Grave Ghost

by Tia Reed

  Still smiling, Timak shook his head.

  “Wait. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. You’re from Verdaan, I hear.” Timak leaned back. “Don’t be so surprised. News of an apprentice to the mages travels fast, and when an apprentice has gifts from the temple, you can be sure the whole of Kaijoor knows.” He turned his finger and tapped his lip. “So, perhaps it is the ancient god.” He strained forward. His eagerness was infectious.

  “He spoke to me.”

  “This is heresy.” The monk’s stiff pose was so severe Timak leaned away. That one would have him executed for believing in a god other than the Vae.

  “Now, Zomax. We have no quarrel with those who practice other faiths. We leave the easterners in our realm to worship their hybrid gods, and you can be sure most of our monks nurture a wistful thought about the power the Terlaani mahktashaan derive from their worship.”

  Zomax’s pursed lips suggested he did not agree. “Heresy,” he murmured.

  “You enjoy coming to the temple, I believe,” the High One continued.

  Timak shook his head.

  “No? But you are here so often?”

  “I want the Vae to bring my family to Myklaan.”

  “A noble prayer.” The High One popped a date in his mouth and affected an expression of bliss. He beckoned Timak over for another. Timak took it because food in his mouth was the best excuse not to talk. “Is there anyone who might help the Vae here on earth with that request?” Timak nodded. Santesh would bring his mama and papa to the mage guild. “That is good news. You are most welcome at the temple, and I hope this incident does not deter you from visiting, but perhaps you could, on occasion indulge an old man with conversation. I find you most fascinating company and Doric can guarantee there will always be a plate of marzipan dates. He is most particular about making special guests feel welcome.” Timak chuckled. “Another one? No? Oh please do. I’ll look greedy if you don’t.”

  Timak looked at Drucilamere, who nodded. He was about to get up when Doric floated the plate over. A layer of frost had formed over the surface.

  Chapter 34

  NOBODY AROUND THE warehouses was aware of Rondel’s crime, and he passed without challenge through the warren of alleys, heading east. If he could reach home, he might hide there until the furore died down. That hope died the instant he saw the ragged boy from the souk on the corner, laughing like Rondel were the funniest joke. He had been duped once, so now he slowed, wary of what his unasked for rescuers would demand in payment. Scanning the doorways, the shadows, the crates and piles of wood for signs of an assassin brought no clue until a brawny man emerged from a shop and folded his arms, blocking the way Rondel had come. Rondel turned to see another thug appear and bar the way right. The boy was doubled over with laughter now. The men tramped his way, making it clear they would force him on with fist or foot. Left with nowhere else to go, he moved north. He kept his steps measured, although his skin was crawling with fear. Fear for Maya, not for himself. The boy’s howls of laughter mocked him but he didn’t satisfy the thugs by looking back.

  On every block, more smirking henchmen appeared and nodded the direction he was to take. They sent him to the outskirts of the souk, among rickety stalls with gap-toothed vendors. How could he have been so foolish as to believe a cheap charlatan on the disreputable side of the city? Before he fell into Prahak’s clutches, he intended to seek the Spellmaster out and teach him what it was like to fall foul of a con.

  A wisp of smoke, indigo smoke, drew his attention. No accolades for guessing how he was able to pass into the deserted lane without catching the attention of the thugs. The indigo djinn was waiting for him, floating tall and sneering down his bulbous nose.

  “Your life is in danger flea, just as I warned.”

  “I have the quartz. Our contract is fulfilled. Take the thing and make sure Maya regains her full health.” He held up the stone.

  The djinn dipped his head into Rondel’s face, a nasty curl on his lips. “Oh I’ll take it all right, but would you leave your wastrel of a wife to fend for herself?”

  “If preventing it means making another pact –”

  The djinn flicked his index finger onto Rondel’s chest, throwing him to the entrance of the lane.

