The Language of Ghosts

by Heather Fawcett

  General Lydio’s face was pale. “Your Highness, I’ve never seen those men before.”

  Julian gave him a cool look, then turned to the men. “You resupplied at Hedea, didn’t you? Is it possible you gained two stowaways there?”

  General Lydio looked more embarrassed than frightened. Noa didn’t think he was lying—if he was, he was a very good actor. “It’s possible.”

  “Xavier’s guessed you planned to join me, then.” Julian’s fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the table. In the silence of the full banquet hall, beneath the rapt attention of the guests, it seemed unnaturally loud. He addressed the men in a pleasant voice. “And how much did Xavier pay you to spy on me?”

  The man on the left said nothing. He was shaking, with a sheen of sweat on his brow. But the other man, wild-eyed, took a half step forward before he was stopped by the guard. “I would have done it for free,” he said with a laugh that went on for too long. “Monster. I’d rather die than see someone like you on the throne of Florean.” And then he began to shout something in Spark, and Noa realized, too late, that the guards should have gagged the men before bringing them before Julian. The guard realized his mistake and reached for the man’s mouth, while several guests shrieked and Julian’s mages shoved their chairs back.

  But Julian barely moved. Before any of his mages could cast a single spell, he flicked his fingers at the man and murmured something inaudible over the din. The man stumbled back, collapsing against the guard again.

  His mouth was gone.

  Noa’s stomach lurched. “That’s better,” Julian said. After the eruption of sound, the banquet hall had fallen silent, eerily so.

  “No,” the other man murmured as he stared at his companion in horror. “No, no, please no—”

  Julian wasn’t even looking at him. He murmured again, and made another airy flicking motion, and the other man’s mouth vanished, too. “What do you think?” he said to Renne, as if asking his opinion on the food.

  Renne looked as ill as Noa felt. “Have them taken to the dungeon, of course.” He glanced at the men, who were making horrible muffled sounds. “There was no need to—to do that. Taking their voices would have been enough.”

  “That’s not very imaginative, is it? We do have guests to impress.” Several of the mages tittered. Julian leaned back in his chair, smiling at the men. His eyes had a cold glitter. “So you came here to spy on me, did you? Well . . . carry on.”

  He spoke a complicated series of words that sparked like flames and hummed like summer bees. It was more than one incantation, woven together in a strange pattern. The two men began to glow and shrink. They grew so bright that it was impossible to look directly at them, then slowly they rose into the air. Noa had to look away, her eyes watering. When her vision cleared, she choked on a cry.

  Suspended from the ceiling were a number of lanterns that cast a cheery, wavering light over the banquet. Two of those lanterns now glowed unnaturally bright, and within them you could just make out the outlines of small, glowing faces, their eyes wide with horror as they pressed their mouthless jaws against the glass.

  Noa felt as if she were back in the storm, driftwood tossed about by the currents. Mite started to follow her gaze, but Noa distracted her by spilling her drink. Mite had to move quickly to avoid getting the beetles wet.

  Julian thanked the guards with one of his charming smiles, then went back to his conversation with General Lydio and his wife. Slowly, people began talking again, though their voices were hushed at first. General Lydio sat with his mouth in a line. He didn’t look happy, but nor did he look surprised, and he answered Julian’s questions without faltering. Noa found herself remembering, against her will, what Gabriela had said. The only thing that can defeat a monster is another monster. Was that what General Lydio believed? In siding with Julian, did he think he was doing the right thing, or simply choosing the lesser of two monsters?

