The Ghost Sister

by Liz Williams

  “Bel Zhur?” Mevennen said. “Speak, then.”

  Bel said quickly, in a rush of words, “Listen, Mevennen. I know what you think I am, but you're wrong. I'm not a spirit. I'm not something supernatural. I can prove it to you. I can show you our camp. I think, now, that I can even show you Outreven itself. And Mevennen—I want to try to help you. To see if we can find a cure.”

  Mevennen thought about the ghost's words, and her earlier resolution, and there was a cold clutch of panic at her heart. She did not believe that the ghost could show her Outreven, but she wanted so much to be healed. And if she did not go with the ghost, she persuaded herself, perhaps she would offend it, and Bel Zhur would latch onto her brother. But at the thought of Eleres, her anger returned. He would have killed me, and I'm tried of blaming myself. Old resentments and new rage merged into resolution.

  “Very well,” Mevennen said quickly, before she had a chance to change her own mind. “I'll go with you. But only on one condition.”

  “Tell me, Mevennen.”

  “I'll come with you for three days, no more. In three days'time Elowen will be full, and at that time of the moon the stories say that a ghost has no power. I will give you your chance to cure me, but if it does not work, I am coming home and you are to leave me and my family alone.” She spoke with an authority that she did not feel.

  “Mevennen … I don't know if we can cure you in so short a time.”

  “Then I'm staying here.”

  “All right,” Bel Zhur said hastily. “I agree. And I promise, Mevennen, that if you want to come back, then you're free to do so. But you may not want to come back once you've heard what we have to say, and shown you what is to be shown.”

  “We'll see,” Mevennen said.

  Bel Zhur held out her hand. “Let's go and find Shu,” she said. Mevennen allowed herself to be helped up, and they walked into the orchard to where Shu Gho was sitting on a fallen branch.

  “Mevennen?” Shu looked startled. The name, oddly accented, seemed to echo through the quiet air.

  “She's coming with us,” Bel said. “She's coming back to the camp.”

  Shu Gho did not seem to know quite what to say. She rose, touching Bel's arm in a gesture that Mevennen could not interpret, and the two ghosts moved through the long grass. Mevennen followed the spirits down to the riverbank. There was something there: the strange boat made of metal.

  “What is that?”

  “Transport.” Bel Zhur helped her over the side. The second ghost followed. Trying to stifle the fear that the thing might disappear as soon as she set foot in it, Mevennen sat down stiffly. The boat began to hum.

  “What is it doing?” she asked in alarm.

  “I'm starting it up. Don't be afraid.” The boat glided forward, so smoothly that Mevennen barely felt it. The world was taking them, flowing past, and it moved so swiftly that the tides of the world beneath the land had no time to impinge upon her. She leaned back, enjoying the sensation of motion without disorientation. The feeling was so unfamiliar that she could hardly believe it. The journey to the tower, with herself sagging sedated on the mur's back, had passed in a dull haze. But now she was fully conscious, and able to take note of the world as it passed. Bel Zhur turned round and grinned.

  “Enjoying it?”

  “Yes,” Mevennen whispered. “Yes, I am.” She pressed her hot face against the strange transparent surface of the window and looked out, but all she could see was darkness. Then, the familiar face of Elowen sailed up, but it was at the wrong angle. Its pale light spilled out across the world, illuminating something white and crumpled like a discarded leaf of paper. After a moment, with a dizzying shift of perception, Mevennen realized that what she was seeing were mountains. She stared down in numb amazement, with the land growing now small, now vast, beneath her bewildered sight.

  At last the boat drifted to a stop, and Bel Zhur stepped out. Mevennen had expected to be transported into the otherworld, but this land was just the low hills at the foot of the mountains. She looked through the dusk at a series of domes, with curious creatures moving jerkily between them.

  “What are they?” Some kind of spirit, Mevennen reasoned.

  Bel Zhur appeared suddenly ill at ease. “They're called delazheni. Makers. We use them for manual labor.”

