Child of the Ghosts Read online

  ***

  Chapter 2 - A Price of Blood

  Sebastian spent over a week closeted with the scroll, pouring over his books and scribbling into a notebook. Caina realized that he was attempting to translate it, converting the Maatish hieroglyphs into legible Caerish. She read in the library, but otherwise let him work in peace. When the scholarly fit came upon her father, nothing could distract him.

  So when she got hungry, she visited the servants.

  Caina got on well with her father’s servants. They had always been kind to her, even during her mother’s rages. As Caina got older, she realized that they felt sorry for her, and feared and detested Laeria. She knew that some nobles treated their servants badly, but her father always said that the true measure of a man was how he treated his servants, or those who could not hurt him or repay him.

  So Caina tried to repay the servants' kindness in turn. The gods knew they took enough abuse from Laeria, after all.

  Caina wandered into the villa's kitchen, looking for Azaia, the old Saddaic cook who prepared the family's meals. The kitchen had four large ovens and a dozen tables, but Count Sebastian rarely entertained guests, and Azaia and her few helpers never lit more than one oven.

  "Azaia?" Caina called to the empty kitchen. "Are you there?"

  Her voice echoed off the stone walls.

  Caina blinked in surprise. Where was Azaia? She usually had breakfast ready by now.

  But the ovens were dark, and the kitchen quiet and empty.

  "Azaia?" called Caina again, looking around. Had the old woman overslept? That seemed inconceivable. Or maybe she had gotten sick, and hadn't told anyone? Caina made up her mind and headed to the kitchen's back door. Azaia lived in a small room behind the kitchens, and Caina would see if she had fallen ill...

  She stopped.

  There was a strange smell in the air, something metallic.

  She turned, frowning.

  Something dark and wet trickled down the wall, leaking from the leftmost oven. Had Azaia left something in there? That, too, seemed out of character. Caina walked to the brick wall, gripped the iron handles, and pulled the metal door open.

  Azaia stared at her from within the oven, dead eyes glassy, torn throat covered in blood.

  The scream ripped out of Caina like something alive.

  ###

  Her father's seneschal Morus found her, drawn by the screams, and almost started screaming himself. He shouted for the rest of the servants. Eventually her father arrived and pulled her from the gruesome scene.

  "What happened?" said Sebastian.

  "I...I don't know," said Caina, trying to talk through the tears. She had read about violence, of course, but to see it with her own eyes was something else. "I came down for some food, to see if Azaia was cooking breakfast. No one was around, so I looked for her, and I saw the...I saw the blood leaking from the oven..."

  Sebastian looked stricken. He had known Azaia for longer, after all, before Caina had even been born.

  "Who could have done this?" said Caina.

  "I don't know," said Sebastian, voice quiet. He fiddled with his heavy signet ring. "But we're going to find out, Caina. I promise you that. Whoever did this will be brought to account."

  He stared at the bloodstain, his expression grim.

  "Why would anyone kill Azaia?" said Caina. "She is...she was...so kind. Who would have hated her enough to do this?"

  "I don't know," said Sebastian. "Azaia had no money, no influence. There was no reason for anyone to kill her. No reason at all. No reason to spill her blood." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Except for the blood itself."

  He said the last so quietly she almost didn't hear it.

  "You...know, don't you?" said Caina, puzzled. "You know who did this?"

  "Maybe," said Sebastian. "I hope I'm wrong." He closed his eyes. "But if I'm wrong...then I've been blind. A blind fool." He opened his eyes. "I'm going to need help with this. Morus!"

  The seneschal hurried over, face pale.

  "Lord Count?" he said.

  "Stay here," said Sebastian. "Don't let anyone inside."

  "Where will you go, my lord?" said Morus.

  "To town," said Sebastian. "I will inform the decimvirs of the murder, and...arrange for additional assistance." He took Caina's hand. "Come with me. Quickly."

  They hurried through the villa's hallways and entered the library. The Maatish scroll still lay upon the desk, held open by two heavy books. Sebastian knelt behind the desk, opened the bottom drawer, and reached inside. He drew out a small wooden box and unlocked it.

  Inside rested a single tarnished silver coin, its inscription and portrait worn with age.

