Heirs of the Blade

Thirty-Six

Gaved had not been happy with the news.

‘You’ve called her here – to my house?’ he demanded. Che and Maure had come upon the three Wasp-kinden expatriates sharing a jar of wine and reminiscing about who could say what. From the voices heard as she approached, Varmen had been doing most of the talking.

‘I needed to get her away from the castle. There was not a chance that we could accomplish anything with the Salmae and their people listening at every door,’ Che protested.

‘What do you possibly expect to accomplish? That woman’s mad, dangerous and mad,’ Gaved said flatly. ‘She was shaky enough when I ran into her at Siriell’s Town but, believe me, something changed her over winter. You’ve no idea how difficult it was watching out for her during that last scrap with the bandits, because I had to make cursed sure I was well out of her reach at every moment. I know I’m on her list, Beetle. I could see that clear enough.’

‘Yes, something did happen over winter,’ Che confirmed, solemnly enough to quieten him. ‘I won’t try and explain what, because you’ll neither believe nor understand it…’ She broke off as someone entered the house, sliding aside the door panel. It was just Sef, and the Spider-kinden woman gazed at them curiously.

‘They’re bringing that killer here,’ Gaved informed her darkly.

Sef cocked her head at Che. They had never met before, but the Beetle girl had heard the stories of her remarkable origins. Out here in the Commonweal, she seemed no more than just a young Spider-kinden with unusually pale skin.

‘Ask her why,’ Gaved prompted. ‘She won’t tell me. Apparently I won’t understand.’ The burn scar on his chin had flushed dark.

‘She is possessed. A ghost is haunting her, and it prompts her to act in the way she does,’ Che explained. The words produced a perfect silence, and she could almost imagine receding ripples, as though she had thrown a stone into a pool.

Gaved’s face had screwed up in disbelief, but the other two Wasps silenced his protest. It was not that Thalric and Varmen were nodding along with what had been said, exactly, but they were not exactly jumping in with objections, either.

‘Nonsense,’ snapped Gaved at last. ‘Come on, there’s nothing like that in the world.’

‘Don’t look at me. Nothing to do with me,’ said Varmen, shrugging easily. ‘The girl thinks it means something. None of my business.’ He gave a smile at Maure, who returned it.

‘Thalric,’ Gaved prompted, ‘you’re piss-damned Rekef, or you were. You must know this is nonsense.’

Che met Thalric’s gaze, wondering if he was revisiting their shared adventure beneath Khanaphes, or perhaps thinking about the Wasp Empress’s secret practices. He did not believe, she knew, but even so

…

‘I cannot say for sure that these things are fictions,’ he pronounced at last. ‘I cannot explain so many of the things I myself have seen. I don’t say there’s no natural explanation, only that I cannot explain them. I think I’m better off not knowing the truth. I leave that for those better qualified.’ He nodded at Che. ‘But to suggest that Tynisa Maker is a dangerous lunatic, well, no great change there. I have few fond memories of her, even from before this supposed change overtook her. To bring her here is to invite disaster.’

‘Maure and I will ensure that she does no harm.’

‘Absolutely not. Not under my roof. You’re not risking me and mine,’ Gaved snapped. ‘You can go back to the cursed Lowlands and get on with your bloody business there…’ He tailed off, because Sef had put a hand on his arm.

‘There are ghosts,’ she said. ‘I have seen them in the deep water, and I have seen them here.’

Gaved bared his teeth at her, but that simple laying of a hand on his arm had drained the anger out of him.

‘Tell me this,’ Che put in, ‘when you saw her last, did she not remind you of Tisamon?’

The Wasp looked at her blankly for a moment, as if reluctant to admit it, but then he nodded. ‘Perhaps, a little. But there are reasons…’

‘Of course, there always are,’ Che confirmed.

‘We will go to Prince Lowre Cean,’ Sef declared confidently. ‘He cares about the Maker girl enough, so he will understand. He will believe.’

‘Abandon our own house?’ Gaved demanded.

‘It is a house. It will still be here after they are all gone,’ Sef explained reasonably. ‘And you must all come, all of you.’ Her gesture took in the three Wasps.