  Mevennen did not understand why ghosts needed structures or helpers at all, but she thought it might be impolitic to say so. Bel Zhur and the other ghost helped her out of the boat. Now that the world had stopped moving, it seized Mevennen with renewed force and she stumbled. Her thoughts whirled in confusion: impressions poured in upon her consciousness, jostling for space. She gazed down into a well of darkness, suddenly tasted bitter water, and then it was as though she were suffocating, trapped in the earth itself. She clawed at Bel for support.

  “Mevennen, what's wrong?” the girl cried, in alarm.

  “I told you. I can hear too much; I can feel too much. The world's trying to take me,” Mevennen hissed.

  Bel Zhur's arm was around her waist. “It's all right, come with me. We'll get you a sedative.”

  “I'm sorry,” Mevennen murmured, out of habit. It was like being with her family all over again. Someone was coming out of one of the domes: a tall ghost, with a stern face and hair like iron.

  “Bel Zhur? This must be Mevennen,” this new ghost said. She came across and took hold of Mevennen's hands, gazing into her face as though she were searching for something. It was uncomfortable, being scrutinized like that, and it was also impolite. Mevennen turned her head away.

  “My name is Dia Rhu Harn,” the ghost said. “And perhaps we are cousins, a very long way back. I'm so happy to see you.” She spoke warmly, though the little box distorted what she said.

  Mevennen said nothing. She inclined her head, with a slight bow, and let the ghosts lead her inside the tent.

  13. Eleres

  When I awoke, Morrac was gone. There was a sour taste in my mouth and my muscles ached. My cousin, I thought sourly, was likely to feel even worse. I went downstairs to make tea for Mevennen, and took it to her room. I knocked, not wanting to startle her with a sudden appearance, but there was no reply. I stepped inside. The room was empty, the bed neatly made. On the table by the side of the bed lay one of the books that Mevennen had been reading and I could see that a piece of paper had been slipped into it. Slowly, I walked across the room, put down the tea, and picked up the book. The note was folded, and addressed to me. I opened it and began to read.

  My beloved brother,

  Yesterday I began to understand for the first time where my illness can lead, and it strikes me that I have been very selfish in presuming that it affects myself alone. The child's death has shown me otherwise. Now Sereth has to make reparation for events which I caused, and which have placed a weight of guilt upon you, because of what you nearly did to me. I have known for a long time now that I'm little more than a burden to this family, and especially to you. It's not what I want, Eleres. So I've gone. I've gone with the ghosts. Don't feel sorry for me— I've made my decision and whether it's right or wrong, it's still my own. And anyway, you've done enough of feeling sorry. Don't try to come after me, not now—even I don't know where I'm going. But I'm laying an honor charge upon you. Go to Tetherau, to the funeral of the child. When that's over, we'll see one another again. Goodbye for now, Eleres. I always loved you best: you know that. And I always will. Mevennen.

  Slowly, I sat down on the bed with the note in my hands and stared at it as though it might suddenly start making a different kind of sense. I remembered the ghost I had seen in the orchard, who pleaded such ignorance, and who had now stolen my sister. Mevennen's words echoed in my mind: I've made my decision. Perhaps the ghosts had forced her to write it, but surely they would simply have taken her away? Moreover, the note did not read as though it had been written under duress. I did not know what to think, and underneath my bewilderment was the growing realization that Mevennen had really gone: a hollow ache of dismay tha
t seemed to swallow everything. I rose abruptly and went in search of Sereth. Mevennen's note weighed heavily in my pocket, dragging me down. Meeting Hessan on the stairs, I told him of the honor charge; told him, too, that we would come to Tetherau.

  Sereth had gone down to the river, her brother told me down in the hall. He did not seem best pleased that I had gone in search of her, and not himself, but my distress was plain even to Morrac.

  “You look as off as old wine,” he said, gazing at me more closely. “Are you all right?” I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. Instead, I handed him Mevennen's note. He read it in silence. Then he said, “I'm sorry, Eleres. But maybe it's for the best.”

  “We've talked about this already,” I said tightly. “I think I've made my views plain enough.”

  “So, are you going to go to Tetherau? Obey your sister's honor charge? That sort of thing isn't placed on someone lightly.”

