Yaga nodded slowly. There was a miserable blankness about her eyes and mouth.
“All right then.” Wren stood up, leaving the old woman sitting in the snow in the shadow of her cabin by the edge of the stream. She hesitated, uncertain of what to do next, and then she started walking upstream, away from the approaching people.
When she was back among the trees and the clearing was out of sight behind her, Wren sat down on a cold stone and looked at the ring on her hand. “All right. I’m ready to go back now. Back to my own body. Back where I belong.”
A soft cackling laughter resounded from her ring.
“Gudrun? Kara? Hrist? Brynhilda? I want to go back to my body now.” Wren glared intently at the ring. “Come on now, I know how this works. Omar told me. You can’t just do whatever you want. You have to listen to me, like when I make the ring glow, you have to do it. I’m in control here.”
The dead witches laughed louder.
Wren tightened her hand into a fist and focused on the little golden ring between her knuckles. “I command you to take me back to my body! I command you! Right now!”
The world fell out from under her and Wren flew up into the air, tumbling out of control into the cold white sky above the silent forest. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the clearing where Yaga’s cabin stood above the stream, and then everything went black.
Wren sat up. She was sitting in the dark again, on the blank patch of cold, smooth earth beneath a pale circle of moonlight in a starless sky. “Gudrun? Kara?”
The eight valas of Denveller stepped out of the darkness, ringing her in on every side.
“You’re just a child,” Rangrid said. She was a bulbous creature of folds and mounds and humps, and she hobbled forward with her little fingers fidgeting together over her huge breasts. “You were nothing as an apprentice, and you’re even less now. You don’t deserve to wear the ring of Denveller. You don’t deserve to command us.”
“Truly the great line of Denveller has failed,” Kara said. “But perhaps it can still be salvaged. Perhaps one of us should return to the world of the living in your place and-”
“Enough!” Wren shouted. “All of you! Shut up! You’re all dead. Do you hear me? Dead! And I’m sick and tired of listening to your insults and your cackling. You’re dead, and you’ll do as I say!”
“You think you can threaten us?” Gudrun hissed. “We are, as you say, dead. You can’t threaten the dead, little one.”
“Can’t I? I wonder.” Wren lunged at her shriveled little mistress, spun the crone about, and wrapped her arm around the old woman’s throat.
Gudrun gasped and wheezed as she clawed feebly at Wren’s arm. “Let me go!”
“Why? I thought I couldn’t threaten you,” Wren said softly.
“What is this?” Kara backed away with a look of horror on her face. “How can you do this? We’re ghosts, we’re invincible here.”
“Remember the corpses in Vlachia?” Wren asked. “Omar said the ghosts were clinging to their bodies. Even though they knew they were dead, they still wanted to be human. Do you see, ladies? The human soul can’t become something else, something more than human. We’re human. We’re always human. We’re only human. Now and forever. Even here, in death, we’re still human. And you can still suffer, like any other human being. We don’t transcend. Humanity isn’t some step toward a higher state. Humanity is our lot in life. And in death.”
She released Gudrun and the old woman hobbled away into the soft arms of Rangrid. Wren straightened up. “That’s my lesson for you. Something none of you knew. Something I learned for myself. Something that I don’t think even Omar understands.” She pushed her hair back from her face, tickling the edges of her tall fox ears. “So, now, I’ll ask you ladies again. Let me back into my body. Please.”
Wren blinked and sat up. She was on the floor of the Tower of Justice, and to her right she could see out the balcony to the eastern sky where the first soft fingers of dawn were rising over the horizon. Yaga lay on the floor beside her, snoring loudly.
Wren smiled. “I did it. It’s over.”
And from outside she heard the urgent clanging of a brass bell.
Wren frowned. “Or not.”