  "That's...the Emperor Cormarus, isn't it?" said Caina, curiosity overriding her fear.

  "It is," said Sebastian, picking up the ancient coin.

  "I've never seen him on a coin," said Caina. The Emperor Cormarus had ruled millennia ago, during the age of the Second Empire. Most of his coins would have been lost or melted down long ago. "Why would you need such an ancient coin?"

  "I don't," said Sebastian, sliding the coin into a coat pocket. "The coin itself has no value. But it will send a message to the right people." He took Caina by the shoulders. "Stay in the library until I return. It shouldn't be long."

  "I don't want to be left alone," said Caina. She remembered Azaia's dead eyes. "What if...what if the man who killed Azaia comes for me?"

  Sebastian looked away. "I don't think he will. But I will have Morus send one of the maids to keep you company." He kissed her forehead. "I will be back."

  Then he left. Caina walked to the windows, and in a few minutes saw her father on horseback, riding towards Aretia. Galloping, actually.

  He rode through the town's gates and vanished from sight.

  Caina turned towards the shelves, running a finger along the leather spines of the books, but her mind was in too much turmoil to read. Why would anyone want to kill Azaia? Had thieves done it, perhaps? But why hadn't they tried to break into her father's strong room, or the library? Maybe the smugglers had returned to reclaim their Maatish scroll?

  But the scroll sat untouched on Sebastian's desk. Caina doubted that Azaia had even known about it. And it was just a dusty old scroll, written by people long dead. It couldn't be worth spilling blood over.

  All that blood, dripping down the wall...

  No reason to kill her except for her blood itself. That was what her father had said. But that made no sense. Why kill Azaia for her blood? What use would her blood be to anyone?

  Caina turned and flinched.

  Her mother stood in the library doorway. Laeria Amalas wore an elaborate gold gown, the drooping sleeves and the skirts slashed with black. As usual, her hair was coiffed and arranged, jewels glittering on her fingers and ears.

  Laeria never let anyone see her the slightest bit disheveled, even when angry.

  They stared at each other for a while.

  "So," said Laeria, walking towards the desk. "I suppose you came here to weep over that lazy cook?"

  "This is Father's place," said Caina, voice low. "You shouldn't be here."

  Laeria sneered at her. "I am the Countess of House Amalas. I may go wherever I please in this house, girl." She stopped and looked at the desk, staring at the ancient scroll.

  "That belongs to Father," said Caina, worried that Laeria would tear it up out of spite. She had done such things before.

  "Is it?" said Laeria. "Everything that is his is mine. Including this. I would put it to far better use than the fool ever could."

  "Doing what?" said Caina. "You'll sell it and spend the money on jewels? Or wine, perhaps? Or maybe you'll bribe the Magisterium to take you back?"

  No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than she realized they had been a mistake. She would send Laeria flying into a rage.

  But her mother only smiled.

  "You'll find out soon enough," Laeria said. "Because you are mine, child. Mine to do with as I pl
ease."

  "No," said Caina. "I hate you and I don't want anything to do with you." She glared at her mother. "Someday I'll have my own children, and I'll be a better mother to them than you ever were to me."

  "You won't," said Laeria, voice quiet. She laughed. "Have you been crying over that cook? Why? She was old and fat. Utterly useless."

  Tears rose in Caina's eyes. "She was better than you."

  Laeria laughed again. "Then you are as stupid as I always thought. I was a student of the Imperial Magisterium, a wielder of arcane science..."

  "You were a novice for four years," said Caina, "until they threw you out because you were too weak. And useless."

  Laeria's blue eyes blazed, and Caina knew that she had pushed her mother too far.

  "Am I?" said Laeria. "Tell me again if I am weak."

  She lifted her hand, palm out, fingers spread, whispering an incantation under her breath. Caina braced herself, expecting her mother to reach into her mind.

  But instead, invisible force slammed into Caina, throwing her across the room and into a shelf. Books fell around her, bouncing off her head and arms. She struggled to regain her balance, to get away from the shelf, but the invisible force held her in place like a giant unseen hand.

  Laeria had never been able to do anything like that before.

  “Still think I am weak?” said Laeria, her face flushed, her eyes wide with something like ecstasy.

