The Ghost Sister

by Liz Williams

  I looked around at the family fromTemmarec. It was late in the afternoon, now, and the sun at last emerged from the cloudbank in a blaze. With this low, intense summer light the faces looked graven and unchanging. The sun fell on their garments: moss-green, gold, black brocade, crimson and blue, darkened by the red sunlight to the colors of a bird's wing or the carapace of an insect. Their eyes were metal-bright, waiting.

  The satahrach of Temmarec, the old man called Rami, made his slow way to the front of the crowd, still chanting the edrada which, I realized now, had never ceased. The night before, when we had been introduced, I noticed that he had some complaint of the lungs, caused perhaps by waterfever, or medrusy that attacked the chest wall. His breath wheezed in his throat, laboring to reach his lungs. Now, in the higher country, it was easier to breathe. We had left the sodden woods behind and up here the rain had not lasted. The air was dry and warm, with only a light breeze. The satahrach's voice, as it brought forth the edrada, was as clear as a girl's and rang out the long notes like a bell. It sailed up into the hills, and echoed far away among the cliffs of the Otrade. In mid-note, the song broke and in the hanging silence the sa-tahrach made a preemptory gesture. The box containing the child's body was carried forward. Ahead, a gap in the rock face led through to the funeral ground. Jheru and a sister, Heluet, drew sabers and accompanied the box through. My hand lingered close to the hilt of my own sword; funeral places are rarely lonely. I waited until Sereth, dressed in the long gray robe of the penitent, passed through, feet bared and a bloodstained bandage bound tightly about her mutilated hand. I followed her. The family of Temmarec walked behind.

  The gap into the ground was narrow, though not long. In one or two places it was necessary to edge sideways, and the walls of the gully stretched far and crooked above my head. As I eased my way through, a thin shower of gravel pattered around me and when I looked up, sharply, a face was looking down. There was a brief flurry of movement at my side as people realized they were observed. The face swiftly and silently withdrew. It was a narrow, pointed visage, framed in matted hair, swollen eyes, and small teeth tusking beyond the lips. Only a child, but the man next to me swore under his breath to the Deletra Way, the meridian of the mountains. Nerves were on edge. I confess to some relief when the funeral ground opened out before me.

  The ground was a wide basin between the cliffs. The stone columns which bore the pyres rose out of a bone-littered floor. Small predators, the eri which haunt these places like mottled, liquid-eyed spirits, scattered out of our path. They were wary, but not too alarmed, for one slunk back to see what I might do, and when I stepped toward it, it hissed and its narrow lips coiled back from its pointed little teeth. I held out my hand and clucked encouragement to it, but it would come no closer. At the far end of the ground, a pyre still smoldered, the remnant of a recent death inTetherau. A thin trail of smoke drifted up into the bright hills.

  People were placing offerings of food—the meat that signifies blood for blood—on the ritual wheels that flanked the new pyre. We waited in silence while the satahrach and Hessan placed the little box upon the rickety structure, using long hooked poles to settle it. Branches were tossed after it, and then it was fired. The family crowded forward, listening to the first crackling breath of the flames. After the recent rain, the wood was still damp, and hissed and sputtered. The satahrach spoke a single word into the crackling silence, an old word, one of the first that we as humans spoke at the beginning of history: the word of passage from the world. It was spoken only once, but it was taken up by the wind and grew to fill the smoking air, growing and spinning until the firewood caught at last and the box exploded in an upward torrent of sparks. They were borne on the beat of the word into the mountain air, the incandescent fragments of the last of a life, and behind me a voice rose up in a thin mourning song. The spirit of the child was carried up on a current of fire, and ran along the breath of the mountains, and I felt the tides of earth and water rising up under my feet to meet it.

  The satahrach cried out, a vast humming note sang in my blood, my vision blurred, and all the powers of the land ran through me. I was the medium of its passage; it struck me as though I were a bell, and in the quietness the world fell away, speeding from me, and the lands of the dead opened up in its place: eresthahan, the lands of fire. Fear filled me, and the terror of death. I heard my own breath tearing its way from my throat. The child's spirit ran before me, dodging between the fires near the gate, whirling in a cloud of ash, and then was gone. The gap closed; I was back in the world. My honor charge was complete. And if Mevennen and the ghost spoke the truth, then the way was clear for me to see my sister again.

