Child of the Ghosts (9 page)

Chapter 9 - The Vineyard

They reached Koros the next day. 

The village perched on a spit of land jutting into the Bay of Empire. Thirty or forty ramshackle houses stood around a dilapidated tavern and a stone shrine to Tethene, the goddess of the sea. Dozens of fishing boats floated at wooden docks, bobbing with the waves. 

The place stank of rotting fish, salt, and tar. The villagers gave them furtive looks as Halfdan drove the wagon to the tavern. Many of the women wore mourning black, and the few men that Caina saw looked sullen and unfriendly.

“I think they want to rob us,” whispered Caina.

“Undoubtedly,” said Halfdan. “And they would, too, if Riogan were not here.”

Riogan grinned, drew one of his daggers, tossed it to himself. 

“All the women are wearing black,” said Caina. “Like they’re in mourning.”

“She’s right,” said Komnene.

“I passed through here a year past,” said Halfdan, frowning, “and there were not so many women in mourning.”

“The black looks new,” said Caina.

“Some plague, perhaps?” said Komnene.

“Let’s find out,” said Halfdan, halting the wagon before the tavern. “Riogan, Komnene, stay here. Caina, come with me.”

Caina blinked, but followed Halfdan to the tavern’s door.

“Two things,” said Halfdan. “First, don’t speak unless I tell you.”

Caina started to say “yes”, but nodded instead.

Halfdan grinned. “You learn quickly. Good. Second, as you might expect, it behooves me to take different identities from time to time. Here, I am known as Paulus, a broker for the grain merchants in the Imperial capital.”

Caina nodded again, and followed Halfdan inside. 

The interior had a dirt floor, rough wooden benches, and a crumbling fieldstone fireplace. A lean man in a greasy leather apron approached, squinting beneath a shock of unkempt gray hair.

“Aye?” said the man in the apron. “Paulus, you scoundrel, is that you?” 

“It is,” said Halfdan, “Baccan, you old dog.” Caina blinked in surprise. Halfdan’s accent had changed, and he now spoke Caerish with a heavy Disali accent. “I see you haven’t choked on your own filth.” 

Baccan snorted, and spat upon the floor. “Not yet. What brings you here? You’ve picked a bad time to come.” 

“Why?” said Halfdan. “What’s happened? Your womenfolk are wearing mourning black. Did a storm take half the fishermen?”

“No,” said Baccan. “No storm. Sorcery.”  

Caina flinched. 

“Sorcery?” said Halfdan, fear entering his own voice. “Did you offend the Magisterium?”

“I don’t know,” said Baccan. “You remember Wyfarne and his lads? Did a bit of smuggling?”

Halfdan nodded.

“Well, they had some big cargo from the south,” said Baccan. “All these old scrolls, looted from some tomb in the desert.”

Old scrolls? Like the one her father had found?

“They were the sort of things a sorcerer would want,” said Baccan. “Well, Wyfarne’s ship ran ashore near Aretia - the fool never could navigate at night. The Count of Aretia seized the scrolls, and that was that. Then two days ago this old man comes to the village. A cane and a patch over his eye, and he’s got this woman with him. Pale thing, looks like she’s dead herself.”   

The scars on Caina’s belly clenched, painfully. 

So that was where Maglarion had gone. 

“He says he knows about the scrolls, and asks if we have any more,” said Baccan. “Wyfarne says he doesn’t, told the old man to go to hell.”

Caina saw where this was going.

“So the old man…he killed them,” said Baccan, shaking his head. “All of them. Wyfarne’s entire family. And anyone else who got in his way. Thirty-four dead.” 

“Wyfarne’s own fault,” said Halfdan. “The idiot bought something dug up from an old tomb. Anyone with a lick of sense stays away from old tombs. Nasty things in there…the sort of things sorcerers and magi like.” 

Baccan spat again. “We’re lucky the old fool didn’t bring destruction down upon the entire village. Now. Why are you here?” 

“I need passage across the Bay,” said Halfdan. “To Craton, as quickly as can be found.”

“Well,” said Baccan, “my son Racus, he’s got a fishing boat, and the catch has been slim of late. Scared off by all the sorcery, I’ll warrant.” 

“I also have a wagon and a team I need to sell,” said Halfdan. “Doubt they’ll fit on the fishing boat, after all. I’ll sell them to you in exchange for passage and say…oh, two hundred denarii.”

