Grave Ghost

by Tia Reed

“How did you get here?”

  “Three men took me. They broke down the door when my mama was at the market.” The tale of her abduction was a sorrow.

  “How does this occur?” he asked. “Does Myklaan not keep order in its towns?”

  “I heard them mention Lord Kamir. My brother was a porrin addict. He has a debt to pay.”

  “And they took you.”

  “Addicts can’t work.” She sounded terrified.

  Arun looked up. A faint star twinkled high above the pit.

  Removing his crystal had been a huge mistake.

  Chapter 50

  WELL?” JORDAYNE SNAPPED as the guards prodded Raj into the courtyard adjoining the dungeons.

  The wiry man’s threadbare clothes were thick with dust and sweat, a halfway honest smell for someone who had trudged the miles between two realms. He dropped onto the stone and kowtowed in front of her, shuddering as bald Sol the executioner scraped the blade of an axe along a whetstone.

  “Asylum. I demand asylum.”

  Two restless nights plagued by nightmares of people drowning had done little to temper her foul mood, and the bright sunshine darkened it further. “For what, you foul excuse for a human being?”

  Behind her, Drucilamere placed what he foolishly thought were reassuring hands on her shoulders. “Do the lot of you think I am an imbecile? Or suddenly incapable of clear thought?”

  “Easy, Jordayne. He’s brought the full quota of porrin. He’s done what we asked.”

  She brushed his hand off and spun to face him in sober silence, no jingle of anklets today. Just layers of skirts which impeded her movement. She was too hot beneath the solemn blue shawl she had wrapped over her choli. The heat was stoking her anger but Vae’omar could spear these men if she was going to take it off. “He betrayed them.” Her voice was hysterical. Naturally, that only upset her further. “He sold our people to Prahak and now they’re dead. A boatload of our citizens that I know about and the Vae only know how many more. Dead.”

  “Not me. I want asylum,” Raj denied from the floor.

  Above, an arrowhead of ducks quacked on their way to the lake. It sounded like a derisive laugh. Matisse, who had been lounging by the ivy-covered arch, strode over to Raj and hauled him towards Sol. The executioner was standing beside a verse that would extol clemency when the calligraphers got around to finishing it. She might see they never did. Sol gripped the porrin dealer in much the same way Druce had held her, bless him.

  “We grow tired of your lies and deceit. As yet you have done nothing to earn the privilege. I am of a mind to toss you to the jabberweis in Verdaan. My sister, on the other hand,” Matisse said, with a most perceptive look at her, “is more of a mind to let Sol here practice a prolonged, excruciating, humiliating, tortured and very public death so that he can get it just right when we catch Prahak deq Fraaq.”

  “You forgot excommunicating,” she said, a flat attempt to return to her former composure.

  “I stand corrected. Excommunicating and very public death.” He was far too impeccable in his grooming for the hour.

  The men in her life knew what she had been through. What she had not told them, they had guessed, Matisse because he knew her too well, Druce when she had turned a cold shoulder as he tried to make love.

  A royal vessel had plucked her from cold Lake Tejolin soon after she abandoned ship. She had insisted her rescuers pursue Prahak. When they found no trace of the fiend, she had vented her anger on the sailors, demanding they return to the vineyard and search for survivors of Prahak’s vile act. The captain had sent boats ashore, circled, even sent men into the water until he had sighted a boat. Rokan had been aboard, and overridden her orders on the authority of the shah, forcing her to return to the palace, the physic, and the unwanted sympathy of her uncle, brother and lover.

  “You look. You look,” Raj said, holding up his right hand. She gulped. The index and fourth fingers were missing, Vae have mercy on him.

  “What earned that punishment?” Druce asked. Recent events had etched an extra line or two around his eyes. She had even detected a white hair in that long moustache he was so fond of stroking.

  “I had to tell them you know about people trafficking. I had to.” A shadow slid across Raj’s face. He pulled out of Sol’s grasp. “Lord Ahkdul ask for news. It better I told. Lord Kamir won’t be confident to take many more.”

  Folding her arms under her bosom, Jordayne blinked the tears from her eyes. That bastard. He had done this to her. He would suffer for it. In the meantime, she still had a realm to run. She acknowledged her brother’s long look with a slight nod. She had not forgotten.