Chapter 18. Morning
Tycho sat shivering in the bow of the dory, listening to the clangor of the bells coming from the Palace of Constantine. He looked over at Salvator and Lycus and the other marines. Some of the boys were asleep in impossibly uncomfortable-looking positions, but the others were all sitting, like him, staring out at the dark gray water and the light gray sky.
“What now?” The Italian groaned and squinted down the Strait at the palace. He was pale as death, his face thin and his eyes haunted. His lip trembled. All night long he had hunched in the back of the boat, both of his arms wrapped around his belly, his breath coming in shallow wheezes as he stared blankly across the water.
“Listen to the pattern,” Lycus said. “It’s the palace alarm for enemy ships, an attack from the sea. The Turks must be moving. Sir?”
Tycho nodded. “We need to get back there.”
Salvator rolled his eyes. “We just spent half the night rowing to stay ahead of the aether, and we spent the other half sitting out here in the freezing cold, watching for Turkish patrols. Now you want to row all the way back?”
“No,” said Tycho. “The current has been carrying us back toward the palace for the last two hours. I didn’t say anything because the aether has been retreating as well. So we only need to row part of the way back. How are you holding up?”
His only answer was the sound of oars slipping through oar locks and then shoving through the cold black waters of the Bosporus.
Tycho sat in the bow with his eyes fixed on the dim outline of the Seraglio Point. He could see the gray shapes of the Furies still sitting quite still in the center of the channel.
Who could be attacking us now? I thought everyone would be exhausted this morning. I thought maybe we’d have a quiet day for once.
It took most of an hour to row back down the Strait. Along the way, they saw weary sailors on the decks of the ships near them, and weary men and women moving about the city streets above the docks, going about their business in silence, casting dark and haunted looks at each other.
As they crossed the river spanned by the Galata Bridge, Tycho kept his hand on his revolver. He only had two bullets left, but the gesture gave him a measure of comfort, and control. The blackened wreckage of the Hellan ships still floated around the hulls and anchor chains of the Eranian ironclads, and sea gulls floated amidst the flotsam. High above them, they could hear men moving about on the decks of the Furies, but they saw no one, and no one called down to them, and they rowed quietly on.
The two dories knocked against the black rocks of the Point below the high sea walls of the palace. Tycho climbed out with Salvator and the marines, and moments later a voice called down from above. Hellan soldiers leaned over the top, waving down, and Tycho waved back. At the base of the nearest watch tower, Tycho thumped on the iron door and a few moments later he heard the locks turning and the door swung out. A young soldier nodded to them. “Major. Good morning.”
“That remains to be seen.” Tycho led the way into the tower and then back out into the park inside the walls. “What’s happening? Who’s ringing that alarm?”
“I don’t know. It’s coming from the south end.” The soldier pointed to the far end of the palace grounds, out beyond the Church of Saint Irene.
“Why don’t you know? It’s been ringing for over an hour now,” Salvator said.
The soldier wavered. “Well, no one’s come to tell us anything, and there’s only three of us awake so far, and I… didn’t want to…”
“It’s all right,” Tycho said. “Last night was hell. We all know it. But today is a new day, and we all have a job to do. So I need you to get up to your post, wake the rest of your men, and get someone down to the south tower to find out what’s the matter.”
“Yes sir.” The soldier nodded and jogged back into the tower.
“And us?” Lycus asked.
Tycho wanted to smile, wanted to offer them something warmer than orders and work, but orders and work were all that he had. “I want all of you here on the wall for now. Spread out. Check on the soldiers. Remember, they were all in the center of the storm last night. They had the worst of it. But we do need them awake and on their feet as soon as possible. The Turks will be waking up now too, and we can’t let them catch us sleeping.”
“Yes sir.” Lycus and the other young marines trudged back into the tower as well.
Salvator sighed. “The palace?”
Tycho nodded. “The palace.”
The pair began walking across the wide green lawns up toward the palace grounds. The Italian hobbled along, leaning heavily on Tycho’s shoulder and wincing with every step.
