Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (4 page)

“When should we leave?” said Corvalis.

“Tomorrow, if at all possible,” said Halfdan. “The sooner you discover the truth, the better we shall be.”

“Well,” said Caina, “then we have a great deal of work to do.”

###

That night Caina lay in her bed alongside Corvalis, and nightmares filled her mind. 

Nightmares, Halfdan had told her more than once, were the scars of the mind. Just as the flesh bore scars, so did the mind carry nightmares. Caina was happier now, perhaps as happy as someone like her could be, but her mind still carried its scars.

One of them was her mother. 

In her dream she saw Laeria Amalas standing on a cliff overlooking the sea, the sky dark and angry. Laeria wore a gold gown with black trim, her long black hair streaming out behind her. She turned, her blue eyes icy, and Caina was struck by how much she resembled her mother. 

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“So,” said Laeria, “it is going to be you. I can see it.”

“I don’t understand,” said Caina. 

“It is coming,” said Laeria, “and you will not be able to stop the fulfillment of my purpose.”

“You’re dead,” said Caina. “I killed you eleven years ago. You’re dead.”

Laeria laughed…and green fire flashed in her blue eyes.

“How could you have killed me,” she said, “when I never lived?” 

The sky overhead erupted with green fire, the sea boiling into mist, and Dust Shades, tens of thousands of Dust Shades, rose from the earth.

###

Caina sat up, breathing hard, sweat dripping down her back. 

“What is it?” said Corvalis, a dagger in hand.

Caina looked around their dark bedroom, blinking the sweat from her eyes. 

“A dream,” she said at last. “Just another dream. That’s all.”

But it had been the strangest dream she had endured in some time.

Chapter 3 - The Physician’s Apprentice

Claudia Aberon opened her eyes. 

For a moment she stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling, watched the pale morning light throw shadows over her small bedroom. Despite what was happening outside the walls of Calvarium and along the boundaries of the Henge, she found herself looking forward to the day. She looked forward to it in a way she had not looked forward to anything since her days as a child, before her father had sold Corvalis to the Kindred.

How odd that seemed. 

Once she had lived in luxury, an entire suite of rooms to call her own, servants to attend her every whim, all the resources of the Magisterium at her command. Now she lived in the cramped back room of a physician’s shop, dressed herself with her own hands, prepared her own meals and cleaned her own clothes.

And she was happier than she had ever been.

How odd, indeed. She only wished that Corvalis were here.

But if Lady Maena and Anashir continued their activities outside the Henge, she might see Corvalis sooner that she liked. 

Claudia put aside the thought and got out of bed. She had work to be about, and Komnene had sent word about Maena Tulvius and Anashir to the circlemasters in Malarae. They could act on it as they wished. Until then, Claudia had work to do.

She did miss having her own bath, but perhaps she could visit the public bathhouse tonight. She donned a blue dress, a coat, and heavy boots to ward away the chill of the Caerish hills, and then put on an apron sewn with dozens of small pockets and loops to hold pewter vials. 

She brushed off some dust from her sleeves and left her bedroom.

The shop’s main room looked like a combination of an apothecary’s shop, a library, and a herbarium. Shelves held glass jars of dried and powdered plants, and ropes of dried herbs and leaves hung from the rafters. Another shelf held books on medicine, some in High Nighmarian, others in Istarish and Anshani. Three tables ran the length of the shop. Two were used for examining patients. The third held the tools and equipment of an apothecary.

A woman in her late fifties stood at the table, her cane propped against the wall. She wore a worn blue robe and shawl, her gray hair pulled into a tail. As ever, she had a faintly distracted expression on her face as she mixed a vial of medicine.

“Komnene,” said Claudia.

The woman who was both the chief physician and the Ghost circlemaster of Calvarium did not look up from her work. “You are up early.”

“And you are up even earlier,” said Claudia. “Was your hip troubling you again?”

“Mmm.” Komnene held up a glass vial to the light, squinted at it, and shook her head. “A patient presents with chronic pain of the right hip. Suggested treatment?”

“Apply warm compresses in the night,” said Claudia at once, “and insist that the patient perform exercises in the morning to keep the joint loose. Which, I suspect, you did not do.” 