“Two hundred?” said Baccan, incredulous. “You’re little better than a thief, Paulus…”

Halfdan and Baccan launched into a convoluted negotiation, and Caina listened with fascination, the news about Maglarion temporarily forgotten. After numerous insults, emphatic gestures, and occasional threats, Halfdan and Baccan settled on one hundred sixty-eight denarii and passage across the Bay in exchange for the wagon and team. 

They shook hands, and Caina followed Halfdan back to the wagon. 

“Maglarion was here,” she said, her voice low.

“Aye,” said Halfdan. “Your mother lured him here with the scroll. It only makes sense that he would come here to look for more.”

“He might return,” said Caina.

“No,” said Halfdan. “I doubt he’ll bother. One day the Ghosts will bring him to account for his crimes. But not today, I fear.” 

###

They spent the night at Baccan’s tavern, in his guest rooms.

Caina took one look at the bedbug-infested bedding and decided to sleep on the floor, as far from the bed as she could manage. 

As usual, she had nightmares. The metal table, her father in his chair, Maglarion’s glittering knife, her mother’s laughter. 

But when she awoke, breathing hard, she wondered what it would have been like to take up a dagger, to strike back at her mother, at Maglarion. Perhaps Caina could have stopped her from destroying her father’s mind.

Perhaps she could keep others from suffering what she had suffered.

Perhaps the Ghosts, the nightfighter training, could give her what she needed. 

Caina thought about that, lying awake in the dark.

###

They left before dawn, sailing on Racus’s fishing boat.

Racus was a younger, thinner version of his father, with the same sullen squint and slovenly appearance. Yet his fishing boat was well-maintained, and Racus and his brother handled the rudder and the sails with deft skill. Though everything did stink of dead fish.

“How long?” said Halfdan.

Racus grunted, squinted at the sky. “Four days, I think. Maybe five, if the winds turn sour.” He grinned. “Course, a storm could come up, send us all to the bottom in an hour or so. Hope you thought to leave an offering at Tethene’s shrine.” 

But they encountered no storms. The wind filled the boat’s sails, and soon they left Koros and all sight of land behind. Rippling blue-green water filled the world in all directions. Caina saw at the prow, fascinated. All her life she had lived within sight of the sea, but she had never been on a boat before. 

She had never been out of sight of land before. 

Riogan stepped besides her, eyes narrowed.

“What’s so fascinating, girl?” said Riogan. “It’s seawater.”

Caina shrugged. “I…have never been on a ship before, that’s all.”

Riogan laughed. “This? This tub is a boat, not a ship. Go to Malarae, or to Marsis, and you will see ships. Not just fishing boats.” He spat over the side. “Fool child. Is that why you followed us? To ride upon a boat?” 

“My father is dead,” said Caina. “I have nowhere else to go.” 

“You could have had a life of comfort and ease,” said Riogan. “Instead you chose to become a nightfighter. And for what? Hmm? To see a boat?”

Caina started to answer, fell silent.

“What, girl?” said Riogan. “What were you going to say?”

“You don’t like me very much,” said Caina. 

“No,” said Riogan. He smirked. “Are you going to cry? Complain to Halfdan? Or maybe you’ll do something clever, figure out why I don’t like you?”

“I think I remind you of a bad memory,” said Caina. “Something you don’t like to remember.”

Riogan did not move, his expression did not change, but his eyes grew cold. 

He stalked away without another word.

Caina wondered what she reminded him of, what dark memory rose up whenever he looked at her. 

She decided she didn’t want to know. She had enough dark memories of her own, after all. 

###

Racus was as good as his word. Four days later, the boat put in at Croton.

The town looked much like Aretia or Mors Anaxis. The same white-walled houses with red-tiled roofs, the same paved streets, the same warehouses, the same plump merchants and lean fishermen. Halfdan paid Racus, and they went into the town.

“Will we buy another wagon?” said Caina.

“No,” said Halfdan. “Mules.”

“Mules?” said Caina. “Why? Are we going mining?”

Halfdan smiled. “Consider this your first lesson. Figure out why we need mules.”

Halfdan bought eight mules, loading them down with supplies and equipment. Caina took one, as did Riogan and Komnene, while Halfdan led the remaining beasts. Then they left Croton, heading north along the Imperial Highway. 

