Breaking Chaos

by Ben Galley

  I reached out with the blade again, and made another cut, and another, etching simple runes into the stone. Krass by name, crass by nature, perhaps, but how often do you get to carve your name into a throne? Especially one as glorious and spectacularly uncomfortable as this one.

  The door thudded as it opened, spilling sunlight through the shadows, and I saw Heles framed in its arch. She had my phantom dog by her side, rescued from the Cathedral On Its Head before it was destroyed. I stood up, brushing down my smock of grey and gold.

  ‘Empress wants to see you. It’s time to decide what to do with the ghosts.’ Heles looked suspicious as I approached, eying the blade in my hand. ‘What have you been doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, running my vapours over the phantom’s blue ears.

  ‘Regretting your decision already, Caltro?’

  ‘Like I said. It’s not my throne, Chamberlain.’

  ‘Correct. It’s not.’

  I pushed past her, moving to the grand windows that had been barred and barricaded against errant flying machines.

  Little had changed since I last looked. Even from high up in the Cloudpiercer, I could feel the city longing to relax. To let go. As do I.

  ‘Tell her I’ll be right along, Heles.’

  ‘As you wish, Majesty.’

  Heles stalked off, the sharp folds of her Chamber uniform snapping as she walked. I narrowed my eyes, and clutched my half-coin around my neck.

  Death was a deplorable sensation. No heart beat within her chest. No breath, wheezing in and out. No heat on her skin from the sunlight that bathed her. No skin to speak of at all.

  The slatherghast’s poison had finally claimed her.

  The wind toyed with her vapours as Nilith stared out over Araxes, her vision blurring at the edges. The city’s noises were few and dull. Just the occasional call of a rook or the racing flutter of a flock of doves. Nilith had never heard Araxes so quiet, even at night. She shivered in the cold. Always cold. Part of her longed for the baking heat of the Duneplains on her back one last time.

  The falcon by her side cleared his throat. ‘They’re here.’

  Nilith bowed her head, pressing it to the cold stone.

  ‘I suppose I can’t put it off any longer, can I?’

  ‘I don’t think you can,’ Bezel replied. ‘And to be honest, I wish you wouldn’t. I’m not the only ghost awaiting your judgement.’

  Nilith straightened, looking out over the city’s spires. ‘You killed my daughter, Bezel. By all rights I should have you kept in a box for another hundred years as punishment.’

  ‘You aren’t the type of—’

  ‘Aren’t I?’ Nilith felt her glowing eyes flash bright as she stared down at the falcon. A fierce moment passed between them. ‘However, she said, voice sharp but level. ‘We are here now, and whatever steps were taken to get here were taken exactly as they should have been. I would not change the past to look over a different future now. As much as the mother in me screams to throttle you, I will give you your freedom as I promised, Bezel. Your death. If you still want it?’

  From under her turquoise robes, she produced the slender silver bell. Its etched feathers caught the afternoon sun. The falcon fluttered his wings. He lowered his head to the stone and closed his eyes.

  ‘I will never forget your kindness.’

  Nilith rested a hand on his feathers. ‘Nor I yours, Bezel.’

  The falcon shrugged his bony shoulders and clacked his beak. ‘Who knows? Why be so fucking hasty? The afterlife isn’t going anywhere, thanks to you. Maybe I’ll give those dead gods a chance to stock up on wine and whores before I arrive.’

  Nilith grinned.

  ‘Empress,’ said a voice. Heles stood behind them.

  ‘No rest for the dead,’ Nilith whispered before sweeping from the balcony and into the shadow of her chambers. Bezel followed, swooping down from the railing onto a nearby set of antelope horns.

  ‘Chamberlain. Have the banks surrendered their half-coins yet?’ Nilith enquired.

  ‘Most. Not all. I have scrutinisers seeing to the rest of them. Flimzi seems to think the battle didn’t happen.’

  ‘Fool. Explain it to him again, would you?’ Nilith moved about the copse of tables she’d spread her maps over. She was momentarily mesmerised by the scrawls of ink.

  ‘Everything all right, Nilith?’ asked Heles.

  The empress took some time to nod. ‘There is so much to do…’ she muttered.

  ‘You should know better than anyone that saving an empire isn’t supposed to be easy,’ Heles answered, flicking a crumb from a nearby scroll.

  Nilith had to smile at that. ‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ she said, unclenching her fists. ‘Where’s Caltro? I want to talk about his ceremony. It’s time the citizens of this city knew who saved them.’

  Heles waved a hand at the ceiling, in the general direction of the Cloud Court. ‘Said he’d be along shortly.’

  ‘Not good enough. I haven’t the time to be waiting on that locksmith.’ In no time at all, Nilith swept from the room, vapours and silks trailing. The scimitar at her hip jangled in its ivory scabbard. Bezel flapped alongside them.

  They ascended to the chambers beneath the Cloud Court, and up again to the mighty golden door of the hall itself. With a creak, the doors surrendered to Nilith’s push, and they entered the sunlit wreckage of the hall. The shafts fell across piles of rubble and the burnt shell of Hirana’s flying machine. The turquoise throne glowed with its own light, sea-green under sun, deep sapphire in shadow.

