Ghost in the Flames (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  A dam that was about to break.

  She raced to the altar, drew her last knife, and began sawing through Tadaia’s ropes. Kalastus’s inferno grew brighter, until Caina could not look at him through the glare, until she could not hear his wails over the roar of the flames. She hacked through the last of the ropes and dragged the old woman off the altar.

  “What’s happening?” said Tadaia.

  “Nothing good,” said Caina. “Get down behind the altar and don’t move.”

  She ducked besides Tadaia and risked one last glance over the altar. She saw Kalastus, burning as Ostros had burned, stumble over the shattered terrace’s edge. Yet still the light grew brighter, the storm howling above them. Caina crouched behind the altar, tucked her head between her knees, and Tadaia did the same.

  A heartbeat later the explosion came.

  The pyramid shook and heaved like a child’s toy. The sound felt like a living thing. Walls of flame roared past the altar, and Caina could feel the power Kalastus had summoned raging through the air. The altar grew hot, so hot that Caina could scarce huddle against it. Still the flames billowed past them. Caina might have screamed. She could not hear herself over the conflagration.

  The flames died away. The sound faded to nothing. The power tingling against Caina’s skin drained away. At last she dared to look up.

  Raindrops struck her face. The clouds had stopped swirling, had lost their hellish glow, and now rain fell. Corazain’s funeral pyre had returned to its previous size, hissing and steaming when the rain struck it. Caina looked at Tadaia.

  “Are you all right?”

  Tadaia blinked. “I…yes, I am. Other than my hand.”

  Caina stood, walked past the altar, and looked down at the pyramid.

  Kalastus’s death had blasted away a good portion of the pyramid’s southern face. It glowed red-hot, rivulets of lava running down the stairwells, the rain dissolving into plumes of white steam. She saw scattered fires throughout the city, but other than that Rasadda seemed unchanged.

  Kalastus’s final spell had failed.

  “That was for the Ghosts of Rasadda,” she whispered to the steaming air, “you murderous son of a bitch.”

  She touched her father’s ring beneath her glove and walked back to the altar. The glowing circles had vanished, leaving only scorch marks against the black marble. Tadaia leaned against the altar, staring at her in wonder, rainwater streaming down her face.

  “You’re truly a Ghost, Countess?” said Tadaia.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “We met that morning at the Temple. And again when I broke into your room.”

  Tadaia shook her head. “When…when we first met, I was sure that you were a remarkable woman. I did not realize how remarkable.” She clutched at Caina’s gloved hands. “Thank you, Countess. For my life. And for the life of all my people. I know what he was trying to do. He would have killed us all. We can never repay you.”

  “If you want to repay me,” said Caina, pulling up her mask and hood, “then never tell anyone of me. Never. For if the Ghosts are to do good, we must do so in secret.”

  “I swear it,” said Tadaia. She took a step forward, and stumbled

  “Wait here,” said Caina. “I’ll try to find something you can use as a cane.” She started towards the broken, steaming terrace. Maybe Romarion’s rapier had survived the explosion.

  Something struck her boot.

  Caina looked down.

  Corazain’s book lay against her foot, undamaged by the firestorm, untouched by the rain. Little hisses of steam rose where the water hit the pages. Caina stooped and picked up the book. It felt warm against her gloved hands, and the tingle was not unpleasant. The black characters on the pages drew her eyes.

  She though of how Kalastus had healed the wounds she dealt him. Could not the same happen for her? Might not this book have the power to heal her scars? The thought of holding a child, her child, struck Caina, and brought tears to her eyes. What would that be like, to hold her own child in her arms? That could be hers. The book could teach her. She need only…

  She remembered Ostros screaming that alley.

  She remembered her mother, gloating over her father's comatose form.

  She remembered Maglarion standing atop that tower, illumed by the light from the great bloodcrystal.

  Caina slammed the book shut and tucked it under her arm, wrapping it in her cloak so that Tadaia would not see it.

