Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge

by Jonathan Moeller

  A man’s strong arms around her, his mouth against hers and his body warm against her skin…

  Jadriga shook her head with a growl. Those were not her memories.

  “I say again, it is folly,” said the Surge.

  “It is not folly!” said Jadriga, Caina’s memories disappearing in a burst of fury. Even her anger, her endless anger, seemed hotter now. “It is justice. I will make a new and better world, and I will repay the gods for the cruelties.”

  “You will not,” said the Surge.

  “And you are so certain of that?” said Jadriga. “Perhaps you ought to aid me. Even nonsense-spouting oracles should wish for the better world I will bring.”

  “I am certain,” said the Surge. “I see the storm of the world, and two paths lie before it. In one, the Balarigar defeats you. In the other, the storm of the world ends. The world burns and ends in darkness and silence. Not a perfected world. A dead world.”

  “Then your sight is wrong,” said Jadriga. “I will have justice.”

  “You already have,” said the Surge. “I see it in the shadows of your past, and long and black shadows they are! You have already taken your vengeance. The priest who slew your father died, if not at your hand, then at your instigation. The kingdom he served is dust and rubble. They both have been gone for centuries. For millennia. The world has gone on for generations.”

  “It is still a cruel world, still infested with tyrants,” said Jadriga. “I will throw them down and make a new and better world. A world without death, without pain, without…”

  “You cannot,” said the Surge. “The world cannot be fixed, it cannot be repaired. Cruelty and evil reside not in the world, but in the hearts of mortal men, and too often we choose to use them. It is our doing that makes the world evil. Not the work of any gods.”

  “No,” said Jadriga, her voice dropping to a growl. “I will remake the world.”

  “Then you shall have a world filled with death,” said the Surge. “Unless the Balarigar stops you. For your fates are bound together. She is what you could have been, and you are…”

  “She is not me!” shouted Jadriga, the rage trembling through her again. “And if she makes it here, if somehow she escapes Sicarion, then I will kill her.”

  “Will you kill her lover beside her?” said the Surge.

  Again Caina’s memories burned through Jadriga’s mind as if they were her own. She remembered Corvalis’s eyes and hands, the first time they had kissed in the Inn of the Defender, the first time they had shared a bed…

  Jadriga shook her head. “They are not my memories!”

  “They haunt you,” said the Surge, “because you have been dead for a very long time. You claim new bodies, but you do not live. You have no free will, and you will pursue the final choice you made in life – to avenge your father – until you destroy the world. But the Balarigar still lives, and knows the love of a man, something you never knew in life. You…”

  “Silence,” said Jadriga, and she turned away.

  The Surge was wrong. Jadriga would remake the world, would end pain and suffering.

  And then she would storm the heavens and make the gods pay.

  She began casting spells, finishing the final stages of her great work at last.

  Chapter 13 - Voyage

  Caina spent the twelve days aboard Maltaer’s ship in a dull haze of grief.

  She had spent time aboard ships before. Usually she brought a book or three to pass the time, but with their hurried escape from Marsis, she had nothing but the clothes on her back, her weapons, and her shadow-cloak. She had been with Halfdan for many of her journeys aboard ship, and they had spent hours talking, discussing the history of the Empire, or the state of current politics, or the best way to pick a lock in the dark. Sometimes she asked him how he had joined the Ghosts, and he told a different story every time, ranging from mundane to implausible.

  But he was dead, and she would never speak with him again.

  She never had found out how he had joined the Ghosts.

  It was different than when her mother and Maglarion had killed her father. Then she had been only a child, frightened and helpless, certain she would to die. Now she was a Ghost nightfighter, twenty-two years old, and she had survived and defeated more foes than she wanted to remember.

  And that still had not been enough to save Halfdan.

  She replayed the confrontation in her head over and over. If only she had been a bit cleverer. She could have realized that Halfdan had been talking to Sicarion. She could have warned Halfdan. Or perhaps she should have let Aiodan Maraeus arrest her and then escaped. If she had done that, perhaps Halfdan would have left the warehouse before Sicarion killed him…

  She turned the possibilities in her mind again and again, seeing dozens of things she could have done differently, blaming herself for each of them.