  “Lord Ahkdul was travelling with the Terlaani Crown Prince, a mahktashaan and a lady,” Matisse said.

  “Very beautiful woman.” Raj grinned and winked. The cloud masking the sun thinned. “Lord Ahkdul is very lucky man.”

  “Was she hurt?” Matisse barked. He was standing too straight.

  “She didn’t talk. She was good woman, kept face covered, eyes down. But she move slow, no life in her. Not sure she’d be good in bed, that one.” He laughed, the stupid little man, as if his comments weren’t enough to send a flurry of emotions raging through Matisse. Her brother’s silence was the most obvious. There was also the way he avoided eye contact and the prominent vein in the centre of his forehead. She walked over to place a consoling hand on his arm, and then turned to take the axe from Sol.

  “We have a task for you. If you can accomplish it, Myklaan will grant you asylum.” She walked past a verse musing on the sweetness of love. When she turned, the axe was resting on both hands. “If you can’t. . .” she twisted the blade up and down.

  Raj looked at Sol. Sol rubbed his brown head. Bursting with assumed confidence, the little man took a step past Matisse. “What task you want? You want more porrin? I can get mages much porrin.”

  “No,” said Matisse. He had rustled into a casual stance against the ivy but no one who knew him would mistake the razor-sharp dagger in his baby-blue eye. “Something more valuable. You’re going to arrange to smuggle that lady here.”

  The smile froze on Raj’s face as a stray duck flew overhead and deposited a dropping right on his cheek. For the first time since Prahak had humiliated her, Jordayne smiled. Raj wiped his face and flicked the dropping. His neck should have thanked his hand it fell short of her. Sol wasn’t of a similar mind. He kicked Raj down and used a polished boot to wipe his prisoner’s face on the pavers. As soon as the boot lifted, Raj sprang up, not a smidgeon of repentance in his demeanour, the rash little man.

  “This,” he ranted, waving his soiled hand at her. “This is what I think of your task. Impossible. Cannot be done. Send me back to Verdaan. Chop off my head. But this I not do.” He stopped short, aware of the scene he was making, and shrugged his shoulders, a stupid smile back on his face. He turned to Matisse. “The woman is crazy. You really going to let her chop off my head?”

  “Oh no,” Jordayne said. She handed the axe to Sol and crossed her arms. Raj fidgeted with uncertainty. “You must learn to listen. We’re not going to do anything so mundane as chop off your head.”

  Sol swung the axe over his head and whacked it into a log. The two halves fell apart as the sun burst free of the cloud. “A prolonged death,” he said.

  “Prolonged and excruciating,” Matisse corrected with a slow nod, one brow arched.

  “Humiliating and tortured,” she said, wagging a finger.

  “Executed by not one but three mages,” Druce added, stepping forward, hands outstretched.

  Raj dipped to the ground and kowtowed at a feverish pace. “I try. I try.” He raised his head and held up his mutilated hand. He was scared: his face was pale, his voice weak. “This not bad torture. You give me protection against mage. Mage will read my mind then make woman suffer too. Don’t matter if she don’t know your plan.”

  Jordayne frowned. The man was all bluster. It would be a miracle if he executed a rescue. “The mahktashaan does not
serve Lord Ahkdul.”

  “No.” Raj shook his head, fast and frantic. “The mage. Lord Ahkdul’s mage.”

  It was Drucilamere’s turn to frown. “The Verdaani have no mages.”

  “I saw him. I feel him work evil magic. Young, carrot head. Magus Braden, Brayden, or something he call himself.”

  Of all the inopportune times for a duck to quack. Drucilamere clenched his fists and made a sound like a tortured roar. “I will kill him.

  She placed a hand flat on his chest. “One wrong at a time.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “I thought you wanted to visit the temple,” Mage Drucilamere said with a frown.

  Timak kept walking past the golden domes. He stopped in front of Vae’oeldin’s simple stone residence and stared at the blue door. Knocking would suggest he belonged here so he waited.

  “Are we to wait all day, or just until the next monk comes out?”

  Timak dropped his head and scuffed the paver with his boot. Knocking belonged to the bold.

