Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (26 page)

A shimmering curtain of white light, perhaps ten feet by ten feet, appeared atop the dais. Beyond the curtain she glimpsed a plain of rippling gray grass, the sky covered in writhing black clouds, and a bolt of dread went through her.

The netherworld.

Three times before had she entered the netherworld in the flesh. None of them had been experiences that she wanted to repeat. 

“There,” breathed Morgant, his face tight with some emotion that she could not identify. “At last.” 

He started towards the gate.

“Wait,” said Caina.

Morgant stopped and looked back at her, a dark shadow outlined against the gate’s pale glow. 

“I think,” she said, concentrating upon the pyrikon’s aura, “I think that the gate is only powerful enough to let two of us go through.”

“Fine,” said Morgant. “You and me.” 

Caina nodded. “Kylon. Give him the valikon. The last time I entered the netherworld, the nagataaru almost killed us. We might need it.”

Kylon gave Morgant a hard look, but unbuckled his baldric and passed it to Morgant. He pulled it on over his black coat, adjusting the strap, and drew the sword. The sigils upon the ghostsilver blade remained dark, which was good. It didn’t sense the presence of any nagataaru. Of course, she didn’t know if the valikon could detect nagataaru beyond the gate. For all she knew, ten thousand nagataaru awaited a single step into the netherworld. 

“All right,” said Caina. “Listen to me, all of you. We won’t be gone long. Time runs differently in the netherworld than it does here. We’ll either be back within an hour or not at all. If we’re not, try to find a way out of the Inferno by whatever means you can. Claim that Cimak sent you out on some errand.”

“We will not leave you,” said Kylon, but Caina kept speaking. 

“Keep watch for any Immortals,” said Caina. “Also keep an eye on Azaces, if it turns out I’m wrong about him.”

“May fortune and all the gods go with you, Ciaran,” said Nasser. “You do a noble deed today, though you know not how noble.”

Caina hesitated. “You knew her, didn’t you? Annarah, I mean?”

“I hope to see her again very soon,” said Nasser.

“You will,” said Caina, taking a deep breath. “You’ll either see her in a few moments, or not at all.” She looked at Morgant. “Ready?”

“For a hundred and fifty years,” said Morgant.

“Ciaran,” said Kylon. 

She looked back at him, saw his face working. “Be careful.”

Caina pulled up her mask long enough to grin at him. “I always am.”

He smiled a little at that. “Liar.” 

Caina nodded and walked with Morgant to the gate. He drew his weapons, the black dagger in his left hand, the valikon in his right. 

Then they stepped into the gate, and gray mist erupted from everywhere to swallow Caina.

Chapter 14: Sanctuary

Caina had the sensation of falling, of tumbling endlessly through the void. Gray mist hurtled past her, and it felt as if she were traveling some unimaginable distance. White flashes of light flickered and pulsed in the mists, light the same color as the glow shining from her pyrikon. 

Then the gray mist vanished, and Caina found herself in the netherworld once more.

She staggered a few steps and looked around, her heart racing.

The bleak, rolling plain stretched away in all directions, the gray, colorless grasses rippling in a wind that Caina could not feel. Black clouds writhed and danced overhead, moving faster than the wind could drive them, arcs of green lightning jumping from cloud to cloud. Strange objects floated overhead – an upside down tree, its roots waving like tentacles, a stairwell that went nowhere, a statue of green marble, a fountain made of gray stone, three upside-down pillars of Nighmarian design. Caina’s shadow-cloak snapped and billowed behind her in the nonexistent wind, and the pyrikon vibrated against her wrist, shining with white light. 

She drew her ghostsilver dagger. The blade flickered with pale white fire, responding to the sorcerous power surging through the netherworld. 

“Morgant?” she said, and spotted him a few paces away. The black dagger in his left hand out let a steady crimson glow, but the valikon shone in his right hand like a torch, the sigils upon the blade burning with the same light. 

Morgant stared up at the sky, his pale eyes wide.

“What is it?” said Caina, though she realized there were any number of things around them that could have alarmed Morgant.

“Iramis,” he said. “It’s Iramis.”

Caina looked up and saw the golden city beyond the clouds. 

It was a beautiful city, built of golden stone, its towers and arches and domes graceful. It floated past the clouds, the image wavering and flickering like a mirage. The cloud-wreathed city was a vision of stunning beauty. 