  When the regret became too much to bear she locked herself in her cabin and went through the unarmed forms for hours, practicing them until sweat drenched her and she was too tired to stand. Caina wanted oblivion, wanted to drink herself into a stupor. Maltaer’s crew had wine, and they thought her a man, one of the Venatorii they had been hired to transport in secret. Caina could have easily gotten as much unmixed wine as she wanted from them and drank until she blacked out.

  But doing so while pursuing the Moroaica and Sicarion would be monumentally stupid, and she needed to keep her wits about her, grief and regret be damned. So instead she exercised to exhaustion, toweled off the sweat, and sat again the wall of her cabin, staring out the narrow window at the endless waves of the western sea.

  One day the door to her cabin opened, and Corvalis stepped inside.

  “I locked the door,” said Caina, not looking up.

  The deck creaked as he sat next to her. “It was an inferior lock.”

  Caina snorted. “A poor choice on Maltaer’s part. Given that he is a smuggler.”

  “All the easier to steal from his passengers, then,” said Corvalis.

  Caina nodded and said nothing.

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “You’ve lost people before,” said Corvalis at last.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “My father.”

  “How did you cope with it then?” said Corvalis.

  Caina shrugged. “I joined the Ghosts and I killed a lot of people.”

  They lapsed into silence again.

  “But my father’s death,” said Caina, “wasn’t my fault. Halfdan’s death was.”

  “What?” said Corvalis. “Sicarion killed him, not you.”

  “But I should have realized what was happening,” said Caina. “Everyone says I’m so clever, but I’m not. I didn’t realize Sicarion was there until he stabbed Halfdan. I should have…

  “It’s Sicarion’s fault,” said Corvalis, “and maybe mine.”

  Caina blinked. “Yours? That is absurd. You…”

  “I thought it was a bad idea for us to split up,” said Corvalis. “I didn’t say anything, since I figured Halfdan knew what he was doing. I probably should have argued with him.”

  “No,” said Caina. “It was a good plan. We just…”

  “We didn’t know,” said Corvalis, “that Ranarius would possess the Lord Governor of Marsis and come after you. Maybe we should have predicted it. But we didn’t. Maybe we should have done a thousand other things, but we didn’t. None of it matters. Halfdan’s blood is upon Sicarion’s hands. Not mine, and certainly not yours.”

  “I know that,” said Caina. “I’ve told myself a thousand times. I know it in my mind. But my heart thinks differently.” She sighed and rubbed her face, pushing away a few loose strands of hair. Idly she noted that it was going black at the roots, that she would need to dye it again soon.

  Assuming she lived that long.

  “The heart and reason are ever at war,” said Corvalis.

  “That’s downright profound,” said Caina.

  He snorted. “It’s not mine. Claudia used t
o quote it. Some book or another she read.” He took her hand. “I cannot blame you for grieving as you do. When Ranarius turned Claudia to stone, I killed a lot of people to save her.”

  “Have you ever lost anyone?” said Caina.

  His smile was tinged with regret. “I was an assassin of the Kindred for years. I killed more people than I care to recall.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Caina. “Someone you cared about who died. Or was murdered.”

  Corvalis thought for a moment. “No. Not really. I remember when my father killed my mother…but I was a small child. I barely remember anything about her. If my father died today, I would be overjoyed. I was furious when Ranarius turned Claudia to stone, but I knew I had a chance to save her.” He shrugged. “The closest…was probably Nairia.” His voice grew quiet. “That was a betrayal, not a loss.”

  Caina squeezed his hand. He never talked about Nairia. The Kindred often rewarded their assassins with beautiful slaves to use as they pleased, and Corvalis had fallen in love with his. But she had been an assassin sent by his father, dispatched to test him, and the betrayal had left him wounded.

