Adrian Tchaikovsky - Heirs of the Blade

She now caught Che’s eye, and for a moment the Beetle girl could not answer.

‘And you?’ she challenged at last. ‘Don’t ask me to believe you came running after us to save you from the brigands you’re obviously familiar with, or to get inside Varmen’s mail. Help me to trust you, Maure.’

The halfbreed mystic looked away again, her good humour ebbing and leaving her vulnerable again. ‘Ghosts, Cheerwell Maker… do you know what ghosts are?’

‘They’re…’ They’re what happens to us after we die? But that can’t be right.

Maure had apparently read her mind. ‘Nobody knows what happens to us when we pass on – the vital spark that animates our crude flesh. Perhaps we are merely gone, after all. Or perhaps we fly back to rejoin our ideal, thus Beetles to the essence of beetle-ness and so on, although that begs the question of what happens to someone like me. Perhaps there is another world, yet, a metamorphosis into something splendid, out of this coarse life. Some Woodlouse-kinden even believe we may simply be born once again. But we don’t know, and that’s not what ghosts are. Ghosts are… it’s as if we were a nymph or larva all our lives, and in our dying moments, we hardened our skins, made of ourselves a chrysalis, and then… the spark of us, the thing that made us live, flies free somewhere else, but something’s left behind that still has our shape, our nature. It fractured, when the life burst forth and flew away, and most of the time that’s all there is left, just shards of the husk blown by the wind, but some deaths – horrible deaths, terrible deaths, deaths cutting short unfulfilled lives, deaths of magicians especially – those can leave a husk behind that is still them, or part of them, some fragment or aspect of their being that still possesses urges and needs. They can be spoken with, and bound to service even, and they can haunt others, or objects, places. Broken things, they are, most often, but still recognizable as who they once were. Even the smaller fragments may contain some ounce of self, some emotion – a hate, a love.’

Che shivered at that suggestion. ‘But that still doesn’t explain-’

‘It’s not the actual requests I mind,’ Maure spoke over her. ‘Trawling for someone’s dead husband, or someone’s lost child, there’s a science to that – and I almost enjoy it. But all the rest of the time… all the rest of the time it’s just hearing the whispers, the fragmentary voices, the odds and ends of memory, the wasted splinters of other people’s lives. The world is full of the husks of the dead, and they all talk to me, and I can’t blot them out.’

Che just watched her now, waiting to hear more.

‘They went quiet when you woke up, though,’ Maure whispered, trying to find her smile again. ‘I can’t hear a single one of the wretched, abandoned bastards. A whole ghost, well, that’s different. I reckon it wouldn’t be so in awe of you. But the chaff, all that disintegrating chaff, you brush it away because of what they gave you – what they gave to you and her.’

Che felt her hand rise to touch her forehead, without knowing why until she realized that Maure’s gaze had led her there.

‘What do you see?’ she demanded, but the woman merely shook her head and would not say.

For a long while they sat in silence, during which Thalric turned over twice, threatening to wake again. Maure mustered a shamefaced grin, but it convinced neither of them. At last she said, ‘Ask your question.’

‘I was haunted,’ Che told her. ‘The ghost… I thought it was the ghost of my lover, but it wasn’t. It was a Mantis-kinden I had once known, and the Masters of Khanaphes cut him from me and set him loose in the world. And now he’s poisoning my sister, and I have to stop him, and…’

Maure nodded. ‘Ask it,’ she urged.

‘My lover, he died…’ Che said, realizing how she was stating the obvious, yet surprised to find the pain so raw and immediate, after so much time and distance. ‘He… I was with him, in a way, but I never had the chance to speak to him, to say goodbye, to say.. .’ She clenched her fists. ‘Would you… could you…?’

Maure’s grin failed, and she was now nodding grimly. ‘I could hardly refuse a request from someone like you, now, could I? But let that wait until we reach Elas Mar, at least. Let me find some place there that I can fortify and protect. Let me… let me have this journey without ghosts, Cheerwell Maker.’

‘Call me Che.’ The Beetle reached out and put a hand on the necromancer’s arm. Then Varmen’s snoring ceased, and the Wasp was stretching, yawning. And Che backed off as Maure sat down again beside him.

Four nights later, they ran into the bandits.

It was so much a meeting of chance that it was almost embarrassing. Varmen laid a small fire, as on each night previously, but by the time he had it going they had all spotted another fire through the trees, a hundred yards away or so, and the makers of that fire had by now surely spotted theirs. There followed a hasty discussion about the virtues of fleeing further into the woods at night, of awaiting whatever might befall them, or of confronting the other fire and its owners. In the end, Che was the only one amongst them advocating anything other than confrontation, so she gave in with bad grace.

After a little preparation, they set off in that direction, knowing that their opposite numbers had been given ample time to prepare.

Che, Maure and Thalric proceeded first, approaching the campfire as obviously as they could, finding just two men there, neither of them locals, and with three horses tied nearby. One was a squat Scorpion-kinden, and a loaded crossbow lay beside him as he ostentatiously burned a hunk of bread in the flames. The other was a solid-looking Wasp-kinden man with dark hair, who was watching their approach bright-eyed.

‘I swear I’m meeting more Wasps here in the Commonweal than I ever did in the Empire,’ Che murmured.

Thalric stopped within range of their firelight, having counted the horses, and Maure leant in to say to him, ‘The third is in the trees to your right. He has a bow.’

He nodded, then announced, ‘We seem to be neighbours for this night, so perhaps it would make sense if we shared the same fire.’ They had already discussed this, and it seemed marginally safer to have their opposite numbers where they could see them, rather than out in the dark planning who-knew-what.

‘There’s logic to that,’ the dark Wasp conceded. ‘You have food?’

‘Some,’ Thalric returned. ‘We’re no danger to you, so perhaps your friend could come and join us.’

The two men exchanged glances, and the Scorpion shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Come on out, Soul,’ he said. A moment later a tall, angular man glided out of the darkness, his face expressionless. He was Grasshopper-kinden and, tall as he was, his bow was taller, an arrow fitted to the string, but pointing towards the ground.

‘They’ve a friend also, a big man still out there in the dark,’ said the Grasshopper.

The Wasp raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’ He reached down beside him, retrieving something from under a blanket. It took Che a moment to recognize that the object now resting across his knees was a nailbow, a weapon she would not have expected to find in the Commonweal.

Thalric nodded, recognizing this game of escalation when he saw it. He opened his mouth to call out, but Varmen was already responding to his cue and strode out of the darkness to back up his fellows. They had decked him out in all his armour, and for a moment the three strangers just stared at him. Probably the nailbow bolts could have pierced his mail, some of them at least, but it was clear that the dark-haired Wasp knew a Sentinel when he saw one, and he reacted in almost superstitious awe.