by Trevol Swift
11 Ghosts
The Beach
Jhee awoke crammed between Kanto and Mirrei with the latter’s arm flung over her face. She extricated herself as peaceably as she could. Her day robes and traveling robes had gone missing. She dug through the luggage around the room for anything resembling a simple wrap. The only other clothes of hers she turned up were the formal ones. She checked the dryness on her evening robes which hung near the fire. They were still wet. Beside them, the robes Kanto made had been cleaned and were dry as dust.
She found a fresh poultice waiting neatly on the table beside a full, clear, Adept teapot. She smiled and drew the teapot to heat the water. Shep joined her. As they drank the tea and perused the autopsy images, they sat hand in hand. He occasionally stroked her knuckles with his thumb. One Prospective had a peculiar tattoo on his wrist. Each had the more traditional jubilee tattoos which indicated the celestial phases and alignments of their birthday. Evidence of a brand which resembled those of the Medical Protectorate caused her and Shep to tense. It wasn’t one, thank the Makers. Jhee brushed her fingers lightly over the failsafe sigil implanted in her arm. They touched escae before she left.
Planting herself outside the prioress’s cell, bore Jhee the fruit she hoped. The prioress wandered to a side door in the Shrine Courtyard. One not on Jhee’s map. No wonder she had tried to warn Jhee away from the place. It led to a little-used delivery canal under the abbey for cargo and fresh-caught sea meat. The channel must, also, serve as escape route or means to come and go from the abbey unseen. A scruffy old man awaited on a skiff piled with boxes and crates. The prioress boarded, and they pushed away from the landing.
Jhee examined the canal area. Not another vessel nearby. The spit of landing ended at the canal entrance. From there, her options were wade or swim. In either case, she could not keep up with them.
“Psst!” A sound came from the shadows deeper in the abbey’s bowels. The drip and splash of a pole in water preceded a skiff piloted by Bax and Raigen gliding up to the landing. Jhee surmised Shep had Bax keeping an eye on her regardless of whatever other tasks she set him. However, why despite her charge did Bax and Raigen occupy this craft together? She had no time to ponder it now. She boarded, and they pushed off before the illumination from the skiff’s lantern left sight.
The haggard man looked over his shoulder often. By the First Makers’ whim, a light mist rolled in. She drew it to conceal their pursuit. The fog had the power of the great storm in it, she realized after she had extended herself to it. It tugged and fought and tried to wrench itself from her grasp. With a last effort, she prevailed. She sat back and rested. Bax and Raigen proved adept at navigating the shallows and masking their passage through the water. Her concealment was by no means perfect. They would be seen if anyone looked hard enough.
Their journey came to an end when the skiff ahead came to a stop on an isle no more than a sandbar. Gruff folk met it. Bax and Raigen broke off pursuit and put in at a nearby inlet out of sight.
“Get out here. We’ll stow the skiff and meet up with you,” Raigen said.
Jhee hopped out, flipped her robes inside out, and removed her insignia of rank. She remained overdressed anyway as she tried to blend with the crowd gathered to meet the skiff. These haggard folk were refugees. Burly refugees in clothes slightly less bedraggled than the rest helped the prioress unload the boat onto nearby sleds. Excited murmurs grew as refugees crowded the landing area. To Jhee’s astonishment, a suspicious handful of aid workers drew the sleds away from shore. They came to a stop at a nearby supply depot. The prioress clapped, and the refugees queued up. A table had been set up where workers already started a sorting line. The prioress opened crates and boxes to reveal food and clothing. She distributed them to the line of refugees. Every now and then she pulled out a toy and presented it to a child.
A sizable crowd remained once the prioress’s provisions came to an end. She shook her head and rested her head in her hands. With a body-shaking sigh, the prioress went amongst the crowd distributing the only goods she had in infinite supply, prayers and blessings. Even without supplies, a crowd pressed in on the woman, and Jhee lost track of her.
