Few of the dead haunted the Paltiel Woods, and Marah believed the quiet would help her find Dura again. Too many ghosts surrounded Shinar, and their voices made it hard to think. The teeming dead would not leave her alone long enough for her to sleep, and she was certain that if she had the time to recover from the battle, she would be strong enough to find her grandmother.
She lowered her guard again and was assaulted by more voices, as if she had opened a window to a gale storm. The miserable dead wanted her to avenge their deaths.
Marah remembered Dura’s last moments. She had said she returned to the place from before she was born. She wondered if the dreamlike world where she used to talk to Archangel Ramiel was such a place, and she used sorcery to try to find it again. Finding peace within herself was the most difficult part. The plains smelled of dead things, and each time she closed her eyes, she saw the gnashing teeth of the bone beasts.
She relived Dura’s death again and regretted letting Dura die. She knew the runes to keep her alive a little while longer, but Dura had asked to be released. Like a fool, Marah had listened. She pushed aside regrets, searching within herself for the dreamlike world. She called out to her grandmother.
Marah entered a world within her own mind. An ancient darkness wrapped around her and made her feel as though she was trespassing in a sacred shrine. She held her breath and waited for something to happen, but the pitch black never changed. Whether she opened or closed her eyes, she saw the same thing. The last time she had been to the place, she spoke with the Archangel Ramiel—this time, she felt uninvited.
“Dura?”
Marah couldn’t see anything in the darkness, so she used runes to create light. The darkness became a bright whiteness that was equally hard to peer into. The nothingness enveloped her.
“Dura?”
“Careful, child, of how you move about this place.”
Marah turned toward a large creature wearing white armor and carrying a golden spear. The angel was at least a head taller than Tyrus, maybe more, and had white wings tucked behind its back. Golden hair touched its shoulders, and the face was attractive like a woman’s, but it had the broad shoulders and powerful arms of a man. Marah gazed into ice-blue eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Archangel Ithuriel, Lord Protector of the Seven Heavens and leader of the Heavenly Host.”
“Is this the Seven Heavens?”
“This place is different. I’m surprised that you were able to come here so young. Even for a prophet, that is unusual.”
“Can you show me where Dura is?”
“You won’t find her here.”
“But why?”
“My brother, Ramiel, did what you asked. He saved Tyrus of Kelnor from Moloch.” Ithuriel’s face looked like marble, unmoving, as it watched Marah. “Are you capable of understanding his sacrifice?”
Marah fidgeted with her hands. Ithuriel radiated an intensity, a forceful presence, which made her nervous. She avoided his piercing eyes.
“There are few archangels left, and Ramiel was one of the strongest. From the very beginning, he stood by my side. He was there when Moloch betrayed us, and he helped cast the rebels out of the heavens. For thousands of years, we fought the shedim together. Ramiel accomplished more, during his life, than all of the prophets put together. And you sacrificed him for a shedim warlord.”
“I didn’t want him to die.”
“Tyrus or Ramiel?”
“I didn’t want either of them to die.”
“You asked him to fight Moloch. What did you think would happen?”
“You mean Mulciber.”
“He lost the right to that name a long time ago.”
Marah wrung her hands. “I am sorry.”
Ithuriel responded with a slight nod. “The choice was Ramiel’s, but you made him choose. Why?”
“Tyrus needed help.”
“Tyrus has made many powerful enemies. That is his problem to solve.”
“But he’s the only one who protected me.”
“Ramiel protected you.” Ithuriel whispered, “Ramiel guarded your mother before you were born and helped hide you from Azmon.”
Marah remembered the dark sorcerer, Azmon, who wore a golden mask. They had fought with runes, and when that failed, Azmon unleashed an army of beasts to kill her. The memories gave her nightmares.
“Is that thing really my father?”
Ithuriel offered another little nod.
“And he’s coming back to kill me?”
“Only if he can’t use you. He will force you to join him or die.”
Her own father wanted to use her. Everyone, even the dead, schemed against her, and she struggled with the bigness of the problem. She was at the center of something she did not understand. The horribleness of the world, the unfairness of it all, made her miss Dura more. She needed someone she could trust, who would explain things to her.
“Do I have to join you?” she asked. “Or die?”
Ithuriel said nothing. Marah searched his blue eyes for an answer. The pale color was so exotic it almost mesmerized her. She could not tell what Ithuriel intended to do, though.
Ithuriel said, “The shedim legions outnumber us, and they have grown stronger. Moloch is free again. This war will be worse than the last one, but we will not force you to fight. You may choose to live in Telessar. As long as the city is safe, you will be safe. If you do not side with our enemies, there is no reason for you to die.”
“Is Tyrus an enemy?”
“He was one of our worst enemies, but we allow him to protect you.”
“Are the Norsil enemies?”
“They have fought against us for thousands of years.”
“But they are my friends.”
“Prophets don’t have friends. You walk between the world of mortals and immortals. You see things normal people could not imagine. You must bear this burden alone. Not even Dura understood who you are.”
“I want to talk to her again.”
“She is gone, Marah. She said her goodbyes.”
