Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Even as the realization crossed her mind, the Voice attacked her.

  For over a century and a half she had held the nagataaru lord housed within her flesh, neither one of them entirely in control, but Kalgri for the most part had held the upper hand. The Voice whispered constantly in her thoughts, urging her to do this or that, and for the most part Kalgri was in accord with those desires. Yet, in the end, Kalgri was still in command of her body, and she never did anything she did not wish to do.

  It seemed that with its increased power, the Voice saw an opportunity to change the terms of their relationship.

  Kalgri staggered beneath the unexpected assault, the Voice’s power howling through her limbs. She felt her will start to crumble beneath the attack, felt the Voice’s malevolence sink its fingers into her flesh. Her skin crawled as if it wanted to submit to the Voice’s control, as if her body wanted to reshape itself under the Voice’s command, with Kalgri a prisoner in her own flesh.

  The nagataaru’s hatred filled her, its gloating desire to repay her for a century and a half of captivity in her own mind, its promise of torments beyond imagination.

  Kalgri laughed at it.

  The Voice’s gloating faltered.

  Perhaps a century and a half ago she might have succumbed to such an assault, but she had spent that century and a half using the Voice’s power to strengthen herself. The Voice knew her inside and out, but likewise, she knew the Voice as profoundly as she knew herself, and those years had hardened her will into something like the black carapace of Callatas’s newborn monsters.

  Bit by bit Kalgri forced the Voice back, commanding it to yield, commanding it to surrender its power to her. The nagataaru lord’s gloating turned to alarm and then dismay, the spirit’s attack buckling beneath her defenses. She was bound to the Voice, thanks to Callatas’s long-ago experiments, but in turn, the Voice was bound to her.

  In the end, it could not resist.

  “Do not be afraid,” murmured Kalgri. “We want the same thing, you and I. Death, so much death, and we shall slay and slay until the stars die…but we shall slay as I wish, not you. Yield!”

  The Voice crumbled beneath her unexpected resistance, and Kalgri forced the spirit back into her mind. As she did, its power flooded through her once more, and Kalgri swayed upon her feet.

  It was more power than she had expected.

  A lot more.

  Kalgri blinked and flexed her fingers, calling the sword of the nagataaru to her hand. It came with gratifying speed, but as it did, the rest of the power did not leave her. She still had the enhanced strength and speed the Voice offered. Previously, when she had used the sword of dark force, she had been only able to move as fast and as strike as hard as the natural strength of her muscles allowed. Now she could use the sword while drawing upon superhuman strength and speed.

  That would come in handy. There were a lot of people to kill.

  Her eyes turned back towards Erghulan and his men, who gaped in horror that the winged creatures, and then back to Callatas.

  ###

  Callatas gazed at his creations, at the new humanity.

  “Go forth,” he bade them. “Take to the sky. Find the old humanity and cleanse the world of them. You can feast upon their deaths, and killing will make you stronger. Go forth and hunt!”

  The creatures needed no further prompting. Their wings flexed, and they took to the air, soaring over the Golden Palace. Callatas looked over the walls and domes, and already he saw more black spots rising into the air as the vast shadow spread across the sky.

  The new humanity had come, and the old humanity would perish.

  Already he heard the screams rising from the rest of the city.

  Chapter 19: Impossible

  For a moment everyone in the Bazaar of the Southern Road stood frozen, gazing at the nightmare spreading across the sky.

  Ever since the Surge had given him the ability, Kylon had been able to sense spirits. Yet never before had he seen such an enormous density of spirits, tens of thousands of them, spreading across the sky like a storm cloud.

  It wasn’t a summoning. It was far worse than that.

  It was an invasion.

  “Gods,” whispered Kylon. They were too late. All their effort, all their struggles, all of it had been for nothing. Callatas had opened the gate to draw forth the nagataaru…

  “What the hell is that?” said Strabane, scowling at the sky. The Kaltari headman did not seem daunted by the immense tower of nagataaru. “Is that smoke? Did Callatas accidentally blow himself up?”

