by Ben Cassidy
Kara opened her eyes again, and managed a faltering smile. “It’s good to see you too, Maklavir.” Her words were slow and slurred. “Ungh. My mouth is dry.”
“I’ll get some water,” Joseph said quickly. He reached with a trembling hand for the pitcher of water by the bedside, then began filling a glass.
“How are you feeling?” Maklavir asked softly.
Kara tried to swallow, but coughed instead. She took a wheezing breath. “Chest…hurts.”
Joseph nodded, then lifted the glass to Kara’s lips. “We had to get the remaining slivers out, Kara. Here, can you sit up at all?”
She nodded, still blinking slowly. She pushed herself up on her elbows with a grunt of pain, and managed to take a tiny sip of water.
“You came through like a trooper, Kara,” Maklavir said with a grin. “Not that we ever had any doubts, mind you.”
“Slivers?” Kara collapsed back onto the pillow, then gingerly felt the bandage on her chest with one of her hands. “Slivers of what, Joseph?”
The scout paused for a moment, hesitant to speak aloud. “The Soulbinder, Kara. When it exploded, some of the pieces—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes on Kara’s face.
A look of complete terror filled Kara’s features. She opened her eyes wide, her breathing fluctuating rapidly. “I remember. Oh, Eru, I remember.” She put a hand up to her head. Tears formed in her eyes. “She was in my head, in my body. I couldn’t move, couldn’t—” She gasped for breath in short butterfly flutters, her chest still sore and raw. “I couldn’t…speak. I had to watch—”
Maklavir put a hand firmly on Kara’s arm. “It’s all right,” he said gently. “It’s over now, Kara. The Seteru is gone.”
Kara looked over at Joseph, tears rolling down her pale cheeks. “I tried…tried to kill you.”
Joseph took her hand again. “Indigoru tried to kill me,” he corrected. “Not you.”
Kara turned her head to the side, burying half of it in the pillow. “Oh, Eru. Eru.”
“You’re all right now, though,” said Maklavir with more cheerfulness than he felt. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
“Just rest and get better,” Joseph said. He rubbed her cold hand affectionately. “Maklavir and I will watch over you, get you anything you need.”
“I could feel her hate,” Kara whispered. “Her voice in my head. It was terrible.”
Joseph and Maklavir looked at each other, but said nothing.
Kara moved her face off the pillow. Her lips were unnaturally drained of color, her hair scraggly and matted from the pillow. “I feel as if I’ve…as if I’ve been in a dream. Everything’s been in a fog.”
Joseph looked down at the floor. “Yes, well, you were in a coma for quite some time, Kara. And when you woke up a few days ago, you were just repeating nonsense.”
Kara looked over at Joseph, her eyes puzzled. “How long has…” She stopped again to take a wheezing breath, “has it been? A day? A week?”
Joseph looked at Kara, temporarily at a loss for what to say.
Maklavir gave an awkward cough. “It’s been several months, Kara.”
Kara switched her gaze to Maklavir. “Months?”
Maklavir pulled up a chair and sat down by the bedside. “I’m sorry, Kara. We—” He coughed to cover up the break in his voice. “We thought we had lost you for good.”
Kara closed her eyes. “I…saw things,” she said finally. “Heard voices. I was in a fog, a living nightmare.”
Joseph glanced worriedly at Maklavir. He squeezed Kara’s hand tighter. “You’re safe now, Kara.”
“There…was a city burning.” She opened her eyes, and took a rattling breath. “Flames leaping so high. People were screaming….”
“You’re remembering Vorten,” said Maklavir in a quiet voice. “The city was devastated, but it’s starting to rebuild.”
Kara shook her head. “No, not Vorten. Another city. With a harbor, and a wooden palisade around it. It was burning. There were people fighting in the streets. And beasts—”
Joseph and Maklavir looked quickly at one another. The air in the room seemed to grow suddenly cold.
“Kendril!” Kara exclaimed. She tried to sit up in bed, but fell back with a gasp of pain.
Joseph got up from the chair. “Easy, Kara. Lie still.”