  “There’s nothing,” said Caina when she returned to Tadaia. “I’ll just have to help you down. We’ll take it slowly.”

  “Thank you, again,” said Tadaia, hooking her arm around Caina’s. She sighed. “It’s over. It’s finally over, thank the Living Flame.”

  “No,” said Caina. “It’s almost over.”

  There were two more things to do.

  Chapter 28 - In The Shadows

  Caina returned to the Temple of Living Flame with Sister Tadaia. A crowd had gathered around the Temple, and the old woman took charge of them at once, directing them to tend to the fires and help those hurt in the explosions. Caina envied Tadaia her energy. The stitched wounds on Caina's hip and shoulder throbbed, the bruises and cuts ached, and her face still stung from the heat atop Corazain’s pyramid. She wanted to collapse into bed and sleep for a week.

  Not yet, though. There was still work to do.

  With the help of Dio and the Black Wolves, she got Ark loaded into the wagon and back to the Inn of Mirrors just before sunrise. The maids, already terrified from the colossal explosion, almost went out of their minds with fright at the appearance of a half-dozen armed mercenaries and a hooded specter wrapped in black. Caina calmed them down and directed them to be quiet, lest they inadvertently wake the timid young countess sleeping in the next room. They set up a makeshift bed and laid Ark upon it. Caina paid the Black Wolves and sent them on their way.

  Once they had left, she went outside, scrambled up her rope, and climbed back into the bedroom. She stripped off her black clothes and pulled on a robe. Corazain's book she wrapped in her cloak and hid at the bottom of her chest.

  Then she unbarred the door and staggered into the sitting room, feigning confusion.

  The maids stared at her in surprise.

  “My lady!” said Julia. “What happened to you? You look dreadful!”

  “A…a terrible noise woke me up,” said Caina. “I went to the balcony to look and thought the sky was filled with fire. I fell and hit my head on the railing. I only just now woke up.”

  She saw Ark watching her, his eyes only half-open. He was nearing forty, she knew, but for the first he looked almost…old, lying there.

  “What happened to Ark?” said Caina, cutting off the maids’ questions. “He’s been hurt!”

  “I don’t know, my lady,” said Cornelia. “Some strange men brought him here. They said that he had been wounded fighting rebels in the street.”

  “Go bring him some food,” said Caina. “At once.”

  The maids hurried out, shutting the door behind them. Caina knelt besides Ark’s bed.

  “I saw,” he rasped, coughing. Caina gave him a goblet of watered wine to clear his throat. “I saw you pull that rock down on Ephaeron’s head. The damnedest thing I ever saw. I never thought anyone could get the better of him like that.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Ark coughed again. “Like a piece of meat hung up in a butcher shop.” He shook his head. “But I’ve been cut up worse. And I lived.” He squinted at the windows. “Is it morning?”

  “It is,” said Caina. “You were out for most of the night.”

  “What happened?” said Ark. “Is Kalastus still alive?” He started to sit up. “Is…”

  “Quiet,” said Caina, giving him a gentle push back onto the bed. “I will tell you, but only if you do not move and do not talk.”

  Ark scowled, but said nothing. So Caina told him what had happened. The battle at the foot of the pyramid. The confrontation before Corazain’s pyre. The col
ossal forces Kalastus had summoned into the sky over Rasadda, and what those forces had done to him at last.

  She did not mention the book.

  Ark started to make a wheezing, rasping noise, and for an awful moment Caina thought that he was choking.

  He was laughing.

  “What in the hell,” said Caina, “is so funny?”

  “Everything,” said Ark. “You tricked him. You switched the daggers, and he didn’t even think to look.” He laughed, winced, and laughed against anyway. “All that power, and he didn’t even think to look at the dagger. You tricked the bastard into blowing himself to hell with a bloody dagger. You are a madwoman, Countess. Gods!” Ark roared with laughter.

  “Oh, stop,” said Caina. “You’re going to split your stitches.”

  Ark nodded. “Gods. It’s still funny.” He winced. “And you’re right. That hurt.”