“But I can talk to the dead.”
A little grin pulled at Ithuriel’s lips. “Not all of them.”
“But why?”
“You walk between worlds, and the ghosts, as you call them, are trapped between worlds. People like Dura are not trapped, and they travel beyond your reach.”
“It’s not fair.”
“You must guard yourself when you reach out to your grandmother. This close to the White Gate, I was able to shield you. If you had cast your thoughts into the Underworld, the shedim could have heard you. They might have pretended to be your grandmother.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you open your mind to others, you can also let them in.”
“People can enter my mind?”
“This place is a bridge between us. You are on one side, and I am on the other unless I travel to your side and force my way into your mind. We fight to keep such runes from the mortals.”
Marah had not thought talking to the angels was dangerous, but Ithuriel made it sound as if everything was dangerous.
“What about the Riddle of Runes? Can I use that to talk to her?”
“Who told you about the Riddle?”
“The dragon on Mount Teles.”
“You must not listen to dragons.” An angry twist of Ithuriel’s mouth replaced his calmness. “They are demon spawn and devious creatures. The Riddle is not for mortals. The dragon toys with you.”
Marah grew quiet.
“You must choose sides, Marah. I would caution against your current path. The grigorns and the Norsil were too mercurial to win a long war. They defeated themselves, and many of them will try to kill you.”
“I want my grandmother back.”
“I cannot bring her back, and neither can Moloch.”
&
nbsp; “Then leave me alone.”
Ithuriel vanished with a bow. He faded before her eyes and left her alone to worry about dragons and wars and strange riddles. When she had been confused in the Red Tower, she would rock with Dura in her chair, and Dura would have answered her questions as she finger-combed her hair. An overwhelming sense of abandonment filled Marah’s eyes with tears. She wanted to be hugged and rocked to sleep again.
IX
For several days, Tyrus and the Norsil camped on the plains. The unease within the camp continued to grow because of the many factions and the few supplies. Tyrus found it frustrating that Marah refused to sleep inside Shinar. She said the place was haunted, so thanes guarded a blanket on the open plains. One of the greatest cities in the world stood abandoned, and he couldn’t figure out how to claim it because Marah hated ghosts.
While he wrestled with that problem, he watched Marah cut her hand and mark another thane. Dozens of men had knelt to ask for the honor, but Marah only claimed one of them. She dismissed the others by saying, “Not today,” and Tyrus knew they would return on the morrow. They were hungry to serve the Ghost Warrior.
As the number of marked men grew, he lost control of the war band. They deferred to her—even the ones not chosen listened to her. The Ghost Warrior had eclipsed the Warlord.
When men asked to be marked, Tyrus grew nervous. They were enormous men, and she was so tiny. A thane with shoulders like hams knelt before her and asked to be honored. Tyrus worried that rejection would cause the man to lash out at her, but he accepted it with grace. The giant warrior bowed his head and promised to do better.
Tyrus had seen thanes challenge each other for less. A rude comment about a man’s children or wives could start a knife fight, yet Marah told the same men they were not worthy of an honor, and they promised to earn her favor. Mystified, he watched the strange group of honored thanes grow.
More pressing matters demanded his attention. What little food they had found in Shinar wouldn’t last another day, and scouts reported that the coast was empty too. He mulled another impossible problem and came up with no solutions. At best, they could hope some of the other Norsil arrived soon.
Marah walked to him. “I need to go back to Paltiel.”
“We can’t cross the plains on empty stomachs.”
“It will be easier to reach Dura.”
“Dura passed.”
“And I talk to dead people.”
“But she won’t talk back?”
“I need to try harder, closer to the White Gate.”
Tyrus considered going. He could escort her far enough to get her to the elves, then Marah would have food and protection. The Norsil would die though, and they deserved better. Running to the woods reminded him of Marah’s birth and all the Roshan soldiers who died because Azmon and Ishma fought each other. He didn’t want to repeat old mistakes.
Tyrus said, “We need more supplies.”
“I know.”
“Is there anything you can do, with sorcery?” Tyrus doubted she could create supplies out of thin air because he had never seen a sorcerer work such a spell, but he also had never seen a sorcerer lay on hands before. “Can you feed the men?”
Marah shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then we have a problem.”
“Once we have food, then we go to the woods?”
“As long as we can protect the thanes from the Ashen Elves. A war band marching on the woods might provoke them.”
Marah thanked him, and they watched the thanes duel in the ring. Tyrus thought the trip to the woods was another mistake, like not claiming Shinar. He knew Dura’s death had hit Marah hard, but he had no idea how to help someone grieve. He wasn’t built to be a soothsayer. She needed someone who understood such things, and he cast about the camp trying to find someone he could trust to help her. The Norsil idolized her, and the Gadarans feared her.
Thanes cheered as a blond man fought hard in the challenge ring and won. Then the man argued with a handful of the spectators. Tyrus understood enough of the argument to realize that the other thanes wouldn’t take him to Marah—each of them bore the mark of the Ghost Clan.
Tyrus called to Olroth, “They fight to see Marah?”