“What’s the plan when we get there?” Salvator asked.
“First we find you a surgeon, and then a valet or courier or something to run your errands. Use them to track down the Duchess and Prince Vlad. God only knows where they ended up last night. We need to make sure Lady Nerissa is safe and secure, and see how many soldiers we still have on their feet,” Tycho said. “I’ll go to the Tower of Justice and find the witch.”
“The old one or the young one?” The Italian grinned.
“Both of them.” Tycho gazed worriedly at the tall tower beyond the Chambers of Petitions.
I can’t imagine how much that poor girl must have suffered, being right there in the heart of the storm all night long. What if she’s gone mad? What if she’s dead? And it’s all my fault. I took her in there. I introduced them. And then I came back and told her about Koschei. What the hell was I thinking?
At the edge of the park, Tycho handed Salvator over to a pair of exhausted porters to carry him into the palace. As Tycho continued across the Second Courtyard and climbed the steps to the tower, he saw a few servants moving about the buildings through the windows and he saw others still lying on the ground, but he left them where they lay. There would be time for rude awakenings soon enough.
“Hello?” Tycho called up the steps to the top of the tower, but only his echo answered. With a grimace, he trudged up the tall marble steps, gripping the cold brass railing for balance. But when he reached the top, the landing and the balcony were empty. “Wren? Yaga?”
He stepped out onto the balcony for a moment to look down over the palace. There were quite a few people moving around now, maids carrying trays and linens, porters with sacks and boxes. It was still deathly quiet, but seeing the people below made the palace feel less desolate.
How can they just go back to work like nothing happened? I heard them screaming. They screamed all night, half the city, screamed until their throats were raw.
Maybe they don’t remember. After all, they don’t know what caused it. Maybe they think they all had normal nightmares.
Maybe I should be grateful for that.
Tycho climbed back down the stairs. By the time he reached the ground floor, his back was aching and his belly was growling, but he continued down into the cellar, spiraling down into the darkness.
Fire light flickered at the bottom of the stair, guiding him down, and when he stepped out into the cellar and saw Wren sitting beside Yaga’s sleeping figure, he felt every muscle in his body relax as he whispered, “Oh thank God.”
Wren looked up. “Tycho?”
He came over and knelt on the edge of the mismatched pile of fur rugs and Persian carpets. “You’re all right?”
She nodded, her golden eyes flashing in the fire light. “It was a long night, but everything’s all right now.”
“What about her?” Tycho nodded at the white-haired witch.
“She’s better now. She needs to sleep. But when she wakes up, she’ll be better. There won’t be any more aether storms for a while. I’ve seen to that.” Wren pointed to the pile of silver bracelets by her leg. “And there shouldn’t be any more walking corpses either. That was Yaga’s doing as well, although it wasn’t intentional. She was just… she just missed her son, was all.”
Tycho nodded, hoping he could believe her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine.” He looked up at her, into her golden eyes and tall fox ears, and he smiled. “I’m fine. I had a lovely moonlit sail up and down the Strait with a few close friends, and it looks like everyone is all right now. I even rescued Salvator, and with any luck he’ll live out the day.”
“Who?”
“No one. It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re all right. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry that I left you here alone with her. I tried to come back in, but I couldn’t. I should never have brought you here in the first place, never should have asked you to deal with this.”
“It’s all right,” Wren said softly. “Everyone’s alive, and the nightmare is over. That’s all that matters now.” She smiled at him.
Tycho smiled back and sat up straighter. “Sure, yes, you’re right. So, is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry?”
“A little.” She glanced upward, her fox ears twitching. “Do you know what that bell ringing means? It’s been going on forever.”
Tycho started.
The alarm! Damn it!
“It’s an alarm. The Turks. I need to, I should be…” He stood up and glanced at the stairs, but he didn’t move.
“It’s all right, if you need to go, you should go. I’ll stay here with her,” Wren said. “Just, can you come over here for a second?”