  Noa spent the rest of the banquet in silence. No one spoke to her, which suited her just fine. After what she’d just seen, her appetite had fled. A few of the guests looked like they felt the same, but most had gone back to their meals. What had happened was entertainment to them, all the more so because it had been frightening, and the glances they shot at Julian were half anxious and half admiring. The boy next to Mite decided to amuse himself by throwing oyster shells into her cup, which made the girls across the table giggle. Mite stared at her plate the whole time, blinking rapidly. Noa eventually rose, pulled on the boy’s collar, and poured her sesame coconut custard down his back. He yelped and sputtered, but Noa might have gotten away with it had Mite not taken inspiration from her and dumped her beetles down the boy’s shirt, too. He leaped screaming from his chair, tripped, and landed in the creamed kelp with such a splash that it spattered the guests at that end of the table. Noa was still standing up, so everybody stared at her as the boy screamed the way you would scream if you were being slowly eaten by a shark. Even Julian, miles away at the other end of the table, sat frozen in confusion. General Lydio rose to his feet and made his way over, and Noa remembered, too late, that the awful blond boy was his son.

  So she did the only thing that made sense, and stormed out of the hall.

  The salty wind was cool against her face, and it helped to chase away the kelp smell that clung to her hair. Noa marched along the rocky shore just outside the hall, smashing mussels and barnacles with her boots, until she became aware that she wasn’t alone.

  “Go back to dinner, Mite,” Noa said over her shoulder. “Julian will be mad at you.” This didn’t make much sense, given that the sister he was more likely to be mad at was the one who had apparently tried to murder General Lydio’s son, but Noa didn’t care.

  “I don’t want to go back.” Mite’s face was flushed. “Can’t I stay here with you?”

  “No,” Noa snapped. “You can’t. I need to think, and you don’t help.”

  “But—”

  “Mite, for once in your life, will you leave me alone,” Noa snarled.

  Mite’s mouth trembled. She turned and fled.

  Noa felt a flicker of guilt, but it was no match for her anger. She kept walking, then she sat on the rocks for a while, watching the breakers. After an hour or so, she got cold, and she also realized that if Julian was looking for her, she was missing her chance to make him feel guilty. She walked back toward the castle and sat on the rocks within view of the balcony.

  Julian found her a little while later. His fancy cloak was gone and his hair was disheveled again, so Noa took it that the banquet was over. He sat down beside her. “General Lydio’s son has finally calmed down,” he said. “You can visit him in the morning and apologize.”

  “For what?” Noa demanded.

  “For what. He said you put something down his shirt. I know you don’t spend much time with other children, Noa, but I had hoped you’d at least try to get along with Matty.”

  Noa glowered. Who made such a fuss over a few insects? She’d sooner put beetles down her own shirt than apologize to that crybaby.

  Julian rubbed his face. He looked exhausted, and Noa wondered if he’d been hiding it before. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

  Noa unclenched her fingers, which were beginning to ache from gripping the rock. “I saw Mom,” she said in a flat voice.

  Julian froze. “What?”

  “I saw Mom. She came to tell me something important—I think it’s about the Lost Words. I’m going back to Death tonight to talk to her.”

  Julian said nothing for a moment. When he did, his words were almost frighteningly calm. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Noa did.

  “I don’t know who you spoke to,” Julian said. His face was the same shade as the distant breakers. “But I doubt it was Mom.”

  “What?” Noa stared at him. “Why wouldn’t it be Mom?”

  “Mom was happy when she died.” Julian’s voice was so quiet she could barely hear it. Noa couldn’t remember the last
time he had spoken about Mom. “She knew she was going to be with Father. You know those so-called legends I told you about? The ancient mages who visited Death? They all say that the ghosts they met linger there because they’re unhappy. They’re still tied to their old lives.”

  “She was happy?” Noa’s heart thudded in her ears. “She was happy leaving us alone? I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”

  “Noa—”

  “I don’t believe you!” Noa cried. “You weren’t there—you didn’t see her. I did, and I’m going to see her again.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Julian’s voice was cold. “And you’re certainly not going to do the bidding of the dead. Do you know how dangerous that is? Mom would never ask you to put yourself at risk—”

  “So you’ll believe your books before you believe me?” Noa demanded. “Julian, it was Mom.”

  He pressed his fingers against his eyes. “If there were some way to go with you, some way I could protect you—”

  “I can protect myself.”

