Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes (19 page)

“A Ghost nightfighter,” Sinan said. “Ah. A shadow-cloak. That explains how you eluded the mist…and how you may be of use to me. Remove your mask and cowl, or I shall have the Immortals cut of your head.”

Caina saw no choice but to comply, so she drew back her cowl and pulled aside her mask.

“Oh, no,” said Tanzir.

“I am sorry,” said Mahdriva, still weeping. “I am sorry, I am so sorry…” 

Sinan’s eyes widened in surprise. “A woman? You northerners have peculiar…wait. I know you.” He pointed the fork at her. “Sonya Tornesti. The coffee merchant’s whore.”

Caina said nothing. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” said Sinan. 

Caina shrugged. “You ought to surrender. The Ghosts know you are here, and they are coming for you.” 

“They will not penetrate the wall of mist,” said Sinan. “The sorcery will hold for a few more hours, and given the well-known enmity between the Ghosts and the magi, I doubt you will have anyone capable of dispelling the mist.”

“You’ve also got Lord Titus Iconias, a friend of the Emperor,” said Caina, glancing at Lord Titus’s unconscious form. “The magi might bestir themselves to help him. And I doubt even you can fight Malarae’s entire chapter of magi.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Sinan. “I will be long gone by then.”

“Of course,” said Caina. She needed to delay. Sooner or later Corvalis would arrive with help. And perhaps she could trick Sinan into giving up some useful information. “With your precious vial of Elixir Rejuvenata.” 

“Ah,” said Sinan. “Puzzled that out, did you?” Caina had the sudden feeling that she had told him more than she should have. “Very clever. Tell me, Ghost. How will I create the Elixir?”

“With the ashes of murdered children,” said Caina, “carved from their mothers’ wombs.”

“That is part of it,” said Sinan, looking at his work table. “There are numerous other ingredients as well, all of which I have gathered. The ashes of the children from related mothers are a key ingredient. But there is one more component I need, and then the Elixir will be complete.”

“And just what is that?” said Caina. “The endless self-congratulation of an arrogant Alchemist?” 

To her surprise, Sinan laughed. “If that were true, every member of the College would have been immortal centuries ago. No, this is something else. Something rare and dangerous to claim. All the other ingredients can be obtained with some work, but this…this kills most of the Alchemists who set upon the path of mastery.” He took a step closer, and Caina wondered if she could get a knife into his neck. “Tell me, Ghost…what do you know about elemental spirits?” 

A jolt of alarm went down her spine.

She knew more about elemental spirits that she would have liked. Nicasia, the slave girl of the master magus Ranarius, had been possessed by an elemental spirit of earth. That spirit gave her the power to transform anyone who looked into her eyes to stone. Claudia Aberon had spent a year imprisoned as a statue. And there were elementals of far greater power. When the fire elemental sleeping beneath Old Kyrace had awakened, it had utterly destroyed the island upon which Old Kyrace had been built. The Sages of Catekharon harnessed a greater fire elemental to fuel their sorceries. The Stone of Cyrioch, the hill upon which the city’s Palace of Splendors stood, was actually a sleeping greater earth elemental. If the spirit awoke, the resultant earthquake would destroy Cyrioch and cause a wave that would drown a dozen more cities.

“Some,” said Caina at last.

“There is a particular kind of spirit, an elemental of flame,” said Sinan, “revered by worshippers of the Living Flame. In old Maatish and modern Saddaic, such spirits are called bannu. Among the Istarish, they are named the djinni of flame. But among your nation, the Nighmarians, they are called…”

“Phoenix,” said Caina, who had read of them in her father’s books. “I thought they were legendary.”

“They are not,” said Sinan. “They are spirits of elemental flame, and like all spirits, do not die. But when they go into…hibernation, let us call it, they revert to ashes, and from the ashes are reborn into a new form.”

“And those ashes,” said Caina, “are the final ingredient for your damned Elixir.”

“They are,” said Sinan. 

“And that’s what you’re doing to those Guards,” said Caina. “You’re trying to summon up a phoenix spirit and bind it to their flesh.”

Sinan smiled. “I am afraid that you have it backward. I’m not trying to summon up a phoenix. I am sending living men into the netherworld to claim the ashes.”