“Kendril was there!” Kara continued. Her eyes flitted frantically back and forth between Joseph and Maklavir, then searched the dark room. “Where is he? Where is Kendril?”
Joseph took a half step back, as if Kendril’s name was physically painful to hear. “He…” Joseph took a breath. “He left. Months ago, just after you were injured.”
Maklavir clasped his hands behind his back. “We haven’t seen or heard from him, Kara. We have no idea where he’s gone to.”
Kara closed her eyes, and shook her head frantically. “No, no. It’s all wrong. This is all wrong. Fangs in the east. Fangs in the east.”
Maklavir looked quickly up at Joseph. “Should we get Silvanus?” he asked nervously. “Perhaps—”
Kara grabbed Maklavir’s hand and squeezed tight enough to elicit a gasp from him.
Joseph moved forward. “Kara, please calm—”
“There isn’t time,” Kara said, her eyes wild with terror. “We need to find Kendril. Do you understand? If we don’t, he’s going to die.”
Chapter 17
The sun was dipping low in the west. The fading rays stained the waters of Dancing Harbor a deep red, like spilled wine.
Kendril stood on the hillside. The wind from the ocean whipped his black cloak around him, and tugged endlessly at the corners of his raised hood. He ignored it, and ran his gloved hand over a pile of brambles and overgrown weeds just in front of him.
There was stone underneath the tangled growth of plants.
Kendril knelt down, and tore mercilessly at the vines and leaves. He kept ripping until the dirt-encrusted face of the stone was finally clear.
The light was fading. It was getting hard to see.
Kendril brushed the dirt off the stone, digging with his fingers into the cracks where the letters had been carved into the rock years ago. He got to his feet and stepped back, his eyes fixed on the uncovered gravestone before him.
Celeste, the marker read.
Kendril stood for a long time, his gaze rooted on the stone even when he couldn’t see the name anymore through the growing darkness.
The cold wind continued to catch his black cloak, flapping it like the wings of a bird.
“Marley said you came up this way,” came a voice from behind him.
Kendril didn’t turn. “Who’s watching Bronwyn?” he asked bitterly.
Tomas stepped up beside him, rubbing his hands against the chill breeze. “She’s tied to a post, Kendril. I did the knots myself. She’s not getting out anytime soon.”
Kendril sniffed. “So how long have you been spying on me?”
Tomas looked out at the ocean. “Long enough.” He took a deep breath of the salt air. “Marley also mentioned that you saw someone in town today. Someone you seemed to recognize.”
Kendril stared at the gravestone. He didn’t answer.
Tomas glanced back at him. “Who’s Celeste?”
Kendril turned back towards the looming shape of Ravenbrook Manor. “What do you care?”
“When shady people start recognizing you in town, I care.” Tomas brushed some of the dirt off the top of the gravestone. “I think it’s time you told me what’s going on here, Kendril. Time I knew the truth.”
Kendril paused and looked back at him.
For a moment there was only the sound of the wind in the long grass, and the distant clanging of the church bell in Redemption.
“My father was in charge of the stables at Ravenbrook Estate,” said Kendril quietly. He looked back at the shadow of the mansion further back on the hill. “I grew up here as a boy, played along the beach and in these woods until I got to know them like the back of my hand.”
Tomas crossed his arms. He watched Kendril intently.
“Young Lord Ravenbrook and I were the same age.” Kendril gave a half-smile. “We became the best of friends. You couldn’t separate us with a paring knife. We roamed all over these fields and forests together, slaying imaginary Jombards at every turn. We got into a fair degree of mischief, too, looking back on it.”
Tomas looked back at the gravestone. “So what happened?”
The smile disappeared from Kendril’s face. “He married a beautiful girl.” He looked over at Tomas. “She had a face that would melt your heart to look at. The loveliest creature in all Eru’s creation.” Kendril glanced back at the stone, his eyes cold and hard. “I didn’t begrudge him. He was a lord, after all, and nobility. I was just the son of a stable worker, and hardly the kind of young man who could afford to provide for a woman like her.”