“And if the pain is severe enough to require drugs?” said Komnene.

Claudia hesitated. “It has gotten worse?”

“That does not answer the question,” said Komnene. 

“A powder made from the leaves of the spiraea plant,” said Claudia, “mixed into a drink, will help alleviate the pain.”

“No medicine made from the poppy?” said Komnene.

“Too addictive,” said Claudia, “and it dulls the patient’s wits. You need your wits.”

Komnene smiled. “Who said we were talking about me? If you must know, my hip is fine. Or, at least, as good as it ever gets. I find I need less sleep as I get older, and I may as well put the time to good use.” 

“That is for the butcher’s son?” said Claudia, eyeing the medicine in the vial.

“It is,” said Komnene. “A good catch, girl. This elixir is hard to distinguish from several others. But, yes, it is for Connagh. He ought to be getting over his fever, if his mother is keeping the boy in bed. This will help speed the process along. After that, we shall visit the fur merchant’s wife and check upon her new child…”

Claudia listened as Komnene listed their patients for the day. Komnene had come to Calvarium to retire, yet she nonetheless maintained an active practice and visited her patients, her hip be damned. And that was in addition to her tasks as Calvarium’s circlemaster. Of course, Calvarium was a quiet little town, despite the black ruin of Caer Magia looming on its hill. Only petty criminals, tomb robbers, and political exiles ever came here.

Failures, like Claudia.

But that was before Lady Maena and Anashir. Before the tribesmen began lighting fires to Anubankh in the hills. 

“And in the process,” said Komnene, “we shall learn what we can about the followers of Anubankh…and whatever it is that Lady Maena and Anashir are doing.”

“Digging, they claim,” said Claudia. “Both for relics from the Seventh Battle of Calvarium. The only time an Anshani army ever came this far north. Both Lady Maena and the occultist claim their ancestors fought in the battle. Though on different sides, I imagine.” 

“A perfectly legitimate reason,” said Komnene. “But the Seventh Battle of Calvarium took place during the Third Empire, and Caer Magia had not yet even been built. Yet it is very odd, is it not, that an Anshani occultist is digging up a battlefield not far from Caer Magia itself? At the same time a strange cult takes hold in the hills?”

Claudia nodded. “How will we learn more?”

“Why, by simply speaking with people,” said Komnene. “We are physicians, are we not? Our patients talk to us…and if they choose to share details of interest to the Ghosts, I shall not stop them. And then we will send those details to the circlemasters in Malarae, who shall act on them.” She shook her head, gray ponytail brushing against her shoulders. “I hope they act on them. With the war between the Emperor and the Assembly of New Kyre, I fear a backwater like Caeria Ulterior is overlooked. But what is happening here might be as dangerous as New Kyre.”

Claudia nodded. She remembered the fires burning atop the hills in the night, remembered the distant sound of drums booming over Calvarium’s walls. 

“And we shall speak to Lord Martin, if we can,” said Komnene. “Perhaps he shall invite us to dinner. Or just you.”

Claudia felt some heat in her cheeks. “I don’t see why he would bother. I am only a physician’s apprentice.”

Komnene smiled. “He likes you, you know.”

“I am a physician’s apprentice,” said Claudia, “and he is a noble and the Lord Governor of Calvarium.”

“He is only the Lord Governor of Calvarium,” said Komnene, “because he annoyed Lord Corbould, and found himself banished here to the hinterlands.” She paused, picked up her cane, and tapped it against the floorboards. “And I suspect he is just as lonely as you are, child.” 

“I am not lonely,” said Claudia, “and if he knew who I really was, he would run screaming.” 

“You are not a member of the Magisterium any longer,” said Komnene.

“No,” said Claudia, “but I am still Decius Aberon’s bastard daughter. And the First Magus has something of a…reputation.”

“True,” said Komnene. “Come. Let us go about our rounds. Perhaps we shall gather enough information for the circlemasters in Malarae to send nightfighters to aid us.”

Claudia followed the older woman to the door. Perhaps the circlemasters would send Corvalis, who was now a nightfighter of the Ghosts. Claudia would dearly love to see her brother again. On the other hand, the circlemasters might send Caina Amalas…and the short, lean woman with eyes like blue ice terrified Claudia. Somehow Caina had captured Corvalis’s heart, though Claudia could not fathom how.