“That’s…impossible,” said Caina. “A living man cannot enter the spirit world.”

“Actually, he can,” said Sinan. “To enter our world, a spirit needs a physical form to inhabit. However, a living man can physically enter the netherworld. Few know the proper spells, and of those who do, few attempt the journey. The netherworld is perilous beyond anything in the material world. Your Magisterium once had the knowledge, but lost it with the fall of the Fourth Empire. I suspect they have had little motivation to rediscover it, as visiting the netherworld offers much peril in exchange for little gain.” 

“Except for Alchemists wishing to attain mastery,” said Caina. “That’s why so many of them perish when trying to brew the Elixir. Murdering slave girls for their unborn children is simple enough. Any murderous thug can do it. But entering the netherworld and returning alive with phoenix ashes is harder.” 

“You put your finger upon the problem,” said Sinan, “and those who return successfully are often killed by…errors in the preparation of the Elixir. Phoenix ashes are a potent substance, and the slightest error in the formula can cause explosive results.”

“And that’s why you haven’t killed Mahdriva yet, is it?” said Caina, looking at the weeping girl. “You can’t add the ashes of the last child to the mixture until after the phoenix ashes.”

“Very good,” said Sinan. “You are most clever. That will serve me well.”

Caina did not like the sound of that.

“Physically entering the netherworld is a challenge, to be sure,” said Sinan, walking past her, “but not beyond the abilities of a skilled Alchemist. For alchemy is the arcane science of transmutation, and with the proper materials, entry into the netherworld is possible.”

He stopped before the mirror. 

“The mirror?” said Caina. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It is our entrance to the netherworld,” said Sinan. “Observe.”

He picked up an empty jar from the table, considered it for a moment, and threw it at the mirror.

It struck the mirror…and the glass rippled, the air shivering with arcane force. The jar sank into the mirror and vanished. For a moment Caina had a brief glimpse of a strange landscape of misshapen hills and colorless grass. 

And then the mirror went still, though Caina still saw the strange rippling behind the glass. 

“You see?” said Sinan. “An Alchemist can transmute a mirror of sufficient quality into a gate to the netherworld, though the elixir is rather complex, and the mirror is destroyed after the spell is finished.”

“I congratulate you,” said Caina. “So why aren’t you in the netherworld now?”

Sinan turned from the mirror and raised an eyebrow. “Because the netherworld is dangerous. I have come too close to immortality to risk my life now.”

“He’s been waking up Imperial Guards,” said Tanzir, “and sending them through the mirror one by one. None of them have returned.” 

“Perhaps you’re impatient,” said Caina. “I can’t imagine that retrieving phoenix ashes is an easy task.”

“It isn’t,” said Sinan, “but that is irrelevant. Time has no precise application in the netherworld. A thousand years there could be just a moment in the material world. If they had succeeded, they would have returned almost immediately, at least from our perspective. They haven’t returned, so I assume they failed.”

“They’re dead,” said Caina. “You sent those men to their deaths.”

Sinan shrugged. “If they wanted to live, they should have returned with the ashes. But I should not be surprised. Soldiers are dumb brutes, used to following orders, to letting others do their thinking for them. To retrieve the ashes, I need someone of…greater cunning. Some clever and subtle.”

He smirked at Caina.

“Me,” she said. 

“Your arrival was fortuitous,” said Sinan. “You will go through the mirror and retrieve the phoenix ashes.”

Caina laughed.

“You find this amusing?” said Sinan, lifting the strange fork.

“I find it idiotic,” said Caina. “You’re a murderer, Sinan, a man who would bathe in the blood of a child to extend his wretched life by a few months. I am not going to help you.”

“I can compel you,” said Sinan. 

“How? Torture? A spell? An elixir to break my will?” said Caina. “You need my wits intact, and I’ll do you no good injured or dead.”

“No,” said Sinan, “you won’t.” He pointed the fork, and a blue spark flared to life between the tines. “But the Imperial Guards have proven that they are of no use to me.”

Caina felt a surge of arcane force.

