Grave Ghost

by Tia Reed

  At last. “Thank you.” Wishing he could kick off his boots and bury his sore feet in the thick pile of the rug, Vinsant tucked the weighty tome between his body and one arm of the chair. The number of questions knocking about in his brain was making it difficult to know where to start.

  “Can I ask anything?”

  “You may ask. If the lore is not restricted, you may know.”

  “Why is Apprentice Tokver working in the mines if he isn’t a prisoner? And why are we mining crystals and quartz if they come from Mahktos? Won’t we run out eventually?”

  Vinsant started as Levi clapped his good hand on the arm of his chair to stem his flood. “A mahktashaan is ordered and precise in his mind. Remember that.”

  “Yes, Majoria. All praise to Mahktos. All honour to you.”

  Levi removed his hood to reveal hair as black as his robes. Breathing a sigh of relief at the informality, Vinsant did the same. He smoothed down the strands of his hair which always spiked up. With luck, Levi wouldn’t notice he hadn’t washed his face before lunch. As discomforting as it was, he looked into the majoria’s black eyes so he wouldn’t stare at his burned hand. The majoria might have a small stature but no one would ever mistake him for harmless. His own crimson eyes couldn’t be any less disconcerting.

  “You are eager, Vinsant. It is good, but do not forget your place.”

  “No, Majoria.” The man seemed positively convinced Vinsant lacked respect. Levi might be teaching him mahktashaan etiquette, he might even harbour a smidgeon of jealousy because of the crimson quartz, but he had to know Vinsant had never admired anyone more. Not even Father. Especially not Father after what he had done to Kordahla. Didn’t he know Vinsant wanted to grow up just like him? To have the ear of his brother when Mariano was shah. To command the entire mahktashaan troops, formidable soldiers and fearsome magicians that they were. To serve a god over the shah. Hah. That would rile Mariano, to be denied by his younger brother because Mahktos came first.

  “Working the mines without recourse to magic is a mahktashaan punishment,” Levi said, snapping him out of his daydream, “but every apprentice must complete his training here. He must find a quartz that sparks a glow in his own stone to offer Mahktos before he stands beneath our god in the final ceremony of induction. Apprentice Tokver found his quartz today. It augers well.”

  “Does that mean I’m ready to be a mahktashaan too? If I find a quartz that lights mine crimson.” If Mahktos’s hand was in this, the task was not impossible after all.

  Magical bolts flew at him from all directions. Before he could raise a shield, Vinsant found himself on the floor yelping in agony. He cringed as he eased himself back into the chair.

  “All praise to Mahktos. All honour to you, Majoria,” he mumbled without meaning it. The mahktashaan needed to get with the times and find a more sympathetic way to teach humility and respect. He wretched as he caught sight of the blackened flesh on Levi’s useless hand. With luck, Levi might assume it was because those magical bolts had stung.

  Levi pointed at Vinsant’s chest. Eyes black and face stern, he looked more menacing than he ever had with his hood up. “Your training has just begun, apprentice. At its completion, you may search for the quartz which bestows the honour of induction. Some men take years to discover one, while others may find theirs in a day, in a section of tunnels their peers believe they have picked dry. Either way, they are accorded the opportunity only after years of dedicated service.”

  “So I am still being punished?”

  “Your sentence is over. Your training has just begun.”

  Vinsant wrinkled his freckled nose. More like Father couldn’t bear to have him around yet. Better to let that point go and move on while Levi was still inclined to answer questions. “So does the quartz which an apprentice finds decide the colour of his crystal?”

  “Our quartz and crystals come from Mahktos.”

  “But I haven’t seen two mahktashaan with crystals the same colour. Do we have a name for the colour of every crystal?”

  “Among the mahktashaan, yes, though the ignorant masses might lump all variants of green or blue or purple together.”

  Vinsant leaned forward. “Is this restricted knowledge?”

  “No, apprentice. But it is beyond your stage of training and so you must ask.”

  “Okay.” He stared into the light balls in the hearth. The swirling colours inside hurt his eyes. “So. . . so. . . an endless range of colours must exist.”

  “Perhaps, though I doubt mortals would be able to distinguish them all. Since there are only ever about fifty mahktashaan at any one time, the matter is irrelevant.”