  “Hoy!” a shout went up, and he knew he had been spotted. Picking himself up, he tucked his head into his shoulders and trudged on, determined to make it past the djinn, who was reclining and yawning, eyelids drooping as though watching a man’s life disintegrate was piddling entertainment.

  “Was dealing so bad, flea?” the creature said as he slipped past. “You got what you wanted and so did I.”

  “I will quit while I’m ahead.”

  “You mean quit and you are dead. Hand over the quartz.”

  A dagger sailed past Rondel’s ear and twanged into a branch overhanging from a walled garden. Rondel turned. Prahak was staring straight down the lane at him. The djinn, he noticed, had disappeared.

  “You could have left me to the city guards.”

  “I have a message to convey to the palace. About who is in charge.”

  “Be sure these misdirected messages will catch you up.”

  “I am a difficult person to find, but to catch, one may as well try to capture a djinn,” Prahak said, drawing his sword.

  Rondel narrowed his eyes. “You have dealt.” A glance over his shoulder revealed a crony blocked the other exit.

  “Only with the likes of you. Enough addicts clamour at my door that I have no need to bargain my soul.”

  Rondel plucked the dagger from the branch. It was little use against a sword, but he might inflict a cut or two before he succumbed to the blade. The quartz he looped around his neck. Let the djinn work for it even now. He had fulfilled his end of the bargain. If the creature had to pluck it from his corpse, it would serve a perverted sense of justice.

  Prahak and his crony were closing in. Rondel crouched to a fighter’s stance, turning sideways so he could keep an eye on them both. “I am innocent of your accusation. Will you show no mercy? I have a wife.”

  “And I a business.”

  “At the least, fight me yourself.”

  “I am not an honourable man. My business precludes it.”

  The crony leered. Rondel swiped with the dagger but the man caught his hand and punched at his face even as Rondel dug a knee into his stomach. They recovered at the same time. Rondel lunged, gouged the man’s arm and stabbed at his chest before he could retaliate.

  The disabling blow came from behind, from Prahak, as dishonourable as he declared. Rondel tripped, and the crony suffered no more than a graze. He was still off-balance when Prahak brought a hand down on the side of his neck. He toppled to the ground, unable to rise even when, or because, the crony kicked his head. No hope of defending himself after Prahak shot the dagger out of his reach.

  “What’s that smell?” the crony asked.

  The horrendous odour of gutted fish was intensifying, nauseating Rondel more than the relentless blows. He rolled over. He wanted to witness the killing strike, to travel to Vae’oeldin brave of heart. He wanted his murderer to remember the look in his eye. He wanted the djinn to understand he was not a man who made pacts with their kind on a whim.

  Overhead, the djinn’s face poked out from the branch. “I shall enjoy watching your wife whore for coin. Perhaps she will be destitute enough to serve my kind.”

  Never! He would not leave Maya to sell herself. Rondel grabbed at the foot that struck him. There was a snort as it shook itself free. He tried to drag himself up but a boot planted itself on his chest. It was justice, for was this not how he had subdued the boy?

  “Imagine how this man will sate himself with your darling before he whores her out to his men. Now that would be a spectacle to thrill. I might learn a thing or two.”

  Rondel roared, a weak but defiant sound. The djinn was right. This scum would believe she was part of his message. He would torture her without mercy. “Deal,” he groaned.
>
  “You cannot be trusted,” Prahak said. How did he not see the djinn?

  Another blow landed on Rondel’s head. They were belting him so hard he must be delirious.

  “Leave him conscious. He will witness his end.”

  The blows travelled downwards onto his body. Sweet relief flooded him when they stopped.

  “What is that?” the crony asked.

  “Deal,” Rondel groaned. It was the one way to prevent the djinn dealing with these thugs to his greater detriment, to prevent Maya wishing she had succumbed to her disease.

  The men stepped away from him. The djinn floated out of the branch and hovered above him.

  “I will grant you a reprieve from this man’s sword. In return, you will deliver a thief to the palace.”