  “Just lie still,” said Caina, rising. “I’ll see if I can find something to help you sleep…”

  His callused hand caught hers.

  “Caina,” said Ark.

  She looked at him in surprise. It was only the second time he had ever called her by name.

  “You did what I could not,” said Ark. “You avenged the Ghosts. You were right from the beginning, when you blamed the magi. Forgive me. I thought you were a fool. Forgive…”

  “Arcion. Enough,” said Caina, kneeling besides the bed. “You give me too much credit. I would have been killed a dozen times, if not for your help.” She smiled, placed his hand on his chest, and let go. “Now go to sleep. You’re going to need your rest.”

  Ark nodded, closed his eyes. “Will we leave Rasadda soon?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Very soon. After I take care of a few things.”

  ###

  That night Valgorix walked into his room, helm tucked under his arm, his graying hair plastered with sweat.

  Caina stepped out of the darkness, her cloak blurring with the shadows. “Decurion.”

  Valgorix flinched, reached for his sword, stopped himself. “So. You lived through that explosion. I was sure that you were dead.”

  “As did I, but here I am,” said Caina. “I am pleased that you survived.”

  Valgorix shrugged, walked to his bed, sat down. “It was a close thing. Those…Magisterial Guards did not want to die. Then we saw the light burst from the pyramid, and fire fill the sky. The Guards collapsed. Like they were puppets whose strings had been cut.”

  Considering that their puppet master had been burning in his own sorcerous fires at that point, Caina was not surprised.

  “Then the ground started to shake,” said Valgorix, “and I was sure that you had failed. We ran for it, got away just before the explosion came. Good thing, too.” He shook his head. “The side of the pyramid just…melted. Like lava. I thought it was the end of the world. But the flames went out…and it was over.” He looked up at her. “Is it truly over, Ghost?”

  “It is,” said Caina. “Kalastus is dead. He summoned more power than he could control, and it consumed him. He burned, just as his victims burned.”

  “Good,” said Valgorix, his voice hard.

  “I require only one more service from you, Decurion,” said Caina.

  Valgorix sagged. “Oh.”

  “Are Lord Nicephorus’s associates still with him in the Imperial Basilica?” said Caina.

  Valgorix scowled. “Yes. The craven fools still haven’t come out.”

  “Good. Your task will be all the easier, then,” said Caina. “At first light you will take your best men to the Basilica and arrest every last one of those merchants. You will charge them with slave trading, embezzlement, and illegal seizure of land. Furthermore, you will announce that their illegal land purchases are null and void, and therefore the Saddai peasants can return to their homes without fear of reprisal.”

  Valgorix laughed. “I will, will I? And how will you keep Lord Nicephorus from taking my head?”

  “The Lord Governor will be in no position to object.”

  Valgorix blinked, puzzled. “But why wouldn’t Nicephorus object? Not unless he…unless he…”

  Caina saw him get it.

  His eyes got wide. “You’re going to…”

  “Nothing,” said Caina. “I will do nothing. Furthermore, you have never met me, never spoken to me, and if anyone asks, the Ghosts are a legend, a peasants’ fable. Am I understood?”

  Valgorix swallowed, nodded. “Perfectly.”

  “You’ll be a hero, Decurion,” said Caina. “Think of how it will look to the Imperial Council. You, and you alone, had the courage to stand against the corruption and slave-trading in the Saddai province, to restore the lands to their proper owners. You might receive command of your own Legion when all is said and done, perhaps even adoption into a noble House. All this will be yours, if only you do as I have bidden…and you forget I ever existed.”

  Valgorix sighed. “Very well.” He stood up, set his helm on his head. “I’ll have to make preparations…”

  When he turned his back, Caina whirled, dropped out the window, and braced herself on the ledge. A moment later Valgorix stuck his head out the window, looking back and forth. Once again he failed to look down.

  “Damn it,” Valgorix muttered. He disappeared back into the window.

  Caina counted to a hundred, and vanished into the night.