  A thought was on the verge of breaking through. Vinsant squirmed as he tried to form it. “Arun, I mean the minoria, said the mahktashaan draw on power from the same source as the djinn.” Vinsant sat up straight. “The djinn are coloured. Are our crystals the same colour as the djinn?”

  Levi’s eyes widened. “Yes, apprentice. Very good. You begin to think.”

  “Well who has indigo?” Vinsant demanded, jumping out of his chair. Levi pointed and he sank into the plump cushions.

  “Indigo is the colour of an unprepossessing mahktashaan who is stationed in the province of Kard.”

  “But the djinn, the indigo djinn. He’s super powerful.”

  “Yesss.”

  The answer was so drawn out Vinsant doubted Levi understood the implications. He tried anyway. “So what decides a mahktashaan’s power?

  “Mahktos.”

  Deflating, Vinsant slumped. “So despite what everyone says, there’s no guarantee I’ll be a powerful mahktashaan.”

  No answer.

  “Well, apprentice?”

  To Vinsant that was as good an indication as any that there was another snippet he could ferret out. “What do the crystals signify if not power?”

  “Why did you learn from three different mahktashaan today?”

  The way Levi and Arun threw questions back at him almost drove him to tear out his hair. “They each taught me a different magic. A general magic before something specific.” And each of them had bid him try. He slid forward in his seat. “Each colour denotes different abilities.”

  “Yes. Though basic magic is common to our kind, each mahktashaan may work a unique feat or two. Two mahktashaan born centuries apart will have similar abilities if they hold the same colour crystal. The more powerful among us practice magic otherwise restricted to a certain colour.”

  “So you can tell how far a mahktashaan will rise at induction. The colour of his crystal will give his station.”

  “It is never as simple as that. A colour that for centuries is unassociated with certain feats may one day surprise.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “In time, apprentice.” Which meant this line of questioning was over. Levi rose and donned his hood. He had extended his right sleeve so it fell past his burned hand. “You will study that book. Report to Mahktashaan Fenz for swordplay this evening. You will follow his every instruction to the letter. Remember, Mahktos is watching you.”

  How could he forget? Flicking his hood on, Vinsant hugged the heavy volume and struggled out of the chair. “I would like to continue magic instruction under you, Majoria.”

  “Shah Wilshem has declared war on Myklaan. My place is in Tarana.”

  Vinsant found himself with nothing to say. Until now, he had not quite believed it had come to this. That he was ordered to stay here and continue training brought home just how little the prince and how much the apprentice he had become. Or was it just that they wanted him out of the way? He dawdled all the way to the training room thinking about that.

  His heart was not in sword practice. Not quite the exacting master Levi was, Fenz dismissed him after he had stepped outside the training ring carved into the floor on account of having sustained five bruising blows.

  “I shan’t torture you further tonight. Run along. I have defences to organise.”

  “Here?
” In a lair with trained mahktashaan, under the mountains, on top of sheer cliffs?

  “Check the histories for details of the Crystal War. I shall quiz you tomorrow.” Fenz was counting the practice weapons stacked around the periphery of the cave and ticking them off on an inventory Gerosh of the navy crystal had delivered.

  Vinsant cleared his throat and adopted his most respectful voice. “Mahktashaan Fenz, may I practice magic in my own time?”

  “It is expected,” came the distracted reply.

  That at least solved the problem of having to sneak a mind link.

  Clean and fed, but not read up on what was bound to be a boring account of the Crystal War, Vinsant regarded the Myklaani sword on his bed. The gold hilt was bright against the royal blue blankets. For no reason he could think of, it sobered his mood. He hadn’t slept the last two nights for fretting about Kordaha. Okay, so the chains had not helped. But the hectic schedule Levi and Fenz had imposed on him the minute he was free had driven all but the worst of his worries from his mind. Vinsant sat on the bed, one hand over the blade of the sword and stilled his mind.

  Arun, he called across the mind link.

  Vinsant, came the warm reply. You sound well.

  The welcome heartened him. Well? I’ve been chained to the damp wall of a filthy cell for ten days, forced to pick at rock until my arms dropped off, and shunned like I’m a beggar with leprosy.