  Caina struggled against the invisible force. Strain came over Laeria’s face, beads of sweat rising on her forehead. Then the force sputtered and vanished, and Caina fell hard to the floor, rolling over the carpet. She staggered back to her feet, breathing hard, back and shoulders aching from the impact.

  Laeria sneered again, and took a step forward, but had to grab the edge of the desk for support. Whatever she had done, whatever spell she had cast, had exhausted her.

  “You belong to me,” said Laeria. “Never forget that, you worthless, useless brat. You belong to me…and I will do with you what I please!”

  “My lady?”

  Caina and Laeria looked to the door. One of the maids, a young Caerish woman named Gwen, stood in the hallway, looking back and forth.

  “What?” said Laeria.

  “Morus sent me,” said Gwen in Caerish, “said that I was to…”

  “Be silent! Or speak High Nighmarian in my presence, rather than the babble of commoners” said Laeria, turning away with one last glower at Caina. “Never forget, girl. You are mine to do with as I please.”

  Laeria stalked from the library without sparing Caina another glance.

  Caina let out a long breath. She was shaking, her hands clenched into fists, tears trickling down her cheeks.

  “My lady?” said Gwen. “What…what should I do?”

  Caina closed her eyes. “Help me clean up these books.”

  ###

  It did not take long to clean up the books, and afterwards Caina sent Gwen away. She was not afraid that Azaia’s murderer would come after her.

  She was afraid that her mother was the murderer. Or that Laeria knew who had done it.

  Caina spent the day leafing through books, her eyes moving over the pages without seeing anything. Again and again she looked towards the window, hoping to see her father riding back from Aretia.

  He did not come.

  Eventually Caina fell asleep on the couch by her father's desk. She dreamed of the kitchen, of Azaia's dead eyes gazing at her. She fled, screaming, but the dead woman lurked in every door, reaching for her with pallid, lifeless hands.

  Caina awoke with a start, her heart racing.

  She heard shouting. A man's voice, and a woman's, both raised in anger.

  Her mother and father.

  The voices came from the hallway. Caina rose and crept towards the door.

  "Don't take that tone with me," said Laeria, her voice full of contempt.

  "Tone?" said Sebastian. "One of my servants lies butchered in her own oven, and you're worried about my tone?"

  "Simply hire another one," said Laeria. "The woman's cooking was deplorable. Aretia is thronged with idle commoners. You should have no difficulty replacing her."

  "She was murdered!" said Sebastian.

  "What of that?" said Laeria. "Commoners murder each other for the stupidest reasons."

  "I think the reasons had nothing to do with Azaia, or any other commoner," said Sebastian.

  There was silence for a moment.

  "So you are blaming me?" said Laeria, laughing. "You think I snuck down to the kitchens in the dead of night and cut the fat old cow's throat? Yes, indeed, that is how I like to spend my evenings."

  "Not you," said Sebastian. "Your friends."

  "My friends?" said Laeria. "Yes, dear husband, I have so many friends worthy of my attention, living in this miserable backwater."

  Her voice had grown shriller.

  "You know what friends I mean," said Sebastian. "Your correspondents. The sorcerers."

  Laeria sniffed. "If I choose to correspond with the magi of the Imperial Magisterium, then that is my own affair..."

  "The Imperial Magisterium is a collection of fools, tyrants, and murderers," said Sebastian, "but even they know better than to have anything to do with you. They cast you out after four years, after all."

  Caina could just imagine Laeria's expression at that.

  "Do not think to insult me," said Laeria, voice cold. "If I..."

  "You've been writing to...other sorcerers, haven't you?" said Sebastian. "Not the magi?"

  Laeria said nothing.

  "The outcasts and the criminals," said Sebastian. "The sorcerers outside the Magisterium, the ones who practice forbidden sciences."

  Laeria still said nothing.

  "Tell me that I'm wrong," said Sebastian.

  "You've been reading my letters?" said Laeria. "Such a worthy pursuit of a nobleman..."

  "It wasn't necessary," said Sebastian. "I know you, Laeria. I know what sort of woman you are, even if I didn't when we first met. You only want power. That's all you've ever wanted. You thought the Magisterium would give you power, but they rejected you. So you've turned to outlaw sorcerers instead."

