The Chasing Graves Trilogy Box Set

by Ben Galley

  Heles continued. ‘That’s what made me work for the Chamber, Majesty. I swore to serve fifteen years for the fifteen innocent people I killed. Call it guilt, if you will. It might have been that at the start. Now it is duty, and I know why my father stepped out our door every day with the black uniform on. For all the other fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins and plain old fucking neighbours who don’t have a choice in life or death.’ The anger got the better of her, and Heles shuddered. ‘You know they say there are more dead in this city than there are living?’

  ‘I can tell you it’s true,’ said Nilith. ‘I’ve seen the city charter.’

  Heles shook her head, but the empress was firm.

  ‘I looked at the charter not long before I had this grand idea of mine. It was one of the things that pushed me over the edge. This kingdom is more dead than alive, and if it doesn’t stop here, the same will eventually be true of the Scatter Isles, then Krass, and Skol, and whatever lands lie beyond.’

  ‘And that is why I bend the Code now, and choose to help you,’ said the scrutiniser, as if shoring up her own reserve, and proving to herself her decision had been the right one. ‘Might I ask a question?’

  Nilith nodded, and Heles leaned close, conspiratorial.

  ‘How are you going to do it?’ she muttered.

  Nilith shook her head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The Grand Nyxwell. You’re going to just throw him in? Claim him there and then?’

  ‘I—’ Nilith had thought long and hard about that very moment. ‘I’ll announce myself to the Nyxites. Have them protect the body while I call for the Cloud Court and Sisine. The citizens will gather to witness the crowning, as is tradition, and after Farazar is bound, I’ll have my say.’

  ‘I have to ask: what if you run out of time?’

  ‘Then Farazar will vanish into oblivion, and Sisine will be empress. Her father made sure she stood above the rest of the Court, gave her a share of the army, too. I am empress in marriage only. But I have time.’ Though barely.

  ‘Then what?’

  Nilith was about to answer when she heard a gasp from behind them, previously masked by Anoish’s last slurps. She whirled, hands on the sword.

  Bezel was in the middle of twitching, still half-asleep but rousing quickly. Soon enough his eyes were open and wide.

  ‘She’s…’ The falcon paused to shake violently. His eyes scrunched up in pain. ‘She’s ringing the fucking bell!’ he hissed.

  Nilith rushed to Bezel’s side. She tried to hold his wings still, but it just hurt him more. ‘How many?’

  ‘Seven? I… agh!’ The falcon’s beak opened wide as he cried out. ‘It’s been a fucking pleasure, Nilith. If I ever see you again, you owe me big, remem—’

  Bezel convulsed again, and in that moment the spell began to bite. At the same time, Farazar leapt for the falcon, placing a hand on the falcon’s feathers just as he was whisked into a crackling rift in the air.

  ‘Farazar!’

  The ghost’s hand was dragged into the rift, somehow keeping it open. His arm began to stretch into the flashing light, pulling his shoulder and head towards it.

  With a ring, the obsidian sword was brandished high aloft. The air and dust rushing around her, Nilith swung down as hard as she could manage.

  Sisine barged into her room so quickly she sent her guards flying. Apologies had not passed her lips since early childhood, and she was not about to break that streak now, exhausted and covered in blood as she was.

  She stormed onwards, winding deeper and deeper into her chambers until she came to her private bedroom.

  The chest flew open, splintering the foot of her bed with its metal edges. Sisine snatched up the small bell and wrapped white knuckles around it.

  ‘Mother!’ she yelled, thrashing ring after ring out of the bell. Clang, clang, clang! Seven, eight, nine…

  With a crackle, the air before her split. A sudden wind buffeted her torn and blood-washed white silks. Feathers flew at her, and as the thrashing shape of the falcon began to form, she heard a long, drawn-out wail accompany him. It sounded like her father’s voice. Bezel collapsed onto her bed-linens, still somehow wrapped up in the spell. Above him, where the air was still split, a spectral hand appeared, groping for her with blue fingers. Behind it came a face Sisine recognised. It was faint, its vapours barely holding together, and it lasted but a moment before the spell broke, and the air rejoined with a wobble.

