A gray blur shot overhead.
Caina saw one of the creatures soaring above the trees. It had reverted back to its original form of a hooded gray wraith, and she felt the malevolent pressure of its gaze. It pointed at her, and a dozen more of the hooded spirits rose out of the dead trees, their ragged robes hanging eerily motionless.
The creatures plummeted towards her.
Caina cursed and summoned an image of Malarae in her mind, of the warehouse where Haeron Icaraeus had once hidden his slaves…
The dead forest morphed into the dockside streets of Malarae, though dotted with oddities. Many of the warehouses looked as if they had come from the streets of Catekharon, and bits and pieces of Haeron Icaraeus’s mansion stood here and there; a fountain, a wall, a statue, a staircase that spiraled to nothing.
Clearly Caina needed practice at this.
But the warehouse stood before her, and she threw herself through the main door. The stalls that had once held slaves were dusty and empty. Caina slammed and barred the door behind her, and heard the thumping as the wraiths drove against it. She backed away from the door, the ghostsilver dagger glowing like a torch in her right fist. There had to be some way to frighten the spirits away. Perhaps if she got close enough to the Sacellum, the wraiths would not follow…
The entire wall next to the door shattered in a cloud of dust and broken brick. Caina saw dozens of the hooded forms standing in the street outside, the black pits of their cowls facing her.
They flowed towards her like a wall of gray water.
Caina ran, summoning the image of a forest in her mind as she did so. The warehouse rippled and reformed back into the dead forest. She weaved between the trees, her boots tearing at the uneven ground. Some of the wraiths blurred back into the form of the fish monsters, a shiver of revulsion rolling down Caina’s spine. Others soared into the black sky like gray birds. Caina veered towards the Sacellum, trying to think of a plan.
Then she felt a surge of power, her skin crawling.
Someone was casting a spell, a powerful spell, nearby.
There was a brilliant flare of blue light, and a dozen of the wraiths ripped apart into shreds of gray mist. Caina stopped, shocked, as did the pursuing fish-creatures. Another flare of dazzling blue light, and the creatures dissolved into blue shreds. Caina stared at them, stunned, and the forest shifted back to the plain of colorless grasses.
As one of the remaining wraiths and fish-creatures fled.
A moment later Caina stood alone in the plain, her shadow-cloak billowing around her.
She let out a long breath. The creatures showed no sign of returning.
Which made her wonder if they had been frightened off by something worse. A more powerful spirit? One of the guardians of the Sacellum?
Or something even more dangerous?
Caina turned, and saw the woman in the red gown standing nearby, staring at her.
For a moment Caina thought it was another reflection from her own mind. But this woman wasn’t wearing a red gown, but a robe, belted around the waist with a black slash. She looked about eighteen years old, with black hair that hung loose and wet around her shoulders. Her eyes were black and hard and old, even ancient, eyes that had seen the passage of centuries and the blood of thousands.
A spasm of fear went through Caina, and for a moment she could not decide to flee or to attack.
“Jadriga,” said Caina at last.
The Moroaica stared at her, titling her head to the side.
“You dyed your hair,” said the Moroaica at last.
Caina burst out laughing.
“Did I say something amusing?” said Jadriga.
“I killed you underneath Marsis,” said Caina, “and your spirit inhabited my body for almost a year. Your pet assassin Sicarion tried to kill me. Your disciples almost destroyed Marsis and Cyrioch both. Mihaela tried to murder me, and wound up expelling your spirit from my body, and I haven’t seen you in my dreams or in the flesh for almost a year.” She shook her head. “And after all that, the first thing you ask is if I dyed my hair?”
The Moroaica frowned, and as she did, her eyes shifted from black to icy blue and back again.