The refugees had noticed the fineness of Jhee’s robes even inside out. Their lean, starved faces pleaded with her. Jhee gave what she had on her person Maker geld, medicines, her medicinal inhaler. She even parted with as much of her clothing as was decent including Kanto’s beautiful robe. She lost her poultice too. The crowd parted enough for Jhee to glimpse the prioress again.
In the confusion, the prioress disappeared once more. Jhee broke free of the crowd. She scanned the pathways through the tents and ramshackle huts. Most barely kept out the rain. Without her robes, she blended in better. She walked a few of the pathways between the tents. The sand was muddy and discolored. The air stank of urine and feces. A few aid workers distributed tarpaulins and beeswax to seal the plain cloth tents.
A gap opened between one set of tents and another. She spotted the prioress surrounded by a group of young men and women. They went to a flat bit of shore tamped down by many feet. Another crowd already awaited. The prioress clapped, and they formed ranks. Men, women, and children proceeded to do mediations in motion. The meditations Jhee did to clear and center herself for cyphering. The prioress made no effort to separate the men or boys.
The participants performed larger, more exaggerated gestures at full extension like the articles suggested. However, a beach full of people was much, much larger than the recommended five to six-person class size. Despite the admonition against cyphering and murky laws, the prioress proceeded to teach any and all cyphering, even men.
The sequences and cyphers were a hodge-podge at best. A pastiche cobbled together from many journals and articles about male cyphering. Jhee had planned on using many of the same moves in the system she considered for Kanto.
This close, there was no mistaking the aid workers’ Pillarist garb; another reason why the prioress would not want her activities known. The aid workers were Soothbringers at least. The Doombringers had all but been eradicated. The Soothbringers had folded themselves into various other orders such as the Drakists and Beacons of Lost Sparks. Who else would be most equipped to teach cyphering indiscriminately?
The Middle Pillarists, more specifically the Doombringer heretics, were the reason for the cyphering laws in the first place. Technically, the rules against male education had been lessened and, in some cases, abolished. Poor men did not cypher and barely drew the elements. Much of the local populace still held to the traditions or distrusted male artificers. They looked askance at anyone teaching men such even though it was something the rich had done with their sons for quite some time now.
Gears ground and hitched in the environment. The unbalanced prime forces set Jhee’s teeth on edge. Too many artificers in such a concentrated space. She hastened to test the air quality. The too sudden movement drew the prioress’s attention.
The prioress gasped upon recognizing Jhee. She attempted to hide her motions.
“Justicar, please, I can explain,” the prioress stammered.
“Later.” Jhee queried the divine mechanism. Her mentor, Vizier Jeja, had been an arcane outreach counselor paid by the Central Authority to demonstrate the safety and benefits of cyphering. She had learned the signs when the environment spoiled, the symptoms of cyphering sickness. She had thought the program at the time had been meant to enrich the lives of the people. What it really was about was the Empire needed more artificers and adepts to work on the shield.
A man dropped to the ground and clutched his head. He convulsed. Jhee examined the man and cleaned the froth from his mouth. The air had the same wrongness, and depleted quality Jeja had taught her to look out for. They tended the man until he ceased his shaking and screams. Incidents like this only increased the stigma with regards to male cyphering.
“He should be fine. Cyphering is done for the day.”
The prioress bowed profusely. “Justica
r, if I may ask a favor. “
“You may ask.”
“The clinic. Afterward, we can speak in private, and I will answer your questions as honestly as I can.”
Mist Blind
The prioress escorted Jhee to a makeshift field hospital. For those taken by diseases, such as Fresh Lung, Jhee could do nothing. She healed apparent surface infections first. Then Jhee mended cuts and scrapes, a few broken bones and more apparent wounds. What truly ailed them she could not fix.
A group of grateful leaders met her and the prioress outside. They brought them to their meeting tent and fed them a thin grout fish stew and a hard, crumbly chunk of bread from their meager stores. It tasted the greatest of feasts to Jhee. She washed it down with a swig of the refugee’s strong homemade liquor, squelch. It burned all the way down. She gasped and pounded her chest until the inebriation settled over her.