  My skin felt scorched and I ached as though bruised. A red-hot coal fell spitting from the pyre; I saw Sereth pick it up in her good hand. Her fingers closed over it convulsively. She was still far into the world. I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears. Someone placed their hand on my arm; it was Jheru. I looked into his wellwater eyes and the shock of them was like a fire doused. The blue gaze sent a coolness through me and when I took a gasping breath it was of the clean air of the mountains. Sun glanced off the snow-laced slopes of the distant Otrade. A last greasy coil of smoke tumbled into the upper air and was lost.

  “Come now,” said the satahrach. He held Sereth's uninjured hand, seemingly untouched by the coal, firmly in his own.” Time to go.” The old man marched to the entrance in the rocks, shouldering his dazed relatives out of his way with some impatience. Carrion was already coming, drawn by the funeral fire; the dark wingbeat of vhara sent a last shower of embers scattering among the bones.

  Outside the ground, the land was dry with no trace of the rains remaining. The sun floated, twice its size, over the sea, and our shadows ran long before us in the golden light. The air already breathed the summer's end; the shorter russet days, and chill air before the dawn. The satahrach was striding ahead, taking Sereth with him. I followed them down, to Temmarec.

  9. Shu Gho

  Through the half-open door, Shu watched the family leave for the funeral. Eleres walked at the head of the funeral procession, his face withdrawn and closed. His cousin Sereth was beside him, her hand wrapped in a black bandage. To Shu's dismayed gaze, the girl looked utterly lost. Slipping out of the door, Shu hurried after them, intending to get out while she still could, but as the last person stepped through the gate the procession halted momentarily, and she felt the air change. It shimmered, with a haze like heat, and there was an echo of the lightning in her spine. She did not dare face that force again, whatever it was. Her head was ringing like a bell. Still feeling shaken, and wondering just what the family had done to conjure up that invisible barrier, Shu went slowly back inside the house and found some water. She sat sipping it in the dim kitchen, then she bent forward and put her head in her hands, praying as she did so that Sylvian's attempts to close down the generator had been unsuccessful, that she'd find a way to get back to the aircar, that everything would be all right. There was a faint, uncertain sound and Shu looked up sharply to find that someone was staring at her: an old woman. She was peering at Shu, her face creased in bewilderment. Shu wondered with a shock whether the woman was even all that much older than she herself.

  “Inuya? Is that you?” the woman asked.

  “No. You don't know me. I'm just a visitor.”

  “I can't see you properly,” the woman said. She came forward, frowning, then stopped dead. “A ghost,” she whispered. Shu sighed, but before she could make any of the usual disclaimers the woman reached out a clawed hand and gripped Shu's wrist. “My daughter's daughter,” she hissed. “Where is she now?” The woman might be old, but the grip on her wrist felt like an iron band.

  “I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean,” Shu said in alarm.

  “The child who was killed. What has happened to her?” the woman snapped.

  As calmly as she could, Shu abandoned her scruples and said, “She's in the otherworld. Everything's well with her. She
says to tell you that it was—it was her destiny. You have no more need to blame those who killed her.” She suppressed a pang of pure guilt as the woman's filmy eyes filled with tears.

  “Thank you,” the old woman whispered. “Thank you. Tell her that I love her, when you see her again.”

  “I will,” Shu lied. Her wrist was abruptly released, and the old woman vanished into the depths of the house. Shu took a deep breath and made her way out into the courtyard. She had to force herself to approach the gate. She took the scanner out of her backpack and held it up, reading the results. The data which scrolled across the little screen meant nothing to her, but that did not matter so much. Maybe the scanner would not be able to interpret the results, but the aircar's system would. If she ever got back to the aircar … Experimentally, she picked up a small stone and tossed it through the gateway. There was no flash, no spark. The stone landed out in the street, unscathed. And yet there was still something there, cutting Shu off from the rest of the world.

  Its presence made her feel nauseous, rather as she had felt back there in the humming chamber beneath the ruins, the place that had contained the generator.

