David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

The home was a simple one, and though large, it lacked any decorations. There were no windows, a single door, the roof flat and the sides a dull brown. It was built right up against the southern wall, not far from the squalor and rows of homeless tents and shanties that occupied much of the wall’s length. Zusa walked up to the door, touched the handle. Doing so flooded her with memories, and she paused, trying to decide why she was even there.

She’d been an orphan, given over to the priesthood of Karak when she was but a babe. Growing up in its dark walls, the temple had been her home, at least until her affair with Daverik. Then they’d exiled her from the temple, deeming her unworthy of remaining within the holy ground. Before her was the home she’d been exiled to, along with her other faceless sisters. It was there they’d slept, eaten, and trained, overseen by the eldest of them, a woman named Eliora. Taking a deep breath, Zusa pulled open the door and stepped inside.

It was so familiar, that grand room with the fireplace and shelves full of books outlining the strictest tenets of Karak. The same round rug remained before the fireplace, and as Zusa stepped inside, she thought of the many winters she’d lain upon that rug, watching logs burn as the fire’s warmth seeped into her skin. The fireplace still showed signs of use, and she wondered if Daverik’s recent rebirth of the faceless had used the place as they always had before. They were all dead now, killed by either her hand or the strange Ghost who had interfered at the last moment to save her.

Zusa walked to the shelves, found a well-worn leather-bound book she’d read many times, The Lion’s Walk. Flipping it open, she put her fingers on the faded brown pages, felt the crinkled paper as she read the first line aloud.

“Heavy walked the lion, and he made no noise to alert the farmer’s daughter who worked the fields that day.”

It was a story told fully in symbols and metaphors, setting it far apart from the dry rules and speeches that filled the others. Zusa closed the book, put it back on the shelf. She looked to the other books, thinking of the anger they spewed, the righteous condemnation of nearly everything that it meant to be human. On a whim, she returned to the fireplace and the small flask of oil waiting beside it. One after the other, she tossed books in, doused them with oil, and then lit them with a readied piece of flint. As the books burned, she watched, hoping the fire would give her comfort. It did not. Only The Lion’s Walk remained by the time she was done.

Now uncomfortably hot from the fire, Zusa moved on to the only other room in the building. In it were four beds, and they still had the same blankets, heavy and dark green. It was as if, even in sleep, Karak wished to smother them and hide their bodies. Zusa sat on the edge of one, hand drifting across the rough fabric. She thought of the times she’d spent with Nava and Eliora, how they’d clung to one another, together fighting against the loneliness that threatened to swallow them all. Never did a day go by that they were not reminded of their failures, their inherent inferiority. It’d been driven into their prayers. It’d been whispered with every bit of cloth they wrapped about their bodies. But come nightfall, there were no priests, no gods, just them and their beds that were always too cold, too small.

“You were always so faithful, Nava,” Zusa whispered, thinking of the girl’s small hands and beautiful brown eyes. She used to play with her dark hair, which, despite how short she cut it, was still soft and smooth and fun to rustle with her fingers. They once joked about growing out braids and finding a way to tie them so the wrappings still covered them appropriately.

“The priests would never approve,” Zusa had told her.

“What does it matter if they never know?” Nava had asked. “They will think I have strange lumps on my head, that is all. If they ask, I’ll tell them Karak has cursed me with a great ugliness.”

“They think that already,” Eliora had said, kneeling before her bed in prayer while the other two sat together, waiting for her to finish. “And they would know the moment you tried. The eyes of priests are always undressing us.”

They’d never mentioned braids again.

Zusa stood, already rethinking her plan to use the home as her own. Too many memories, and they all ended the same. Karak’s mercy came for them, killing her sisters with the blade of a dark paladin, smothering their happiness with oppression and hate and self-loathing.

“We were beautiful,” Zusa breathed aloud, the greatest blasphemy she could think to utter in that place. “Beautiful, pure, and never once in need of the Lion. You gave us nothing but shame.”

She started toward the door to leave, then froze. A sound, so soft, but her ears picked it up nonetheless. It was the slightest rattle of wood, but from where? Zusa froze, trying to think. There were only the two rooms, and she’d been in both …

But no, that wasn’t right. There was a third, the safe room they were to hide in if guards ever came looking for them for the killings they committed in the name of their glorious Karak. Zusa drew a dagger, and slowly, she stalked toward the far side of the room, to what appeared to be a simple blank wall. She knew that not to be the case, and she readied herself for an attack. All four faceless were dead, but what if there were others she’d not been told of? Or what if Daverik had already recruited more?

Free hand finding the slender groove necessary to open it, she tensed, took in a deep breath, and then yanked open the hidden door leading to the secret hiding room. Her eyes widened, her body froze. In her gut, she felt her insides twist, and in her chest, her heart break.

Within were two girls, and they wore thin black shifts that went underneath the wrappings that were pooled beneath them both on the floor. Both their faces were hidden with white cloths, with only a slit to reveal their eyes. One girl’s skin was dark, her eyes brown, curls of black hair peeking out from beneath the cloth, while the other girl looked pale. Her pretty blue eyes stared up at Zusa, wide with fear.

They couldn’t be any older than nine.

“Are you one of us?” the darker girl asked, and she pointed toward the wrappings Zusa wore. Zusa swallowed, tried to think of what to say.

“No,” she said. “I used to be, but not anymore.”

This seemed to make them all the more nervous, and they shrank further back into the safe room. Zusa clutched the doorway with one hand, the hilt of her dagger with the other, needing something to keep them from shaking with her rage.

In the other room, she heard the door open, close.

“Girls?” asked a painfully familiar voice.

“Stay here,” Zusa told them, and she pushed the door shut, returning the two to darkness. Racing between the beds, Zusa made sure she was flying by the time Daverik stepped into the bedroom, a loaf of bread in one hand, two apples in the other. The food crashed to the ground as Zusa’s knee connected with his stomach, her fist striking his throat to rob him of any words. Her momentum carried them into the other room, and Zusa twisted so she could slam him against the wall beside the fireplace. She drove her dagger into the palm of his left hand, ramming it into the wood of the wall and pinning him there. The other she pressed against his neck.

“How dare you?” she said, voice nearly a snarl.

“I don’t under…”

“The girls,” she said. “I found them. Are you recruiting them so young now? Or did you fuck them yourself so you could declare them unclean and therefore worthy of your purposes?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, hoarse from the blow she’d given him. “I brought them with me from Mordeina. One of the priests there, he couldn’t control himself. They were in danger, so I took them with me. It was to protect them, Zusa, I swear!”