  “Only his sword?” Rondel groaned. Every inch of his body was afire.

  The djinn snarled. “Prahak will not bring about your death.”

  “Nor his cronies.”

  “Prahak will not influence your demise. Do not ask to be immortal. That is outside my power.”

  “What thief?”

  “He will carry an item that belongs to Lord Matisse.” Silence. “Well?”

  Footsteps thumped his way. A greater ill than death could not come of a pact.

  “Deal.”

  Prahak skirted his body, stood over him, sword raised. Rondel had not the strength to move. One could not trust a djinn, but every single tale regarded djinn-brokered deals as sacrosanct. He stared up, waiting for this segment of his life to play itself out so that life could make sense again. He was sure the strangled scream did not come from his throat. It was odd. So was the tinge of fear that crept into Prahak’s eye. The drug dealer swung his sword. Rondel braced himself. Instead of a stab of pain, he felt a gust of air. Metal clashed against metal. Grunting, Rondel dragged himself from the centre of the fight. Winded from the effort, he collapsed under the branch of the tree. Under the terms of the pact, it was safe to lie here, until he was found or regained the strength to flee. The djinn could deal with these miscreants.

  The djinn was poking his indigo face through the wall and not engaged in the fight.

  “Give me the quartz,” the djinn said as men grunted and blades clanged.

  Rondel managed to place a hand on the stone but a cry from Prahak forestalled him. For the first time, Rondel raised his head to the fight. Prahak was retreating from an opponent whose guts trailed from his stomach. By the Vae, that man should be, if not dead, incapacitated. His unblinking eyes held not a vestige of life and a jagged wound ringed his neck. The fiend looked like it had risen from the underworld itself.

  Prahak jabbed and slashed with cool efficiency. His grey eyes had hardened again. If he had not bled from the corpse’s strikes, Rondel would have called him a greater monster than the fiend he fought. Calculating well, the drug dealer severed the sword hand, kicked hand and blade towards Rondel, and beheaded the monster. Grabbing the head by a handful of hair, he strode down the alley towards the body of his henchman. The other corpse tottered about. The hand crawled towards it. Finding a last reserve of strength, Rondel wriggled to the hand, slammed his palm onto it and tugged the sword. The hand held fast, but the corpse was swaying his way.

  The dead man reached out. Unable to free the sword, Rondel swiped the hand away, rolling towards the wall as the sword scraped the cobbles. He needed both hands on the wall to drag himself up. The sudden drain of blood from his head set the world spinning, and he collapsed. The corpse tripped over him. He struggled out from under the gutted body, but the corpse latched on. The severed hand crawled onto the corpse’s foot. Releasing the sword, it scuttled up the body and down the arm where it twisted itself onto the stump. Bending one leg under itself, planting first one foot on the ground, then the other, the corpse stood, dragging him with it. With both hands, it took Rondel by the throat. Already beaten and bruised, Rondel gasped for breath. Pressure gave way to agony. His chest seared.

  The fiend let go. His knees buckled. His head hit the pavement. He had no reason to lie there when he was free of its grasp. Thanking the Vae, the djinn, the world, he dragged himself up.

  The quartz was splayed to one side of the twisted neck of a warm body. Odd. He could not recall turning it over to the crony. He bent to pick it up, found his hand passed right through it. Looked around. Saw the dead man plodding the way Prahak had run, another corpse sprawled at the end of the lane. The crony. Who then? He peered at the motionless man at his feet, his eyes telling him one thing, his brain denying it. The dark hair hid the features but the profile was familiar, the garb too, and he knew even before his eyes fell onto the missing half of the middle finger on the left hand.

  “Ehaaah. Ehaaah.” Mouth wide, hands clawed against his temples, Rondel doubled over in distress. “Ehaaah. Ehaaah.” No thought came, no words. Raw agony dragged him from the body until he found himself inside the wall. In his terror, he fell back. “Ah. Ah. Ah.” Two girls were throwing a ball beneath the oak, giggling. “Ehah.”