“This is the netherworld,” said Jadriga, “not the material world. I am not here in the flesh, and you see me as you do now because this is the form I choose to take. Should I wish it, I could appear as…almost anything, really.” She gestured, and her body rippled and flowed, shifting between the forms of an ancient crone, a young Anshani woman, a proud Kyracian noblewoman, and most disturbingly, Caina herself, before returning to the shape of the red-robed Szaldic woman. “But you are not a wielder of arcane force. If your dreaming mind has cast your spirit to the netherworld, as it has before during our conversations, you would wear the form your mind believes your body to have. Black hair, not blond. Which means you have dyed your hair…and you are therefore here in the flesh.”
“Aye,” said Caina.
Again the Moroaica titled her head. Most of the time Jadriga affected a mask of glacial calm, the infinite patience of a creature that had seen millennia pass and empires rise and fall. Yet Caina had seen Jadriga angry, had even seen Jadriga weep after Caina had glimpsed one of the Moroaica’s earliest memories.
Like Caina, Jadriga’s father had been murdered in front of her.
But now there was only puzzlement on the Moroaica’s face.
“Why?” said the Moroaica. “You are not a sorceress, but you are no fool, and surely you must know the tremendous danger you face by coming to the netherworld in the flesh.”
Caina laughed. “We’ve played this game before. You set a trap for me, and now you’ll offer to teach me sorcery in exchange for aiding your murderous ‘great work’, whatever it is.”
Jadriga’s red lips twitched into a smile. “Given the course of your life, I see why you think I might have had a hand in…”
“The course of my life?” said Caina. “Do you mean how your disciple Ranarius almost killed me and destroyed Cyrioch? Or how your disciple Andromache invaded Marsis to claim the Tomb of Scorikhon?” Anger flared to life in her, and the glow of the dagger burned brighter in response. “Or how your disciple Maglarion murdered my father?”
Again Jadriga’s eyes flickered from black to blue, and a hint of emotion went over her face.
Regret?
That couldn’t possibly be it.
“This is another trap,” said Caina. “You’re not the Moroaica.”
She raised a black eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Your eyes,” said Caina. “They keep changing color. The Moroaica would have enough control to keep a consistent disguise. And she would never express regret for anything. So who are you, really?”
The Moroaica said nothing, and her eyes turned blue and cold and hard.
“You are wrong,” she said, voice quiet. “I am the woman you call the Moroaica, and there are things I regret. The death of my father, which you saw. And the death of your father. How your mother left him broken in that chair, how you killed her with that fireplace poker. How Maglarion cut his throat, and then left you in that cell.”
“Stop it,” said Caina.
“Or Alastair Corus,” said Jadriga. “You regret his death. You regret all those you could not save at Marsis. You…”
“This is just a trick,” said Caina. “You’re reading my mind.” She reached for the cowl of her shadow-cloak. “You won’t be…”
“No,” said the Moroaica. “I am not reading your mind. Just your memories. Which are now a part of my memories.”
Caina froze. “What do you mean?”
“When Mihaela struck you down,” said Jadriga, “and expelled my spirit from your flesh, I took a new host at once, of course. Yet there was a…side effect, something I had never before experienced. I suspect it resulted from my inability to control you while I inhabited your flesh. Your memories…”
“What about them?” said Caina.
“I have them,” said Jadriga. “All
of them.”
Caina stared at the Moroaica. “You mean…my entire life…”
Jadriga nodded. “Up to the point Mihaela struck you down. All your memories, child of the Ghosts. All twenty-one years.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“Gods,” said Caina at last. “I’m sorry.”
It was an absurd thing to say, but Caina meant it. The Moroaica was an ancient horror, a creature of evil that had caused untold suffering. Yet Caina had lived through things she would not inflict upon anyone else, things she hoped no one else would ever endure.
Even the Moroaica.
Jadriga shrugged. “Life is suffering and pain. You know that as well as anyone. The world is broken, a prison the gods built to torment us while they laugh at our suffering.” Her eyes flickered, becoming black and hard as the edge of an obsidian blade. “I will remake the world, and I will make the gods pay for what they have done.”
But Caina had heard Jadriga say that before, and she was still digesting what the Moroaica had already said.
“All my memories?” she said. “Even when Corvalis and I…”
Again Jadriga’s eyes flickered blue. “Yes.”
