by Ben Galley
‘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, grinning 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.
Decidin
g 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 [email protected]. You can also follow Ben on Twitter and YouTube @BenGalley, and on Facebook and Instagram @BenGalleyAuthor.
Acknowledgements
December, 2018
They say nothing worth doing ever comes easy. Sitting here, gawping at the final version of Chasing Graves, wearing a manic yet relieved grin, I’m inclined to agree. In many ways, this book was a big challenge for me as a writer. Chasing Graves is a mix of POVs, it’s my first first-person protagonist, and I managed to build a larger cast of characters than I’ve ever worked with before. It’s also the first time I’ve written a whole series in one go without publishing any of the volumes.
When I first set out to write Chasing Graves in 2017, I was somewhat daunted by my own ambition, yet determined to tell the story that had been loitering in my mind since The Emaneska Series, begging to be written. I realised that if I had a lot of plates to spin, I would need a hefty amount of feedback to keep my imagination on track.
Many friendly faces stepped in during the early stages to help me shape this book, such as my ever-patient girlfriend Rachel and my good buddies Ben, Lucy, and James, who endured numerous hours of me yammering on about ghosts and death and Egyptian mythology. A special thank you also goes out to fellow fantasy author Phil Tucker, who provided feedback on the all-important opening chapters.
I would also like to thank my fantastic beta readers. As always, they were instrumental in road-testing Chasing Graves. Out of the kindness of their hearts, they helped me trim the fat from the plot, and their detailed feedback formed the foundation for the final version of the book. My thanks go out to Shane S, Kartik N, Richard H, Leann H, Rusty and Teri M, and Jordan T.
I can’t possibly go any further without thanking my irreplaceable editors, who essentially keep the world from knowing how terrible at grammar and spelling I truly am. Huge thanks to Andrew Lowe, who was a big help on the first draft, and to Laura M. Hughes, who put the very final touches to the book, and did a grand job of it, too. I’ll be forever grateful to Laura for opening my eyes to my apparent obsession with the word ‘gurn’.
A gigantic fist-bump goes to artist Chris Cold, who produced the artwork for the Chasing Graves cover, and what an astounding job he did. I still find it difficult to take my eyes off it.
It was also a pleasure to work with typographer Shawn King once again. I still owe him a big flagon of ale for the work he did on The Heart of Stone and Shards. Considering what he’s done with the Chasing Graves cover design, I think I now owe him a whole barrel.
I also want to thank my fellow fantasy authors who, throughout the writing and editing of this book, have provided me with constant motivation. They have always been there to push me on and lend me enthusiasm whenever I find myself running on empty, and they continue to inspire me daily with their achievements and passion. They are too many to mention, but the Terrible ‘Ten’ know who they are.
The same goes for the wonderful individuals who make the fantasy genre such a vibrant community. The following people and blogs were more than enthusiastic about getting their hands on the first copies of Chasing Graves, helped me to reveal the cover, and provided the first ever reviews. I want to thank Tam of the Fantasy Inn, Jennie Ivins from Fantasy Faction, Mihir Wanchoo from Fantasy Book Critic, Adam Weller, Emma Davis, and James Tivendale of Fantasy Book Review, Petros from BookNest, Adrian of Grimdark Magazine, Esme of The Weatherwax Report, Bob from Beauty in Ruins, Lynn of Lynn’s Books, Wol from The Tome and Tankard, Timy of RockStarlit BookAsylum, Petrik and Haïfa of the Novel Notions team, and last, but far from least, Lynn from Grimmedian. Your support will forever be deeply appreciated.
And that brings me to you, the reader. I’ve been writing and publishing for almost 10 years and I don’t think I will ever get over receiving emails, reviews and comments from fans and readers. Your support and enthusiasm consistently spur me on, and this author thanks you from the bottom of his black and twisted heart.
Updated: April, 2018
Here we are again. Once more I’m in a seated position, and yet this time I look upon a completed trilogy. Reading back through my first acknowledgements, I have an urge to chuckle at my past self. Completing one book was just the initial leap across the ravine. I still needed to safely reach the opposite side.
It gives me immense satisfaction to say that my feet landed on solid ground. The gods of publication stuck with me after unleashing Chasing Graves, and my audacious attempt to publish three books in three months somehow succeeded. I say “somehow” because, despite my obsession with organisation, as Robbie Burns said: the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Or, as I would put it, the best laid plans of authors are often and forcibly defenestrated. Let’s just say I was still writing chunks of Breaking Chaos barely a month from its March release, but we’ll keep that between you and me…
The trick to succeeding is never giving up, and so through perseverance, fortune, and fantastic assistance from a range of people, the Chasing Graves Trilogy made it to the shelves. No indie author truly self-publishes. We are never alone in our efforts to bring a book into the world. From our editors and designers to the encouraging tweet from a reader that brings a smile to an author’s face, there is a microcosm of support surrounding every publication. I’d like to thank the people that supported me.
Chris Cold produced another brilliant cover for Grim Solace, and captured Nilith just as excellently as he did Caltro. It was also a pleasure to work with Felix Ortiz on Breaking Chaos, who not only paints like a Renaissance master but brought a heavy dose of epicness to the conclusion of the trilogy.
I would like to thank my amazing editor Laura M. Hughes, who was responsible for making sure I
didn’t come across as an illiterate buffoon. Laura’s suggestions and edits were not only inspiring and incisive, but added a sheen of varnish to this trilogy that I couldn’t have applied without her.
Once again, I would like to thank my beta readers for their continued help, and express my gratitude to the numerous reviewers and book bloggers who have supported each and every instalment of the Chasing Graves Trilogy. You have been champions of what I aimed to accomplish, and through your encouragement, you have also contributed to the success of this rapid release. As well as the people already mentioned above, I would like to thank Justine Bergman, Kristen of Superstardrifter, Kayla of Bookish Whispers, and Charlie of Cultured Vultures. I also want to thank the wonderful community of fellow authors that have assisted me untold amounts by sharing my posts and news over the last few months. Thank you.
This whole process, as stressful and complicated as it was at times, hasn’t merely produced another fantasy series, it has also taught me valuable lessons and deeply inspired me in regards to my future as an author. Chasing Graves started out as just a new story to be written, transformed into a monster, and finally evolved into a whole new phase of my career. For that, I will be forever grateful that Caltro Basalt popped into my head all those months ago. And although I’m already working on the next project – a story in a world without dead thieves and ghosts – it won’t be the last we see of him or Nilith.
Finally, thank you for reading the Chasing Graves Trilogy, and for your encouragement and support. I hope you enjoyed this series as much as I enjoyed writing it.
– Ben Galley
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.