‘Now hold on-’ started Thalric, but Che cut him off.

‘She’s right, best that you’re not here. As you said, you and Tynisa have a good deal of history, and besides, Wasp-kinden are not what we need to confront her with. It would be too good an excuse for her to give in to temptation and draw her sword.’

‘Not that she ever needed much of an excuse,’ Thalric recalled sourly.

‘Quite,’ Che agreed. ‘Thalric, please.’

Thalric nodded tiredly. ‘When she saw the two of us off in Collegium, setting off for Tharn during the war, she was ready to swear all manner of oaths that she would come and kill me if anything happened to you, Che.’

She eyed him wordlessly, but with a single nod.

‘Then I swear this: if she harms you – whether in her madness or her sanity – then I will hunt her down, you understand? If she so much as draws a bead of your blood, then I will see her die in flames.’ He was abruptly once more the merciless spymaster, the killer of children, the fatal hand of the Empire, and it was for her, for Che alone, that he would become such a thing again. The feeling of power, having him on her side, shocked her.

‘She won’t hurt me,’ Che did her best to assure him.

His expression held no confidence in that, and his threat, his promise, still hung in the air as Varmen said, ‘Well, then, who’s this fellow we’re to impose ourselves on? Prince Lousy, was it, you said?’

‘Lowre Cean,’ Gaved said quietly. ‘Prince-Major Lowre Cean.’ He gave the name some weight, and waited for the other Wasps to catch up.

Thalric was ahead of Varmen, but it was plain that the two of them registered the name.

‘You can’t mean their general?’

‘Yes, Thalric,’ Gaved confirmed, ‘none other.’

‘The man who crushed the…?’ Thalric’s words tailed off, his eyes drawn inexorably to Varmen. ‘The man who crushed the Sixth at Masaki.’

‘Pride of the Sixth,’ the big Wasp echoed. For a moment the strange pensive expression taking up unfamiliar residence on his face was enough to silence the rest of them. ‘Oh, yes, let’s go visiting. Why not?’

Gaved shot him a dangerous look. ‘He’s well liked, loved even. Don’t get any ideas.’

‘I’m not noted for them,’ Varmen replied. ‘What, you think I’m going to go take vengeance on him for a whole army? If I was going to do that, I’d dig up our old General Haken and spit on his corpse, I would. But I want to see this fellow. I want to see the face of the man behind Masaki. I knew there was a reason for me to come so far, and maybe that’s it.’

When Maure announced, without warning, that the ghost was nearing, presumably with Tynisa in thrall and in tow, Che opened the external panels of the house, so that her sister would see it as an invitation. Oh, she would be suspicious, of course, and it would not take Tisamon’s shade to prompt that, but she would enter nonetheless.

Inside, Maure had already made her preparations. A circle was drawn on the floor in bone ash and charcoal, and she had hung lanterns in each corner of the inner room, each housing a constellation of fireflies within. She had marked out the circle with symbols that were not letters but pictograms, which looked frighteningly familiar to Che. Testing the water, she asked the necromancer, ‘What do they say?’

‘Say?’ Maure shrugged. ‘They don’t say anything. They’re just the warding marks that we use, passed down from teacher to pupil, generation to generation.’

Che nodded dully, while interpreting, By Ephisemnas Queen of the Veiled Night I adjure you. By Telephian the Wise, Lord of the Seven Guards, I stay your hand. By… On and on, a rote of power rooted solely in the terror of ancient names and titles, but she could sense that power there. First the castle at Leose, and now this. How far did the reach of the Masters of Khanaphes stretch, in their heyday?

There was incense too, little smoking stacks of it on leaves floating in brass bowls of snowmelt water, and also sprigs of herbs tied to the eaves. Maure caught Che’s look and nodded grimly. ‘I know, you’re wondering which of it works and which doesn’t, hm? Well, who can say, but with this visitor I’m not minding to leave any of it out.’ Around the edge of the circle, she sprinkled a trail of white powder, and Che wondered if it was ordinary salt.

‘And what will this accomplish?’ she asked.

‘Assuming any of it has any staying power at all, it will prevent the ghost from simply striking me dead.’