“Oh.”
“You are fortunate,” said Jadriga, her voice quiet. “He loves you, and you love him in return. That is…that is a rare thing.”
And with a shock Caina realized that the Moroaica’s eyes were not merely turning blue. They were turning into Caina’s eyes, and the Moroaica did not realize it. As if Caina’s memories had left a permanent mark upon Jadriga’s spirit, almost a scar.
The Moroaica was dangerous enough. What might she do with the addition of Caina’s memories?
“You still haven’t told me,” said Caina, hoping to change the subject, “why you came here.”
The Moroaica smiled, her eyes turning black once more. “I have not.”
“Were you looking for me?” said Caina.
“Ah,” said Jadriga, “we are now asking each other questions? You know the rules, child of the Ghosts. I will answer your question…but only if you answer one of mine.”
Caina hesitated. She was reluctant to give the Moroaica any information. Though since Jadriga already had most of Caina’s memories, she couldn’t imagine what else the Moroaica wanted to know. And Caina did need help. She did not know the rules of this strange place, and if Jadriga had not intervened, the gray wraiths would have torn her apart.
And if she did not return with the phoenix ashes, Sinan would simply send someone else to die.
“Very well,” said Caina. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”
Jadriga inclined her head. “In answer to your first question, I was not looking for you. I happened upon you by chance. I often send my spirit into the netherworld, for there are secrets to be gleaned here. I sensed the disturbance near the Sacellum of the Living Flame, and was curious. I saw you fighting the phobomorphic spirits, and decided to intervene…”
“Phobomorphic?” said Caina.
“They have many names,” said Jadriga, “but they essentially act as…mirrors for the mind. Any mortal who looks at one sees his deepest fears reflected back at him. I am surprised you handled yourself so well. Often the mere sight of the spirits can drive a mortal to madness. And you displayed remarkable control over the netherworld. I have known sorcerers with years of experience who could not control the terrain so easily.”
“It’s amazing what you can do,” muttered Caina, “when you’re desperate enough.”
“Indeed,” said Jadriga. “Now. You will answer my question. Why are you here in the flesh?”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” said Caina.
“Undoubtedly,” said the Moroaica, “but an incomplete answer. The agreement, as I recall from the last time we had such a discussion, was for complete answers.”
“An Alchemist named Ibrahmus Sinan,” said Caina, watching Jadriga’s face for any sign of recognition. There was none. “He came to Istarinmul to create his Elixir Rejuvenata, which as I’m sure you know, requires the ashes of three unborn children from related mothers and the ashes of a phoenix spirit.”
“Ah,” said the Moroaica, glancing at the Sacellum. “And you are cooperating with him voluntarily?”
“That’s another question,” said Caina.
Jadriga waved a hand. “Proceed.”
“Of course I am not helping him voluntarily,” said Caina. “I attempted to stop him, and rescue his last victim, and I…miscalculated. He threatened to start murdering innocent men one by one unless I helped him. So I agreed to come here and obtain phoenix ashes, hoping to stall until help arrives after I return.”
“An unwise choice,” said Jadriga, “given that time flows differently here.”
“I already know that,” said Caina. “I hope to cause a delay after I return.” If she survived to return. “Now I have two questions.” The Moroaica nodded. “Is Ibrahmus Sinan one of your disciples?”
Jadriga laughed. “No. I have never taken an Alchemist of the College as a disciple, child of the Ghosts. The magi of your Magisterium are proud fools, the Sages of the Scholae of Catekharon are blind fools…but the Alchemists of Istarinmul are simply fools. Like the Scholae, they are a remnant of old Maat, and once assisted the sorcerer-priests who prepared the unguents of embalming for the pharaohs and the great nobles. When Maat fell to the darkness, the men who become the College fled north, and eventually settled in Istarinmul. The arcane sciences they practice now are merely a debased shadow of the great powers their forebears wielded in Maat.”
“Before you brought the darkness to Maat,” said Caina.