A lance of blue-white lightning erupted from Sinan’s fork and slammed into the nearest Imperial Guard. The fingers of lightning curled around the black armor, and the man’s eyes popped open. He screamed in agony, his limbs thrashing in a mad dance. His skin blackened and charred, and he erupted into flames and went motionless.

Sinan lowered the fork.

The stench of burning flesh was hideous. Mahdriva gagged, and Tanzir looked like he was trying to keep his dinner down. 

“You murderous dog,” spat Caina. 

“You will cooperate with me,” said Sinan. “Or I will kill the Imperial Guards one by one. Those men have wives and children, yes? I will leave them as widows and orphans unless you help me.” He pointed the fork at Tanzir. “Or perhaps I’ll kill the emir. Ashria wants the little piglet dead anyway, and I would prefer to stay in her good graces. Though I imagine the stench from all that burning fat would be considerable. You Ghosts want him alive, don’t you?”

“Don’t do it,” said Tanzir. His voice trembled, but he met Caina’s eyes. “Sonya, don’t do it. Let him kill me. It’s not…it’s not worth it, not to save my life. Don’t let this bastard get his Elixir. Let him…let him kill me…”

“You,” said Caina, “are far too ready to die, Tanzir Shahan.” She stepped forward, and the hulking Immortals stirred, but Sinan lifted a hand. “I’ll do it.”

Sinan smiled. “You shall?”

“I will go into the netherworld and retrieve those damned ashes for you,” said Caina. 

Because she could think of no other way forward. She would not let Sinan kill Tanzir, and she certainly would not let the renegade Alchemist murder all those Imperial Guards. Going through the mirror might buy time. Corvalis was coming with Tomard and several hundred militiamen, and even the deformed Immortals could not fight them all. Corvalis would find a way past the mist, and they would defeat Sinan.

At least, Caina kept telling herself that.

“Splendid,” said Sinan. 

“So,” said Caina. “How exactly does one obtain phoenix ashes?” 

“First, take this,” said Sinan, lifting a satchel and handing it to her. Caina opened it and saw a metal flask carved with arcane sigils. “That will allow you to carry the ashes safely. The gate,” Sinan pointed at the mirror, “will transport you to a region of the netherworld near the Sacellum of the Living Flame.”

“And what is that?” said Caina. 

“It is what the worshippers of the Living Flame call the structure housing the phoenix ashes,” said Sinan. “No one knows what it is called, not truly. It is a….place, for lack of a better word, that one of the greater elemental princes created. The phoenix spirits come there to die and be reborn.”

“And their ashes are inside,” said Caina. “I assume there are guardians? Something has to kill all those Alchemists who try to become Masters.”

And the Guards that Sinan had sent to die.

“There are,” said Sinan. “Spirits bound to guard the Sacellum. They are not fond of visitors from the material world. Since you will be there physically, they shall have the power to harm you. Additionally, the netherworld has its own peculiar hazards.”

“Such as?” said Caina. 

“The netherworld is a place of thought and spirit,” said Sinan. “Your mind can reshape the environment there, if your thoughts are disciplined enough. Which can pose a problem. Your thoughts…the netherworld itself acts as a mirror to them, and your memories can take form and attack you.” 

“How pleasant,” said Caina. 

There were many dark memories in her thoughts…and she had no particular desire to see them played out again.

“Your shadow-cloak may give you an advantage,” said Sinan, “and prevent the creatures of the netherworld from seeing you. But some of the more powerful spirits will be able to see through it.”

“Sonya, please,” said Tanzir. “Don’t do this. I…”

“Silence,” said Sinan. “Ghost, proceed immediately.”

He gestured at the mirror with his free hand and cast a spell. Caina felt the pulse of arcane power, and the mirror rippled, her reflection writhing and bulging. It was like looking at a wall of rippling mercury. 

“Go,” said Sinan. “The gate is ready.”

“Just walk through the mirror?” said Caina.

“Oh, the Ghosts are indeed masters of perception,” said Sinan. “Stop stalling and go. I grow impatient.”

Caina took a deep breath, pulled up the cowl of her shadow-cloak, and stepped towards the mirror. The wall of glass writhed in silence, and she felt the aura of sorcery radiating from it. And through the mirror she glimpsed a vast dark plain stretching away in all directions, dotted with strange, misshapen forms. 