  ‘Where is he? Caltro!’ Nilith called to the silent hall. Only the wind replied, murmuring across the jagged glass of the smashed skylights. The falcon flitted between the remaining columns, looking for the ghost.

  ‘Where is that damn locksmith?’ she asked of Heles, but the scrutiniser had no answer, merely shrugging.

  ‘No sign of him!’

  They poked around the rubble, but no glow presented itself. Nilith checked behind the throne with an irritated growl, and it was then she noticed the scrap of papyrus lying on the seat of the throne, and the fresh powder of turquoise glass at its feet. There above it, the names, ‘Caltro Basalt’ and, ‘Absia’ had been carved in the stone in Krass runes. Like it or not, the smile began to spread across her face.

  Nilith snatched up the papyrus, ripping its fold open. More runes awaited her.

  We make our own luck.

  Nilith held the note in her hand, and with some concentration, crumpled it in a blue fist. Heles came closer, concerned.

  ‘What is it? What has he done?’

  ‘Nothing, Heles. Caltro has simply done what he’s wanted to all along. He’s gone home.’

  ‘But what about the—’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Nilith interrupted. She threw the papyrus to the ground and put her heel upon it. When she raised her head, the smile had grown into a grin. ‘He’ll be just fine.’

  A moonless night and empty streets made the going easy, swift. The phantom by my side was true to his name, and silent. I saw soldiers at most junctures, but they were more interested in helping with the corpse piles to notice me flitting though the dark alleys. Though the robe covered most of me, I tensed to keep my glow to a faint shine. I could do nothing about the whining from inside the big sack I carried, but I had no choice in that matter. The city was wary of any ghost that skulked about, and rightly so.

  The shard of Pointy sat at my side. Invincible, I’d taken to calling him. It had a more fitting ring for a god-killing blade, dead or not.

  As I crept between the bluffs of mighty warehouses and grain silos, I saw fallen bodies here and there between the gutters. Though I had seen more than enough in my time in Araxes, I couldn’t help but stare at their twisted postures and gaunt faces.

  I hunkered down behind a barrel as a set of Consortium soldiers came tramping past. As I waited there, listening to the rhythm of their boots, I put my hand on something soft. I recoiled to find a corpse beside me, gr
inning with a dislodged jaw. I wrinkled my lip, and as I pulled away, its foggy eyes swivelled in their shallow sockets to look at me. The contents of my sack began to growl.

  ‘I should have known I hadn’t seen the last of you,’ I said with a sigh.

  The corpse had no words for me. I stood and scurried on, darting down another side street towards the docks. Always towards the docks. It had taken me several hours to get this far, and I was only just glimpsing the black blanket of the sea between the canyon streets.

  Every corpse in my path began to turn their head or dead gaze to face me as I passed them. The fresher ones, those still with lips the rats hadn’t got to yet, whispered at me.

  ‘Caltro.’

  ‘Thank you,’ one called, its eyes glowing green for the briefest of moments. ‘You did as we asked.’

  A black cat, half its skin missing and bearing grey ribs on one side, scampered across my path. ‘You saved us,’ it hissed.

  ‘And you better remember it,’ I whispered back, though I wondered how many puppet strings they had pulled besides me own. How much manoeuvring had they done behind the scenes of this catastrophic play?

  I ran faster still. I longed to put this city, its gods, and its corpses behind me. Dead though I was, I was Krass, and that was where I belonged. A land I knew and trusted. I had given the dead gods what they wanted; they could furnish me with peace and quiet from now on.

  Yet still the eyes watched me. Still the whispers of gratitude and congratulations followed me. As I passed piles of corpses, whole choruses would wheeze my name. It was intolerable, until, as I broke out into the boardwalk, the corpses disappeared and the voices faded.

  A ship lingered three piers away, three-masted and square of sail. Whale-oil lamps burnt orange through its portholes. A short queue of sailors and passengers wound around the jetty and its bollards, all eager to escape the city. I made my way to the back of it, and met the wary stares of the living waiting before me. One ghost stood among them, and that was all.

  ‘Psst,’ I called to the man in front of me, a swarthy man lacking in teeth and hair. It looked as though he had taken twice the weathering any sailor ought to have received.

  ‘What?’ He snuffled at me, wiping his grimy nose. He was immediately transfixed by the phantom.

  ‘Where’s this ship going?’

  ‘Harras, in the Scatter.’

  I smiled warmly at him. As warmly as any ghost can. ‘I have a few more bags, just around the corner in my carriage. I’ll give you a silver if you can help me aboard.’

  The sailor thought about it for a moment. ‘Four.’

  ‘Two.’ I stuck out my hand, and he sneered.

  ‘Lead the way, then,’ he said, spitting to the gutter. ‘But I better not lose my place.’

  ‘We’ll be quick.’ I beckoned him up the street, empty but for one lantern shining from a window. He grumbled all the way around the corner, where he soon found my hand around his throat. It was a gamble; with the Code and Tenets broken, my haunting had been in question.

  I could have laughed aloud as his flesh give way before me.