Tomas gave the marker a keen glance. “Celeste?”
Kendril gave a hard swallow, then nodded. “Yes.”
Tomas looked back at Kendril. “That’s not all, is it?”
Kendril returned Tomas’ gaze with weary eyes. “You just can’t stop digging, can you? It’s my past. What does it matter?”
Tomas scratched the side of his face, and glanced back at the stone. “The longer we stay in this place, the more your past seems to be catching up with you. I think it matters.”
Kendril gave a heavy sigh. He stared at the gravestone himself for a long moment, shivering slightly in the bitterly cold wind. “Lord Ravenbrook became a general during the Jombard Wars,” he said at long last. “By virtue of his birth, you understand. Not that he had any real experience. The only soldiering he had done up to that point was with the local militia.” Kendril shook his head. “Still, he had a way with the men, and a natural talent for battle that surprised everyone.”
Tomas raised his eyebrows. “You too?”
Kendril chuckled darkly. “I guess not. I had fought in many campaigns with him already as a boy, remember? What was one more?”
Tomas narrowed his gaze. “So you went with Ravenbrook? During the Wars?”
Kendril nodded. “I was his armor-bearer. Fought with him in more battles than I can count. He saved my life time and again, and I saved his. The men loved him. I loved him. But his wife—” Kendril stopped, as if he had choked on something.
Tomas stood still, waiting.
Kendril’s face grew dark. “Ravenbrook was a skilled soldier, but a terrible husband. He ignored Celeste, treated her like one of his prized mares—” He stopped, his hand clenching in anger. Kendril took a deep breath, then continued. “I was wounded during the end of the second campaign, in the battle that we fought against the Jombards in the Forbidden City. Nothing serious, but enough to get me sent back over the Wall.”
Tomas tapped his finger against his arm. “Let me guess. You got sent here.”
Kendril glanced back at the manor. “I lived here. Celeste was here, too. It started innocently enough. Most of the men were gone, and she started treating my wound—” Kendril looked down at the ground, his face encased in shadow. “We fell in love.”
Tomas nodded, but said nothing.
“We tried to hide it,” Kendril said, his voice in a low monotone. “But Ravenbrook returned, and found out about us.”
“What happened?” Tomas asked.
Kendril stared straight at the gravestone. “He flew into a rage, and killed Celeste.”
The night was deepening, the sun long since vanished over the western horizon. Somewhere to the west, out in the deep woods, came the mournful cry of a wolf.
“And what did you do?” Tomas asked quietly.
“What do you think?” said Kendril tightly. He looked up at the other Ghostwalker. “I killed him.”
Tomas pulled out his gloves from where they were tucked into his belt and began to pull them on. “Do you still have enemies in this town?”
“I don’t know.” Kendril frowned under the shadow of his raised hood. “Maybe.”
“Maybe isn’t really good enough.” Tomas looked down at the black shape of the gravestone. The letters were no longer able to be read. “This place may not be safe for us. We should get Bronwyn to the mainland. New Marlin, or Archangel.”
Kendril gave a long, slow nod. “I suppose so. We seem secure enough for now, though. Getting her through the port and on a ship without anyone noticing might be a little difficult.”
Tomas rubbed his arms against the chill. “You’re absolutely sure that Bronwyn is worth all this effort? She really knows something she’s not telling us?”
Kendril turned to face Tomas. “I wouldn’t be going through all this if I didn’t. She knows, all right. The Seteru have another move they’re planning to make, probably more than one. This Great Fang that Bronwyn mentioned has got to be part of it.” He looked out at the black sea. “Eru help us if there are more of those—”
“Werewolves?” Tomas stamped his feet, his teeth practically chattering.
Kendril raised an eyebrow. “You sound skeptical.”
“It’s my job to be skeptical,” Tomas replied sharply.
Kendril turned his head away with a snort. “I’m not lying. I’ve got the bloody bruises and cuts to show for it. That Jombard turned into an eight-foot tall werewolf. Almost took my head off.”