  Sisine slammed the lid of the chest, staring the falcon in the eye. He looked damaged somehow, bloodied on his side, and stiff as he pulled himself up to match her stare.

  ‘Explain yourself, bird. Where is my mother? If you’ve been lying to me, I—’

  ‘Had a spot of bother, have you, Sisine?’ he croaked. He had seen the blood on her. Spots of crimson still decorated her face and gold-wrapped forearms. A strand of ebony hair hung across her eyes, and she slapped it away. ‘I saw the smoke, too,’ he added.

  ‘You…’ She paused to wrestle her trembling lip. ‘You’re in the city? They are in the city?’

  Bezel was attempting to shuffle forwards. One wing hung at an angle. His hopping steps were slow and unsure. He spoke as he approached, and Sisine saw the contempt in the curve of his beak.

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘Yet another fucking traitor!’ snarled Sisine. ‘I have had my fill of those today!’

  ‘My, my, and it’s barely past noon.’

  ‘Where is she? Where is my bitch of a mother?’ She thought of the blue face, crying out to her. My father. ‘Were you with them?!’

  ‘Just to the north of here, in fact. Sitting comfortably in the Low Docks, right under your nose. We were just about to have lunch, in fact.’

  ‘You despicable creature. You dare to betray me, your master?’ Sisine raised her hand to cuff him, to break his little neck, when he raised a pinion feather.

  ‘Tut tut. I wouldn’t do that. She had a message for you. One she asked me to deliver should you finally open the Sanctuary and realise how stupid you’ve been.’

  Sisine bared her teeth. ‘Speak quickly then, bird. Give me Nilith’s message, and then you will find out the punishment for crossing me.’

  Bezel stared at her, holding his smile. He shuffled forward, coming to a halt a mere foot from her face. Sisine saw the crusted blood under his wing. She could smell the rot on him. The bird was nothing short of worthless.

  He stared deep into her burning eyes, his own as black as old tar, ringed with sickly yellow and flecks of red. ‘It was long-winded and frankly a little sentimental for my tastes, so I’ll condense it down into the short version for you, Princess,’ he said, taking a ragged breath. ‘Fuck you and your dreams. Fuck you to death.’

  With a piercing screech, Bezel flew for Sisine’s face, wings flared and hooked talons reaching. Sisine was already reaching for his neck, a strangled roar of rage in her throat.

  Chapter 19

  Shelter

  Nothing is certain in Araxes. Not even death.

  Old Arctian proverb

  ‘My fucking hand!’ Farazar yelled, clutching his white, fizzing stump of a wrist. Nilith had swung so hard the sword was halfway into the flagstone. She pried it free and held it to his neck.

  ‘Go on! Finish the job!’ he yelled. ‘Make your journey pointless!’

  Nilith found Heles’ hands on her arm, and with a grunt, she shrugged herself free. Nilith thrust the sword into her belt and began to throw blanket after blanket at Farazar.

  ‘You shut your face, ghost. Heles, we’re moving on.’

  ‘Now?’ the scrutiniser asked.

  Nilith fixed her with a look, daring her to protest further. ‘If my daughter didn’t know Farazar was gone before, she does now. And Bezel might…’ Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away to get Anoish ready.

  ‘Good luck, you irascible bird,’ she muttered beneath her breath, as she coiled Anoish’s tether about her fist.

  They walked
north until the sky turned the colour of burned oranges. The smoke hung in the air, like a stain of soot on silks. The docks and factories and warehouses that had woken their furnaces that day added their smog to the haze. The sun made stark silhouettes of the buildings, making jagged teeth of the towers and spires. High-roads crisscrossed the gaps like morsels stuck between them. The last rays of the day fell in red and angry bars on the streets. The light drew out their shadows, making elongated monsters of them.

  Silence had been the order of the afternoon. The two women each kept to their thoughts, timed to Anoish’s brisk plodding. The streets had remained mostly vacant. Horns had blared from the Piercer shortly after noon. Battle-horns, and dozens. Any guards or soldiers left in the outer districts had sprinted north at the sound of them. The horns had sounded intermittently until sunset, receding ever northwards. That was some comfort.