  “It’s not smoke,” said Kylon. “It’s the nagataaru. Thousands of nagataaru. Callatas just finished the Apotheosis.”

  His mind recovered from its shock and started to consider their options, though he still felt the oppressive weight of countless nagataaru against his senses. If they reached Callatas in time and killed him, could they reverse the spell and return the nagataaru to the netherworld?

  With a sinking feeling, Kylon realized that it was probably too late. Callatas had already summoned thousands of nagataaru, and those nagataaru would be seeking out wraithblood addicts to possess. Kylon didn’t know what would happen when the nagataaru possessed the wraithblood addicts, but from what Caina had learned about Callatas’s plans for his “new humanity,” he had no doubt they would be deadly and dangerous foes. Like the Red Huntress, but without her cunning or patience.

  And there were tens of thousands of wraithblood addicts in Istarinmul. Perhaps stopping Callatas was the wrong question. Perhaps they ought to think about stopping and fighting Callatas’s newborn creatures instead. But could they be defeated? Nearly a million people lived in Istarinmul, and Callatas’s monsters would start killing at once. Would even the combined armies of the Empire, the Umbarian Order, Anshan, Alqaarin, and New Kyre be enough to stop the creatures?

  Kylon didn’t know.

  But with a grim, horrified feeling, he realized that the city of Istarinmul might well die today.

  “We must attack the Golden Palace without delay,” said Nasser, his voice as hard as Kylon had ever heard it. “It matters not how many lives are lost in the assault. If Callatas is not stopped, everyone within the walls will die before the day is over.” He shook his head. “It might already be too late.”

  “Yes,” said Sulaman, his voice distant. Had his vision showed him the impending destruction of Istarinmul? “Lord Tanzir, every one of our men must converge upon the Golden Palace as soon as possible. Callatas himself is the target. We must find him and kill him immediately.” He turned in his saddle. “Also have the men upon the walls target the Hellfire catapults at the Golden Palace. If we are unable to take the palace, we shall have to bombard it with Hellfire until it is destroyed.”

  Tanzir frowned. “That would burn down half the city, lord Prince.”

  “Better half the city than all of it,” said Sulaman, the lines on his face seeming to sink deeper. “And if we are driven to it, better the city than the rest of the realm, or the entirety of the world.”

  Around Kylon messengers galloped past, hastening to deliver the Prince’s and the emir’s orders. His fingers tightened against the valikon’s hilt, his eyes fixed upon the vast writhing cloud of shadow and purple flame. Perhaps he ought to leave the others and head for the Golden Palace at once. He could move faster than any of the others, and if he found and surprised Callatas, maybe he could put an end to this.

  Or maybe he could get himself gutted by the Red Huntress.

  Even as he made up his mind and took a step forward, the outer edges of the vast cloud splintered. Hundreds of ribbons of shadow and purple fire hurtled towards the ground as the individual nagataaru dove, seeking wraithblood addicts. One of the nagataaru hurtled towards the Bazaar of the Southern Road. Undoubtedly there were wraithblood addicts nearby, hiding in the alleys or the courtyards of the nearby buildings.

  Too late Kylon remembered that Nerina Strake had been addicted to wraithblood for years.

  He
whirled as the nagataaru slammed into her, writhing around her head like a cloud of smoke and purple fire. Nerina screamed in pain and fell to her knees, hands flying to her head as she dropped her crossbow, while Malcolm shouted in alarm. The valikon began to blaze with harsh white fire in his hand as it reacted to the nagataaru entering her, and with grim horror, he realized that Nerina was about to transform, that Kylon might have to kill her to destroy the nagataaru within her.

  Fortunately, Claudia acted first.

  She stepped forward, palms leveled, and blue light flared around her fingers. A volley of blue sparks shot from her hands and struck Nerina, who shuddered back from the impact. Kylon had seen her use that spell in Caer Magia when she had banished a conjured earth elemental back to the netherworld. Fortunately, the spell proved just as effective against the nagataaru. A thin, tearing scream rose from the spirit writhing around Nerina’s head, and it vanished into nothingness.

  Claudia let out a long breath, and Malcolm helped Nerina to stand.