  ###

  Lord Governor Anatsius Nicephorus paced the balcony atop the Imperial Basilica, a skin of wine in his hand. He looked quite drunk, and glowered at the city with a sullen, fearful expression. He kept looking at the scarred, misshapen bulk of Corazain’s pyramid, as if unable to believe his eyes.

  Caina seized his hair with one hand and put her dagger against his throat. The skin of wine fell at their feet.

  “I’m going to give you one chance, and one alone,” hissed Caina. “You have stolen the peasants’ lands, driven them from their homes, sold their children into slavery, and done nothing as a pyromancer rampaged through your city. Your actions are a stench in the nostrils of the Emperor. For all that you have earned death a dozen times over, but despite my duty I am weary of killing. In the name of the Emperor, I command you to repent of your crimes, resign the rank of Lord Governor, and return with me to the Imperial capital for judgment.”

  Nicephorus twisted against her, growling. “I have done nothing wrong! It is my right to do with this province and its people as I see fit!”

  “So be it,” said Caina.

  She slammed the hilt of the dagger into his nose, stunning him. As his hands flew to his broken nose, Caina seized his arm, twisted it behind him. Nicephorus doubled over with a strangled cry of pain.

  And before he could recover, she grabbed the back of his belt, flipped him over the elaborate marble railing, and let him fall.

  His scream just had time to start, and then it came to a sudden end. Caina looked over the railing, saw him lying motionless on the basalt pavement a hundred feet below. She picked up the wineskin and tossed it after him.

  Lord Governor Nicephorus, it seemed, had fallen to his death in a drunken stupor.

  Caina reached into the satchel slung over her shoulder, pulled out the bundle of letters and papers Maltaer had given her, and flung them over the railing as well. They landed besides Nicephorus’s outstretched hand with a thump.

  Let people draw their own conclusions.

  ###

  Two weeks later, Ark seemed well enough to travel, so Caina decided to leave Rasadda.

  Organized chaos had reigned in the plaza ever since Lord Nicephorus had been found dead in a pool of wine, a stack of incriminating documents besides him. At first Caina thought a riot would erupt, but Sister Tadaia had taken charge, calling upon the Saddai to swear only to reclaim the lands that had been rightfully theirs. Now clerks sat at tables, watched over by Valgorix’s men, sifting through papers and competing claims. No one seemed too eager to display their flame tattoos. Popular rumor held that the Living Flame had descended in
wrath upon both the pyramid and the Temple, throwing down Gaidan for his belief in the heretical Burning Flame and Nicephorus for his greed and cruelty.

  Caina knew better.

  The book hidden in her chest often intruded upon her thoughts.

  She stood outside the Inn, watching the crowds before the Basilica. Nearby Sairzan’s servants and her maids loaded the coach. Ark stood besides her, leaning on a crutch, and had insisted upon wearing his sword belt.

  “Countess!”

  Caina turned her head in surprise.

  Septimus Romarion strode towards her, a new rapier at his belt.

  “Master Romarion,” said Caina. “It is good to see that you are well. I had feared you were caught up in these momentous events.”

  “You’ve been hurt,” said Romarion, peering at her face. The bruise on her jaw from the Sons of Corazain was still visible, and her lips were still chapped and cracked from the heat atop the pyramid.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Some rebels broke into my room and tried to kill me.” She sighed. “I fear that I’ve had quite enough of this city. I am leaving for Mors Crisius, and will take ship from there to the Imperial capital. Will you be joining me?”

  Romarion shook his head. “I fear not. The chaos in the city has hurt my business. I have no choice but to go to Alqaarin, to try and rebuild my fortunes there.”

  Wise of him.

  “Alas,” said Caina. “It seems that you will not be paying court to me after all.”

  “Though I do regret it sorely,” said Romarion. “Countess, I hope you will not think me forward if I say that you are a very exceptional young woman.”

  “You flatter me, sir,” said Caina.

  “No,” said Romarion. “Perhaps after I return to the Empire, we…”