  And sounding none the worse for it. How is that lesson in respect coming along?

  I’m full of it. Brimming, overflowing even. But I’m still stuck here.

  Is that so bad?

  Maybe not. I think I’ll learn rather a lot.

  Enough to return some of those bruises your brother inflicts during swordplay?

  Vinsant soured. Enough to kill Ahkdul. He sensed Arun’s unease in the pause. He’s hurt Kordahla, hasn’t he?

  Arun didn’t hide his disquiet. She humiliated him.

  You promised to protect her.

  I’ve taken her pain.

  You let him hurt her. His anger pulled him up. The raw emotion was bruising the link, causing it to waver.

  Vinsant, your sister nearly forfeited her life.

  She would rather die than marry that pig.

  His distress slapped against a barrier at the other end. The link stretched to a thread. Vinsant battled to maintain it. He was not done with Arun yet, not by a long shot. When their connection clicked into clarity, the force knocked him onto the bed.

  Calm down. This recklessness benefits neither you nor your sister, Arun said, in full control of the link so Vinsant no longer had to work to keep it open. He shot Arun a glare. He had wanted the advantage.

  When will they reach Tarana? He would be there, by Mahktos. He would challenge Ahkdul for his sister and use every mahktashaan trick he had learned, the unfairness of it sink into scums because none of this was fair.

  We’ve still a day’s journey to exit the pass. I need you to think like a man.

  What does that mean?

  I need your help. Your sister needs your help. Your childish ranting does nothing to aid her.

  What’s going on?

  Vinsant, we are travelling to Verdaan. Ahkdul insists on marrying Princess Kordahla as soon as they arrive.

  His head, heart and stomach whirled, making him queasy. You have to stop them. You have to save her.

  Apprentice, calm down.

  Arun had a nerve, to exercise his authority now. Don’t tell me to calm down. Kordahla –

  You will exercise respect, apprentice. The tone was mild, Arun’s usual manner, and not the brusque dressing down he was accustomed to from Levi, but the majoria had trained him well. Days trudging through the Crystalite Ranges on a sore leg had given him a modicum of mastery over his wildest feelings. At least it had taught him to hold his tongue or suffer a humiliating, agonising punishment.

  All praise to Mahktos. All honour to you, Minoria, Vinsant said in a flat voice because the chant could ground him.

  That’s better. Now listen. You are in some way right, apprentice. If the continued formality was intended to keep him obedient, it was not working. Vinsant felt sick enough to wonder if his dinner was about to leave his stomach. Kordahla is her own worst enemy at the moment. She believes she has nothing to live for.

  She doesn’t if Ahkdul wins her. He will treat her like a slave.

  Vinsant, I would not see her fall into Ahkdul’s clutches any more than you. But no amount of reason will sway the shah if she does not survive.

  You’re a healer. Cure her. Respect could drown in scum. This was Kordahla they were talking about.

  I cannot reach her. I suspect you alone can do that.

  The unexpectedness of the response turned his mind blank. How? he asked at last. You have greater magic.

  I need you to talk to her Vinsant. I need you to convince her to go on living.

  Will you get her out? Will you help her escape from Verdaan?

  I swore an oath Vinsant. To the shah.

  You swore to Mahktos first. Mahktos does not condone this marriage. Mahktos does not condone anything about Ahkdul.

  Have a care, apprentice. Mahktos is listening to you.

  Mahktos was amused when I took the crystal to save her life. Scums was Arun going to flay him for that admission – if Levi didn’t get to him first. He hesitated. I want to talk to her.

  Tomorrow. Vinsant winced. The minoria’s voice lacked its earlier warmth. Link with me at the setting of the sun. I will see what I can do.

  The link snapped. On the cold blade of the sword, his palm was aching. One thing was certain. If Father, Mariano, Levi and Arun were not going to help Kordahla, it was up to him. He was not yet a grown man; he could not command troops. Without them he would have no success riding into Verdaan and reclaiming his sister in a raid. But he could think like a man. He needed help and there was a place which might offer it. His hand curled around the emerald-studded hilt of the Myklaani sword.