  “For the sake of the Vae, Timak, the next prayer gong is hours away.” The master magus turned away, his sentiments clear. He had been short-tempered since the bearded sergeant with the scary smile had rescued Lady Jordayne, and even crankier since speaking to a dusty traveller with her near the palace dungeons this morning. Timak thought maybe she didn’t want him around. He hadn’t wanted to be near people after his torture.

  He waited. The door opened. Nobody was on the other side. Or at least, nobody alive. He went into the monastery without looking at the blue flickers over to his left. He thought he remembered the way, down the corridor over to the right, the one with the flat, low ceiling, lintels every ten steps, and all the calligraphy about Vae’oeldin painted onto the wall. A monk in a navy, wraparound robe was scrubbing the stone floor. He left his stiff brush, got up off his knobbly knees and came striding up.

  “Worship is conducted in the temple,” the monk said with firm patience.

  Timak looked up at Drucilamere, who looked a flat refusal to help back at him. Fat Doric was floating behind his head, a feather duster in his hands. The monk’s mouth fell open as the duster parked itself in front of his nose, and brushed. His eyes looked about to pop out of his head as Doric tucked the handle into his robe, beckoned Timak to the High One’s study and opened the door.

  Dour Zomax was standing beside the huge, grey table. He glared down his long, sharp nose. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Seated so low he had to raise his elbows to sit them on the desk, the High One beamed. “Where’s your hospitality, Zomax? Timak and his friends are always welcome. Come in. Come in.”

  “My apologies for the intrusion, High One. It seems my apprentice has schemed with High One Doric,” Drucilamere said, which wasn’t fair.

  “This can wait, can’t it, Zomax?” The High One piled rolled parchments sealed with red wax into the scowling monk’s arms and shooed him from the desk.

  Timak studied the kilim with the picture of an arrow so he didn’t have to suffer Zomax’s resentful march out. The dour monk didn’t bother to close the door.

  Doric floated in, holding a clay plate of the delicious marzipan dates on top of his shiny pate. A breathless, chubby-cheeked cook rushed after him, waving a wooden spoon. His feet skidded out in a crazy dance as he made an abrupt halt in front of a wall-hanging of feathers in a storm.

  “My apologies, High One. I did not realise they were for you.”

  “I suppose I must apologise to you. We’re stealing them, really. But they are irresistible.” The High One waved Timak over. Doric floated the plate down to his level as the startled cook backed out of the room.

  “The shameful secret is I’m not sorry at all,” the High One said to Timak, pulling his head into his shoulders with a conspiratorial wink. They both took a date. The High One wriggled out of his chair and squeezed Timak’s hand. “We can pray for forgiveness later. Let’s sit on the bench. Then we can keep the plate between us.”

  Timak sat on the thin blue cushion on top of the sturdy bench. Doric made sure the dates on the plate were closest to him. He thought that might make him look greedy. He wouldn’t be able to have too many more with Magus Drucilamere keeping a hawkish eye on him from the armchair opposite.

  “You are not pleased the boy is here,” the High One observed.

  “He has an incredible talent for magic.”

  The fire hissed. Timak dropped his head. He had told Magus Drucilamere he wanted to be a mage, and he did. But he needed to know more about Mahktos. It was just that, after all the Master Mage had done for him, it felt like he was being ungrateful.

  “Must that preclude instruction at the temple?” the High One asked in his affable manner. He pushed another date into Timak’s hand.

  “Either path demands full application.”

  “But you are a special young man, aren’t you, Timak. Was there a reason you wanted to see me?”

  Burning logs crackled. “I need to know about Mahktos,” he whispered.

  “Ah.”

  The High One had to know something about the old god. If Timak looked close at the kilims on the wall, he could see bends in the clouds and shadows in the lightning. The shapes stirred up memories of the ancient god. He stuffed the date into his mouth and took his time chewing. The High One waited until he had swallowed. Timak reached for another but Doric pulled the plate above his head. Reaching up, the High One plucked two sweets off the plate and passed them to Timak with a wink.

  “You need your mouth full for a minute.” He smiled when Timak had licked the last grain of sugar off his finger. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning.”