  “I haven’t seen much evidence of that lately,” Julian snapped. “Noa, I’ve had enough of watching you put yourself in danger.”

  “Well, maybe I’ve had enough of being your spider!” Noa yelled.

  He blinked. “My what?”

  “You know. The brains. Because you hardly ever use yours.” Noa leaped to her feet. “You think that because you’re the most powerful mage in Florean, you can do whatever you want without having to think about anyone else. Including me.” The words poured out like a river.

  Julian looked stunned. “I always think about you and Mite. Everything I do, I’m thinking of you.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Noa gave a bark of laughter. “These days the only reason you spend time with me is because I’m useful.”

  Julian’s face softened. “Noa, of course I—”

  “That’s right.” Noa dashed her hand across her eyes. “I’m a magician now, so that makes me useful. I’m not just your weird little sister, somebody you can pat on the head and put on your council for everyone to laugh at. That’s why you made me sit with the kids instead of the councillors tonight, isn’t it? Because I’m not really one of them.”

  “I—” Julian stopped. “I didn’t know that would upset you. I’m sorry.”

  “Didn’t know or didn’t care?” Noa’s anger was leaking out, leaving behind a cold, empty feeling, like a dank sea cave. “The old Julian would have cared. The old Julian would have believed me. I don’t know who you are.”

  She turned and ran back to the castle. Julian didn’t follow her.

  25

  Noa Finds an Ingrown Island

  Noa didn’t even wait to get back to her room before she entered Death.

  She ran through the banquet hall, where a handful of guests were still gathered, nursing drinks and talking in small groups.

  “Noa?” It was Kell. “What’s the matter, girl?”

  Noa didn’t want to talk to her, or anyone else. Ignoring the startled looks her red-faced appearance was drawing from the remaining guests, she grabbed the nearest shadow and threw herself into Death. Gasps followed her through the shadow door, and someone screamed. But then there was only silence.

  Noa stood, brushing sand off her knees. Her entry into Death hadn’t exactly been graceful, but she had certainly given the guests something to talk about.

  It wasn’t midnight yet, so she settled on the ashy sand to wait. It was unpleasant and prickly, with a hungry, sucking quality, as if it were made not of ground-up rocks but ground-up teeth. Noa took off her cloak and sat on it.

  An otter slithered into view. “Hello,” it said, eyeing her pockets. “Do you need a guide?”

  “No, thank you,” Noa said. “I’m waiting for someone. Have you seen a ghost with long dark hair, wearing a black cloak?”

  The otter snorted. “I wouldn’t know. You all look the same to me.”

  Noa bit her tongue. The otter continued to gaze longingly at her pockets. She fished around and found a cake she had stowed there that afternoon, and handed it over. The otter gave a contented sigh and flopped onto its back.

  “I’ll keep you company,” it said, as if it were doing her a great favor. When Noa didn’t reply, the otter cleared its throat.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Your kindness is—um, overwhelming.”

  “I am kind,” the otter said. “Most of us are. Not enough people know that about otters.”

  Noa began to shiver. The otter nibbled its way daintily but steadily through the cake, picking out the raisins and piling them neatly on the sand.

  “I don’t like raisins, either,” Noa said.

  “Too wrinkly,” the otter agreed. “Is that yours?”

  Noa followed the otter’s black gaze. An orb bobbed in the air a few feet away.

  “Ugh,” she said. “That’s my brother’s. Ignore it. I don’t want to talk to him.”

  The orb flickered in a sad, melancholy way. The otter said, “Is he all right?”

  “He’s just being dramatic.” Noa leaned against something that might have been a staircase a very long time ago and closed her eyes, pointedly ignoring the melancholy orb. She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again, both orb and otter were gone.

  Noa stood, rubbing her eyes. She wondered if it was midnight yet—the light in Death didn’t change. Her dreams had been unpleasant, but she didn’t remember any of them, apart from the sensation of being balanced on the sharp edge of something, with nothing below her but stars. She promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep in Death again. It struck her as a recipe for disaster.

