Gail Martin - The Sworn

Cam waited until Renn had climbed back up the rocky footpath to the manor before he walked a few steps to a patch of wildflowers and picked a handful. He returned to lay them atop the cairn, and bent to retrieve a small rock, which he added to the rest of the pile. Cam laid a hand on the rock tomb and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know whether or not you’re still here,” he said quietly. “If you are, I know the dead can hear the living. I’m sorry for the grief I caused you. Sorry I wasn’t here to protect Renn. Sorry I couldn’t stand up to Alvior-or Father. I want you to know: Carina and I never stopped thinking about you. We wrote letters, but I guess Alvior or Father made sure they didn’t get through. If you can hear me, then I just want to tell you that everything’s all right. And Carina and I love you.”

An unseasonably cool breeze tousled Cam’s unruly curls. For a few seconds, he thought he saw something shimmer in the air, although the day was not warm enough to see heat rise from the ground. There was no sound, but in that instant, Cam felt a warmth and comfort slip over him, there and gone, that made him suspect that his comments had been heard. He did not try to choke back the tears that streamed down his face. And if the ghost saw, Cam was certain that she understood.

When he had regained his composure, Cam walked back to the trail that led from the manor down to the shore. He turned away from Brunnfen and found himself heading down the path he had taken so often as a boy. Then, like now, he found consolation in the sound of the waves and the fresh spray. His thoughts were a jumble as he walked. When he shook himself out of his brooding, Cam found himself far down the rocky beach, at the base of the cliff that formed Brunnfen’s foundation. He looked out across the water toward the long dock where Asmarr, his father, had kept the boat he loved to take out onto the bay for fishing. Farther out, the bay was quite deep, but silt had filled in along the coastline, and so the pier extended far out from shore. Years ago, large ships could lay anchor in the inlet, and rumor had it that the first lords of Brunnfen had been smugglers. It would be difficult for more than a couple of small boats to come into shore now.

Movement on the pier caught Cam’s eye, and although the day was warm, Cam felt his blood turn to ice. Standing on the dock was his father’s ghost.

Cam’s eyes widened and he felt his heart begin to thud. Asmarr did not seem to see him. Cam watched as his father went through the motions of untying a boat, although there was no boat moored on the dock. Suddenly, Asmarr’s ghost staggered, falling backward as if he had been pushed by an unseen hand. Before the ghost could catch his balance, he staggered again, clutching his head before collapsing. Unseen hands rolled the body off the pier and into the water. Cam watched in horror and remembered something. Asmarr couldn’t swim.

Before Cam could gather his thoughts, the air around him began to stir, and he felt a touch on his shoulder. He spun around to find Asmarr staring at him. The ghost on the dock had been translucent. But the apparition that stood in front of Cam might have passed for a living man had Cam not known that his father was dead. Asmarr’s face was set in a determined glower, and he reached out with both hands, giving Cam a hard shove toward the pier.

Cam tried to step around the ghost. “I didn’t come back here to fight you, Father. You’re dead. It’s over.”

Asmarr blocked his path, shoving him again down the beach. Cam felt his anger rise.

“You’re dead. Your favorite son, Alvior, murdered you. And you still can’t let it go, can you? You can’t accept that I’m back, when you hated me and Carina just for being what we were. Well, I’m not leaving. You threw me out once. You’re not running me off again.”

Asmarr’s expression darkened, and the ghost seemed to grow in size, becoming more solid. A hail of rocks suddenly flew through the air at Cam, pelting him from the direction of the path. Cam spotted a second trail at the far end of the beach. It was on the other side of the dock, but it was the only way back to the manor without winding through the caves. As another shower of rocks flew toward him, Cam began to sprint to the second path.

Rocks struck him on the shoulders and back, and Cam realized that Asmarr’s fury had not abated. The rocks came from the inland side of the beach, and Cam found himself being driven toward the water.

“It’s not enough that Mother died, you want to kill me, too?” Cam shouted. He was sore where the rocks had struck him, and he could feel blood running down the side of his head.

Asmarr’s ghost launched itself at Cam, moving to block his escape. Cam drew his sword and brought the blade down with a killing slice that would have cleaved a living man from shoulder to hip. The blade passed harmlessly through the ghost’s form. Cam swung at Asmarr, and it felt as if his fist hit something solid, though not quite human. Dropping his sword, Cam began to pummel the ghost, all the while realizing that Asmarr was, slowly but surely, forcing him down the pier. He wondered if Asmarr meant to push him into the water, and if that happened, whether the ghost could hold him under. He didn’t want to find out.

The Divisionists did their best to drown me. Goddess! I have no desire to die like that at Father’s hand.

Cam rained blow after blow down on the ghost, but Asmarr’s expression was determined. If the ghost felt the punches, it gave no sign, although Cam knew they would have felled a mortal. Broad-shouldered and ham-fisted, Cam had held his own in enough bar fights and battles to know how to throw a punch. In life, Asmarr could never have withstood Cam’s strikes. Now, Cam knew he was losing the fight.

Near the end of the pier, Asmarr’s eyes glinted with something akin to madness. Cam suddenly felt as if someone had thrown a boulder at him, as an invisible force pushed him to his knees. He was sweating hard, fighting the ghost’s power, as he fell to all fours on the dock. Something forced his head down, so that his gaze went into the water.

And then Cam knew. Asmarr wasn’t trying to kill him.

Asmarr was warning him.

Someone had dredged the inlet.

“I see! Get the hell off me!”

Immediately, the ghost released him. Cam gasped for breath as the force that had held him down disappeared. Cam staggered to his feet. “You never had any tact when you were alive,” he grumbled, straightening his shirt. “Why should I be surprised that you have none now that you’re dead?” For the first time, as he looked around the inlet, he saw something that had not been there before. He looked back at the ghost.

“What are those posts sunk into the rock?”

Asmarr’s ghost pointed out to sea.

Cam frowned. “They’re meant to moor boats-a lot of them. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Asmarr nodded.

Cam looked down the cliffs at the long line of posts, and then out to sea. “He wouldn’t need that many to tether small boats from supply ships.” The only reason was one that made Cam shudder. “Men. The boats wouldn’t be for cargo. They’d be carrying troops from larger ships beyond the inlet. Alvior intended Brunnfen to be a staging area for an invasion.”

Asmarr stood a few paces away. A pained expression had replaced the dogged determination of a few minutes before, and it was the closest thing Cam had ever seen to remorse on his father’s face.

“Alvior did this?”

The ghost nodded.

“He meant to bring a fleet here to challenge the king?”

Again, Asmarr’s ghost nodded.

Cam let out a creatively obscene curse and stood staring at the water, his hands on his hips.

“That probably means he’s coming back, doesn’t it?” Cam began to pace on the pier. “It’s late summer, so he’s got a few months until the ice starts to build. It’s already been close to seven months since he disappeared. So the question is, will he strike before winter or wait until spring?”