  Thin trails of ghosts occupied some streets, where businesses and merchants couldn’t stay closed any longer. No braying and charming clatter of night markets yet, with their rainbow lanterns and mishmash of music. No rattle of armoured carriages, or tramping of soldiers jogging alongside a litter. Even the beggars were few, though that may have been the quality of the district.

  Street brats there were plenty of. Alive and dead, filthy or glowing faintly, they ran in flocks through the adjoining alleyways, teasing what few shades they could find. If a basket was dropped, or a satchel slipped from a shoulder, the brats would descend, thieving whatever it was they could lay their grubby paws on. They were clearly nimble enough to dodge the street-guards and mercenaries; and with few, if any, of those around, they were having a ball. Twice, they tried to rob Nilith and Heles. The first time, the scrutiniser cuffed one around the ear. The second, Nilith showed them her sword. There was not a third attempt.

  The sun surrendered itself to the earth, and the horizon turned a dusty pink. The night swooped in from the east, a blanket of darkness that smothered the colours from the sky. Once again, the horns crowed. Closer this time, nearer the Cloudpiercer again. Nilith cursed that great pillar, now speckled with lanterns. It was closer than ever before, and it dominated the skyline. Against the dusk, she could see a ragged edge to its peak, though it hurt her neck to crane up at it.

  ‘Shelter?’ Heles spoke up, surprising her.

  The empress shook her head. ‘No. We press on.’

  With that, the matter was settled. They kept their pace and their direction, though their eyes became more watchful. Darkness swallowed the city. A few lamplighters crept out to keep it at bay with whale oil and tinder. Other ghosts hurried across their path here and there, painting the flagstones blue. Ghosts with stubborn, uncaring masters. Nothing was exchanged between passersby, not a word. Not even a polite nod. Fearful glances, maybe. Everybody was an island in Araxes, and like the volcanoes of the Scatter Isles, the results were explosive when they collided.

  Only once was the rule broken, and that was by a rotund man on a shiny beetle that passed them. The insect’s clip-clopping on the flagstones seemed hurried. The man held on to a floppy hat with one hand, the reins with the other. He puffed a sigh from red, sweaty lips.

  ‘Not a good time for trade, misses. I’d head back the way you came if I were you,’ he advised, half-breathless.

  But they did not, and they let him go by with blank looks. Nilith tried to forget him, even as the dust from his beetle’s scuttling stung her eyes.

  ‘Something’s got him rattled,’ muttered the scrutiniser.

  ‘We keep moving,’ Nilith said firmly.

  Another hour passed, and they spent it following a winding street that led slightly west. Nilith spent it staring down at her feet, counting paces until Heles touched her arm. It was the one the ghast had poisoned, and Nilith flinched away.

  The scrutiniser pointed ahead. She’d been staring up at the lofty spires, now glittering with their own lamps and candles. A high-road stretched between two of them before winding into the city. A row of torches perched on it. Tucking Anoish behind a wooden stall, Nilith and Heles peeked out from the curve of a wall. The torches wandered slightly, held by hands rather than sconces. When the night breezes played with them, they betrayed the glint of armour and spears.

  ‘That’s not good. They’re hunting for something.’

  ‘Who do you think?’ Nilith said. ‘We need shelter. Until they grow bored or move on.’

  Heles dutifully began to limp around, poking in alleys and testing doors. This was a populous area, and what wasn’t a soaring face of a building was tightly locked. A few warning shouts followed a few shoves of a shoulder on one particular door. Heles moved on.

  ‘This way,’ she said, and they took an alley onto another street, where awnings for a large soulmarket had been left over vacant, quiet stalls and pens. It was dark here; the awnings blocked starlight instead of sunlight, and no lamplighters had bothered to come here. It added more shadow to an already murky night.

  Heles pointed. ‘There.’

  A small shop sitting on a corner had been boarded up, and poorly so. It looked as if the owner had run out of planks before they were finished. It was their own fault for having walls that were practically all archway. Wooden stools and tables sat piled up against the boards as an extra measure.

  One by one, Heles and Nilith began to stack them elsewhere. The boards were pried away easily enough, and they ducked into the darkness.