  “That was,” said Nerina, her voice a croak, “that was…so unpleasant it was mathematically impossible to describe.”

  “It couldn’t quite possess you, I think,” said Claudia, her voice slipping into the clinical tone she used when discussing either sorcery or medicine. “You’ve been off wraithblood for too long, and the natural defenses of your mind have partially rebuilt themselves. The attempted possession would likely have caused a fatal stroke.” She shook her head, blond hair slapping against her neck. “Hopefully, the nagataaru will not try again.”

  “They won’t,” said Kylon, watching hundreds upon hundreds of nagataaru fall from the sky like rippling black banners. “Not when there are so many easier targets to claim.”

  The valikon’s white fire burned hotter in his hand, the hilt shivering. The last time the sword had done that had been when he and Caina had confronted the Red Huntress in the Alqaarin Bazaar. It reacted that way in the presence of powerful nagataaru…or in the presence of many weaker nagataaru.

  Around Kylon the horsemen gathered, preparing to charge to the Golden Palace. He decided to go with them. Alone, he might be able to kill Callatas and the Red Huntress, but he would more than likely be killed himself. If he stayed with Sulaman, he would have the aid of Mazyan and Nasser and Strabane and all the others. All of them were veterans of many fights, and Claudia had faced the Red Huntress with Caina at Silent Ash Temple and survived. The more allies he had in this fight, the better…

  “Look above!” Kazravid’s voice rang over the Bazaar. Kylon looked back at him and saw the Anshani noble looking skyward. Even as he did, he saw dark shapes swooping overhead. For the first moment, Kylon thought that more nagataaru spirits had come, seeking to possess Nerina Strake.

  Then he saw that they were not spirits but physical creatures of some kind, creatures unlike any that Kylon had ever seen before.

  They were…beautiful, beautiful and terrible and alien.

  They looked vaguely like winged men and women of great height and sleek musculature, their skin like gleaming obsidian, jagged claws rising from their fingers and toes, fangs curling over their lips. Great black wings stretched from their shoulders, and their eyes burned with purple flames, the same fire throbbing through their veins with every beat of their hearts.

  Kylon had fought kadrataagu before, nagataaru-possessed men overwhelmed by the malevolent spirits, but they had been misshapen horrors. These creatures looked like the nagataaru made flesh, beautiful and aloof and horribly cruel. These things were what Callatas had intended to create, the perfect fusion of human flesh and nagataaru spirit, and he intended to wipe the world of humanity and replace mankind with these winged horrors.

  For a moment a dozen of the creatures hovered over the Bazaar, their wings flapping, their beautiful faces twisting into expressions of malicious glee. Kylon had seen that expression before on the face of the Red Huntress as she had held her sword of dark force over a helpless child.

  “Defend yourselves!” shouted Kylon, raising the glowing valikon.

  Even as he shouted, the creatures folded their wings and dove, plummeting into the Bazaar.

  The killing began after that.

  The creatures were fast, as fast as the Huntress when she drew upon her nagataaru, and the hybrid creatures killed a score of horsemen and Kaltari warriors in the first confused instant, stabbing with their claws and ripping out throats with their fanged jaws. After the initial shock, the soldiers recovered, and began fighting back. Swords rose and fell, biting into the gleaming obsidian flesh of the creatures. Despite their speed and power, they were not invincible, and the blades drew thick black blood, identical to wraithblood. Yet the wounds began shrinking almost at once, and for every creature that fell, a dozen soldiers died.

  All that happened in the first two instants.

  In the third, Kylon was moving, drawing all his power for speed and strength.

  One of the creatures stooped over a wounded soldier, the black wings draped around it like a cloak, jagged claws glittering. It started to turn as Kylon charged, drawing back its right hand to slash at him, but it was too late. A sweep of the burning valikon took off the hand at the wrist, and the creature staggered back with a tearing scream, wraithblood pumping from the wound. Before it could recover, Kylon drove the valikon halfway into the creature’s neck, and the blade blazed with white fire. The fire howled through the creature’s veins, burning away the purple fire, and as the valikon destroyed the nagataaru, the creature withered and shrank into the form of a gaunt, naked old man, his wide eyes the eerie blue of a wraithblood addict.

