Grave Ghost

by Tia Reed

  Ahkdul swiped at the flies buzzing around his face. “We will not camp here. Tie her to the horse if you must.”

  Mariano’s lips became a thin line. “Your desire to reach Pengari is understandable but until she is wed, I retain blood honour for my sister.”

  “Then see she delays us not out of spite but for need.” The swine turned his horse and kicked it into a canter.

  Mariano watched him race across the rippling grass. When her brother turned to her, his neck was stiff with annoyance. She did not react, not even when the breeze rippled the edge of her veil and he relented. “You will ride a time before me,” he said, permitting Arun to assist her onto his horse where he enclosed her in his hot arms.

  They rode on past deformed trees bearing leaves of a sickly lime and dangling yellow fruit pecked by birds. Flies buzzed around their faces. The horses shook their heads and flicked their tails, and Mariano swiped at the persistent insects. She let them settle. Their attention was not as distressing as the memory that rose to choke her, of sitting before her brother atop a grey mare as a toddler just learning to ride. The silent tear it evoked fell upon her brother’s arm. He misunderstood. A gentle hand reached up to adjust her slipping veil over her nose and mouth.

  “You betrothed has promised to treat you with respect,” Mariano said. “Give him no cause to resent you and he will let you live content. If you cannot reconcile yourself to this union for the sake of Terlaan, remember you will be queen of this realm one day. In your compassion, you might moderate this harsh land if you but befriend your lord. It is more than you could accomplish wed to some minor lord.”

  Whether the advice was meant to console or admonish, it only served to remind her of her loss. Love was Vae’oenka’s blessing. She had never had it, though she had believed it blossomed in Myklaan. She would forever keep close, as a sharp reminder of that folly, the watermelon gem with which Matisse had bought her and thereby sealed her doom. Already she suffered under Ahkdul’s hand. Already, he claimed her identity, forced the veil upon her head, the sleeves that dropped onto her hand, the loose kameez that hid every curve. Gazing across the undulating land, she could not envision a future any more than she could see beyond the next gentle rise. The afternoon sun cast not a golden hue upon the lush, green plains, but a tinge of red that evoked images of bloodied hands and furious minds, reminding all who trespassed Verdaani lords worshipped the sword.

  Beside them, Brailen dragged his feet, complaining of blistered toes and aching legs. Two of the guards bantered with him, but even they lost interest when he began to demand a turn on their horses.

  “Look sharp,” Quis said as one of their men came galloping over a rise.

  The man pulled up and bowed. “Your Highness, Lord Ahkdul meets with someone.”

  Mariano and Arun kicked their horses to a canter, riding abreast with a precision borne of long drills and a speed that offered temporary relief from the insects.

  Two crests over, she saw the swine standing beneath the shade of a sagging pistachio tree. He was listening to a little, wiry man who grovelled on his knees as Kahlmed went through a bulging pack and two others set up camp. Kahlmed withdrew a packet, squeezed it open and shook the contents, inhaling deep of the fine dust that floated up. Licking a speck of red powder off his lips, he offered the packet to Ahkdul. The swine dipped a finger in and touched it to his tongue.

  “A clean brew.”

  Three times the little man touched clasped hands to his forehead. He finished his obeisance by extending them to Ahkdul. “Export for Myklaan, my lord. Mages demand best quality.” His accent was as thick and coarse as the kurta and shalvar he wore.

  “They’ll not miss a packet or two,” Ahkdul said. At a flick of his chin, Kahlmed grabbed a handful of packets. Dropping the pack, the scarred man kicked the snivelling man into the grass.

  “What news from Myklaan?” Ahkdul asked.

  “This man comes to the pass at the same time we cross,” Arun observed.

  Gripping Ahkdul’s ankles, the distasteful man showered kisses on his dusty boots. “My lord, I beg protection.”

  Kahlmed kicked the man from Ahkdul’s feet. “Not such a coincidence. His job is to mule the porrin to the Myklaani mages.”

  “Even so,” Mariano said, swiping a fly.

  “Will you be suspicious of every man my lord meets in his own realm?”