“Iramis,” said Morgant, his voice a little hoarse. “It looked exactly like that on the day Callatas burned it.”

“It’s an echo,” said Caina. “The spell Callatas used was so powerful it left an echo in the netherworld, an imprint.”

“That gash,” said Morgant. “I don’t suppose you know what that is?”

“I do,” said Caina. 

Beyond the city blazed a massive gash of golden fire, a crack ripped through the sky itself. Caina had first seen it two years ago in New Kyre, on the day the Moroaica had finished her great work and raised the golden dead. The Moroaica had been slain and her great work undone, but like Callatas’s spell, it had left an echo behind in the netherworld. 

“A rift,” said Caina. “A weakness in the walls between the worlds. The nagataaru can come through them sometimes.” The vibration on her left wrist grew stronger, the pyrikon glowing brighter. “Listen to me. I wanted to tell you this back in the mortal world, but I didn’t know how long the gate would last, and we have more time here.”

“Because of the time difference,” said Morgant, tearing his gaze from the image of the lost city overhead.

“Aye,” said Caina. “You’ve never been here before, have you?” 

“I fear I have missed that particular pleasure,” said Morgant.

“The netherworld is psychomorphic,” said Caina.

“Psychomorphic?” said Morgant. “You mean it molds itself to my thoughts?” 

“Yes,” said Caina. “Like quicksand. Slowly at first, but faster and faster the longer you stay here. You can control it, if you concentrate.” She focused her will upon the ground, commanding it to heed her, and suddenly part of the ground became part of the dusty Cyrican Bazaar, complete with a merchant’s stall.

She had the distinct satisfaction of seeing Morgant flinch in surprise. 

“What was that?” Morgant said. Caina released her will and the Cyrican Bazaar dissolved back into the featureless gray grass of the endless plain. 

“Psychomorphic,” Caina said. “Also, keep watch for spirits.”

“Nagataaru?” said Morgant.

“Aye,” said Caina, looking around the plain. “Phobomorphic, carchomorphic, and other kinds. The nagataaru. I suppose the Sifter might want some revenge, too.” She lifted her ghostsilver dagger, the blade streaming pale flames. “Ghostsilver can harm spirits. I think the valikon can probably destroy any spirit here, so hopefully they’ll avoid us for easier prey.”

“Good thing you thought to bring it,” said Morgant.

The pyrikon’s vibrations grew stronger, the white fire flaring. It didn’t hurt, not precisely, but it was pulling in a lot of power. Suddenly she wondered if taking the pyrikon with her into the netherworld had been a good idea. The ghostsilver weapons and her shadow-cloak reacted oddly to the netherworld, but perhaps the pyrikon would have a more violent response. 

Best to get on with it. 

“Which way to Annarah?” said Caina.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Morgant. 

“You don’t know?” said Caina.

“I didn’t go through the gate with her,” said Morgant. “She said she would cast her sanctuary here, and then she entered the gate.”

“The pyrikon,” said Caina. “It was linked to her. It must know…”

Even as she spoke, the pyrikon unwrapped itself from her wrist and floated into the air. The glow grew brighter until it seemed as if the pyrikon had transmuted itself into white light. The pyrikon expanded and swelled, growing larger and larger, and then took a new form.

A human form. 

It was a warrior covered in in plate armor, a massive shield upon his left arm and an Iramisian falchion in his right hand, a towering helm concealing his face. The warrior looked as if he had been carved from white flame, and Caina felt arcane power swirling around him. 

“Has it ever done that before?” said Morgant.

Caina shook her head, and the warrior turned back and forth, looking for something. On sudden impulse, Caina drew back her cowl, and the helm turned to face her. 

“Demonslayer,” said the glowing warrior, his voice like thunder. 

“You’re Annarah’s pyrikon,” said Caina. 

“Correct, demonslayer.” 

“So…that’s what the pyrikons are, aren’t they?” said Caina. “Spirits. Bound spirits.”

“Incorrect. We are not bound,” said the pyrikon. “We are summoned, and we come of our own will. If the summoner is worthy, is the summoner holds true to the oaths of the loremasters, then we permit the use of our power. For as there are spirits of fire and spirits of air, so too are there spirits of death and pain, those you call the nagataaru. Once the Court of the Azure Flame opposed them, but they were hindered. Yet my kindred continue to oppose the nagataaru, for we are spirits of defense, and our purpose is to defend the mortal world.” 