Jhee remembered the tattoo she had seen in his autopsy photos. She noted similar ones on several of the people she treated. The thought of the autopsy photos made her appetite flee. Another swig of squelch helped that too.
Jhee listened politely and respectfully while her hosts talked.
“Our livelihood is dying. That drenched shield. It scares the fish. We can also no longer go out as far for whale and other sea meat. Only the big ships with passes from the Imperial Authority. Makers make the shield, anyway. Let’s see those stipple bastards can get around that.”
“The whale and manta are being driven inland where they strand, or the ranchers get them. We could find more out further to sea, but we are humble fisherfolk who can’t afford the license fees to venture beyond like the big ships can.”
“Not unless we go in on the fishing combines.”
“The rep from the fishing combine was here again.”
“I’ll be unmade before I let some inland bureaucrats tell me what to do on my own ship. No, ma’am. Begging your pardon, Justicar.”
“I used to think they were a joke. I had my own ship. Why would I want to give that up to have someone else tell me how to run it?”
“Or worse, work someone else’s so they can get rich while you break your back.”
“I don’t know anymore. The Imperial Authority doesn’t seem to care about the little fish anymore. Only the whales.”
Another elder drunkenly interrupted, “Arcana. Feh. I know how they built the shield. They used necromancy and deep magic to rouse the shell drake what lies at the bottom of the sea. It now circles about the isles churning the waters into this Maker-forlorn storm. That’s what caused them quakes.”
“They awoke the Storm Child in hir fury. We had two tremors and wyrm waves.”
“The Wave Witch and Wind Witch have quarrel again.”
“No, the Storm Child rides the shell drake.”
After the second or third time losing the thread of the conversation, Jhee knew she needed to leave before she passed out there on the beach. She swayed as she rose and made her farewells.
The elder shoved a small carved piece of driftwood in her hands. “Be safe. That place is full of restless spirits.”
Jhee reached into her devotion pouch for a tiny shell she had carved with Maker runes and cyphering primitives. She touched it to her esca then handed it to the elder in trade. The elder acknowledged the exchange with a nod. Make for Make.
As if Jhee were not already tired enough, she still had the prioress to deal with. A hollow stare was all it took to get her speaking.
“Allow me to explain.”
“The mortician said Saheli caught you stealing.”
“For this.”
“You also took the cash from the dead Prospective’s body.”
“To buy more provisions. He was a refugee too once. When I revealed to Saheli why I stole, she understood. Saheli and I both thought the laws governing the teaching and education of men backward and archaic. Even when it came to cyphering. We resolved to teach any who would be willing to learn, and so we did.”
“But your order eschews cyphering.”
“We were encouraged by our success with the mundane educational program. This is our pilot program. With a fixed, controlled group, we hoped to better understand the dangers and the risks. Our first obligation and duty are to our community and the welfare of all the Makers’ children. The knowledge could be used to better the lives of themselves and others, which is our foremost obligation. As clergy locked behind our walls, we sometimes become blind to the suffering of the people around us. These refugees reminded both Saheli and me of that. She even sometimes visited the camp herself. I do what I can here, but it’s still not enough. Not only were we going to teach, but we were also going to lessen the tithe as a show of goodwill.”
“I can only imagine how well that would go over.”
“Which is why Saheli wanted it kept quiet until she was officially ready to announce it. Perhaps we could shame the other orders into helping. Once the decree went public, there was virtually no way to take it back.”
“Save for the appointment of a new abbess.”
Jhee stroked her muzzle. Such a move narrowed down the suspect pool to any overly proud and comfortable cleric at the abbey.