  Frustrated, Shu retreated to a little room she had found in the attic. It was, she thought, a good place to hide. By the time the late light fell golden through the window, she heard sounds in the courtyard and realized that the funeral party was returning. She stepped out onto the balcony and waited. They looked exhausted, but there was a kind of peace in their faces. Eleres was among them, a tall, dark-clad figure in the deepening sunlight. Shu slipped down the stairs to meet him, but by the time she reached the courtyard, he was nowhere to be seen.

  10. Eleres

  After the funeral, the satahrach made Sereth go and sleep, which she did without protest. That in itself worried me. She was usually the last to head for her bed. I wanted to apologize to her for my ill temper, but when I looked in on her, she was asleep, curled around her wounded hand and breathing gently. Now that the funeral was over, the possibility of seeing my sister again tugged at me. Looking for the ghost, I went into my own borrowed room, where a soft knock on the door surprised me. Jheru? I thought with a sudden leap of the heart. But it was Pera Cathra.

  Her hair was unbound and trailed across her thin shoulders. She was wrapped in a robe too large for her, and I remembered her that morning, which seemed so distant now, clawing wildly in her pain. My cheek still hurt, and unthinkingly I put a hand to it.

  “Ai Mordha?” she asked uncertainly. She peered at me.

  “Come in,” I said.

  The old woman crossed to the window and sat down heavily on the window seat where Sereth and I had had our conversation. The sun was riding low over the water, gilding the sea. Pera Cathra watched it fall, unspeaking. I did not know what to say. We remained in a tense silence for a few minutes. Then she said abruptly, “I should not have done what I did today. I—I have had time to come to my senses a little since this morning. Her death—the little girl's death— hurt me so much. I know what your cousin did, in compensation,” she added in a rush,” —what she tried to do. I wish she hadn't.” Her old mouth twisted suddenly and she put her face in her hands. “I would have loved my granddaughter so. I could never forget her mother; the joy of her birth never left me when they told me it would. I'm sorry, ai Mordha. I'm sorry your cousin hurt herself like that.”

  I was so embarrassed that all I could think of to say to this was, “You were a warrior for your House?”

  “For Temmarec, and Tetherau.” She sat and rubbed her tired eyes, and when she looked up again some of the fire was back inside them. “We were at feud in those years, with a family from the east. I carried arms from here to Heleth, over Snakeback in winter. I watched my brother die of frostbite in Achen Pass, I lost another in Derenthsara. But I was too good at feuding to die.”

  “I think you still are,” I said with some feeling, and this won a reluctant smile.

  “It won't mark your handsome face for long, young man. Fifty years ago—well, you wouldn't have had a head on your shoulders.”

  “You're familiar with ettouara?”

  “For most of my life. I was taught the discipline when I was a girl, in the first year that I came back to Tetherau. You?”

  “Not ettouara, no, but emhaittic and a little sedrai.The martial side of the disciplines. I know the basics of ettouara but nothing more.”

  “Ettouara is the secret sister of emhaittic, the water against the fire.You ought to learn it. It brings serenity.” She gave a grimly reluctant smile. “So they tell me, anyway. I don't think I've managed that yet. If you were staying longer, I would teach you what I know.”

  It was a handsome offer. “Thank you,” I said.

  She sighed. “I'll speak to your cousin tomorrow, tell her what I've told you.” She rose, with the care of age now that the bloodmind once more lay dormant. I could hear her old joints creak. As she reached the door, she turned back and said, “Did you see? Did you see my granddaughter go into eresthahan?” as though she could hardly hope.

  “She ran among the fires. She was leaping and dancing.”

  Pera Cathra bit her lip. “I wish I'd seen her. But soon I will.” She looked past me into the shadows. “I never used to think it was so, but now I feel it coming to claim me. Good night, ai Mordha. You'll be going soon, I suppose, back to your family? I'll see you before you leave.”

  “Good night,” I said, but she was wrong.We did not leave Temmarec on the next day, nor the next.