Jadriga’s smile showed teeth, and a glimmer of blue appeared in her eyes, which alarmed Caina. “I did. Once the Kingdom of the Rising Sun ruled all the land between two oceans, and the men of a hundred nations and tribes paid tribute to the throne of the pharaohs. The pharaohs sealed themselves and their slaves in their tombs to become Undying, to live in splendor and bliss forever. But I undid them, child of the Ghosts. I repaid them a thousand times over for their cruelty. I turned their cities to dust, and now only scorpions pay homage to the pharaohs’ throne. I bound the pharaohs’ spirits to their tombs, to let them scream forever in the waterless dark. And someday I will do the same to the gods themselves.”
Caina said nothing, unsettled by the blue tint in Jadriga’s eyes. Was Caina capable of that level of hatred?
“My question now,” said Jadriga.
“Actually,” said Caina, “that was a statement. It was kind of you to confirm it, though.”
Again Jadriga laughed. “Clever! A pity you would not let me teach you. You would have made a most formidable disciple.”
Caina remembered the words of her potential future self and shuddered. “Only so you could possess me when your current body dies.”
Jadriga shrugged. “I tried to possess you.” Her eyes faded to black. “It did not work. Clearly, you are safe from that danger. Your question.”
Caina thought for a moment. “Is Sinan right? Will the phoenix ashes let him create an Elixir?”
“They will,” said Jadriga. “The Elixir Rejuvenata is…crude, inelegant. The Alchemists make the mistake of Maglarion in trying to create immortality of the flesh. As well try to make a cloud immortal, or to keep the sun from setting. Flesh is a shadow that passes away, but the spirit endures. Nevertheless, the Elixir will rejuvenate him and give him at least another century of life. If he prepares it properly. If he does not, the results will be rather…less enjoyable.”
“Death,” said Caina.
“If he is fortunate. Now, my question.” The Moroaica stared at her. “Is Sinan alone, and does he have any allies?”
“He has maybe thirty Immortals with him,” said Caina. “They’ve been…enhanced, somehow, with sorcerous elixirs. They look like walking walls of muscle. But other than that, he is alone.”
The Moroaica nodded, face glacially calm once again.
; “My question,” said Caina. “Why do you care about Sinan? You said you have no use for the Alchemists.”
“Ibrahmus Sinan does not interest me,” said Jadriga. “Whether he lives out the night or another thousand years is no concern of mine. You, Caina Amalas of the Ghosts, you interest me. You would make a valuable ally, one who could aid me in my great work.”
“Your great work,” said Caina, voice full of scorn. “I saw your great work in the dungeons below Black Angel Tower. Blood and death and torment and misery. I will not aid you in that. Not in a thousand years.”
“A thousand years,” said Jadriga, “is a long time. You are young, for all your wisdom. Only twenty-two, and you have seen so little of the world. In time, you will come to understand…and you will aid me of your own will. Which is why I shall aid you now.”
“Aid me?” said Caina. “Why?”
“As I said,” said Jadriga, “I have no wish for you to die. You will, one day, be a valuable ally.”
“No, I won’t,” said Caina.
The Moroaica only smiled.
“I won’t take your aid,” said Caina. “Not after the things you have done.”
“All I have done,” said the Moroaica, “is exactly the things you have done.” Her eyes flickered blue. “I have just done them on a larger scale.” She shrugged. “It is within my power to aid you whether you wish it or not, but I will not force you. Go to the Sacellum of the Sacred Flame without my help if you wish.” She gestured at the huge dark mass of the temple, flames shining within its vast windows. “But if you do, you will die. You will die before you go another hundred yards. The phobomorphic spirits will hunt you down. Or something else will find you. There are far more dangerous spirits than the ones you have already seen. And I am not the only wielder of arcane force to wander the netherworld.”
Caina said nothing. Jadriga was right. Caina did not know the rules of this place, did not know how to fight the creatures that dwelled here. She had been clever, but also lucky…and luck was a finite quality.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 23