  “Well, mule? Explain to the mahktashaan how you come to my feet,” Ahkdul demanded as Kahlmed stared a fierce challenge into Arun’s hood. His jagged scars had blanched to a threatening white. Even the flies forbore to settle on them.

  Cranking his head up so he could look at his lord, the mule touched fists to forehead, sending the flies crawling over his forehead to swarm around his head. “I receive message from Lord Kamir to wait at pass. If you come this way, my lord bid me deliver message.”

  “Have the porrin plantations extended so near here?” Mariano asked Arun. Their horses’ tails swished at the persistent insects settling on their sweaty flanks.

  “No, but Lord Kamir has an efficient chain of supply. Most links need only travel a short distance to complete their task. It is not possible for one to become greedy without others, and so Lord Kamir, learning of it. His story is credible.”

  Kahlmed pulled the man to his knees. “Speak your message.”

  “My lord, it not for ears of foreigners.” The man was deferent, cautious, but the stench of fear clung to him as the tang of rot clung to the plains.

  Kahlmed grinned. His scars stretched ugly over his face. “The foreigners will get.”

  Arun moved his horse between Mariano and the mule. “We will hear this message.”

  “Let him speak before us, Ahkdul, if Terlaan and Verdaan are to unite,” Mariano said.

  Ahkdul looked down on the man. “Was this forbidden by my uncle?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then speak before my betrothed, her brother and his mahktashaan.”

  The man darted a sideways glance but whipped it into line before it had landed full on Arun. “Lord Kamir wants you know he have pigeon from Terlaan that say Terlaan declare war. He order you serve Verdaani interest first.”

  Ahkdul frowned. “Does my uncle suggest I do not?” A dangerous edge had crept into his voice.

  “Would you punish the messenger?” Arun asked, backing up his horse. His kindness had no end, blocking her sight from whatever cruelty the swine chose to mete. But it was Mariano’s sight too. Her brother signalled a soldier over to help her from the horse so he could reposition himself in full view of the mule – a soldier who was quick to retract his hand when she stood steady on her feet, her light veil fluttering about her neck.

  “For my uncle’s condescension, no,” Ahkdul replied. “But he has yet to answer. What news from Myklaan?”

  “The mages grow weak, my lord, and their porrin supply dwindle. They demand more and more quantity. Lord Kamir happy to comply.”

  Arun’s horse snorted and sidestepped to free itself of the tickling torment, so she was able to see the man’s wily twist of lip and sweaty brow. The lash of a horse’s tail distracted him; the drug mule looked her way and winked. His gaze drifted towards Arun but again he averted his eyes before they alighted on the black-robed mahktashaan, a man fearsome in legend and sight. “Myklaani law change. They impose death penalty for drug dealers. It is a dangerous task I undertake for my lords.”

  “If you believe yourself cheated, take it up with Lord Kamir. What news of the general population?”

  The mule’s pause, the shift of weight on his knees revealed his growing nerves. “The palace learned of Lord Kamir’s,” – he licked his lips, considered his word – “special workforce.”

  Now Ahkdul glanced Mariano’s way. “How is it they know of this?”

  The man squirmed. “Lord Matisse discovered our contact in Zulmei.”

  “String him up.”

  Kahlmed took a rope from a pack, flattened the mule with a kick, and tied his w
rists behind his back. He had the man up and against the trunk of the tree before anyone could react. Ahkdul’s second man secured the rope around the mule’s ankles, and tossed it over the branch. The man fell as they hauled his legs from under him. Together they strung him into the air, leaving him to dangle upside down while they secured him by twisting the end of the rope around their knots. A plump crow swooped onto the branch, as though it understood it might soon find an easy meal. The flies, too, were crawling over his body. The mule voiced no complaint. Kordahla stared. Was it right she felt no remorse at this hideous sight?

  “The truth if you wish to live,” Ahkdul said. “How did the Myklaani come to find out?”

  “People talk. Too many go missing. It noticed even under incompetent Satrap Elan’s nose.”

  Kahlmed mounted a horse, pulled a dagger from his boot and rode to the mule’s side. “Do you wish to rethink?”

  Ahkdul’s cold smile condemned the prisoner. Resignation flitted across the poor man’s face as he shook his head. She knew as well as he the mule was damned whether he changed his story or remained firm.