  I searched for the ghost, but could not find her. Frustrated, I went down to sit in the courtyard with Jheru, to catch the last of the light and to play two-handed edendo. He beat me two out of three games. At last the evening darkened to a scatter of stars and the tip of Embar's crescent rose above the gable end. Jheru lit a lamp and its light made a yellow pool in the corner of the courtyard. Someone brought us a plate offish fritters, sizzling on an iron skillet. Gradually the stress of the day began to ebb away. Jheru said, “How's your cousin?”

  “All right. I think. I looked in on her earlier; she was sleeping. I didn't speak to her very much today.” I paused. “Maybe it's selfish, but I was angry with her. I thought she'd done an unnecessary thing.”

  “Who can say? To my mind, no, such an honor price was not called for. But for her own peace, it seems she felt a need. I can't judge for her; I don't know her well enough.”

  “I know her very well,” I said. “She's stubborn; she always has been.”

  He smiled at me. “Perhaps the result of living with strong-minded relatives.”

  I laughed. “If you mean me, you're wrong. I know my own mind too little, and change it too much. But sometimes I can't resist telling her what I think she should do. Sometimes she tells me the same thing, though, so I suppose we're equal.”

  “Hessan and myself are similar. I try to persuade, he pretends not to hear. But if it's reasonable, we compromise in the end.” Jheru selected a round black counter with care. “I'm closest to him, I suppose, of all my siblings, but I probably speak with him less than anyone.”

  “It's often the way.” I wanted to ask more about the family, but did not feel that it was the right time to do so. Instead, Jheru asked me about mine, so I spoke of Mevennen and Luta, all the family, and then, because the warm evening air and the wine were relaxing my tongue, I spoke to him of Morrac. Talking about my lover ruined my concentration; Jheru won another round of edendo.

  “I've talked too much,” I said, looking at my diminished games line.

  “No,” Jheru said, “no, you haven't. So, his name's Morrac. I'd wondered.” He gave me a shy, sidelong glance. “Do you enjoy talking about him?”

  I looked into the lamplight for a long moment. The wick had begun to burn low and the shadows danced and turned against the dusty tiles of the courtyard floor. “I don't know. I can't remember when I wasn't besotted with him, to tell you the truth. There was such a time, not very long ago. I've had other lovers; still have. There is a woman
in Munith, Ithyris ai Sephara, who is still dear to me. But it's only Morrac who torments me.” I paused. “And you?”

  “I had a lover once,” Jheru said. “When I was younger, in the early years of my twenties. She was very lovely; she came from a neighboring house. I was obsessed by her, too.”

  “From the house of the Sea Serpent?”

  Jheru stared at me blankly. “How do you know that?”

  “I don't; it was a guess. I saw the house when we pulled into port. I suppose it stuck in my mind. The balcony is carved with a sea serpent.” I remembered the woman who had stood upon its back and gazed down at the harbor. Now, it stayed in my mind with the uncanny significance of an omen, but I did not know why. I thought of mad Selen, riding the waves and bringing destruction in her wake.

  “Yes, that's the house. Well, she didn't want me. She was bitten-hearted—winter-hearted, as they say in Tetherau. She loved no one, she took several lovers and would play us off against one another. It was a painful, absurd situation. Everyone knew what she was doing, but no one could seem to do anything about it. We all thought we would be the one to win her, I suppose. We were all very young. She was enormously decorative. She had her face inlaid with silver wire until it looked like a mask, she braided her hair on a lattice, and she was more like an ornament than a person. But no one could deride such sophistication, because she was so beautiful. At the masques, she'd move through the dark like a spirit and feed off her lovers.” He paused, blue eyes looking down through the memories.

  “And then?” I couldn't resist asking.

  “Then—she fell in love at last, with a man who came from Mora Port in a little boat. He was not bantreda, he was a landwalker. Mehedin. He had some language, by means of signs. It was an extraordinary thing. She gave up everything and they went up into the peaks of the Otrade. But it was autumn then, and in the winter he died. She came back on foot, to Tetherau like a pilgrim, appeared on the doorstep of Esterey one morning. Merideri—another friend—said she hardly recognized her. She had cropped her hair, and eased the silver wire from her face so that it was crossed in a network of scars. And all the cruelty was gone from her eyes and had left nothing in its place. They sent her back to the House of the Sea Serpent, and they say that she lives in a little room and has never spoken since the day she told them her story.”