Songreaver (14 page)

Tinjin started to protest, but another
coughing fit cut him off. Afterwards, he wiped his lips and
shrugged hopefully. He put away his jar of sand and passed Garrett
his staff. He took the mug between his hands and drank.

"All of it," Annalien said.

Tinjin coughed once, part way through,
spilling a little that dribbled down the sides of his stubbly chin,
but he finished the rest. He handed the mug back to Garrett,
fighting to keep the disgust from showing on his face.

"I suggest you add some honey next time,"
Annalien said, "Garrett, go pick him enough for three more doses,
and see that he takes them before bedtime every night."

"Yes, Ma'am," Garrett said. He handed Uncle
back his staff and hurried to comply.

"And remember not to touch the berries!"

"I know."

Tinjin slowly regained his composure. "Thank
you, my lady," he said, clearing his throat, "I think that may have
helped a little."

"You're welcome," she said. She lifted her
chin toward the iron staff in his hand, her eyes on the horned
skull at its top. "Are you a death-worshipper?"

Uncle Tinjin laughed. "No," he said, turning
the staff in his hands to study the battered iron skull, black and
pitted with age, "I think of it more as a warning to others."

"To fear you?"

Uncle shook his head. "To look elsewhere for
their hope."

"What's wrong with hope?" Annalien asked.

"Hope is for the future," Tinjin said, "It is
to be sought among the bright, growing things of the world... in
the laughter of children and the promise of spring rains. You will
not find it among the dead, and those who seek me out for what I
am... well, they should harbor no illusions about what I have to
offer."

Annalien laughed. "So the dead have no hope?"
she said.

Tinjin looked hurt. "I am sorry... I did not
mean to offend you, my lady," he said, "My wits are not as sharp of
late, and sometimes such thoughts escape my lips without sufficient
polishing."

"I'm teasing you," she said, "I have so few
opportunities to sport with strangers, I perhaps take too much
advantage."

"Are you then bound to this place?" Tinjin
asked.

"Yes, beyond the light of the crystal I
cannot pass," she said.

"What if the crystal were moved?" he
said.

Annalien shrugged. "Perhaps I could follow
it," she said, "or perhaps I would blow out like a candle. Who
knows? I have no desire to put it to the test. I am happy enough
here."

"It is a lovely garden," Tinjin said.

Annalien smiled. "Thank you," she said. She
studied his face for a moment. "Am I the first ghost you've
met?"

Uncle looked down and remained silent for a
moment. "No," he said.

Annalien did not press the issue. "Where did
you come by that sand?" she asked.

Tinjin lifted his face and cleared his throat
again. "Ah, the sand," he said, pulling it from his satchel once
more, "The vampires use it in certain processes. I overheard one of
them call it
Ter'akane
."

"And where does it come from, this
lake
stone
?" Annalien asked.

"My guess would be that it originates at the
headwaters of the river Neshat," he said, "Do you know of the
place?"

Annalien shrugged. "Human names don't concern
me, and whatever little I knew of geography before I died was
rendered irrelevant by the same cataclysm that rendered me
irrelevant as well."

"But what if this sand and your stone share a
common source?" Tinjin said.

Annalien looked at the crystal in the center
of her room. "The fallen moon," she said, "Perhaps not all of it
was scattered and burned away. The lost treasure of the dragons,
the Betrayer's gift, could be buried in a hillside somewhere, being
slowly ground to dust and sold by the handful."

"I don't understand something," Garrett
said.

"What is it? Uncle Tinjin asked.

"It's just that vampires don't like
sunlight," Garrett said, "I mean Marla couldn't come anywhere near
Annalien's house because of the light here. Why would they use
something that makes them sick just to look at?"

Uncle shook his head. "Because it has power,
and a man, or vampire for that matter, will seek out power even
when he knows that it is poison to him."

"How do they use it then?" Garrett asked.

Uncle smiled. "Very carefully."

"What do you hope to gain from this?"
Annalien asked, "If the vampires do know the location of the fallen
moon, they won't likely share it with you. The very knowledge of it
might prove as poisonous to you as the sunlight is to them."