  “But, no, not like Halfdan,” said Corvalis. “I never had a…what was he to you?”

  “A mentor,” said Caina, looking at the floorboards. “A second father, really.”

  Corvalis laughed.

  “What?” she said, hurt. “What’s funny about that?”

  “Nothing,” said Corvalis. “But the first time I met him, I asked if he would cut off my head if he felt I had wronged you. He said he wasn’t your father, but that you were the best decision he had ever made.”

  “The best decision?” said Caina, remembering. “He told me that, before he died in Marsis.”

  “Not surprising, given that you saved his life,” said Corvalis.

  She shook his head. “I didn’t in Marsis.”

  “But numerous times before that,” said Corvalis. “From Sinan. From the glypharmor, and all the times before you even met me. He told me that you were not his daughter, but that if I ever hurt you without cause, he would make me regret it.”

  Caina smiled. “Did he?”

  “His exact words, if I remember correctly, were that he would give me such a death that even my father would shudder to hear of it.”

  Caina laughed, wiped at her stinging eyes, and laughed again. “That’s so sweet.”

  He grinned. “Is that not the path to a woman’s heart? To bring stern retribution upon anyone who crosses her?”

  “Apparently,” said Caina, and she reached up, pulled his face close, and kissed him long upon the lips.

  Then she rose, took his hand, and took a step back toward the narrow bunk.

  “I imagine I don’t smell very good just now,” said Caina.

  “For the gods’ sake,” said Corvalis. “We’ve been on a ship for days. Nothing smells good.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her again, and a few moments later they were out of their clothes and on the bunk. As her arms and legs wrapped around him, Caina was grateful that all the sailors and the Venatorii were on the deck. The walls of the cabins were not terribly thick.

  And then she ceased to care about that at all.

  Later, after they finished, Corvalis levered himself up on an elbow. Caina slid over, trying to give him room, but the bunk was narrow and she overbalanced. She fell off the bed and landed hard upon her rear, her eyes going wide with pain and surprise. Corvalis swore and sat up, reaching for her, his face chagrined.

  Caina looked at him and started to laugh.

  “What?” said Corvalis. “What is it?”

  Caina kept laughing. “It’s just…your expression. You look…you know, this isn’t funny at all. That really hurt.” She stood up, rubbing her sore leg. “Gods, but I hope I don’t have any splinters.”

  Corvalis blinked and erupted with laughter, and Caina started laughing, too. She couldn’t help it. She sat down and leaned against him until they both stopped laughing.

  “That wasn’t funny,” said Caina, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “No,” said Corvalis with a final chuckle, “no, it wasn’t.”

  “Then why are we laughing?”

  “Because we’re mad, both of us,” said Corvalis. “Running around the Empire trying to get ourselves killed.”

  “Aye,” said Caina, her head resting against his right shoulder. Gods, but he felt good. She reached for his chest, her hand tracing the lines of the black tattoo that spiraled over his muscles. “If we live through this…”

  “Yes?” said Corvalis.

  “If we live through this,” said Caina, “I don’t want to be a Ghost nightfighter any longer. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this, Corvalis. Not after what happened to Halfdan.”

  He nodded, caught her hand and held it.

  “If we live through this,” said Caina. “And all the consequences. Gods only know how many people Sicarion killed while wearing my face. And Lord Corbould…Lord Corbould is not a forgiving man, and I killed his son.”

  “That was Ranarius’s fault,” said Corvalis.

  “Lord Corbould might not see it that way,” said Caina. “He might not even believe me. But if we live through this, if I don’t have a price on my head…I want to go back to Malarae and run the House of Kularus. No one ever leaves the Ghosts, I know that. But I’ll run a Ghost circle out of the coffeehouse and gather secrets for the Emperor.”

  “That sounds like a pleasant life,” said Corvalis. He snorted. “I’ll admit that when I was still an assassin of the Kindred, I never thought I would wind up helping a Ghost noblewoman run a coffeehouse, but I can think of worse fates. Far worse fates.”

