House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

He could barely make it out through the darkness and the pouring rain, but he knew a ghost when he saw one. A man-shaped cloud of mist drifting through the air in the opposite direction of the wind, glowing softly as if it stood alone in a shaft of moonlight, couldn’t be anything else. It had no face and no features, just a blank doll’s body of mist and moonlight.

The ghost raised one hand and pointed straight at Simon.

Terror gripped him, but he clung closer to his mother, who sat beside him at the base of the tree. He looked up to make sure she had seen, and was relieved when he saw her staring straight at the spirit. Now he wouldn’t have to waste time trying to convince her that yes, he really
had
seen a ghost.

Simon’s father, Kalman, stood only paces away, standing over their wooden cart, trying to rearrange the bags and barrels inside so that they were all covered by one old oilskin tarp. Simon’s father was a tall man, and lean, with arms so long that he could reach all the way across the cart without bending. He was too absorbed in his work to notice anything else until his wife called his name.

“Kalman,” she said softly. He looked up, startled. “What is that?” she asked. She didn’t sound worried, but she stroked Simon’s hair like she did when she thought he needed soothing.

Kalman frowned. “I don’t know what that is.” He walked around the cart, toward the glowing spirit. He probably wanted a better look, but Simon felt comfortable curled up dry and warm next to his mother underneath their tree. He was as close to the ghost as he wanted to be.

When Simon’s father was only a pace away, the ghost vanished. It just blew apart, as though the wind were suddenly too strong for it to hold together, scattering into a thousand drifting particles and dissolving into the rain.

Simon’s mother gasped and stood up, and Simon let himself be pulled along with her. She was a tiny woman, only a few inches taller than her son, but she had a grip like a vice. Besides, he felt better with his hand in hers. Simon was eight years old, in his opinion more than old enough to take care of himself, but for some reason he wanted his parents close tonight.

Kalman waved a hand through the space where the ghost had been. “Travelers?” he muttered. “Here? This has to be Traveler work.”

“Travelers?” Simon asked, perking up. He had always wanted to see a Traveler.

“It’s not always Travelers,” Simon’s mother said. She smiled at him. “It could have been something worse. Maybe it was a demon. The villagers near here tell stories about a demon in Latari Forest, right where we are, that catches innocent people and cuts them all up.” Her voice sparkled like it did whenever she told a joke, and she grinned at him. Simon rolled his eyes. Even at eight years old, he had learned not to listen to his mother’s stories.

Simon’s father gave his wife an amused smile, but he did start tying the tarp down over his cart. “Well, if that was the demon, everyone in the village can relax. You’d think a real demon could do better than a little mist.”

Their miserable donkey—still hitched to the cart, despite the weather—snapped at Simon’s father when he moved too close. Kalman whispered soothingly and patted the donkey’s side, all the while buckling straps and checking the cart for damage.

Simon’s mother laughed. “And how many demons have you seen in your life, misty or otherwise?”

Kalman glanced out into the rain, his face serious. “Well,” he said, “there’s something here that has the locals worried. I was willing to risk it before, but now…well, it might be smarter to ride all the way back to Myria in the rain. That’s all.”

“Wait,” Simon said. “Is there really a demon here?” He had thought his mother was only joking, but if his father took the threat seriously, maybe there really was something out there. The forest suddenly looked much darker than it had before.

Simon’s mother squeezed his hand and looked down, her face solemn. “Who knows?” she said. “But we talked to some of the people in the village last night. They were supposed to get visits from three different merchants this year, not just us. We made it, and so did one other man. But the third merchant…”

“What happened to him?” Simon whispered.

“They went looking for him last week. And they found him. His goods were all spoiled, his cart was broken, and he and his donkey were dead. Something cut them all to pieces.”

Simon shivered.
She’s probably making this up,
he thought.
This is just another one of her jokes. Right?

“But here’s the crazy thing,” his mother went on. “Any team of bandits can cut somebody up, there’s nothing special about that. But this merchant had on a full suit of chainmail and carried a sword. Whatever killed him cut straight through his chain armor like it was made of cheese. And they found his sword in three pieces, with no blood on it. The Demon cut straight through it.”

“No, he didn’t,” Simon said, sure that he’d caught her in a lie this time. “You can’t cut through metal.”

“You can’t and I can’t,” his mother said. “But a demon? Who knows? They say he has claws the size of—”

“Stop it, Edina,” Simon’s father said. “You’re going to give him nightmares.”

Edina laughed and hugged Simon. “No, he knows better than that. Right, Simon?”

“Right,” Simon said shakily. He eyed the dark forest again.

“We’re about ready now,” his father said. “Let’s get moving before that thing comes back.”

“How’s the tarp?” Edina asked.

Kalman sighed. “Full of holes and far too small. The paper will be ruined by the time we get back, and half the salt will probably be useless. But it’s the best I can do.”