“To talk to the Ghost Warrior, you must impress her guards first.”
Tyrus glanced at Marah, who was meditating. “Did she ask for this?”
“She didn’t have to. Only those worthy of the honor shall speak to her.”
“But that man won the match.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t an impressive win.”
“If they try harder, someone is going to get killed.”
“If a man can’t survive the ring, he is not worthy to guard the Warrior.”
Tyrus crossed his arms and watched another match. The sparring would get bloodier as the best were chosen. The other thanes would work harder to prove themselves, and he wasn’t sure if he should intervene or not.
Olroth said, “Even if the thanes like a man, it is no guarantee that he will earn the mark. The Warrior is shrewd. She has turned down many of Breonna’s distant cousins.”
Tyrus glanced at Marah. She hadn’t done anything to stop the contests, and he doubted she was unaware. He had to admit the ring kept the men occupied and provided a good way to let them vent their frustrations. If any more gruel was served, someone would start an argument that drew blood.
She played a dangerous game, though. Soon the thanes would be divided into the worthy and the unworthy, which would lead to more fighting.
Lahar approached with one of his knights. “What shall I call you, Tyrus or Warlord?”
“Tyrus is fine.”
“One of my men, Sir Mors, was scouting the coast and saw sails. They fly the green-and-gold colors of the Sea Kings. Nearing the port of Narmena.”
Tyrus ask the knight, “How many ships?”
Sir Mors said, “At least forty.”
Tyrus asked himself, “Why would the Sea Kings invade Shinar?”
“Everyone else is doing it.” Lahar shrugged. “Seems fashionable of late.”
Under Marah’s little palisade, Tyrus called a war council. Larz Kedar, Olroth, Lahar, and Marah gathered to discuss the Sea Kings. Tyrus asked Marah if she knew why the Burning Isles would invade Shinar. Marah grew distant, eyes closed, as though listening to the wind.
She said, “Breonna hired ships in Galkir.”
“How many ships?”
“I’m not sure. Scores.”
Olroth frowned. “Well, I guess she got tired of walking.”
Everyone turned to Tyrus, and he didn’t know what to say or do. He vaguely remembered Breonna mentioning trade deals with the Burning Isles, but he was as surprised as Olroth that she had arranged boats for her clan.
Lahar asked Tyrus, “Who is this Breonna?”
“One of my wives.”
“One of your…?” Lahar’s confusion became an awkward smile. “How many do you have?”
“Fourteen, last I heard. I might have picked up a few more.”
Olroth coughed. “Breonna would call herself the Queen of the Norsil.”
“Their queen is your wife?” Larz asked. “Why is this a problem for us?”
Tyrus said, “It’s a long story.”
Lahar asked, “When did you have time to marry fourteen women?”
“They have this tradition where you inherit the wives of the men you kill.”
“That’s… insane.”
Olroth glared at Lahar. Lahar raised his hands to show he meant no offense.
Tyrus said, “I guess Kordel had over a hundred in his day.”
“Kordel was a great man,” Olroth said, “and he would never leave the children and widows to fend for themselves.”
“But… how?” Lahar shook his head. “How does that even work?”
“Ask me some other time,
” Tyrus said. “Do we go to the coast?”
Larz said, “She must have brought food.”
Olroth nodded. “That settles that.”
Tyrus had known the chieftain long enough to hear the sarcasm. Olroth’s face said he wasn’t sure if they should travel toward Breonna or away. They shared a silent moment of doubt, thinking the same thing. Breonna would react to the Ghost Warrior much as her son had. Tyrus had hoped to prepare for Breonna’s arrival and chastised himself for underestimating her.
They left Olroth and many of his clan to hold the city. Larz Kedar and a half dozen of the knights stayed with them. Tyrus told Olroth that if any problems developed—signs of elves or another army—to fall back to King’s Rest. He made sure Olroth knew it was the heart of the city.
Tyrus carried Marah east, toward the coast. Lahar and the rest of the thanes followed them. Most of the men belonged to her Ghost Clan.
Marah pouted. “This is the wrong direction.”
“I know,” Tyrus said, “but we must greet her.”
“We should be going to the woods. The other way.”
“Better to deal with this now than to leave her waiting.”
“Do you miss your wives?”
“Sometimes. I’ve had other things on my mind, though.”
“She is holding them hostage.”
Tyrus paused. “The ghosts told you that?”
“They say she will be very mad at you. And she’ll want to kill us both.”
“Well, I’m not going to let that happen.”
Marah hugged him close. “Neither will I.”
Tyrus swallowed. He couldn’t imagine the problems they would create if Marah killed Breonna.
They smelled the Grigorn Sea before they saw it, and after a couple days of hiking, they crested a small hill to see the gray waters stretching to the horizon. Miles away, a small group of ships were anchored in the port, and the Norsil erected huts outside the city walls.
Lahar stepped to Tyrus’s side and pointed at the largest of the ships. “That one there is a flagship. Do you know what that means?” Lahar glanced at Tyrus before continuing. “They brought sorcerers from the Burning Isles.”
Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4) Page 10