pulled into it, felt his mind giving in to whatever power resided within the gems and the words his grandmother spoke.

The shift was harsh, a jerk that made his very mind ache. He saw not the bowl, nor the darkness, but instead a great chasm. It seemed to go on for miles on either side of him, and the fall down was so great that the few trees growing at the far bottom looked no bigger than tiny green dots. Water flowed down there as well, a meager river that seemed almost mocked by the grand size of the chasm.

Even in death, the faithless may be made to serve
, said a voice, and it rumbled across the very sky like thunder. Nathaniel found himself unable to look away despite the great distance of the chasm and the fear it put into his gut that he might fall. Down there, he saw movement, just the faintest hint of it, like observing ants, only even smaller. What it might be, he didn’t know, but the movement continued, becoming vague shapes crawling up both sides of the chasm. Time passed, and while he was aware of its passing, it still seemed like the minutes were but seconds vanishing with each breath he took. The vague shapes gained clarity, and he saw they numbered in the thousands.

They were rotten, broken, bone and flesh, and they were dead.

Higher and higher they climbed, and Nathaniel realized they would soon reach his side of the chasm, their skeletal fingers reaching up toward the top, and he let out a scream of terror. Compared to the voice that had spoken before, he felt miniscule and worthless, but it seemed the very sky recoiled at the noise he made. Clouds swirled, the sky turned red, and suddenly he stared into the face of a man on the other side of the chasm, only the man’s face never remained the same, the nose shrinking, the lips widening, forehead deepening, only to reverse as his cry continued to echo throughout the dreamscape.

Even in death …
said the man, and Nathaniel wanted to hear no more. He begged for safety, for escape, for anyone to stop the being on the other side of the chasm, and then he felt himself flying. The world passed beneath him as if he were a bird, and for a brief moment, he thought he caught sight of the glow of the chrysarium’s crystals at the edges of his sight. Then his movement stopped, and below him was a great building, shaped as a black spire rising out of the cracked earth. He fell through its ceilings until he was in a small, cramped room full of books, desks, and a lone bed.

All sound ceased but for the turning of a page. Then another. There was a man at a desk, and he wore black robes. His head was bowed, his long hair gray. Hovering above him, Nathaniel stared down, confused as to who he saw and why.

“We save this world by healing it,” said the man, and he sounded tired, very tired. “Not with fire, not with destruction.”

Nathaniel felt an impulse, and he obeyed, reaching down to touch the shoulder of the man. Just before he could, the chair turned, and in the chair was a dying man, his throat cut. Despite it, still he talked, even letting out a laugh.

“Fire and destruction,” he said, his eyes clouded gray, his voice losing strength. “Forgive me, Jerico, but I saw no other way.”

Nathaniel could take no more. He slammed his eyes shut, and he begged to be home, to be in the arms of his mother. A roaring filled his ears, his entire body shook, and suddenly he was back in his room, his grandmother lurking over him.

“You were not out long,” she said, taking the chrysarium from him. Nathaniel looked at her, then away. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be with her. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt the vision chasing after him, the man with the ever-changing face lurking just behind his neck.

“What did you see?” she asked, the question he knew she would ask. He thought to tell her of the man at the chasm, but the very idea of it made his throat constrict. Instead, he thought of the second man, the dying one, and he hoped that by his speaking of him instead, she might leave him alone.

“I … I saw a man in a tower,” he said. “An older man with gray hair.”

Nathaniel hadn’t expected her to know him, nor react, but instead, she froze as if he’d flung a rope around her neck and pulled it tight.

“An older man?” she asked. “His robes, were they black, like a priest’s?”

He nodded, and he watched her swallow.

“Did he say anything to you?”

Nathaniel felt a shiver crawl up his spine as he thought of the man’s cut throat, and of the way his eyes had turned a cloudy gray.

“He was dying,” Nathaniel said. “His throat was cut. He said he only knew fire and destruction. That’s when I woke up.”

He’d thought the second vision would be easier, less frightening, but the way Melody grabbed his shoulders terrified him. She fell to her knees, staring at him as tears filled her eyes.

“No,” she said. “He can’t be dying. He
can’t.
I need him, I need … We need…”

She started crying, and she pulled him against her, holding him with his face pressed against her neck. Her entire thin body seemed overwhelmed by her sobs. Nathaniel waited it out, awkward and confused.

“I’m sorry,” she told him when she regained control. “It’s only that … sometimes when you love someone, love them so much, you’ll forfeit everything to be with them. And if this world were just, that sacrifice would mean something, but it never does. This world is cruel and horrible, and it’s only going to get worse without Karak here to guide us.”