“So you’ve been walking around with a spirit on your wrist for a year and a half?” said Morgant.

“Evidently,” said Caina.

“You are the Balarigar,” said the pyrikon. “You are the demonslayer, and perhaps you may be the liberator. I seek to free my mistress from her imprisonment. You must return her to the mortal world.” 

“Then take us to her,” said Caina. 

“Come, mortals,” said the pyrikon spirit, gesturing with the falchion. The glowing sword looked identical to the valikon in Morgant’s hand. “Time is fleeting, and my mistress is but mortal. The nagataaru have come for her, and she has but little time left. Hasten!” 

The pyrikon turned and ran deeper into the rippling plain, and Caina and Morgant followed. She pulled up the hood of her shadow-cloak back as she ran. It blocked the ability of spirits to detect her, even in the netherworld. Of course, a spirit possessing a mortal host would be able to see her. Kalgri had been able to see Caina, even if the shadow-cloak had blocked the Voice’s ability to detect her. Even so, Caina suspected a spirit of sufficient power would be able to find her even with the cloak. 

Best to be gone from the netherworld by the time that happened.

They kept running, and started up a small hill. White light flashed ahead, and Caina heard a hissing, serpentine whisper.

“Spirit,” said Caina. “How much farther? Is it…”

The netherworld blurred and shifted around her. 

The twisting, writhing sky remained the same, but the landscape morphed. Suddenly Caina stood atop a mountain overlooking a deep valley, a stairway cutting back and forth on the cliff face below her. A broad stone terrace stretched on either side, and before her rose a sprawling edifice of courtyards and halls carved from the living stone of the mountain. The fortress had an outer and inner courtyard, both courtyards encircled by long colonnades of stone. Domed towers rose from the corners of the courtyards, and in the center of the temple stood a high fane of weathered stone, topped with a tall domed tower. Caina gazed at the pillars and towers and saw the reliefs covering their faces, stylized, abstract designs of swirling lines and intricate geometric patterns. Each of towers had been carved with a specific sigil, a pyrikon ring wrapped around a seven-pointed star.

“The sanctuary of my mistress,” announced the pyrikon. 

“Silent Ash Temple,” said Caina, looking around. Of course, it wasn’t the real Silent Ash Temple, but only a reflection of it in the netherworld. Yet it was close enough to the real thing that she felt a shiver of dark memory. 

“You know this place?” said Morgant, looking at the colonnade as the valikon burned in his hand. 

“Aye,” said Caina. “It’s a monastery in the Kaltari Highlands. Found the valikon there. Fought the Red Huntress there and we beat her, though it was close. Why does Annarah’s sanctuary look like Silent Ash Temple? Nasser said that it used to be academy that trained loremasters. She must have been here as a child, before Iramis fell.”

“Does it matter?” said Morgant.

“It might,” said Caina. “Spirit. Take us to Annarah, quickly.”

The pyrikon did not answer, but instead strode for the outer gate’s colonnade, beneath the wall where Nasser had come within a hair’s breadth of killing Kalgri with the valikon. Through the archway Caina saw a flash of white light, followed by the vibration of a powerful spell.

Then a curtain of shadow swept before the gate, a shadow lined with flickering purple fire.

The nagataaru were there.

Caina broke into a run, Morgant keeping pace next to her. 

###

Morgant ran through the gate and into Silent Ash Temple’s broad outer courtyard. Beyond he saw another colonnade, taller than the first, slender towers of Iramisian design rising overhead. It was an eerie counterpoint to the ghostly image of Iramis itself floating in the twisted sky overhead.

The battle raging through the courtyard held his full attention.

A ring of shadows and purple flames snarled through the courtyard. Sometimes they seemed to take individual shapes, like hooded specters in robes of shadow and eyes of purple fire. Sometimes they flowed together like a river, looking like a flood of black water trying to drown Silent Ash Temple, but they never quite managed to close the ring. 

Within the ring of nagataaru stood twelve armored shapes of pale white light and ghostly fire, identical to the warrior shape that Annarah’s pyrikon had assumed. They held their massive shields raised, wielding their swords with vigor. Whenever the blades touched the nagataaru, the dark spirits retreated with angry hisses. The nagataaru answered with tendrils of shadow that wrapped around the glowing spirits, sapping away their light and forcing them to retreat, closing the ring tighter.