Tomas raised both hands. “You have to admit, it’s a pretty tall tale. When I came to, all I found was the messy remains of a Jombard. Not even a lick of fur on him.”
“Obviously,” Kendril said slowly, “he reverted to his natural shape after I killed him.”
“Obviously,” said Tomas.
Kendril glared at him. “Shouldn’t you be back with Bronwyn? One of us should be watching her.”
Tomas shrugged. “Marley’s there.”
“Like I said,” Kendril repeated, “one of us should be watching her. Even tied to a post, she’s tricky and manipulative.”
Tomas sighed. “All right, I’m going.” He looked sharply at Kendril. “You coming?”
Kendril gazed at the black form of the gravestone. “Give me a minute. I’ll be along.”
Tomas nodded. “All right. Take all the time you need.” He started to move away, then stopped and turned back around. “Kendril, for whatever it’s worth….” He stumbled a bit, as if unsure of what words to use. “I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t stop you from digging though, did it?” Kendril replied nastily.
Tomas opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He turned and walked off into the darkness.
The trail that led down from the old Ravenbrook manor to the grist mill was lined with old wooden fences, rock walls, and overhanging apple and cherry trees. In the darkness the branches loomed out like the elongated fingers of old hags seeking for victims. A partial moon was out, and provided some silvery light to see by.
Tomas walked along, finding his footing carefully on the uneven path. Somewhere in the woods to his right an owl hooted.
Something tugged at him the wrong way. A feeling that he couldn’t quite shake. It was a slight sense of foreboding. An ominous threat that seemed to stay in the shadows just out of his sight.
Tomas put a hand on his dagger hilt. He glanced off the trail to each side.
A long rock wall was to the right. To the left was a small open space, bordered by what had once been a well-kept apple orchard.
A branch snapped off to the right, beyond the rock wall.
Tomas whirled, his senses strained to the breaking point.
It hit him in a flash, an intuitive sense that he couldn’t arrive at empirically. Somehow, he just knew.
He was being hunted.
Tomas took a cautious step back, silently. He quickly weighed his options. He could try to duck into the shadows to the left, make for the mill. Or he could double back and try to find Kendril.
Either way, he should never have come down the main path, open and exposed. He had been careless. Stupid.
Tomas edged o
ver towards the side of the road, trying to make as little noise as possible.
The black shadow of a figure rose up from behind the rock wall. It aimed a musket in Tomas’ direction.
The game was up. Tomas whipped out his dagger, ready to throw it.
Something cracked into the back of his head, sending purples sparks across his vision.
Tomas slammed face-first into the dirt of the road. His vision swam. White stars flickered at the edges of his sight. He tried to rise, but he already knew it was too late.
His last conscious thought was that whoever it was that had snuck up behind him was good. Very good.
Tomas never even felt the second blow.
The old garden behind the manor house looked much different than Kendril remembered it. The bushes were overgrown, the side paths choked with thorns and weeks. Even the fountain that had once stood proudly in the middle was now toppled, a victim of wind, weather, and possibly young vandals.
He stepped his way carefully towards the rear of the house, feeling a strange mixture of feelings at the sight of the old estate. In one way it would have felt strange and wrong to have seen it again in the prime of its glory, with carefully-tended rose bushes and a sparkling fountain in the moonlight.
On the other hand, it filled Kendril with an overwhelming sense of sadness to see the estate in such disrepair. Every turn in the path, each overgrown flagstone held countless memories to him.
Kendril moved through the waist-high grass, kicking aside some of the more pernicious thorns.
The area by the back door of the manor house was a little clearer than the rest of the garden.
Kendril stepped up to the back door of the large manor house. He felt a surge of emotion run through him, and tried his best to choke it back down.
He had ignored all this far too long. It was time he dealt with it. He needed to deal with it. Celeste’s ghost would haunt him until he did. As hard as it had been to talk about it with Tomas, in a way it had been a kind of catharsis.
Kendril lifted a gloved hand to the back door of the manor house that had once been so familiar to him. It was boarded up, though several of the planks had long fallen off, and the others were gray with time and slimy with mildew.