She leaned back, eyes red, her hair sticking to her face, which was wet from her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said. He wasn’t sure for what, but it felt like the appropriate thing to say at the time.

“Shh,” she said, touching his face with her shaking fingers. “It’s not your fault; you see only what you were meant to see. But if Luther falls, we’ll need you all the more. So much will rest on your tiny little shoulders…”

When she stood, he went to the windows and pulled back the curtains, letting in the light. Immediately, he felt better, the images fading in Nathaniel’s mind, becoming like dreams, hazy and distant.

“Not yet,” Melody said, and she walked back to the curtains, shutting them, spoiling his relief. “I must use it myself.”

“May I go?” he asked, and he could not describe the relief when she said yes. He bowed his head in respect, then rushed to the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, he turned to shut the door, and as he did, he saw Melody on her knees before his bed, the chrysarium settled atop the blankets.

“Luther?” he heard his grandmother ask. “Luther, are you there? Please, my love, answer me…”

He shut the door and hurried away.

L
et me tell you, Brug,” said Tarlak as he slumped back in his chair, “this whole city’s gone insane.”

The squat man stood behind him in his room, a small apple in each hand. He alternated bites, each one spilling juice down his beard.

“Give me some credit,” Brug said, mouth half full. “I’ve been telling
you
that for years.”

“Well, you weren’t right before, but you’re sure as the Abyss right now.”

He pushed back his chair and stood, then gestured to the scattered pieces of paper on his stained oak desk. Every single one was a letter written to him from those who had, until recently, been on his payroll to leak him information about the various thief guilds of Veldaren.

“Six resignations,” he said. “From carefully worded apologies to ones merely telling me to do fairly difficult things to myself using
other
parts of myself. Not a damn one of them is willing to cross the Sun Guild. Either they’re scared witless, or they’re making more money than I’m offering.”

“These guys were greedy, cowardly turncoats,” Brug said, “and now you’re surprised they’re acting out of either greed or cowardice? You might want to rethink who’s the insane one.”

Brug took another large bite of the apple, then tossed the core to the stone floor. Tarlak frowned at it, then waved his hand, vanishing the apple with a puff of smoke.

“Lazy bastard,” Tarlak muttered.

The other man shrugged.

“Fine, I’ll toss the next one out the window, Your Highness, just like you could have done if you walked five feet and picked it up yourself.”

“What, now
I’m
the lazy one?”

Brug shrugged.

“If the pointy yellow hat fits…”

Tarlak froze, then let out a groan.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head out to the city. Bad enough without Haern patrolling and keeping us informed, but now everything’s changing at a whirlwind’s pace. Let’s see just how much the Sun Guild’s really taken over.”

The two headed down the stairs, then exited the stone tower into the early-morning light. They left the King’s Forest behind, following a path across the grass toward the main trade route leading to the west gate entrance of Veldaren. As they walked, Brug kept glancing over his shoulder, and come the third time, Tarlak couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

“We’re being followed,” Brug said, trying to keep his voice low.

“Followed? By who, and how? We’re in the middle of a damn road.”

To accentuate the point, he spun in a full circle, hands out, to show there wasn’t anyone either ahead or behind them on the road for at least half a mile. Brug’s neck turned red, but he refused to back down.

“I’m telling you, I keep seeing something out of the corner of my eye, but whenever I look back, they drop to the grass where I can’t see. You think, given all we’ve done, we might not have a few enemies?”

“Plenty of enemies, sure, but competent enemies? That I’m more skeptical of.”

Tarlak gave another scan, not caring if their pursuer actually saw that they were aware of his or her presence. The grass on either side of the road was tall, up to Tarlak’s waist, so someone could easily be following them. Bigger question was why … and whether or not their intentions were lethal. Given their various fights with the Bloodcrafts only weeks prior, Tarlak did not feel all that hopeful.

“Stand still,” Tarlak said, putting a hand on Brug’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and spoke a few words of simple magic. Before his friend could ask what was going on, a heavy wind blew in from the east, strong enough they had to raise their voices to hear each other.

“What’s the point of this?” Brug asked.

“Just a precaution,” said Tarlak. “Let’s see him fire an arrow or crossbow through this. Now come on; the wind won’t last but a few minutes.”

They continued on toward the city entrance, directly into the unrelenting windstorm. Tarlak glanced over his shoulder occasionally, but the whipping of the wind made it all but impossible to catch a sign of movement.

At the gate, Brug flashed one of the soldiers a pendant hanging around his neck, that of a triangle with the left corner unconnected and the bottom line used to mark the center of a capitalized E. They passed through without further question.