“I kept track of every shell I took; all sales and philanthropy. And so did Saheli once she knew. We drew the money from a combination of slush funds, petty cash, and her revenues as abbess. We started tracking after we took over the books from Pyrmo. We almost had to. They had not been kept properly in years, perhaps decades. Inventory and audit were next on the agenda. Thanks to the current insinuations, all Saheli’s reforms are now under evaluation. Some, if not many, are bound to be discarded. Pyrmo has already cut back on our charitable giving to the poor, and she never would approve of cyphering lessons.”
“Or working with Soothbringers.”
“These people are desperate. The traditional orders are failing them. Nearby cities consider them a nuisance. As do most of my fellow clergy. The other monasteries have largely ignored their and our pleas for aid. Only the Soothbringers have done anything for them. As a result, more and more follow them. Can you blame them, Justicar? Saheli and I tried to get them to join the Drakists instead. We could be doing more. Refugee housing programs. Or have the Professed and Prospectives help them build homes. Instead, we’re hiding behind the walls of the abbey.”
“I am not unsympathetic. The restrictions regarding this sort of thing have become more social than legal after the reforms of the Rescission Councils. Much as you informed me regarding your vows, this is a matter between your conscience and the First Makers. If you are going to continue the cyphering lessons in whatever capacity, you should consult with someone who has actual experience instructing others to cypher.”
“Proper teachers cost money. Look around, Justicar. They can’t do lengthy apprenticeships or hire enough teachers for the recommended student ratio.”
The education report and the signets of introductions Lady Bathsheba had provided her sprang to mind. “A few isles have pooled their resources for cyphering instructors. I, also, have the personal contact information for Imperial Education Secretaries. A similar arrangement might be set up throughout the camps. In the interim, I offer my counsel. I’ll instruct you in a few more healing cyphers and the warning signs for cyphering sickness and pollution. We can discuss a curriculum and a funding stream for both their supplies and education.”
The prioress gave more profuse bows. She extended her hands to Jhee. They clasped forearms and touched foreheads. Jhee did not mind such a familiar gesture in such a circumstance. She felt the situation more than warranted it. The prioress hovered her palm over Jhee’s esca. “The Makers’ blessing to you and yours. We may not have always agreed, but I respected Saheli. She genuinely cared about the poor and not lining her own pockets or puffing herself up. Do you really think she was murdered?”
“All I learn makes it more and more likely.”
On the beach, a leader, much younger than the others and who had spent most of
the conversation silent, stopped Jhee.
“I have not heard anything from my brother. A man came to the camps. He claimed he could get him good work in the city as a cook or servant.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Jhee watched the refugees with fatigue. Their blank, worn faces continued as an endless sea. She imagined this must be what the inhabitants of Antasia who tried to hold back the sea on their own or the lone elemental practitioners who tried themselves against the storms felt like. Would it ever be enough? Could she ever do enough? Her stomach felt knotted, and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and close her eyes to everything.
“Justicar, we should go,” Bax said.
“Yes.” Jhee turned for a last look over the camp. She faced the dim glow of the storm shield. The barbarians awaited on the other side. She must remember that. “Raigen?”
Jhee had meant to ask where the woman was, but that’s all she managed.
“Later, Justicar. Later.”
The Ghost Stories
Jhee slipped back to her room. Once again, Kanto remained awake, but this time with an audience. By the fire, her three spouses gathered with bowls of pork and rice. Shep perched on the edge of his seat. Mirrei clutched a pillow tight.
“What of the wicked monk who had mocked the Makers and aided the raiders?” Mirrei said.
“And the greedy priest?” Shep asked.
Kanto set down his bowl and leaned forward. Mirrei and Shep did too. “A cave-in had blocked one exit. The servants they mistreated sealed the other after them. They say they lost their way in the crypt depths amongst the very honored dead they betrayed. On many days, if you listen closely, you can still hear them searching, searching for the way out.”
The three fell silent as if to listen.
“Let me out,” Jhee whispered.
Her spouses jumped. Jhee gave a weary smile as she stepped into the room. Mirrei groaned and tossed her pillow at Jhee.