  It turned out to be a coffee tavern, or so Nilith thought. The proprietor’s last measure had been taking away anything of worth. She saw dark rings on the stone counters where amphoras and brewing pots had recently stood. All furniture was missing. The floor was bare of carpets. Even the tapestries had been rolled up and carted off. Despite the effort, the bitter-sweet aroma of coffee still hung in the air. In one wall was a hatch leading to the next shop, and a stomach-rumbling smell of grease and pastry wafted through it.

  Once the bundle of corpse and ghost had been stowed in a corner, Anoish was led inside. The boards were balanced back in place, and what little light the soulmarket had offered was shut out.

  Nilith dug in her pack for tinder. She was fresh out, but Heles found a tallow candle in a drawer, so stubby it had not been worth taking. The two of them gathered around it. Nilith placed the sword on the dusty floor, more sand than stone, and sighed as she lit the candle.

  ‘We’ll move on when this is burned out,’ she said, more promising herself than telling Heles.

  The scrutiniser didn’t seem convinced. ‘You sure?’

  ‘It’ll be better later, when they’re tired of looking. One more day, and I think we’ll be there.’

  ‘These rags won’t hide us long out there. You—’

  ‘We have little choice! I refuse to waste any more time!’ Nilith snapped.

  Heles bowed her head, clearly swallowing words. She watched the scrutiniser in the weak, flickering flame. It threw up a pillar of dark smoke, and its light was the colour of vomit. At least there was light.

  They stared at it in a hush for what felt like an hour. Around them, the city continued its hunt. The occasional yell of an order and a distant echo of boots came floating through the boards, but that was all.

  When the candle was no more than a thumb’s thickness and starting to sputter, Heles spoke up again. It was no more than a whisper, but it sounded loud after straining the ears for so long.

  ‘I’m sorry about Bezel. Though I only knew him a short while.’

  ‘Don’t be. We don’t know what’s become of him,’ replied Nilith, her voice tight.

  ‘You didn’t get to finish what you were saying earlier. About what will happen after you bind Farazar’s shade.’

  ‘Trying to take my mind off him won’t help, Scrutiniser Heles.’

  Again her head bowed respectfully. Nilith saw the whiteness of her knuckles. ‘Of course not, Majesty.’

  Nilith stared at the candle until its light left spots dancing in her eyes. The night was warm, and under her rags, she sweated.
With a growl, she started to peel them off, throwing them aside irritably until her face and head were free. She turned her nails to more, dragging the cloth from her shoulders and arms. A faint blue gleam joined the pallid light of the candle. A cold draught fell from her. She saw Heles shiver as she struggled to hold her empress’s eyes.

  ‘Look at it,’ Nilith grumbled.

  Heles did, her eyes creeping down to where Nilith’s collar bone and bosom were being eaten away by dark tendrils of vapour; where her whole left arm glowed, black veins etched, turning to white where puncture marks showed. Nilith lifted more cloth to show her ribs, were the skin was already beginning to blacken and crack. Sapphire light shone through beneath.

  ‘You asked what was next, should I somehow bind that bastard of an emperor?’ Nilith asked. ‘I don’t know, that’s what. I know I will say my piece, make my decrees, and then the choice is down to the city.’

  ‘But you will be empress.’

  ‘A dead empress if this rot doesn’t slow! Damn that ghast! Damn that fucking Consortium for its meddling!’ Nilith went to dash the candle from its cradle of sand, but she stopped herself. With a sigh, she said, ‘There is a reason why no ghost has ever held the throne of Araxes longer than a day. The city will not stand for it. My decrees will be close to worthless.’

  ‘They will stand for the Code.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. You’re not that naive. I will be shitting on a thousand years of the Code in one fell swoop, not to mention that by freeing the shades, I remove my only claim to authority besides a crown and a throne. This doesn’t end with Farazar being thrown into the Nyx.’ As she said that, Nilith felt the weight of her burden triple. It was her turn to hang her head, feeling heavier than lead, not half-ghost.

  Heles sniffed. ‘You’re not alone, Majesty.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  The scrutiniser thumped her fist against her thigh. ‘I said you’re not alone. My being here only proves that. The dead proctor, Jym? He would have fought for such a thing, too. Every fucking shade out there wants it! If you grant freedom to them, then fuck the living! You said yourself the city is more dead than alive. Be the empress of the dead!’