"You're right," Tinjin said, "This does
complicate things. If it were only another power source, they might
be reasoned with, but this... the very treasure that their queen
gave her life to possess..."

Annalien made a rude noise. "Do not call her
their queen!" she hissed, "They have perverted every blessing she
left for them and warped the very fabric of her tapestry to their
own dark designs. They are parasites, clinging to the branches of
her creation and draining away its lifeblood, one red sip at a
time!"

"They aren't all bad!" Garrett said. His
cheeks flushed hot as Annalien turned to face him. "Some of them
are good," he added, quietly.

Annalien's face softened. "You are true to
your friends," she said, "and that is an admirable trait. Yes, some
of them are good."

Uncle Tinjin put the jar away and placed his
hand on Garrett's shoulder, smiling.

"What will you do?" Annalien asked.

Tinjin chuckled. "I suppose that I will do
what I always do," he said, "hide from danger behind a book and
tell myself I'm just being cautious. In short, more research."

"That would seem a prudent course of action,"
the ghost agreed, "as long as you keep quiet regarding the focus of
your research. If they learn of your interest..."

"Agreed," Uncle said, "I trust we can all
keep this a secret for now?"

Annalien gave a merry laugh. "I will avoid
the topic at my next dinner party," she said.

Tinjin laughed as well. "Thank you," he
said.

"I won't tell anyone either," Garrett
said.

Tinjin patted him on the back.

"Oh!" Garrett said, looking at Annalien, "I
wanted to ask you about the goblin's flower."

Annalien winked at him. "The blood rose is
enjoying a brief visit to the goblin's
garden
, if you can
call it that," she said.

"Thanks," Garrett said, "it really means a
lot to him."

"Now I do intend to steal it back the moment
it starts to wilt again," she said, "but, for now, I think he will
protect it well enough."

Garrett nodded.

"Blood rose? Goblin?" Uncle Tinjin muttered,
"Garrett, what have you been up to?"

"Um... I'll tell you about it on the way
home," he said, "Thanks, Annalien!"

"Don't forget the tea, just before bedtime,"
she said.

Garrett patted his satchel and grinned. "I'll
make him drink it!"

Uncle Tinjin tapped his staff against the
flagstones and nodded toward the ghost. "A pleasure, my lady, and
thank you."

Annalien lifted her wrist and smiled. "You
are most welcome, Garrett's Uncle."

Chapter Twelve

Uncle Tinjin cleared his throat again as they
left behind the last of the elvish architecture. They emerged once
again into the brickwork tunnels of human make. He hadn't coughed
more than once or twice since drinking Annalien's tea.

"Can we check on the ghouls while we're down
here?" Garrett asked.

"An excellent idea," Uncle Tinjin agreed, "It
would be good to speak with Bargas again and let him know I've
returned."

"I hope he's back," Garrett said, "The last I
heard, they were still in Astorra."

"What is Bargas doing in Astorra?" Uncle
asked.

"Rescuing Lady Ymowyn," Garrett said, "She's
some kind of fox-ghoul that helped Warren save me from the Chadiri
after the Astorrans handed me over to them for killing their king,
which I did
not
do!"

Uncle Tinjin stopped walking and stared at
Garrett. His lips moved, silently for a moment, and then he shook
his head, raising one hand between them. "I don't think I'm ready
to hear this story quite yet," he said, "Perhaps after I've rested
a bit more."

Garrett gave him a nervous smile.

A sound rang out through the tunnel like a
stone banging against brick, repeating rhythmically with regular
pauses between short, concussive bursts.

Uncle cocked his head to the side,
listening.

"What is it?" Garrett asked.

"A ghoul alarm," Uncle Tinjin said, "Some
danger to the nest. We should go."

Garrett followed close behind as Uncle
stooped to climb up a sloping, low-ceilinged tunnel that led toward
Marrowvyn, the subterranean home of Wythr's ghoul community.

By the time they reached the buried town of
Marrowvyn, every ghoul in the city had gathered in the crumbling
ruins of the old town square where Garrett had first met the goblin
king so long ago. The little goblin was nowhere to be seen, but
nearly two hundred ghouls milled about in the square or perched
atop ruined buildings, some with makeshift clubs or other weapons
in hand.