He blinked. “All right.” He crossed the carpets and knelt beside her, glancing at the snoring old witch in front of them.
She took his hand and he felt a warm flush race from his arm across his chest and into his face.
“Last night was a bad night,” she said.
“Yes, it was,” he said.
“It’s probably going to be a bad day, too.” She squeezed his hand.
“Maybe.”
She leaned down and kissed him, pressing her warm, soft lips to his mouth and slipping her hand back through his hair to hold him there. Tycho closed his eyes and reveled in the gentle caresses of her lips and tongue against his own. He felt his heart quicken and his manhood rising as he put his hands on her cheeks, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin.
When she pulled away, he wasn’t ready for it to end, not nearly.
“There,” she said. “Now today won’t be all bad.” And she smiled.
He smiled back, and nodded.
I have to go. Damn the world for making me go.
Tycho squeezed her hand as he stood up. “I have to go, but, as soon as I can, I’ll come back, straight away, I promise.”
She nodded, still smiling. She bit her lip.
He backed away slowly, nearly stumbled, then turned and hurried to the stairs. “I’ll be back soon!”
If he climbed the stairs to the ground floor, he had no memory of it. The next thing he knew, he was jogging across the courtyard in search of a carriage and trying to calm the racing of his heart.
She kissed me.
She did.
She…
“You there!” he called to a very young stable boy he recognized. “I need a carriage.”
The little boy looked lost and sick. “Sorry sir, I’m not allowed to hitch the horses yet.”
“Then just give me a horse.” Tycho paused. “A small one.”
A few minutes later he was sitting on large pony and riding hard toward the south corner of the palace. The pony’s hooves clattered on the paved walkways around the Church of Saint Irene and then clattered on the gravel paths that wove through the gardens behind the church and across the park as he raced toward the watch tower. The ringing of the alarm bell was less urgent now, slower and with the occasional long pause between strikes.
Whoever they are, it sounds like their arms are getting tired.
Tycho rode up to th
e iron door at the base of the tower where he found no one to greet him, and he left the pony alone as he rushed inside and climbed the rattling iron steps to the upper level. At the top of the stair he found a lone young man leaning against an open window frame facing out onto the southern Sea of Marmara. His whole body was slumped against the wall, even his head leaning against the cold stone, all but his right hand which was raised to grasp the striker of the bell just beside the window and was ringing, ringing, ringing with what little strength was left in his shoulder.
Where the devil is Lycus? Why haven’t they come yet?
Tycho touched the young soldier’s elbow. “Private?”
The youth turned sharply, and then looked down. “Oh God, major, you scared me. I mean, sorry, sir. I didn’t see you. I mean, sorry. Sir.” His trembling hand fell away from the bell, which fell mercifully silent.
“It’s fine, private. We’ve all had a hell of a night. You’re not the only one.” Tycho rose up on the tips of his toes to peer out the window at the sea. “Why did you ring the alarm? What did you see out there?”
“Oh, it’s not out there.” The youth pointed at the sky. “It’s up there.”
Tycho tilted his head back and scanned the rippling layers of gray clouds. “What’s up there? What am I supposed to be… Oh.”
Low in the southern sky he saw three black dots. They hovered there, never flying any higher or lower, never wavering in their formation even a hair. But as he peered at them, he was certain he could see them growing ever so slightly larger, and closer.
“Airships. Three of them.”
The soldier nodded. “And since I haven’t heard any talk about us getting any airships, I figure they must be for the Turks. Airships all come from Marrakesh, right sir?”
“As far as I know.” Tycho gripped the edge of the window and took a long, slow breath.
“Does this mean the Mazighs are fighting for the Eranians now?”
“I hope not. Because if they are, we aren’t going to last very long.” He gave the young man a serious look, and then turned back toward the stairs. “I’ll go inform the others. No need to keep ringing that bell now. Good work, private. Good eyes.”
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