  Laeria said nothing.

  "Tell me that I'm wrong," said Sebastian.

  "You are a narrow-minded fool," said Laeria.

  "Damn it, woman," said Sebastian. "Necromancers? Are you insane?"

  "You are as blind as the Magisterium," said Laeria. "They could not appreciate my talent, my potential. But the outlaws can. They understand me. Why should I not associate with them?" Her voice dropped, so quiet that Caina could barely hear it. "And not all the Magisterium thinks as you do. There are magi who appreciate the potential of necromancy and the other banned arcane sciences. They would see the magi rule the Empire again, and the glory of the Fourth Empire restored."

  "The Fourth Empire was built upon the blood of the innocent and the sweat of slaves," said Sebastian. "I will not have anyone in my house associate with necromancers! Not even you, Laeria. If need be, I will stop this."

  Laeria laughed. "You are a weak and craven man. How will you stop me?"

  "I will contact the Ghosts."

  Laeria's laughter redoubled. "The Ghosts are a myth. A story fools use to excuse their failures."

  "I will not tolerate this, Laeria."

  Again she laughed at him. "And how will you stop me, dear Sebastian? You are a coward. You always have been a coward. Even now you are afraid of me. Stay out of my way, little boy, and perhaps you will not be hurt."

  Her heels clicked against the floor. Silence hung over the library for a moment. Then the door opened, and Sebastian walked into the room. He looked tired and disheveled, his clothes rumpled and his thinning hair sticking up at odd angles. He crossed to the desk, reached into a drawer, drew out a dusty bottle of brandy, and poured himself a glass.

  Only then did he look up and see Caina.

  "Daughter," he said. "What are you doing here?"

&nbs
p; "I fell asleep on the couch," said Caina.

  Sebastian gave a distracted nod. "I'm sorry. My business in town took...longer than I anticipated. I should have been back sooner."

  "What were you and Mother fighting about?" said Caina.

  Sebastian closed his eyes. "You heard?"

  Caina nodded.

  "The same thing we always fight about," said Sebastian.

  "It didn't sound like it," said Caina.

  Sebastian sighed. "This...was not something I wanted to discuss with you, Caina. But..." He sighed again, and took a sip of his brandy. "I suppose it cannot be kept from you." One more sip of brandy, and he looked at her. "Tell me about the Imperial Magisterium."

  Caina shrugged. "The magi of the Magisterium oversee the use of sorcery in the Empire."

  Sebastian nodded. "Go on."

  "They all learn to use the sorcery of the mind," said Caina, remembering how her mother had dug into her thoughts. "They can also learn to control the elements of earth, wind, and water."

  "But not fire," said Sebastian. "Why not?"

  "Because using fire sorcery drives the wielder insane," said Caina. "They're also forbidden to use necromancy."

  "Why?"

  "Because," said Caina, thinking back to the books she had read, "because...other kinds of sorcery draw their power from the mind, or the elements. Necromancy draws its power from death, from blood, and...and..."

  She remembered Azaia's corpse, all that blood dripping down the wall...

  "Azaia?" whispered Caina.

  Sebastian sighed and nodded.

  "Some...some necromancer killed her?" said Caina.

  "The Magisterium," said Sebastian, his voice heavy, "would have us believe that they have total control over sorcery in the Empire, that the forbidden arcane sciences have been stamped out. But that's not true. Bands of rogue sorcerers have operated within the Empire for years. And many brothers and sisters of the Magisterium are...sympathetic, to say the least. And some of the nobility, for that matter. They would see the magi rule the Empire once more, would see the forbidden sciences restored, and slavery reestablished in all the provinces."

  "What has that to do with Mother?" said Caina.

  "Your mother," said Sebastian, tugging at his signet ring, "has been corresponding with one of these outlaw sorcerers."

  "Why?" said Caina.

  "The Magisterium rejected her," said Sebastian. "Perhaps the outlaws will not. Never mind that necromancers fuel their powers with the blood of the innocent. Your mother, Caina...your mother would not scruple at any crime, if she thought it would give her power." He shook his head. "I had thought better of her. I had...I had hoped to think better of her."