  Timak sucked on his cheek and stared into the fire. He hoped the High One knew about Mahktos; otherwise he would have to go to Terlaan to speak to a mahktashaan, the one with the bright blue crystal who had healed his hurts. That wasn’t such a terrible thought when the room was comforting cosy. But it would be a betrayal. The master magus wouldn’t understand. So he found a first word and a second. It was easier after that. The words hiccupped out of his mouth until he was talking about Prahak and the torture, Tiarasae and Mahktos. The grown-ups listened and said kind things and held his hand and pulled him close.

  “I am so sorry. I failed you,” Magus Drucilamere said, giving him a too-tight hug. He had come to sit on the bench beside Timak.

  “I need to find a relic to save the genie,” Timak said when the mage let him go. He wiped the tears from his eyes and opened a hand to find a squashed date inside. Doric scraped the mess off and pressed a fresh sweet onto his palm.

  The High One looked very serious. His intelligent eyes twinkled but they weren’t happy. “Mahktos is said to be the oldest of the gods. The Terlaani believe He created the Vae, that each of Them represents a tamer, more sophisticated and more materialistic aspect of Him. Of The Three Realms, it is the Terlaani who are most loyal to Mahktos. Over the centuries the Verdaani and Myklaani have drifted away from Him, preferring to worship the Vae.”

  Drucilamere rose and added a couple of logs to the fire. “The Vae embody our decadent values. We presume they grant wealth and fortune.” He used a poker to push the logs deep into the hearth. They swished through ash.

  The High One steepled his fingers. “Indeed. But it is also the way of our world that children will, over time, eclipse their parents. Even the citizens of Terlaan choose the Vae as their gods. It is only the mahktashaan and isolated communities of worshippers who elevate Mahktos to prime. Through the ages Mahktos has remained dedicated to the mahktashaan, and they to Him. But the Vae appear in our world from time to time, making contact with the common people, and they repay the Vae the honour with their worship.”

  “Why don’t the Vae have eyes in their temple here?” Timak asked.

  Drucilamere twitched an eyebrow as he came to sit down.

  “You are an observant young man. Did you know the Eyes belong to Mahktos? That they represent the protective gaze of a father over his children
? Yes? Your education has not been lacking, I see. I bet you didn’t know the Eye is one of His relics.”

  Timak shook his head.

  “Ah hah! I have taught you something, I see.” The High One brought his legs onto the bench and sat cross-legged, facing Timak. “Of The Three Realms, Myklaan is most removed from Mahktos. Those who sought to raise the Vae to prominence erased all trace of Him, destroying His temples and removing the Eye from the temple of the Vae. These days most of our citizens haven’t even heard of Him beyond a connection with the Terlaani mahktashaan. The Verdaanis, on the other hand. . .”

  He knew about the Verdaanis. He was one. “If I take an eye from a temple, can I cure the genie?” He knew interrupting was rude so he gave Magus Drucilamere a please-be-patient look. The mage had lowered his finger from his lip. He had a closed-lip smile on his face.

  The High one’s face puckered up. “It is, young man, not quite that simple. The Eye is one of three relics the holy order are aware of. The first is one of Dindarin’s arrows that is supposed to have fallen to earth during the Rise of Mortals. Through the aeons, the tales surrounding it have become vague. The second relic is a ring that fell from the sky in Terlaan. Through a series of events, it led to the creation of the mahktashaan. Most histories say a foreign king, the father of a princess who died on her wedding day, took it east across the stormy seas. That may well be true; the mahktashaan have never located it. As for the Eye, it has an interesting history. Would you like to hear it?”

  Timak nodded.

  “Settle back. It’s quite a tale.”

  Timak kicked off his boots and wriggled his behind deeper into the rough cushion. Doric offered more dates. He took one and reached for another. The High One chuckled. Timak shot a quick glance at Magus Drucilamere. The mage was staring at him with pleasure.

  “Plenty more. Don’t be shy. Well then. Not long after the mahktashaan came into existence, the Mykaani shah of the time, Shah Xinral, sent an emissary to Terlaan to negotiate for a few of the miraculous crystals. You would not be surprised to learn Majoria Guntek refused, although he pledged his assurance Terlaan would not use its newfound strength to attack its neighbouring realms.