  “I'm going,” I said, reverting to the Remote Expressive tense to put some distance between us. “I cannot disobey the charge without dishonoring Mevennen, and I will not do that. But I will not go before I am satisfied that she really is gone.”

  “Stop being so polite,” Morrac said. “I know you're just trying to annoy me. If you're going to Tetherau, I'll come with you.”

  “You can't,” I said. “I told Hessan I'd be going with Sereth, and he agreed, but he doesn't want anyone else along. Temmarec doesn't want to be swamped with visitors—especially guilty ones.”

  Morrac said, with a very bad grace, “Well, when you go I'll ride with you as far as Etarres. After all,” he added, mirroring my thoughts, “we haven't had so long together, and you'll be gone for—how long? A week?” Coming across, he took my hands and stood gazing pensively down at them.

  “Several days, at least,” I said. The grip on my fingers tightened.

  “I'll ride with you, then. I'll even help you look for your precious sister.”

  We went down to the courtyard together and saddled the murai. The beasts were still chastened by their memory of the hunt and submitted to the bridle placidly enough. We rode by the river path and then up into the hills, but although we spent all that day searching, we found no sign of Mevennen. Telling Morrac that I'd see him in the morning, I returned to my chamber alone, shutting the door firmly, and spent much of the night staring out from the balcony, in the hope that Mevennen might suddenly come walking out from beneath the dark trees. But no one came and Hessan wouldn't delay any longer. I thought of insisting that Morrac should stay, in case Mevennen returned, but then his voice echoed in my head: She's ill. It isn't her fault: I've never blamed her, but it really would have been kinder in the long run to have put an end to her long ago. I did not like to admit it, but with Mevennen missing, it might be safer to have Morrac under my eye, and Eiru would still be here, after all.

  Next morning, I found Sereth in her chamber, folding spare clothes into a pack. I noticed the gray silky edge of a funeral robe among the garments.

  “I hope I haven't packed too much,” she said, looking distractedly about the packs.

  “We can distribute it among us until we board the boat,” I said in reassurance. “There are four of us, after all.”

  “Four?”

  “Yes, Morrac says he'll come with us as far as Etarres.”

  “He's coming with us?” she echoed. She looked at me in dismay. There was nothing I could say without revealing that I'd overheard her argument with him. I said inadequately, “He's only coming as far as the boat.”

  “Oh,” she said doubtfully. “It's just that—I've got so much to think about, what with the witnessing and the cer-emonies and … and everything else.” I'd never heard Sereth sound so unsure of herself. I put a hand on her arm, and she reached down and gripped it so hard that it hurt me.

  “Don't worry,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “We'll be back before long.” And after a moment she nodded. She handed me a pack and we took the things downstairs.

  “How long are you planning to go for, a year?” Morrac asked his sister, ill-naturedly, I thought. He stared at all the baggage.

  “I don't know how much I'll need,” she snapped, and then Hessan stepped out into the light and we fell silent in front of the stranger. We boxed the child's body securely and slung it across the back of Hessan's saddle.

  The brief summer heat was beginning. Already the sky seemed to burn, the sun was a rusty smear in the east and the air smelled of warmth. It was not a day for hard riding. Morrac seemed oddly subdued when I spoke to him. I longed to attribute this to our incipient parting, but couldn't quite manage it.

  “This isn't a day for traveling,” he said suddenly. He stretched in the saddle, moving languidly in the warm air. “This is a day for lying in the grass and reading frivolous literature.”

  “Traveling it has to be, though.”

  “You're so conscientious, Eleres,” he said, and this irritated me all over again.

  “And what would you have done?”

  “Pity it has to happen now, though.” He gave me a provocative sideways glance and nudged the mount closer, so that he could rest his hand on my thigh. I looked down at his hand as though I'd never seen it before: the slender fingers were each tattooed with a dark ring of his family symbols: the marks for night singing bird, wintervine, watersnake, everything that denoted Rhir Dath. Each finger ended in a silvery claw; I could feel the light pressure of these nails against my leg. The index finger and thumb were banded with silver wire and the bones stood up sharply through the light skin. I stared stupidly at Morrac's hand and he laughed and urged the mur on so that it broke into a padding trot and carried him away from me.