  When I re-joined the line, my borrowed body sweating from the duel going on within us, I flashed a gap-toothed smile at the man in front, adjusted the sack on my back, and patted the phantom between his cold ears.

  For half an hour, the line shuffled forwards until it was my turn at the foot of the gangplank.

  ‘Sailor?’ asked a gruff man, perched behind a makeshift desk. He was already writing the answer down with his reed.

  ‘No. Passenger,’ I said, halting him. ‘And I want a private room, if there’s one left.’

  The man looked me up and down, then at the glowing dog at my side. ‘I—’

  The pouch of silver I’d lifted from a serek’s chambers convinced him, and he told me my room number in a mumble.

  Fighting the old and arthritic body up the gangplank, I found my room with ease, barging the door open with my backside and settling my sack on the bed. With stiff fingers, I unfastened it, and let the phantom push its head from his temporary lodgings.

  ‘Sorry about that, old chap. Don’t think they’d quite understand you at the moment.’

  The ghost hound whined at me, flicking his ears back and forth. I ruffled their faint edges for good measure, and got to my feet. As I moved to peek out the porthole, I felt a queasy rumble in my stomach. I knew the culprit of that sensation well enough. Salt-meat stew.

  Deciding to find a place to ditch the man overboard, I went to the door. The phantom moved to follow, but I made him stay by patting him on the nose. He growled at me, but lay down.

  Outside in the ship’s sweaty corridors, I tried to find my bearings again, remembering which way I’d come amidships. I chose a direction, and I’d barely taken two steps before a door swung open before me, and an old, pale woman in fur-trimmed boots and a blue velvet coat bustled out of it.

  ‘Out of my way, ugly peasant! How dare you lurk outside my door. Away with you!’ she ordered me, her shrill voice and Skol accent piercing my borrowed ears.

  I could have laughed right in her wrinkled face. Of all the ships leaving Araxes on this chosen evening, my old nemesis had chosen the same one.

  I pulled myself aside before her lanky guard could push me out of the way, and moved on. I heard her complaints as she worked her way down the corridor away from me.

  ‘…and I am never coming to this accursed city again! Oh! The serek’s face when I opened the chest. I shall never forget the day. And with this battle… what a frightful, horrid place! I long to see the black beaches of Skol…’

  I paused in the shadows along from her door, waiting for her voice to fade. I bit my lip with a snaggletooth, pondering, when my stomach gurgled again. As I brought my lockpicks from where I’d stashed them in the sailor’s grimy pockets, a smile lit my face.

  It was only fitting, I thought, as I swiftly broke the lock of her door, that she should arrive home as she had arrived in Araxes.

  I was already shuffling my trews down before I closed the door.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Ben Galley is an author of dark and epic fantasy who currently hails from Victoria, Canada. Since publishing his debut The Written in 2010, Ben has released a range of award-winning fantasy novels, including the weird western Bloodrush and the epic standalone The Heart of Stone. When he isn’t conjuring up strange new stories or arguing the finer points of magic and dragons, Ben works as a self-publishing consultant, helping fellow authors from around the world to publish their books. Ben enjoys exploring the Canadian wilds and sipping Scotch single malts, and will forever and always play a dark elf in The Elder Scrolls.

  For more about Ben, visit his website at www.bengalley.com, or say hello at hello@bengalley.com. You can also follow Ben on Twitter and YouTube @BenGalley, and on Facebook and Instagram @BenGalleyAuthor.

  Suggested Listening

  Below you’ll find a Spotify playlist that is a tribute to the various songs that inspired, fuelled, and otherwise invigorated me during the writing of the Chasing Graves Trilogy. I hope you enjoy it.

  – Ben

  Matter

  ARCANE ROOTS

  In Cold Blood

  ALT-J

  Everlong

  FOO FIGHTERS

  Cold Cold Cold

  CAGE THE ELEPHANT

  Pardon Me

  INCUBUS

  Lost On You – Elk Road Remix

  LP, ELK ROAD

  Saturnz Barz (feat. Popcaan)

  GORILLAS, POPCAAN

  Broken People

  LOGIC, RAG’N’BONE MAN

  King of Wishful Thinking

  GO WEST

  Ocean View

  ONE DAY AS A LION

  Drift

  HANDS LIKE HOUSES

  Silence

  OUR LAST NIGHT

  Monstrous Things

  PICTURESQUE

  Back To Me

  OF MICE & MEN

&nb
sp; A Light In A Darkened World

  KILLSWITCH ENGAGE

  That’s Just Life

  MEMPHIS MAY FIRE

  Cycling Trivialities

  JOSÉ GONZÁLEZ

  Set Free

  KATIE GRAY

  Hurt

  JOHNNY CASH

  Chalkboard

  JÓHANN JÓHANNSSON

  Follow the playlist at bengalley.com/chasing-graves

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  Did you enjoy Breaking Chaos?

  If you enjoyed Breaking Chaos and the rest of the Chasing Graves Trilogy, do take a moment to leave a quick star rating on Amazon, write a review on Goodreads, or simply tell a friend or two. Thank you for reading and for your support. It means an inordinate amount to us authors.

  – Ben