The netherworld.

She held out a hand, and it passed through the glass as if it were not there.

Caina stepped into the mirror, and gray mist filled the world.

Chapter 19 - The Netherworld

Caina walked through an endless world filled with featureless gray mist.

The strange place was utterly silent, and the mist swallowed even the noise of Caina’s footsteps. She saw nothing but mist in all directions.

It reminded her of the place she had seen in her dreams when the Moroaica had still inhabited her body. 

In fact, she was certain it was the same place. Those dreams had not been dreams, but the spirit of the Moroaica speaking to her. Perhaps both their spirits had been drawn here during those strange dreams.

Then the mist vanished, and Caina found herself someplace else.

Somewhere strange.

She looked around in silence for a moment.

“Gods,” she said at last.

A plain of rippling, knee-high grass stretched away in all directions. The strange grass was utterly devoid of color, and waved in a wind that Caina neither heard nor felt. Her shadow-cloak rippled behind her, blowing in the nonexistent wind. 

Strange things floated overhead. Pieces of land, as if scooped from the earth by a giant hand. Images of stone and obsidian, showing men and women and creatures Caina had never seen before. Uprooted trees, some hanging upside down. Towers and stairs that went nowhere. Black clouds filled the sky, moving against the direction of the peculiar wind. An eerie green glow lit everything, and from time to time a burst of silent emerald lightning jumped from cloud to cloud. 

There was absolutely no sign of the Imperial Guards Sinan had already sent through the gate. 

From time to time the terrain…changed. The plains shifted to barren black trees, or a stagnant gray swamp, or a desert of black glass. Yet through it all something remained constant. A road of gleaming black stone wound over the plains and ended…

It ended at the single largest building Caina had ever seen.

She could not have said what it was. It was built from the same gleaming black stone as the road, and looked like some monstrous fusion of basilica and pyramid and fortress. It could have held the Praetorian Basilica. It could have held the entire Imperial Citadel, perhaps even all of Malarae. From within the strange building, through its vast windows, Caina saw the harsh orange-yellow glow of fire.

The Sacellum of the Living Flame. 

The sight was so daunting that she had to look back away after a moment, and she saw a square of pale light behind her. After a moment she realized it was the gate back to the material world. Through the pale glow she saw Sinan and the Immortals, watching her.

Perfectly motionless. 

Had something happened to them? Then she remembered what Sinan had said about time moving at a different rate in the netherworld and understood. The others hadn’t frozen. She was simply moving much, much faster than them, so fast that they appeared frozen from her perspective.

Perhaps if she watched for a thousand years she might at last she Sinan draw breath, see a tear fall from Mahdriva’s cheek. 

She had hoped that Sinan had been wrong about the time difference, that she could simply wait just beyond the gate until Corvalis arrived. And if she returned empty-handed, Sinan would kill her…or start killing Imperial Guards until she decided to cooperate. 

It seemed Caina had no choice. The best plan was to claim the phoenix ashes, return to the Lord Ambassador’s residence, and delay. 

Best to get on with it, then.

Caina gazed at the Sacellum of the Living Flame. She did not want to go anywhere near the monstrous black structure. She didn’t even want to look at the thing. Something about its unfathomable size and the peculiar angles of its construction conspired to send a stabbing wave of pain through her head whenever she looked at it. Mortals had never been meant to gaze upon the Sacellum, let alone enter it. 

But there was no other choice.

Caina took a moment to steady herself, then moved to the gleaming black road and started walking.

The strange landscape altered and shifted around her, changing from the gray grassland to the dead forest to the bleak desert and back again. Her shadow-cloak billowed behind her no matter what direction she faced, even though Caina neither felt nor heard any wind. The netherworld was utterly silent around her, and even the green lightning flashing overhead never generated any thunder. The only sounds were the click of her boots against the gleaming black stone, the slow draw of her breath, the steady drumbeat of her pulse in her ears. 

The landscape changed again, and this time it became a ruined, empty city. Some of the buildings were black, and reminded her of the slums of Rasadda. Others gleamed white, like the whitewashed houses of Cyrioch. In fact, she was certain she had seen one of those houses before – it looked like the occultist Nadirah’s house.