  “Here. Throw here,” the bigger one said.

  The ball bounced through his chest and onto an expanse of lawn. They didn’t see him. They couldn’t see him.

  “Ahhhh. Ahhhh.” What was he? Not a man, nor a walking corpse. His legs. They were protruding through the wall. “Ehaaah.” What was he?

  Hands grabbed his feet and whizzed him out of the garden in a blur of colour. The snarling, indigo djinn smacked a hand onto the cobbles, sending pieces of masonry flying.

  “Ehaaah.”

  The djinn whipped around to face the corpse. He extended a hand to the quartz. A genie, young and rose coloured though she had a grey pall to her skin, popped over his hand, snatching it from his grasp. The djinn leaned in, a fist cocked. She cowered but held the quartz tight.

  “Give me the stone.”

  Eyes wide in terror, she shook her head.

  “Give it to me or I’ll tear you apart bone by bone.”

  Squeezing her eyes tight, she disappeared in a puff of pink smoke. With a roar, the djinn followed. The lingering stench of rotting fish was reminder he had passed.

  “Wait!” Rondel called. “Help me! HELP. Me.”

  Not even the angry thump of footsteps could tear his eyes from his corpse. Vae, what was he supposed to do now? He could never fulfil his pact as a ghost. He was doomed to haunt the earth for eternity. What would Maya do? He had bargained for her. And for what?

  Prahak. He had to stop Prahak getting to her. The villain was there, checking his body for breath without a shred of remorse while down the lane the severed head rolled towards the teetering torso. Prahak dropped a square of hessian onto his corpse and sauntered in the opposite direction.

  Rondel’s entire body shook. The fabric was embroidered with a porrin leaf. Prahak was a bigger abomination than the walking corpse. The villain had no right to claim credit for Rondel’s death.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Timak,” his favourite voice said as he stuffed another date into his mouth. He looked around. Yazmine’s light was bobbing in the corner, between the fire that couldn’t warm a haunted room and a kilim depicting birds in flight. Timak was standing before he realised it.

  “Oh? You hear something child? I don’t see a ghost so must you hear a djinn. A djinn here. This is exciting.” The High One clapped his hands with the thrill of a small child. Timak smiled. This was one grown-up he believed.

  “I have your quartz,” Yazmine said. Her light was floating before him. “Can you get out of here?”

  Timak shook his head but held out his hand.

  “I can’t give it to you. We have to deal. It’s the rules.”

  His eyes darted to the High One.

  The High One levered himself out of his chair and waddled over to Timak on bare, spindly legs. Hunched over, he was a head taller, no more. “Do you see him?”

  Timak shook his head.

  “Does he want to deal?”

  Timak nodded.

  “You’re no
t afraid?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  The wise old man nodded.

  “Timak, you must remember the djinn are duplicitous. They seek your trust to destroy you,” Drucilamere said. He, too, was standing.

  “Timak, please, you know I want to help,” Yazmine said.

  He sidled away from the adults. “You never wanted to deal before.” Except that one time he was locked in the chest. Seemed her help was forbidden when he needed it most.

  “This time I can’t.” She sounded stressed. “Please. Before he gets here.”

  “What is she offering?” the High One asked.

  “My quartz.”

  The High One made a wise sound. “And what does she ask?”

  Timak shrugged.

  Yazmine giggled. “How about that kiss?”

  The words turned his stomach. “You’re a girl.”

  “Timak deq Rasheed! Oh, oh. I thought you were my friend.”

  He could feel his cheeks going red. She sounded upset. Crying upset. He even heard a sniff. When it turned to a cough, he felt guilty. “I don’t have to marry you, do I? Or. . .” He could not say the rest. He would be sick if he even thought about it.

  “It’s just a kiss, dimwit,” she said over Drucilamere’s splutter.

  That was the problem. Timak didn’t want to kiss anyone ever again.