  Killing the creatures meant killing the poor wretches the nagataaru had inhabited.

  Yet Kylon had no choice. He tore the valikon free and charged to the aid of the others.

  After the first chaos, an organized defense took hold in the Bazaar. The Kaltari had dismounted, since the creatures terrified the horses, driving back the creatures as they tried to sweep upon them. Strabane, some of the Kaltari, and the Imperial Guards had formed up around Sulaman, and the mass of the creatures attacked them. Perhaps Callatas had sent them to murder the Prince and Tanzir out of sheer spite.

  One of the creatures lunged, taking down a Kaltari warrior, but Nasser moved, drawing back his gloved fist. His left hand slammed against the creature’s temple with enough force to snap its head back. Before it could recover, Kylon struck, sweeping off its head with a two-handed blow of the valikon.

  Its corpse had not even fallen to the flagstones before he sought another foe.

  Mazyan dueled three of the creatures at once, blurring back and forth as he drew upon his djinni for speed. He always looked disgruntled, but now he looked furious, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl. The djinn and the nagataaru were ancient enemies. Perhaps some of his djinni’s enmity for the nagataaru had colored Mazyan’s mind. His scimitar blurred back and forth, keeping the creatures from closing around him, but they leaped back and forth, using their wings to add height and distance to their jumps.

  Fortunately, Kylon could jump quite high himself.

  He charged into the fray and leaped, using the sorcery of air to lift himself high, and unleashed a massive overhand blow with the valikon as he landed. The blade ripped into the left shoulder of the nearest creature, sliced down through its chest, and burst from its right side. The creature collapsed in a spreading pool of black wraithblood, its mangled body shrinking back to human form. Mazyan seized the opening, stepping into the gap left by the dead creature, and thrust his hand, slowing as he called forth his blade of smokeless flame. The sword of force took off a creature’s head with a single flick of his wrist, and Mazyan dismissed the sword and spun, resuming his superhuman speed just in time to avoid having the third creature rip his head off.

  Kylon attacked the third creature, thrusting and swinging the valikon. The creature retreated, using its claws and muscled forearms to parry the blade, but it flinched from the white fire of the sword. At last, it flinc
hed a little too far, and Kylon saw his opening He drove the valikon forward, the blade sinking between the creature’s ribs and white fire pumped into the wound. The creature collapsed, shrinking back to the form of a dying, emaciated old man.

  A cry rose from the Kaltari warriors around Sulaman’s horse. Strabane led the warriors, his greatsword in hand, the blade stained with black blood. A dozen of the creatures circled and fluttered around them, leaving the dead in their wake. Kylon whirled and charged, bringing back the valikon to strike the nearest creature. His target noticed him, starting to turn its head, but by then it was too late. Kylon beheaded the creature and kept going before it even collapsed, throwing himself into the fray, the valikon writing trails of white fire through the air as he slashed and thrust and parried. A creature soared overhead, preparing to dive upon Kylon, but one of Laertes’s javelins punched through its wing. Superhuman strength or not, the creature could not remain aloft with just one functional wing, and it crashed to the flagstones, where two Imperial Guards cut it to pieces. Kylon stabbed another creature. It started to turn towards him, giving Strabane the opening he needed to take off its head with a massive two-handed swing.

  For a moment there was a clear spot around him, and Kylon stepped back, breathing hard, the wraithblood upon the valikon’s blade burning to ash. He did not see any more of the creatures nearby, though he glimpsed and sensed hundreds of them flying through the air over the streets and alleys of the Anshani Quarter. Screams and shouts rose from the tenements as the creatures went on rampages, screams that were no doubt repeated through the rest of the city. It reminded Kylon of the day of the golden dead, the day that the Moroaica had unleashed her creatures upon New Kyre. So many people had died on that day, and he knew countless people were dying now, right now, in Istarinmul, as Callatas’s new humanity went upon its murderous rampage.