Was the netherworld reflecting her memories back at her, like Sinan had said? 

That was a disturbing thought. 

A golden glow overhead caught her attention.

Caina looked up, hands dropping to her weapons, and saw the winged man.

He soared overhead, great wings spread behind him, and Caina realized that both the man and his wings were wrought entirely of golden fire. He was breathtakingly beautiful, and Caina watched as he shot over the plain like a comet. The winged man rose higher, spiraling over the Sacellum of the Living Flame…and then vanished into it.

A phoenix spirit. 

The creature hadn’t noticed her. People never looked up…so did that mean winged spirits never looked down? Or perhaps it had seen her and dismissed her as a threat.

Or it assumed the guardians Sinan had mentioned would dispose of her. 

Caina kept walking.

She saw the dead Imperial Guard a moment later. 

The man lay upon the black road, blood pooling around him, his cuirass torn away. The blade of his sword jutted from his back, shiny with his blood. At first Caina thought someone had overpowered him and run him through with his own sword.

Then she drew closer, and saw the Guard’s hands clenched around the sword’s hilt.

He had fallen upon his sword. 

Why had he killed himself?

Caina looked around, seeking some reason that would explain the Guard’s suicide, but she saw only the changing terrain. 

Yet something had compelled the Guard to kill himself. The Imperial Guards were the toughest soldiers in the Empire, superbly trained and disciplined  combat veterans selected from the Legions. They were the sort of men to die only after surrounding themselves with a ring of slain foes. 

Caina drew a throwing knife in one hand, her ghostsilver dagger in the other, and froze.

The curved blade of the ghostsilver dagger shone with pale white light, the air around it rippling and dancing. Ghostsilver was proof against sorcery. Did that mean it would be effective against the spirits of the netherworld? Caina doubted her throwing knife could harm a spirit…but the ghostsilver blade might prove more potent.

Still, the light might draw unwelcome attention. Caina sheathed the dagger, keeping her hand on its handle, and resumed walking. 

A short time later she saw a dark, round shape lying on the black road. Caina drew closer and stopped with a whispered curse.

It was the helmet of an Imperial Guard, the head still inside, neatly severed at the neck. The sightless eyes gazed up at Caina, the mouth open in a silent scream. There was not a drop of blood in sight.

She looked around, but there was no trace of the Guard’s body. 

Caina put one hand on the helmet, titling the head to the side. The cut across the neck was smoother than anything she had ever seen. Even a skilled executioner, wielding a razor-sharp sword, could not cut through a man’s neck so cleanly. 

“Gods,” muttered Caina, straightening up. She didn’t know what had done this, and she didn’t particularly want to find out. 

But there was nowhere to go but forward, so she kept walking.

The Sacellum of the Living Flame grew closer, the huge, fire-lit black mass filling the eerie sky like a burning mountain. The landscape rippled and flowed around her, changing from one form to another. More and more, the terrain became an empty city, and Caina found herself recognizing many of the buildings. Marzhod’s tavern in Cyrioch was one. Another was Zorgi’s Inn at Marsis. A third displayed the façade of the Grand Imperial Opera. 

That disturbed her. Sinan claimed the netherworld would reflect her thoughts. Was that why she had started recognizing the buildings? Maybe the netherworld wasn’t quite like a mirror. Maybe it was more like wet clay, gradually molding itself to the shape of her mind…

Then the terrain changed again, half of a room appearing, and with a shock Caina saw herself.

She lay naked in a bed, Corvalis atop her, both of them groaning and panting. Caina recognized the room from the Inn of the Defender at Cyrioch, where she and Corvalis had spent the night together for the first time. 

Then the room vanished, along with the bed and its occupants, becoming a dead forest instead. 

Caina stared at the forest, too shaken to move. Remembering her past was one thing. Seeing it played out before her eyes was something else. That had been a pleasant memory, true…but she had others far darker.

Maybe that was why the Imperial Guard had killed himself. 

Caina broke into a jog.