  The ride took most of the day and night. Etarres lies farther up Memeth's long ragged shore, the principal settlement of the district, and although this took us away from the harsh land of the steppe, we still had to be wary. The depths of the forests which fringed the coast in this district were dark, and haunted by spine-ghouls and siasts, none of which I wanted to encounter even by daylight. Just as well we were taking the safer sea route after Etarres, rather than following the coast. I rode with one hand close to my sword.

  In the rare gaps between the trees at the cliff's edge, I looked across the calm green mirror of the sea and wondered whether I'd ever cross it and see the many lands beyond. There is an old, pitted globe in the library of Aidi Mordha which wobbles on its pedestal, and sometimes I would turn it so that it spun in an uneven day and think how far everywhere was; how distant were Telumare and Aidis, and Darramada. And they said that Rhe was another world, and also the green star Bhar, and Seludile which rises low in the west in the heart of winter. There the spirits lived, far beyond old Mondhile, and the whole reach of the stars which scattered the skies were roads to them. I thought then that we were not made to travel beyond the shores of our own world, that the light of other suns would be too bright for us to bear. I had turned from the disturbing heavens in relief and felt the roads of earth beneath my feet and the wind of the world against my face.

  Now, Sereth was watching me and her expression was somber, shadowed by the trees. I had fallen a little behind, the mur plodding along as I stared unseeing before me into the ocean of memory. Ahead, Morrac and Hessan rode without speaking. I kept thinking of Mevennen, and every thought turned toward despair. The afternoon wore on, and then night. We traveled on all through the next day, half-sleeping on the beasts'backs with one of us watching guard, and as the sun once more plunged toward the horizon, the roofs of Etarres came into sight beyond the trees. We were all hot and irritable and tired by this time. Sweat ran down my sides under the clinging shirt and my skin felt dry from the sun. Sereth's long hair was full of pollen and dust, and when I pointed this out to her she confessed that she was longing for a bath.

  “And if we're going by sea my hair will mat up with salt and I'll arrive in Tetherau looking like I've just joined the mehed.” She grimaced, suddenly and sourly, but I did not think to ask her why.

/>   The murai picked their way carefully, sidling sideways down the steep streets of Etarres to the harbor. We looked back up, to see the tall houses climbing in rows behind us: all black stone and dark wood. It was one of those night-colored fortresses to which Morrac and Sereth had been born, to their family's house of Rhir Dath. The evening sun was low and fierce, and illuminated the black buildings so that they glowed as if lit from within. I looked out over the harbor and had to shield my eyes. The islets off the coast were invisible in a great wash of light, and the sea burned copper with the reflected sun. I asked a passerby and was told that the boat was soon due. There were people gathering on the wharf: merchants from Medren and Temmerar on family business, wearing soft black hats and brocaded coats; a tall woman with a severe face and the dark bluish skin of Emoen; a young man wrapped in the ragged robes of a landwalker, who was avoided by everyone, lips moving incessantly as he stared into the sun.

  I turned to say something to Sereth and saw that Morrac was staring at his twin with an expression I was unable to interpret. Since their initial spat, they had barely spoken during the journey. An undercurrent of poison seemed to flow beneath their words, like a serpent in a tidal pool. But then I dismissed it, painfully conscious of the fact that I would soon be leaving my lover behind and that I wouldn't see him again for days.

  Damoth had already set, but the western sky was still crimson with the last of the light, a fire above the islands which, invisible before, now rose stark and black. On the farthest peak, a beacon burned above the squat tower of the Etarres lighthouse. The outer edges of the square were lost in the soft, purple shadows of the summer twilight. Behind, the lamps of the town had been lit and I could see movement as people came out onto the balconies and verandas of the tall houses. At the top of the town, a symbol, glowing red, hung in the limpid air, and I recognized it for the win-tervine mark of Morrac's clan House, Rhir Dath, guarded and secret behind its upraised defenses. I thought for a moment of how it would be if I could lay aside my duty to Hessan's house in Tetherau, and go with Morrac to the dark rooms of Rhir Dath, have him lie in my arms in the heart of the summer night as the house curved silent above us, and say everything that I'd never been able to say before.