Che blinked. ‘He can do that? Himself?’

‘No, but your girl there has a sword, so he only has to put the idea in her head. From Gaved’s evidence, she’s not exactly inhibited in that way.’

I cannot deny it. Che nodded unhappily. And then Tynisa came stalking into the room, with drawn sword.

She stopped, as though having struck a wall, and stared about her. ‘Oh, my word, what’s this?’ she got out, with a choking sound, and a moment later Che realized that she was laughing.

‘Tynisa,’ she greeted her sister, feeling a slight tension as she did so. For names have power. ‘This is Maure, a friend. She and I are conducting… an experiment. I want you to join us for it.’

Tynisa eyed the paraphernalia with contempt, and moved to kick out at one of the bowls, but something stopped her, clearly to her own surprise. ‘You called me out here just for this?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Where are Gaved and his woman?’

‘Away,’ Che said firmly, seeing in that instant how wise it had been to ensure that the Wasps were absent. ‘Sit down, please.’

‘More ghosts?’ Tynisa asked her mockingly.

‘Possibly. Will you sit?’

The Spider girl shook her head, her expression pitying, and she seemed about to turn and leave when Maure said, ‘Do you not know me, Tynisa? Have you not seen me before?’

‘No.’ But Tynisa frowned. ‘Have I?’ Her sword, which had been hanging loose by her side, was abruptly levelled across the circle, directed at Maure’s heart. For a moment Tynisa went very still, save that Che could see a slight tremble in her, as though she was fighting with her own body. ‘What…?’ she got out, ‘I should…’

‘You want to kill me,’ Maure observed.

‘No, why would I want to…?’ Tynisa was staring at her own arm, which seemed to be warring both with the rest of her and with the rapier itself. At last, with a great effort of will, she rammed the weapon home in its scabbard. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded, with a tremor to her voice.

‘Sit down, please,’ Che repeated, and Tynisa did so, looking all of a sudden uncertain.

‘Tell me what’s going on,’ she asked, with a hint of pleading in her voice.

‘Maure is going to perform a ritual,’ Che explained. ‘A ritual to try and call up certain ghosts that are near to us. You and I have both lost loved ones. We… the Inapt believe that there may be traces, shadows of the dead left in the world. Wouldn’t you want to speak to them?’

‘No,’ said Tynisa hollowly, but she did not get up. ‘Che, I have seen… On my journey to this place, I’ve had them at my elbow every day. Just in my own mind, but that’s enough ghost for me. I’ve only recently got rid of them, so… even if it was possible, I wouldn’t want to see them again.’

‘Even if they could then let you go? Give you their blessing?’ Che pressed. She was not sure whether she was now speaking for Tynisa’s benefit or her own.

For a long while Tynisa stared into the circle sketched in ash and charcoal. ‘You’re mad,’ she said at last, but her voice had a plaintive tone. ‘This woman’s led you on. How much money did you give her?’

‘Tynisa-’

‘But perform your nonsense. Go on, get it over with. I’ll sit here and listen. Why not?’

Che nodded, somewhat mollified. ‘Maure, would you…?’

‘You must think of him, both of you. Draw into your minds all your recollections, the precise shape of him, the shadow he cast on the world.’ She closed her eyes and began visibly steeling herself. Che had expected incantations, mystic words, a high-blown patter to go with all the props and clutter that the woman had assembled here, but there was none of that, simply a name.

‘Tisamon.’ It was dropped like a stone into a well, and although the walls around them were not capable of it, Che was sure that there was an echo.

‘Tisamon,’ Maure repeated. ‘Tisamon, I name you-’ names signifying power to the old Inapt kinden. The air within that central room twanged with tension, the incense smoke coiling but refusing to rise properly. In the lanterns, the fireflies seemed to spell out strange sigils with their lights.

The beating of rain on the sloped roof above them was sudden enough to make Che start, an abruptly descending hiss as the skies broke open, soon joined by the sound of a miniature waterfall as the water began sheeting off the roof’s lower edge. Not the thunderstorm that traditionally belonged to this kind of venture, but a moderate shower remarkable only for the timing of its onset.