  Chapter 8

  SIAN WHIMPERED AS her eyes flickered open. “Ishoa,” she murmured before the thick, musty odour reminded her of the danger. Erok was still hanging from the ceiling. The vine holding him swung him in small turns. Blood had crusted over the large bruise on his temple, and his face was flushed. He blinked, but she didn’t think he saw her. She reached a hand to the hot, sore lump at the side of her throbbing head. She shouldn’t have moved. Across the fire, a small, black ogre loped over, hooting that she was awake. She shuddered when, dropping to all fours, it sniffed over her body. She tried to push it away but the fit had left her heavy as stone.

  “Gir-erl sick. Bad food.” Gor pulled the ogre off her, barring his teeth in a sick imitation of a smile. She could only lie there and whimper as he poked her in the ribs with his club. “Resht now. P-lay later.” He hooted and the black ogre scurried to three others dragging thick branches into the cavern.

  Sian swallowed. If the ogres had ventured out, the light must have dwindled and died. Her curse must have blacked her out beyond the rising of the moons. She watched them pluck sticks from the logs before lashing them into two crosses which they set at opposite ends of the fire. She pulled herself into a sit as two ogres hefted another log across the frames. Her heart began to pound. Nothing about this nest was right. Ogres tore people apart limb by limb. They didn’t roast them over a spit.

  “Erok, wake up,” she pleaded when Gor dropped his club to cut Erok down with a crude stone knife. Its thicker edge was lashed to a piece of wood with twists of vine. With his language and his tool, the ogre was half a man.

  The hunter groaned. The vine split, and he thudded to the ground. A large, brown male started chewing through his bonds until Gor barked. The brown ogre scuttled off, leaving the man-ogre to slice through the vine around Erok’s chest.

  “Erok.”

  “Run.” Erok tore his arms free of the vine and grabbed Gor’s wrist. Gor kicked him but Erok held fast. “Run.” Yowling ogres gripped his arms and pulled them a
bove his head while another brought more vine to bind them. With his feet still tied and his eyes glazed, he wasn’t going to be able to fight. There were too many of them, all hooting around the fire in anticipation of a feast. Erok signalled her with his eyes. The ogres had forgotten her to deal with his struggles, and now was her chance.

  Sian crawled to Gor’s club. She strained to lift the hefty weapon but could only drag it around, spiralling towards Gor until it pummelled into his feet. The blow knocked him down even as it toppled her. She landed on her behind. Seeds spilled from her pouch, and her hands smacked onto them.

  “Knife,” she said. The man-ogre was loosening his grip on the blade as he thrust out his hands to break his fall. She scooped up some seeds and flung them towards the fire. A couple landed in flame and the fire sent up a thin finger of smoke. Sian grabbed her seed pouch and tossed it in. Seeds flowed out. They cracked and popped. Flames flared to the ceiling, and swirling, stinging smoke poured into the room. Through a rent in the haze she saw Erok roll free of the bewildered ogres and slide the knife from beneath Gor’s hand. Her hunter cut his feet free, jumped up and lashed out. Hooting ogres retreated to the edges of the cavern, howling as they rubbed their watering eyes.

  “This way,” she said, taking Erok’s hand. The smoke clung in a thick cloud but air spirits, were flitting in one direction like shining beacons of light. She followed and found the passage, the few torches lighting it burnt to stubs. They ran its length, past the fork, drawing up when a shadow at the exit moved. Behind it night shrouded the forest. When the shadow turned at the sound of their footfall, head and limbs took shape. Another ogre loped behind the first, barring their way. They reversed, turned and ran along the right fork past several intersecting passages, all of them lit by burning torches shoved into crevices in the rock.

  “Up,” Erok said, taking a sloping tunnel.

  They raced on, winding through the maze until the tunnel opened into another chamber. A mad look about revealed a single exit to their left about four metres off the floor. Sian hopped up the rocks, edged along a ledge and clambered up the wall. She crawled in and raised herself to a crouch. As she moved on, her foot caught. She fell forward onto something leathery, shifted her hand, and screamed. Erok stabbed out with the knife but when he saw what had scared her in the dim light, he pushed her on. She crawled over the human leg on to rotting corpses, trying not vomit at the horror and stench.