Caina’s mule was ill-tempered, and tried to bite her whenever her hand strayed too close to its head. Yet the beast continued its steady, plodding pace, and they made good time. 

Soon she saw the distant shape of mountains to the northeast.

###

“Disalia,” said Caina the next morning.

Halfdan looked back at her.

“We’re going to one of the Disali provinces,” said Caina. “Disalia Superior or Disalia Inferior, I’m not sure which.”

“Disalia Inferior, actually,” said Halfdan. “How did you know?”

“The mules,” said Caina, closing her eyes as she remembered the maps in her father’s study. She jerked her hand back as she felt the mule’s hot breath upon it. “Disalia is hilly. Too hilly for wagons. So merchants have to take mules.”

“Most merchants don’t bother traveling through Disalia at all,” said Komnene. 

“It’s easier, and cheaper, to ship goods through the Narrow Sea, past Arzaxia,” said Halfdan.

“So the Disali provinces are isolated,” said Komnene.

“Perfect for the Ghosts,” said Halfdan.

###

The hills rose up around them the next day, high and jagged, layers of yellowish-brown rock jutting from sandy soil. Pine trees clung to the earth here and there, along with tough grasses and thorny bushes, and streams trickled through the hills, sometimes falling in dramatic waterfalls. The Imperial Highway wound back and forth through the hills, sometimes climbing the hills, sometimes circling around them, and occasionally crossing a steep ravine with a stone bridge. Caina found herself admiring the skill of the engineers who had carved the Highway through those curves and ravines. 

“Tell me,” said Halfdan, as the mules picked their way along the Highway. “What do you know about the Ghosts?” 

Caina thought it over, swaying in her saddle.

“Well,” she said at last, “you did save my life.”

Halfdan smiled. “Before that, though. Before what happened to you. What did you know about the Ghosts?” 

Caina shrugged. “Not very much. Most of the books said that the Ghosts were legends, that they never existed. I never really thought about them. Not until my father showed me that coin of Emperor Cormarus.” 

“The Ghosts began here, in Disalia,” said Halfdan, waving his hand at the jagged hills. 

“How?” said Caina.

“It was long ago, during the Second Empire,” said Halfdan. 

Riogan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Halfdan ignored him. “In those days, the Disali clans acknowledged no king or emperor, and spent their time fighting among themselves. They fought with stealth and ambush, from the shadows, and every clan had its spies among the others. And then the Ashbringers came.” 

“Who were they?” said Caina. 

“The sorcerer-priests of the Saddai,” said Halfdan. “They worshiped the flames, and practiced pyromancy, burning their victims alive to fuel their arcane powers. They conquered Disalia and enslaved the Disali clans. The Disali tried to fight back. Their honor and rituals compelled them to seek out the Ashbringers in open battle. But the clans could not stand against the power of the Ashbringers, and every time they fought, the Ashbringers slaughtered them.” 

“The Disali must have won,” said Caina.

“Why do you say that?” said Halfdan.

“Well, there are no more Ashbringers,” said Caina. 

Halfdan nodded. “How did they fight back?”

Caina thought about it. She remembered her father going to warn Laeria one last time, because it was the right thing to do. The fair thing to do.

She remembered how that had ended.

If only he had listened to her. If only he hadn’t done the right thing. 

“They…didn’t fight fair,” said Caina. 

“Go on,” said Halfdan. 

“They couldn’t fight the Ashbringers openly,” said Caina. “They’d get slaughtered. So…they didn’t fight openly. They fought in secret. With ambushes, and poison, and spies, and assassins.” 

Halfdan nodded. “The Disali formed organizations called circles. Each man knew two others in the circle, and only the circlemasters knew everyone. They built hidden lairs and tunnels throughout Disalia, moving undetected through the hills. And the circles fought back against the Ashbringers. They poisoned wells and supplies. They arranged the assassination of the Ashbringers’ supporters and generals. And they passed information to the enemies of the Ashbringers - to the Emperor in Malarae, and to the Magisterium in Artifel. Time and time again the Ashbringers sent a general to pacify the Disali hills, and again and again the generals failed because of the circles. When the generals complained of the circles, the Ashbringers claimed that they blamed failure upon shadows and ghosts, and executed the generals.” 

“Ghosts,” said Caina. “That’s where the name came from?”

“There are no Ghosts,” said Halfdan, “only whispers and rumors.” He grinned. “Sensible men know that the Ghosts do not exist.”