‘Tisamon,’ Maure repeated, over the sound of it. ‘Come forth and speak your piece. You have grievances, let us hear them. Speak to us, Tisamon.’

But there was nothing. No shadowy figure stepped into the circle. No voice croaked from beyond the grave. There was no sign that the influence that had laid its hand on Tynisa would unmask itself.

‘What’s wrong?’ Che demanded. ‘Make it come out.’

‘Che…?’ Tynisa herself looked almost embarrassed.

Maure grimaced. ‘It’s not so simple. I have never before needed to force a ghost to do anything. Normally they’re only too glad to get the chance to speak, to make their demands, to set right old wrongs. Normally they have messages to impart. Believe me, Che, normally I’d have to beat one off with a stick, given this kind of opportunity.’

‘But it’s here, it’s right here.’ Che knew it in her heart. She could almost taste the metallic, sour savour of Tisamon in the air. ‘Call it out.’

‘I’ve called. It won’t answer. It’s staying where it wants to be,’ Maure explained. ‘It doesn’t need to talk to anyone else.’

‘Che, this is ridiculous,’ Tynisa said. ‘What money has this woman had from you?’

‘Listen to me!’ Che stood up, ignoring Maure’s attempt to hush her. ‘I know you’re here, Tisamon. I know you’re with Tynisa right now. I can practically see you riding her shoulders. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you’re reduced to? Come out and face me, will you?’

Only the rain answered her words. No spectre made itself known.

‘Che, this isn’t funny,’ Tynisa remarked after a suitable pause. ‘I don’t appreciate my father’s name being abused like this. If I thought this halfbreed put you up to it, I’d kill her right now, but it seems that you’re driving all this nonsense yourself. I know you got hurt in the war, Che, but to resort to this…?’

Che stared at her, seeing the embodiment of calm reason in Tynisa’s face, whilst the invisible shade of Tisamon lurked secure behind her eyes. She had assumed that Maure would haul the ghost out by main magical force. She had thought this must be what the necromancer’s work entailed. But now it seemed that the shade could continue simply to squat within Tynisa’s mind, like a creeping poison, and they could not touch it.

She looked helplessly about the room until she met Maure’s cautious gaze. ‘Well then,’ she said sickly. ‘If not that, then I must find some way myself. Whatever mantle I’ve been given must be good for something. I’m not done with this.’

‘Che-’ Tynisa started again, but the Beetle girl made a slashing motion in her direction, prompting an astonished silence.

‘Another,’ Che instructed Maure. ‘Call up another.’

‘I need some link, at least. I can’t just-’

‘His name was Achaeos, a Moth-kinden of Tharn. He was my lover, and he was dealt a wound by Tynisa, before his death,’ Che spat it out harshly, ignoring the way her sister flinched from the words. ‘Tell me that’s not enough.’

‘It will do.’ Maure grimaced again. ‘Achaeos of Tharn, then… Achaeos, beloved of Cheerwell Maker.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘Wherever your spirit resides, whatever still remains of it, come forth. Here stands your lover, Achaeos. Surely you must desire some words with her?’

Che sought within her mind, trying to piece together a complete picture of the man she had known. But it was like stepping out over a yawning chasm, because she now found that she was barely able to. For so long after his death she had borne her grief, had been tormented by dreams, had even thought that his angry ghost was haunting her. The actual man himself, the sum of the feelings she had invested in him, had receded under the weight of those mostly self-imposed torments. So now that she came to find him again, the surviving impressions were distant and cold.

But it must be enough. It will be enough. Achaeos!

Maure kept shaking her head, though. ‘There is nothing.’

‘Call him again.’

‘You don’t understand, Che. There is nothing.’ When it was plain to her that Che genuinely did not understand, she elaborated, ‘When I called on the Mantis, I felt the tug, a connection, even though he would not come forth. With this Achaeos, there is nothing. No touch, no contact… no ghost.’

Che stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked tightly.

‘I’m sorry, Che. No ghost. Whatever happened to him, he’s left nothing behind. Either some greater force has claimed him, or he has passed beyond, without so much as a scrap of him remaining. That’s rare, in fact, very rare, but it can happen.’