  Kahlmed reached up, grabbed the mule’s right index finger in his fist, and hacked through it. The mule screamed. Kahlmed wagged the finger in front of his face, and then tossed it up. Cawing, the crow swooped, caught the digit in its beak, and settled on the branch. The mule’s eyes were squeezed shut. His screams became groans. Blood kept running down his arm. She retched as the severed finger cracked in the beak.

  “Well?” Ahkdul said, as Kahlmed curled the mule’s fourth finger open.

  Arun’s hand was at her elbow. He turned her. “Come away, Princess.”

  “Satrap Elan’s daughter is mistress to the shah. He know. He know,” the pathetic man pleaded.

  “Betrothed,” she corrected.

  “Princess?” Arun said.

  He was so close; she could see the compassion in those blue eyes even shaded by the hood.

  “They are to marry,” she said, with a twist of her heart. “They will be happy.”

  The mule screamed. She flinched. The crow cawed. Two more birds flapped into the tree, their raucous cries obliterating the mule’s moans as they ruffled their feathers to fight over flesh and bone.

  “Well?” Ahkdul demanded again, as Kahlmed forced the middle finger on the left hand open.

  “Ahhhh! I confess it to them. Ahh, ahh! They put noose around my head. I beg you, my lord, let me make better.”

  Grassed swished as Brailen limped into sight. “These cursed blisters. I’ll be crippled before we reach Pengari. Lord Hudassan will have your head if his prize mage is maimed,” he said to a Terlaani soldier.

  The good-natured soldier laughed. “I don’t answer to Lord Hudassan. Ask your lord’s man for his horse.”

  “Shouldn’t have to,” Brailen said but he clamped his mouth as Kahlmed dismounted, strode up and shoved him towards Ahkdul.

  “Your lord may have need of you, powerful mage that you are.”

  “Hey! That’s the man that ratted to Lord Matisse,” Brailen said, pointing at the mule.

  “Well now,” Kahlmed said with a vicious grin. “Just what did he say?”

  “Told them about disappearing Myklaani. And he’s got to report to them palace toffs.”

  “Does he now?”

  Kahlmed passed Ahkdul a packet of porrin. Ahkdul waved it under Brailen’s nose. The boy fell to his knees, eyes pleading for the drug as his tongue ran over his lips.

  “What else did he say?” Ahkdul asked.

  “He agreed to work with them.”

  Ahkdul opened the packet and shook the contents into the boy’s mouth. Brailen’s hysterical giggles cut through Kordahla’s apathy. She looked at the mule, covered in flies, and swayed.

  “Princess.”

  Mariano gestured to Arun to move her away.

  She stared at them. “Would you deny me knowledge of my betrothed?”

  Though her voice was quiet, perhaps because of it, her brother turned away.

  At the tree, Kahlmed steadied the boy on his feet.

  “Search his mind. Find out exactly what he agreed to,” Ahkdul said.

  Arun glanced at her, left her to walk forward, once again blocking her view, in part but not in full, for the man writing in agony was strung above their heads. “This is delicate magic, Lord Ahkdul,” he said. “The boy can cause irreparable harm.”

  “A porrin dealer dead. It should not concern us,” Mariano replied.

  “The boy needs practice,” Ahkdul said. “Train him if you will. Otherwise, he will learn as I deem best.”

  Giggling, staggering, Brailen threw his arms around the mule’s shoulders.

  “Keep the mahktashaan away from me,” the mule said. “I’ve nothing more to confess.”

  “I’m a mage. A mage. A mage, you hear? Magus Brailen.” Brailen knocked his head against the man’s chest. The man’s kurta fell over Brailen’s head and the boy slipped to the ground.

  Kahlmed sliced through the rope and the mule dropped on top of Brailen. The branch sprang up, releasing a shower of nuts.

  “Oof,” the boy said, crawling from beneath the disfigured man. He slapped his hands on either side of the mule’s face and knocked his forehead to the mule’s. “Take your mind up with mine. We’ll fly to the moons.”

  The pair screamed. The boy jumped off the man, tearing at his hair, jumping as though he walked on hot coals. On the grass, the man writhed. The birds swooped over him.

  Ahkdul leaned over the mule, curious but unconcerned. “What did he do wrong, mahktashaan?”

