Adrian Tchaikovsky - Heirs of the Blade

Only the rain answered her words. No spectre made itself known.

‘Che, this isn’t funny,’ Tynisa remarked after a suitable pause. ‘I don’t appreciate my father’s name being abused like this. If I thought this halfbreed put you up to it, I’d kill her right now, but it seems that you’re driving all this nonsense yourself. I know you got hurt in the war, Che, but to resort to this…?’

Che stared at her, seeing the embodiment of calm reason in Tynisa’s face, whilst the invisible shade of Tisamon lurked secure behind her eyes. She had assumed that Maure would haul the ghost out by main magical force. She had thought this must be what the necromancer’s work entailed. But now it seemed that the shade could continue simply to squat within Tynisa’s mind, like a creeping poison, and they could not touch it.

She looked helplessly about the room until she met Maure’s cautious gaze. ‘Well then,’ she said sickly. ‘If not that, then I must find some way myself. Whatever mantle I’ve been given must be good for something. I’m not done with this.’

‘Che-’ Tynisa started again, but the Beetle girl made a slashing motion in her direction, prompting an astonished silence.

‘Another,’ Che instructed Maure. ‘Call up another.’

‘I need some link, at least. I can’t just-’

‘His name was Achaeos, a Moth-kinden of Tharn. He was my lover, and he was dealt a wound by Tynisa, before his death,’ Che spat it out harshly, ignoring the way her sister flinched from the words. ‘Tell me that’s not enough.’

‘It will do.’ Maure grimaced again. ‘Achaeos of Tharn, then… Achaeos, beloved of Cheerwell Maker.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘Wherever your spirit resides, whatever still remains of it, come forth. Here stands your lover, Achaeos. Surely you must desire some words with her?’

Che sought within her mind, trying to piece together a complete picture of the man she had known. But it was like stepping out over a yawning chasm, because she now found that she was barely able to. For so long after his death she had borne her grief, had been tormented by dreams, had even thought that his angry ghost was haunting her. The actual man himself, the sum of the feelings she had invested in him, had receded under the weight of those mostly self-imposed torments. So now that she came to find him again, the surviving impressions were distant and cold.

But it must be enough. It will be enough. Achaeos!

Maure kept shaking her head, though. ‘There is nothing.’

‘Call him again.’

‘You don’t understand, Che. There is nothing.’ When it was plain to her that Che genuinely did not understand, she elaborated, ‘When I called on the Mantis, I felt the tug, a connection, even though he would not come forth. With this Achaeos, there is nothing. No touch, no contact… no ghost.’

Che stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked tightly.

‘I’m sorry, Che. No ghost. Whatever happened to him, he’s left nothing behind. Either some greater force has claimed him, or he has passed beyond, without so much as a scrap of him remaining. That’s rare, in fact, very rare, but it can happen.’

Che felt her hands begin to shake. ‘Some greater force…’ she managed to get out. As he had died, Achaeos had been in communion with the cursed Mantis spirits of the Darakyon, channelling their power into a grand ritual taking place in Tharn. Che had been helping him, lending what strength she could. She had felt the cold death sent by the Darakyon surge down the link, and she had known at once when Achaeos had died, the connection between them severed as if by a knife.

And they got him, and then the Shadow Box was sundered, and they ceased to be – and whatever was left of Achaeos went with them, scattered to the four winds.

No last reconciliation. No apologies. No parting words. No closing of the wound. No final blessing that would let her live her life again without all the grief.

Only then did Che realize how she had staked far more on that, emotionally, than on trying to draw the poisoned dart of Tisamon out of Tynisa’s mind. Her intentions had become hopelessly tangled and self-involved.

She glanced from Maure to Tynisa, as though looking for an escape.

‘Che, listen to me,’ her sister said patiently. ‘None of this is real. I understand why you’ve resorted to it, but you’ve got to face the real world.’ Confronting that bland scepticism, Che now almost believed her. After all, how much easier life would be if everything, from Khanaphes onwards, had been only a bad dream?

But she knew it was real, and she knew that if Maure could not so much as detect a loose thread of Achaeos, then the Darakyon had got him, and that was that.

And, with that revelation, she could not stay in the incense-heavy air of the claustrophobic room, so she fumbled a panel aside and dashed out into the rain, unable to face either of the other women any more.

Maure was on her feet instantly, chasing after Che. It was not clear whether it was to comfort the Beetle girl or because, for all her words and wards, the mystic did not feel safe close to Tynisa’s rapier without Che there to protect her.

Tynisa shook her head, listening to the rain. Che was out there getting wet, but experience had told her that running around after her sister, once the girl got upset, achieved nothing. Che was best left to herself to calm down, then come back embarrassed at whatever outburst she had been provoked into. And the best medicine after that would be to act as though nothing had happened, and thus spare the girl’s blushes. Still, Maure obviously had not known Che long enough to learn that lesson. Now that it seemed the mummery was over for the evening, Tynisa decided to wait out the worst of the rain under Gaved’s roof, and then set off on the long road back for Leose. She had unfinished business there, for certain.

And such foolishness, she considered. Still, Che is my sister, in fact if not in kinden. She called and I came, despite this waste of my time. Nobody can ask more of me than that.

She stood up and leant over the circle, trying to fathom how people could imagine that such marks on the ground could have any power in the real world.

Tynisa…

The world seemed to lurch around her. Her name whispered, at the very edge of hearing. For a moment she felt a tide of fear rising up in her, primal and unreasoning, and tainted by memories that she had cast off or locked away. But no, I do not believe…

Tynisa… have I found you? It is so hard to tell.

Although the voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and within her, she conceived the feeling that someone stood behind her… someone familiar.

There is a door here half open, the voice whispered, still coming from just beside her, and yet far, far away. I see you only as in twilight, but it is you, is it not?

The room seemed darker than before, the fireflies no longer lighting anything but themselves, the incense smouldering into ash. The rain outside had blotted out the sun and covered the entire house in shadow.

She swallowed. If I speak, I will admit to hearing it. I must not answer it. But she knew that voice now, beyond all doubt, and she could not stop herself from saying, ‘Salma.’

It is you, then, truly? But who else would venture so far to call on me?

‘I’d have thought your cursed Butterfly woman, if she cared.’ The vindictive words were out of Tynisa’s mouth before she could stop them, and she did not know now whether she was more afraid that he would speak to her again, or that she might have driven him away. In her mind resonated the comforting mantra: All is not lost, I may simply be mad. I saw him at my elbow before, so why not hear his voice now? But that faint voice, barely audible over the rain, was still something vastly more real than any of her hallucinations had been.