Then they stepped into the street, and all thoughts of Caina and Corvalis fled from Claudia’s mind.

The City of Skulls had that effect on her.

Calvarium was old. Long before the First Empire of Nighmar had risen to the east, the hill of Calvarium had been a sacred site to the ancient Caerish tribes. Here the priests of the tribes gathered, raising megalithic monuments and offering sacrifices to the gods of the netherworld. 

And often those sacrifices had been beheaded. 

Strange monuments to the old gods stood scattered around the town. Many of the dolmens had been converted to shops and houses and markets. Yet the skulls still sat in their rough-hewn niches, hundreds of them, thousands of them, gazing down at the streets. The Caers might have converted to the gods of the Empire, might have turned their back upon the bloody barbarism of their ancestors. Yet an aura of dread still surrounded those ancient skulls. No Caer would dare touch them, and anyone who disturbed a skull was fined, flogged, and expelled from Calvarium. 

A strange place.

And the black ruin on its high hill overlooking the town made it stranger. Claudia knew her history, as did any brother or sister of the Magisterium. The magi had ruled the Empire until their own sorcery destroyed them. Now Caer Magia was a haunted ruin, and anyone who stepped within the boundaries of the Henge, the ring of standing stones encircling Caer Magia’s hill, died after exactly seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats. 

Assuming the undead things that lurked in the ruins did not first kill the intruders.

Caer Magia was a place of horror and terror, and the Caers would not go anywhere near it. The legend had spread to the rest of the Empire, and few ever came from the provinces or the capital to visit the dead city. 

And those few who did never came out again. 

Yet both Lady Maena and Anashir seemed interested in the ruin.

Claudia shook aside the thought. She could do nothing about it, at least not directly. Once she had thought to save the world, but she had accepted that some things exceeded her grasp. 

And she had work to do.

She followed Komnene from house to house. Most of the houses within Calvarium had been built in the Caerish style, round with stone walls and thatched roofs, though the wealthier townsmen built roofs of fired clay tiles from Malarae. Many of the houses had been constructed around ancient megalithic arches, skulls grinning from their lintels. 

Skulls everywhere. Claudia had never thought she would get used to them.

“Thank you for the medicine, mistress,” said Murtagh the butcher, a beefy, ruddy-faced man with arms like hams. “My wife feared the boy would die in his sleep, but he looks better.” 

Komnene tapped her cane against the floor of Murtagh’s shop. “Well, have her keep Connagh in bed for another three days. If he rests and takes the medicine, he should recover.”

“Thank you,” said Murtagh. “Lost a girl to the fever five years back. Don’t want to have that happen again.”

“Of course not,” said Komnene. She glanced at the dried hams and sausages hanging from the rafters. “Your stock seems a bit thin.”

“Aye,” said Murtagh, scowling behind his bushy mustache. “It’s those damned cultists in the hills. They’ve turned bandit, claim their dusty old foreign god is going to overthrow the Empire. The farmers have gotten too scared to bring their cattle to town.” He shook his head. “Lord Martin needs to write to the Lord Governor in Caeria Superior, have him send men from the Legion to clear the hills. The town militia isn’t enough to keep the roads safe.”

“Perhaps he shall,” said Komnene, “but the Lord Governor of Caeria Superior might not have any men to send. All the Legions have moved to the coast, to prepare for the war against New Kyre.”

Murtagh snorted. “Well, Lord Corbould Maraeus will whip the Kyracians, and then the Legions will come north again. They can settle with these damned cultists and their foreign god.”

Claudia was not so sure. She had met Kylon of House Kardamnos, Kylon Shipbreaker, in Catekharon, and he was not the sort of man anyone could defeat easily. If the other stormdancers and stormsingers of New Kyre were anything like him, Lord Corbould might find he had bitten off more than he could chew. 

Next they went to the workshop of Rudraig the stonemason. The Caers traditionally used stone to build the walls of their homes, and Rudraig had no shortage of work. Additionally, the Caerish nobility, like the nobles across the Empire, had a mania for statues, and Rudraig kept three sculptors laboring full-time in his workshop. 

“How is the leg?” said Komnene.