David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

Panic overwhelmed her as she crawled on her knees, still struggling to see. If Deborah had managed the landing better than she had …

Something hard struck the side of her face, and out of instinct, she flung her other dagger in the way. The metal rang against metal, and as the scattershot stars in her vision gave way to sunlight, she caught sight of Deborah preparing another stab. Wishing she still had her other blade, she continued to retreat, twisting her body out of the way to avoid the thrust and then parrying aside a second and third from Deborah’s other hand.

“Did you think I would come unprepared?” Deborah asked as they stepped onto a cobbled walkway running through the center of the garden, the faded violet stones cool beneath Zusa’s feet. “The deciding hour approaches, and Karak has rewarded our faithfulness above all others.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Zusa, spitting out a bit of bile that had collected in the back of her throat. “A shame you’ll die anyway.”

Deborah stepped closer and closer, head tilted to one side, staring out through the thin white cloth covering the opened slit across her eyes.

“Still in denial,” she said. “Still a fool.”

Again she rushed in, and Zusa twisted and danced side to side, parrying whatever she could not avoid. Back onto the grass they went, the march of their combat taking them toward a shallow pond near the heart of the garden. Surrounding it were five rowan trees, tall and thick with creamy white flowers. Zusa tried to retake control of the engagement to fight her way past Deborah, but the woman battled as if possessed, denying her any escape, her daggers always there. Closer and closer to the pond they went, and Zusa knew if she were forced into it, it’d hamper her ability to dodge, leaving her trapped.

“You humiliated me when you escaped our dungeon,” Deborah said, slashing out for Zusa’s face. She knew it’d be blocked, but she wanted Zusa kept on the defensive, wanted her to feel overwhelmed. Again and again, slashes to the face and chest, Zusa forced to shift her weight side to side to brace accordingly. They were between two of the trees now, the pond so very near.

“You humiliate yourself every day you wrap your face in that mask,” Zusa said, her pride stirring in her chest. She was far more experienced than the whelp she faced, and even lacking a weapon, she should have been able to find victory. “You humiliate yourself every day you let Karak rule over you like a slave.”

Deborah’s controlled demeanor broke for just a moment, and she stretched forward for a killing lunge. The overextension was all Zusa needed. Sidestepping the thrust, she trapped Deborah’s wrist between her elbow and her side, and she kicked as hard as she could into the woman’s armpit. She heard a pop from Deborah’s shoulder, followed by a scream. Zusa let her go to block a desperate swipe, then flung herself into the offensive. Deborah was wounded now, her right arm pressed against her waist as she battled solely with her left. For Zusa, who needed no advantage, it was more than enough.

“Every day,” she shouted at Deborah, her own anger letting loose, her dagger a winding cobra always on the strike. “Every single day, you humiliate yourself! Slave! Fool!”

Deborah had her back to the tree, unable to dodge, and letting out a wordless cry, Zusa thrust for Deborah’s heart. But the shadows were deep beneath the yellow leaves, and instead of piercing flesh, her dagger thudded into the ashen bark, the faceless woman falling into the dark as if it were an open doorway. Zusa spun, knowing Deborah would reappear from another section of shadow nearby, one of the trees or …

From beneath the pond, Deborah emerged, water splashing out in all directions as she lifted into the air, rising as if she were a forgotten beast of the ocean deep. One arm she held against herself, the other stretched out to the side, both her legs dangling. Her wet hair rose as if she were amid a torrent of wind, her eyes shining a bright white from behind the cloth. Her mouth opened, and all her rage and fury came shrieking out in a single word.

“ KARAK! ”

The noise pierced like the cry of an eagle, the very air shimmering from its force. Drops of water caught in its path turned to mist. Zusa crossed her arms and dug in her heels, but it meant nothing. The cry tore into her, ripping gashes into her wrappings, blood pouring down like rain. Her feet left the ground, but it was not for long. Her back slammed into a tree, stealing away her breath. After such a noise, she wondered why no guards had come to save her yet, to protect their lady of the house. Not that it would matter. No one would come in time to save her, not from the demon that landed just beyond the water’s edge, a hungry dagger in her left hand.

“If only you had remained loyal,” Deborah said as she stalked closer. “If only you could have accepted the gifts Karak had to offer. Your place in our order will never be forgotten, Zusa, but it will forever be tainted by your heresy.”

“Give it time, girl,” Zusa said, laughing even as she slumped to the ground, convinced several of her ribs were broken, due to how painful it was to breathe. She let out a sigh as she looked up at the faceless woman lurking above her. “Give it time. No animal ever truly loves its cage.”

Deborah grabbed Zusa by the hair, pulling her head back to fully expose her throat. The other readied a dagger.

“May the fire take you,” she said, and Zusa could do nothing to stop the fatal thrust, only laugh.

Ghost remained atop the mansion as Deborah leaped off, hoping to overtake Zusa before the woman could realize the ambush was upon her. Together, they’d climbed to the top after finding a gap in the patrols, though Ghost had more floated upward than climbed. He couldn’t do it in open space, but while clutching something solid, he found he could will himself to rise or fall. As he watched Zusa and Deborah crash into each other, he laughed at the order the faceless woman had given him.

Stay out of my way, even if it looks like I may lose. I’d rather die than accept your help.

“Only fair,” Ghost muttered as he watched the fight. “I think I’d rather die than help you in the first place.”

Even saying the words made his head ache with a steady throb. Closing his eyes, he focused on Zusa lying before him, her body bleeding from multiple wounds, and that seemed to make it go away. As he did, he heard sounds of alarm to his right. Opening his eyes, he ran along the rooftop to the corner, not a single step making a noise, and then peered down over the edge. Several soldiers were drawing their weapons and moving to join the fight. Ghost felt his face twitch at the sight of them. Letting them interfere would be dangerous, and given how even the fight between Zusa and Deborah appeared, the slightest aid could be enough.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaping off the side.

Swords drawn, he crashed down atop the rearmost soldier. Ghost felt no fear for his body, no danger at the great height from which he fell. His blades smashed through the man’s armor and into the soft flesh beneath, slicing off one arm and shattering the collarbone of the other. Upon hitting ground, he did not stop, only continued on. As his head slipped beneath the dirt, he felt his vision shift, gaining a greater awareness of his surroundings. It was as if he could feel the vibrations of the soldiers above him, could see the great expanse of dirt and rock in all directions. When he pulled his swords to him, he saw their steel was immaculate, whatever blood that had stained them unable to pass through the ground.

He moved without needing to run, merely by thinking of the direction and willing himself to be there. It wasn’t far, and when there, he jumped. The physical action may not have been necessary, but it felt natural, and he emerged from the ground before the remaining soldiers, head bowed, swords out, and a smile on his face.