Che felt her hands begin to shake. ‘Some greater force…’ she managed to get out. As he had died, Achaeos had been in communion with the cursed Mantis spirits of the Darakyon, channelling their power into a grand ritual taking place in Tharn. Che had been helping him, lending what strength she could. She had felt the cold death sent by the Darakyon surge down the link, and she had known at once when Achaeos had died, the connection between them severed as if by a knife.

And they got him, and then the Shadow Box was sundered, and they ceased to be – and whatever was left of Achaeos went with them, scattered to the four winds.

No last reconciliation. No apologies. No parting words. No closing of the wound. No final blessing that would let her live her life again without all the grief.

Only then did Che realize how she had staked far more on that, emotionally, than on trying to draw the poisoned dart of Tisamon out of Tynisa’s mind. Her intentions had become hopelessly tangled and self-involved.

She glanced from Maure to Tynisa, as though looking for an escape.

‘Che, listen to me,’ her sister said patiently. ‘None of this is real. I understand why you’ve resorted to it, but you’ve got to face the real world.’ Confronting that bland scepticism, Che now almost believed her. After all, how much easier life would be if everything, from Khanaphes onwards, had been only a bad dream?

But she knew it was real, and she knew that if Maure could not so much as detect a loose thread of Achaeos, then the Darakyon had got him, and that was that.

And, with that revelation, she could not stay in the incense-heavy air of the claustrophobic room, so she fumbled a panel aside and dashed out into the rain, unable to face either of the other women any more.

Maure was on her feet instantly, chasing after Che. It was not clear whether it was to comfort the Beetle girl or because, for all her words and wards, the mystic did not feel safe close to Tynisa’s rapier without Che there to protect her.

Tynisa shook her head, listening to the rain. Che was out there getting wet, but experience had told her that running around after her sister, once the girl got upset, achieved nothing. Che was best left to herself to calm down, then come back embarrassed at whatever outburst she had been provoked into. And the best medicine after that would be to act as though nothing had happened, and thus spare the girl’s blushes. Still, Maure obviously had not known Che long enough to learn that lesson. Now that it seemed the mummery was over for the evening, Tynisa decided to wait out the worst of the rain under Gaved’s roof, and then set off on the long road back for Leose. She had unfinished business there, for certain.

And such foolishness, she considered. Still, Che is my sister, in fact if not in kinden. She called and I came, despite this waste of my time. Nobody can ask more of me than that.

She stood up and leant over the circle, trying to fathom how people could imagine that such marks on the ground could have any power in the real world.

Tynisa…

The world seemed to lurch around her. Her name whispered, at the very edge of hearing. For a moment she felt a tide of fear rising up in her, primal and unreasoning, and tainted by memories that she had cast off or locked away. But no, I do not believe…

Tynisa… have I found you? It is so hard to tell.

Although the voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and within her, she conceived the feeling that someone stood behind her… someone familiar.

There is a door here half open, the voice whispered, still coming from just beside her, and yet far, far away. I see you only as in twilight, but it is you, is it not?

The room seemed darker than before, the fireflies no longer lighting anything but themselves, the incense smouldering into ash. The rain outside had blotted out the sun and covered the entire house in shadow.

She swallowed. If I speak, I will admit to hearing it. I must not answer it. But she knew that voice now, beyond all doubt, and she could not stop herself from saying, ‘Salma.’

It is you, then, truly? But who else would venture so far to call on me?

‘I’d have thought your cursed Butterfly woman, if she cared.’ The vindictive words were out of Tynisa’s mouth before she could stop them, and she did not know now whether she was more afraid that he would speak to her again, or that she might have driven him away. In her mind resonated the comforting mantra: All is not lost, I may simply be mad. I saw him at my elbow before, so why not hear his voice now? But that faint voice, barely audible over the rain, was still something vastly more real than any of her hallucinations had been.

Her kinden’s magic is of light, not these shadows, came his response to her outburst. The voice sounded fondly amused, and that, more than anything else, broke her reserve.

‘Salma…’ And she turned, but he was not there. ‘Salma, speak to me, tell me… Tell me how to help you.’