Edina smiled and reached up to clap her husband on the shoulder. “No need to worry about what you can’t change. Let’s just get a move on, all right?”

Simon’s father agreed, so Simon climbed up and sat on the edge of the cart. Once they started moving, his father would make him crawl under the tarp, but until then Simon preferred to be up high.

That was when he saw a torch in the forest. In the darkness under the trees, all Simon could see was an orange light bobbing in the distance, but he immediately pointed. “Look! There’s somebody in there.”

Simon’s mother and father shared a worried look.

“We could just keep going, hope they go their own way,” Edina said quietly.

“Too late now,” Kalman responded. “There’s only one road out of here. Might as well see what they want.” He walked over to stand between the cart and the incoming torch, his arms crossed.

They didn’t have long to wait. There were two people, it turned out, the one in front carrying a torch that looked a little too bright to Simon. It burned too steadily, like an orange star instead of a dirty, smoky, regular fire, and it didn’t hiss or throw up steam when it passed through the rain.

The one with the strange torch was a big man with scars all over his face, so much that you could barely see any unscarred skin, and he wore a grey cloak the color of the rain. Simon would have expected someone with that many scars to look mean, but he didn’t; he looked peaceful. He smiled at Simon as he approached, though he seemed a little sad.

Next to him was a woman with yellow hair in dark red, almost black, robes. She was short—though taller than Simon’s mother—and she had blue eyes. Simon had never seen anyone with blue eyes before. When she saw Simon’s family, she looked angry, not sad.

“You said this wouldn’t happen,” the woman was saying to her companion.

“We had to check it out,” the man said. His voice was deep and calm. “This is going to be hard enough when we find a real one. Slow and steady, that’s the way.”

“Ho there,” Simon’s father called.

The two strangers did not even acknowledge him. They kept walking, closer and closer.

“Start calling another seeker, then, I suppose,” the woman said with a sigh.

“Are you going to take care of this?”

“We have to,” she said. Then she turned and looked straight at Simon, and suddenly he found her blue eyes far more frightening than the ghost. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is not justice. But it is necessary.”

Edina tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “I think it’s time to go,” she said, her voice low. Simon agreed.

Then the woman in the red robes raised her hands toward them, palm out. She had a design tattooed in the middle of her hand, maybe a letter in some strange language. It glowed bright red.

“We’re leaving now,” Simon’s father said. He held his own hands up to show that he wasn’t armed. “We’re leaving right now.” Edina had already grabbed the donkey’s reins and was scrambling up onto his back.

Neither stranger responded. The woman moved her hand in a twisting circle, over and over, the symbol on her palm flaring brighter.

The cart finally started to move forward, and Simon thought that the yellow-haired woman might stop her strange dance now that they were leaving. Instead she ended by thrusting her glowing palm toward them. She grimaced at the same time and raised her free hand to her head, as though she had a sudden headache.

There was a flash of red light from her palm, and a monster appeared, buzzing in the air in front of her. It was like a wasp the size of a small dog, and it glowed with an orange light like dying coals.

They are Travelers!
Simon thought.
Real ones!
He had always imagined what it would be like seeing a Traveler in person, but he’d thought it would be exciting. Not terrifying.

The wasp let out a noise like a screaming wood saw, flexed its stinger, and flew straight toward Simon.

Simon shrank backwards, still frozen on the edge of the cart. He couldn’t move. He knew he needed to run, that even throwing himself off the edge and onto the ground would be better than letting that huge wasp stab him with its stinger, but his body wouldn’t listen.

“No!” his father cried, and ran after the cart. When he got close enough, he lunged at the wasp with his whole body, tackling it to the ground. He drew it into his chest, curling himself around the monster, though Simon could see its wings and glowing legs struggling, trying to escape.

Edina screamed, wrestling the donkey to a stop. She scrambled down, running toward her husband.

Then the wasp flashed brighter, coal-orange, and Simon’s father caught flame.

Kalman’s agonized screams were too much for Simon. He wanted to help, but he was too scared, and he didn’t know what to do. He slid down into the cart, wedging himself between two barrels. The tarp was level with his eyes; he could still see, still hear everything that happened. He covered his ears with both hands, trying to block out the screams, crying helplessly.

His mother ran over to Kalman’s side, shouting “Stop, please! Stop this!” The woman in red ignored her. This time her companion stepped forward, the man in the rain-colored cloak, and he rested one huge, scarred hand on her forehead.

At Edina’s feet, another shape of glowing mist rose from the ground, just like the ghost. This one wasn’t shaped like a man, but like a long tendril, like an earthworm, sticking its head up and questing around in the air. The mist touched Edina’s cheek tenderly, feather-light, and then it pulled back a few inches. It hesitated, weaving in front of her face, for just a second or two.

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