  Someone drifted out of a nearby shadow. A flickering figure with long waving hair, her features indistinct.

  Noa’s legs wobbled. “M-Mom?”

  “Noa.” Her mother’s voice was just as Noa remembered, warm and slightly rough, as if she’d just laughed herself hoarse. Mom had laughed a lot, a loud, head-thrown-back sort of laugh—Noa could almost hear it floating through the royal wing during one of her meetings with Julian, or when she was in Mite’s room reading her a story. What had Julian been thinking? Of course this was Mom. Who else could it be?

  “You came,” her mother said.

  “Of course I did.” Noa was crying. She ached to wrap her arms around her mother and breathe her in. “I miss you so much.”

  “I miss you, too, honey,” her mother said. Her face was like something seen through frosted glass. “I’ve been watching over you all the time—you just haven’t been able to see me. I’m stronger here than in the living world, but I still can’t touch you. I’m so sorry it has to be this way.”

  Noa fell to her knees as close to her mother as she dared, gazing up at her. She wanted to tell her about everything that had happened since she left them. About Astrae, and Beauty, and her mission to save Julian. But she didn’t know how much time they had. “Did you find the Lost Words? Is that what you meant before?”

  “Yes,” her mother said. “Xavier’s mages have located the island. But they haven’t been able to reach the book—yet. It’s only a matter of time before they do.”

  “There’s an island?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” her mother said. “I’ll show you. But we have to be quick. At dawn, Xavier’s mages will start looking again.”

  Noa stood. But something made her pause. “After we find the lost language, will you—will you go away again?”

  “Oh, sweetie,” her mother said. “It’s hard for me to manifest like this. But I’ll try to visit again, certainly.”

  Noa’s lip trembled. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to stay here with her mother and never leave. Even if she couldn’t see her properly, even if she couldn’t touch her, or hug her, or rest her head in her lap while she brushed Noa’s hair. If all Noa had was the shadow of her, she wanted to cling to that shadow with all the strength she had, even if it meant never feeling sunlight again.

  And yet Julian was waiting for her. Infuriating, impos
sible Julian. He needed the Lost Words. If Xavier found that book first, he might never become king. And when it came right down to it, Noa would do anything for Julian, even though he didn’t deserve it. Even though he definitely didn’t deserve it, and she intended to tell him so, with details and examples, when she got back.

  And that “anything” included saying the most difficult goodbye she would ever say in her life.

  She drew a long, shaky breath. “Where is it?”

  “I’ll show you,” said her mother.

  Her mother’s ghost led Noa around the staircase to a field of neatly arranged boulders that seemed to sprout out of the ground. Ghosts drifted by in the distance, threadbare and forlorn, but they paid no attention to Noa and her mother. They stopped by a deep puddle of dark. Noa began sifting through it, lifting different shadows like the edges of piled blankets.

  “That’s it, sweetie,” her mother said. “If you look through that shadow, you’ll see the island of Whelm.”

  “Whelm?” Noa said. “That’s not on the map.”

  “No,” her mother said. “It’s ingrown. Has been for hundreds of years. Ships pass right over it.”

  Noa had never heard of an ingrown island. Her stomach was beginning to tie itself in knots. She pulled the shadow back and looked through the door.

  She was looking through the shadow cast by a pillar of rock. She recognized Greenwash Strait right away—to her left was a little islet topped by a snoring walrus. She squinted, but she couldn’t see Astrae anywhere. Perhaps it was facing away from her. In the distance, beyond the walrus, were Xavier’s two warships, chock-full of mages. Noa bit her lip. If she jumped into the sea here, a sharp-eyed watchman could spot her.

  “Can you see it?” her mother said.

  Noa squinted. The wind brushing over the sea raised goose bumps on her skin. The water was black, and the sky was full of stars. She couldn’t see an island, but there was a strange darkness in the water several hundred feet away. It looked like a submerged shoal, but if so, it was a very large one.