  “Their minds collided, my lord,” Arun said, striding to the man. Kneeling beside him, he placed a hand on his forehead. His crystal glowed and the birds flew off, cawing. The man’s moans subsided, his breathing eased. Arun turned to the boy, who danced around him, lashing wild with his arms. The pistachio branches bent and bobbed, shaking apricot-coloured leaves free.

  “I fly, I fly, I’ll read your mind.” A branch cracked as it split free of the trunk. It hit Brailen across the shoulders. He lurched forward, and grabbed at Arun. The minoria’s cerulean crystal flared. The boy collapsed. Groaning, he rubbed his head. “My head. Ow. My head.”

  The tree shuddered into stillness.

  “I did not say you could heal that man,” Ahkdul said, eyes narrowed and a dangerous edge to his voice.

  “You yet have use for him, if you wish to acknowledge your uncle’s request.”

  Ahkdul nodded at Kahlmed, who threw the pack onto the mule.

  Mariano walked to Ahkdul’s side. “In the name of our treaty, I must ask you not to continue supplying Myklaan’s mages with porrin for as long as we are at war.”

  “Verdaan will consider Verdaani interests first. We have agreed to diminish our trafficking to your shores. The surplus drug must reach another market. The mages are weak. No amount of porrin will enable them to match the least of your mahktashaan in magic. Or is all you would have us believe about your magic men a lie?” Ahkdul offered a packet to Mariano. When Mariano did not react, he shook a little into his own mouth. “On the black market, the bliss will weaken their population. In the wake of an invasion, it is a desirable flaw.”

  Kahlmed finished cutting the mule free. “You’ve family with Lord Kamir.” It was not a question. From the widening of the mule’s eyes, she knew it to be true.

  “You will let the Myklaani lords believe they have you on side,” Ahkdul said. “Lord Hudassan will tell you what he expects when the time is right.”

  The pale mule staggered away from the tree, clutching his pack as though it might protect him from whatever evil these foul men schemed. He waded through the grass, staring at Arun, turning his head so far over his shoulder he would give himself a crick.

  Kordahla waited for one of the men to collect her. Unfortunately, it was Ahkdul who came. With more gentleness than she would have credited him, he reached for her face, turned it to his own. “It is good you cover your face in the presence of stranger
s. Verdaani is an unruly land, poorer than its neighbours, and its rulers are forced to brutal action to keep it safe. But we are not given to craven violence. This man has learned his lesson. He will not cross us again, and so he may go free.”

  Mariano understood her look, and joined them. “My sister must rest.” He took her to a private fire. Perhaps he hoped the sounds of life, of laughter and chatter might stir her. Her speech may have given him that hope, though she could not even recall what it was she had said. She took the bowl Arun offered without looking. Its spicy steam mixed with the pervasive rot of the land to kindle a nausea in her, and she laid it on her lap untouched. The men sat opposite her, eating, watching her stare, saying little, while in the darkening shadows, Brailen lurked, his own meal gobbled that he might beg for the red sustenance he craved.

  As soon as Ahkdul had downed his wine, Brailen crept up. “My lord, I should practice magic.”

  Ahkdul grinned. “Indeed you should.” Removing a packet from inside his vest he stood. “Come show me what you have learned.” He strode away. The boy jogged after him.

  She did not watch. She no longer pitied him. Last night, too, Ahkdul had thrown him porrin, watching, gauging, as his wild magic whipped objects around the camp. The boy had laughed, declaring his success, and after had shadowed his lord away from camp with an eagerness that must have found its source in a promise of more bliss, traded for his flesh.

  “Highness,” Arun said when the bright evening star twinkled in the indigo sky. “May I check how the princess heals?”

  Mariano flicked a look her way. She stared straight through the guards at their noisy meal, her bowl untouched. “Her cheek heals well enough but she must eat. Can you turn her mind to that?”

  “I will try, Highness, but my magic cannot command her will.”

  Thus they talked about her, as if she were not there, as if she needed a reminder she was no more than their possession.

  Mariano put her bowl aside, lifted her to her feet, took her inside the tent. Quis had laid out her bedroll and bear fur, and left a candle burning.