The plain still shifted around her, and more and more she saw buildings she recognized. And sometimes she saw figures she recognized within the buildings. In one she saw Halfdan teaching her how to pick locks. In another she saw herself running with Nicolai in her arms, Istarish soldiers chasing them. In still another she saw Maglarion, the bloodcrystal in his left eye socket shining with ghostly green light, a bloody dagger in his hand…

She looked away. No, she did not want to remember that. 

The landscape changed again, becoming featureless gray grass in all directions, and a girl appeared on the road ahead of Caina. 

She was about ten or eleven, short and skinny with long black hair and large blue eyes the color of ice. She wore the rich blue dress of a young Nighmarian noblewoman, and Caina recognized it. It had been her favorite dress as a child, when she had still lived with her father. 

Before her mother had invited Maglarion to take her. 

Caina was looking at herself as a girl. 

“What are you?” said Caina, drawing her ghostsilver blade and pointing at it the girl.

“You’re a monster,” whispered the girl. 

“What are you?” said Caina.

“I am you,” whispered the girl. “I am Caina Amalas. I am you as you were, before you…changed.”

“Before Maglarion came,” said Caina.

The child nodded. “I wanted to be a mother. I wanted my father to pick a good and strong man for my husband, and I wanted to bear children. I would be a better mother to them than Laeria Amalas was ever to me, and someday I would be surrounded by strong sons and beautiful daughters and laughing grandchildren.” Her young face twisted with loathing. “Instead I became you.” 

“Maglarion did this to me,” said Caina. “I had little choice in the matter.” 

“Maglarion left you barren,” said the girl, “and look what you became. You’re a killer. How much blood is on your hands? How many people have you killed? Can you even count them all?”

“I’ve done what was necessary,” said Caina. “I’ve killed people, but they were trying to kill me. Or they would have done worse things, had I not…”

“Excuses,” spat the girl, her face crinkled with loathing. “You turned me into a monster. You turned me into you.”

“Instead,” said a woman’s voice, dry and cold, “you should have become me.”

Caina knew that voice.

It was her own.

A woman in her early twenties stepped onto the black road. She had long black hair and icy blue eyes, her thin arms and legs tight with sinewy muscle. She wore only a shift of white cloth, and her pregnant belly swelled against it. 

The woman was also Caina, or at least Caina if she could become pregnant.

The sight of it hurt more than she expected. 

“You should have been me,” said the pregnant woman.

“I should have been her,” said the girl.

“None of you,” said Caina. Her voice caught, and she forced herself to start over in a calm tone. “None of you are real.”

“Perhaps we are real,” said the pregnant woman, resting a hand on the curve of her stomach, “and it is you who are a nightmare.” She smiled. “Would you like to feel our son kick?”

Caina had taken one step forward and extended a gloved hand before she stopped herself. “I suspect that touching you would be a very bad idea.” 

The pregnant woman sneered. “What a contemptible creature you are. Yearning for what you can never have, desiring that which you will never touch. You wanted to be me, you wanted to be a wife and mother…and instead you are a murderer who shares the bed of an assassin with as much blood on his hands as yours. Our father would weep to see what you have become.”

“My father is dead,” said Caina, “because my mother and Maglarion murdered him. And I avenged him. I stopped Maglarion from killing everyone in Malarae. And I…”

“You do not need,” said another woman’s voice, colder and stronger than the first, “to justify yourself to anyone. You did what was necessary, and the Empire still stands today because of you.”

A woman in a black-trimmed red gown stepped onto the road.

For an alarmed instant Caina thought that it was the Moroaica, and she raised her ghostsilver dagger. But the woman had long black hair and cold blue eyes, and when Jadriga appeared in Caina’s dreams, she always took the form of a young Szaldic woman with wet black hair and inscrutable black eyes. Her second thought was that the red-gowned woman was her mother, which was even worse. 

Then Caina realized that she was looking at yet another version of herself. 

A future version. The girl was who she had been and the pregnant woman was who she wished she had been. 

This was who she might become.

The woman was about fifty, with gray at her temples and hard lines upon her gaunt face, though she remained fit and trim, and the red gown clung to the curves of her chest and hips. An aura of strength and power surrounded her, and Caina realized that she felt the tingle of arcane force.