  “Maybe I’ll even claim my own name,” said Caina.

  “The Lady Caina Amalas?” said Corvalis, surprised.

  “No, Countess Caina Amalas,” said Caina. “My father had the title of Count, so I can claim it as my own.” She smiled against his shoulder. “Theodosia said it would make a grand story. The daughter of the murdered Lord of House Amalas returns to the Imperial capital after eleven years.”

  “Perhaps she could write an opera about it,” said Corvalis.

  Caina laughed. “You could even take your own name.”

  “That would throw my father into a fit,” said Corvalis. “But I think I will keep the name of Anton Kularus. It is the House of Kularus, after all. And think of the opera that would make. The caravan guard who owns Malarae’s first coffeehouse and takes an Imperial Countess as a lover.”

  “I suppose it would,” said Caina. She felt her smile fade. “Corvalis. If…if I die, I want…”

  “No,” said Corvalis. “Don’t talk like that. For all you know the ship could sink before we even get to New Kyre.”

  “That would certainly make an inglorious end to the opera.”

  “But I think I know what you would say,” said Corvalis. “That you would want me not to blame myself, to carry on, to keep going.”

  Caina managed to nod.

  “I have only one thing to say to that,” said Corvalis. He rested his fingers under her chin and titled her face up to look at him. “I love you.”

  She smiled. “I love you, too. I don’t….this is hard. Halfdan’s death, all of it. But it would be much harder without you.”

  “Then let us see this through to the end,” said Corvalis, “together.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Together.”

  ###

  Twelve days after leaving Marsis, Caina climbed onto the deck of the ship and joined Talekhris and Harkus upon the prow, Corvalis following her in silence. She wore again her caravan guard disguise, short sword and ghostsilver dagger at her belt, throwing knives hidden beneath her sleeves, shadow-cloak concealed beneath a ragged brown cloak. Maltaer’s crew of smugglers paid her no heed as she passed.

  “We have arrived,” said Talekhris.

  Caina looked upon the city of New Kyre for the first time.

  It was not as large as Malarae, but it
was a nonetheless a vast city. Colossal statues of armored ashtairoi warriors guarded the entrance to the harbor, and she saw ballistae and catapults waiting there. Any ship foolish enough to storm the harbor would come to a bitter end. Beyond she saw the vast maze of the city itself, its canals glittering in the sunlight. Hundreds of ziggurats rose from the central districts of the city, proud and gleaming, the home of the noble Houses of the Kyracians. They reminded Caina of the burning pyramids of Rasadda. But the pyramids of Rasadda had been the tombs of the dead Ashbringer kings of old, and the ziggurats of New Kyre housed the living.

  From the heart of the city rose the single largest building Caina had ever seen, larger than the other ziggurats, taller than Black Angel Tower, wider than the Great Pyramid of Corazain in Rasadda, more massive than the Imperial Citadel itself.

  The Pyramid of Storm, the sacred to the Kyracian gods and the home of the Surge, the oracle who had sent Kylon to Caer Magia.

  In the harbor Caina saw warships flying the Imperial standards. The Emperor and his escort had already arrived.

  And somewhere in New Kyre, the Moroaica and Sicarion were waiting for her.

  Chapter 14 - New Kyre

  “How do you suggest we proceed?” said Talekhris.

  Caina stood on the stone quay with Talekhris, Corvalis, and Harkus, the other Venatorii waiting in silence. Talekhris leaned heavily upon his cane, and looked like a minor Imperial noble come to bask in the reflected glory of his Emperor, his mercenary guards surrounding him.

  It made for a good disguise.

  Maltaer’s ship floated alongside the quay, rows of other ships stretching away as far as the eye could see. She had thought Malarae’s harbor grew crowded, but it had barely a third of the traffic maneuvering in the water around New Kyre. And that was even with the Starfall Straits closed to Kyracian trade. She could not imagine the ships that must have choked the harbor before the war.

  “Can you find the Moroaica?” said Caina.