An initial wave of panic swept through the
ghouls as Garrett and his Uncle came into view, but many of the
ghouls knew them well enough, and the attention turned back to the
conversation between an aproned Chunnley and an exhausted,
mud-caked ghoul kneeling in the center of the square.

"Diggs!" Garrett cried out, running to their
side.

Diggs looked up at Garrett. The ghoul's eyes
showed no sign of recognition for a moment. Then he blinked and
whispered hoarsely, "Garrett?"

"Where are the others?" Garrett asked, his
heart pounding with fear.

Diggs raised a long, shaggy arm and pointed
back toward the mouth of the largest tunnel leading into the
darkness.

Garrett looked to see shapes moving against
the shadows. A moment later, he gasped in relief as Warren and
Scupp stumbled into the dim light, their fur plastered with dry
mud. Supported between them, wearing a stained and tattered dress,
Lady Ymowyn, the fox-woman swooned, barely conscious.

Garrett raced toward them, calling out to his
friends. The look of utter despair on Warren's face staggered him
in his tracks, and the sight of what followed them out of the
darkness took his breath away.

The largest ghoul Garrett had ever seen
stepped from the shadows. Massively muscled and nearly eight feet
tall at the shoulders, the ghoul had dead white fur and the facial
features of an enormous wolf. His yellow fangs curved down from a
snout longer than most ghouls, and a black mark in the shape of a
crescent moon framed one of his icy blue eyes.

He carried the body of Warren's father draped
over one shoulder.

The great wolf-ghoul froze, baring his fangs
at the sight of the humans, letting out a snarl that chilled
Garrett's blood. Then, a smaller white ghoul loped forward from the
shadows and whispered something in the large wolf's ear.

Garrett recognized Warren's cousin Norris at
once.

The mighty wolf-ghoul narrowed its eyes and
relaxed its guard, shouldering into its burden once again and
moving toward the center of town. Other ghouls ran out to meet
them, taking Lady Ymowyn from Warren's arms and bearing her away to
where Chunnley was hastily setting up an aide station.

Garrett offered his shoulder to Warren, but
his friend only waved him off, gasping for breath.

"Were you pursued?" Uncle Tinjin asked.

"As far as the city," Scupp panted, her hands
on her knees.

"Chadiri?" Uncle Tinjin said.

Warren shook his head. "I don't know what
they were."

"They were devils," the huge white ghoul
growled, his voice like rocks grinding together in the depths of
the earth, "Call them what they are, and stop wasting time! I need
a place to tend my brother... now!"

Garrett looked at Warren.

Warren nodded. "My Uncle Raikjaa," he
said.

****

Bargas muttered and howled, slipping in and
out of consciousness as Warren knelt, watching him from a few feet
away. Raikjaa, the massive white ghoul kneeled beside Bargas's body
inside a large arcane circle that he had drawn on the ground with a
chunk of broken masonry. Raikjaa tended Bargas's wounds and chanted
over him in a strange tongue while Norris ran back and forth,
fetching whatever herbs and dressings his father called for.
Garrett and his uncle sat beside Warren. The rest of the ghouls had
retreated to watch from the other side of the low wall surrounding
the town square.

"Berda!" Bargas cried out, and he fell to
weeping for a moment before slipping into unconsciousness once
more.

"My mother's name," Warren whispered, a look
of anguish on his face.

Garrett felt sick to see the countless scorch
marks that laced across Bargas's gray fur. He remembered the woman
in the forest and the things with white faces that caused such
wounds.

"Did these things have long arms that burned
where they touched you?" Garrett whispered.

Warren looked down at a place on his arm
where the fur had been singed away in a long strip. "Did they
attack you too?" he asked.

"Yeah," Garrett said, "but I don't think they
were really after us... they killed some lady that we tried to
rescue on our way back to Wythr. At least we saved her
brother."

"What are they?" Warren asked, his voice
trembling.

"The ones we met were called
Volgrem
,"
Garrett said.

"Volgrem?" Uncle said, "Garrett, what are you
talking about? Volgrem are spirit beasts, they can't physically
harm anyone."

Garrett shrugged and lifted his hands toward
Bargas's twitching form as evidence for his claim.