Help? Ah, I need no help now. Now that you have called me.

‘But you weren’t called. She called for Tisamon, then for Achaeos, and neither of them came.’

But you called me, Tynisa. Not the mystic. You.

His hand settled on her shoulder, a comforting and familiar pressure that scared her half to death. Again he was behind her, and she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck.

‘You’re dead,’ she got out, her voice barely more substantial than his. ‘You know you’re dead.’

It seemed likely, he agreed wistfully. But you live, so we can’t have done so badly.

‘They…’ She was helplessly reminded of her audience with Felipe Shah, when recounting Salma’s history for her friend’s mentor. ‘They named a town after you. Your followers built it, after… Please let me see you, Salma.’

I cannot. Tynisa, I have to go. I’ve stayed so long, this shadow of me, just for this purpose only.

‘For what? Why do this at all, if you just have to go again?’ she hissed.

Because of you. Because we parted badly. Because I never did get to speak to you again, before… She came between us, I know, and I loved her, but do not think I did not love you also. In all the world, against the tide of death, this scrap of me stays on to ask your forgiveness, and to say goodbye.

‘That’s cruel.’ The words barely emerged. She could not stop herself reaching out for his hand, and when she touched it, invisible as it was, she felt a living warmth there. All she needed to do was turn around. She could practically see him now at the edge of her vision. ‘Please, Salma.’

You’ve met my brother. The words sounded less fond now, and she could only nod, thinking, What now? Am I betraying you with Alain, is that what you mean?

She heard him sigh, the breath rippling her hair. Do not return to Leose, Tynisa, please. Leave there and never look back.

‘Salma, I…’ She could not have said this before any other listener. ‘I’ve nothing left now. Too much blood on my hands, too little reason left to live. I’ve nothing else. If you have to go, show me how to come with you, please.’

Not yet, not soon either – or so I hope. I do not know the country I shall be travelling to, but if it were pleasant, why would the wisest of us take such pains to stave it off. Do not wish that, Tynisa. Bid me a good journey, and let me go.

A thousand protests came to her then, but she felt a clarity of mind that she had not known in a long time. And in a way it does not matter if I am mad or not.

‘I love you, Salma,’ she told him – or perhaps her memory of him. ‘But you know that. You cannot ask me to forgive you for having loved another woman, or for dying as you did. But, even so, because I love you, I forgive you it all. Go in peace.’ Her voice was shaking almost too much for her to form the words now. ‘Go with my love. And when you get where you’re going, wait for me. I’ll be following along. There’s no place so dark we can’t face it together, just like old times.’

She felt him lean closer, and then his lips brushed her cheek. The hand beneath her own was cooling rapidly, and she now realized that she held only a fold of cloth from her cloak there, and the only sound was the rain, and she stood alone in Gaved’s inner room, and the incense had stopped smouldering. Inside, she felt like a tower of glass that one knock could shatter into a thousand pieces.

The rain seemed to be passing. Indeed, as she listened, it pattered to a halt almost as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only a sporadic dripping from the eaves.

Avoid Leose? she wondered. But what, then? The answer came clearly for once: Go with Che, wherever she went, for her sister surely needed her help. Return to Stenwold in Collegium, for a reconciliation. Visit Princep Salmae even, for she had never gone there and felt strong enough to try, now.

She stepped out of the house, away from the incense and the painted signs, and abruptly something seemed to seize her in a grip of iron that made her gasp.

She could not walk away from Leose, it told her. She had unfinished business there. She had made a vow to win Alain, and such vows were inviolable, no matter how much blood was shed over them. That was the Mantis way. That was her way, too. There was no avoiding it.

She fought furiously for a moment, clutching for her free will, for any mastery of her own fate, but that rigid hand was still guiding her, steering an inexorable course. She had a role yet to play in the Tragic History of Tynisa Maker. The closing act was about to begin and her story would be as glorious and terrible as all Mantis-kinden stories were. Salme Alain was waiting for her.

She saw Che and Maure a short distance away, only now noticing her, and for a moment she reached out towards them despairingly, as though drowning.

Then she was marching away towards her tethered horse, heading for Leose and for her destiny.