Feral Night, page 11
Had she done the wrong thing in devouring the Baron?
No, he deserved what he got.
Echoing her sentiment, the Steward waved their arms in the air, their voice booming as though they were conducting an outdoor service. “The ghost lord of Stonerise has tormented the goodly folk of the Thunderhead Ward for centuries! The people have been driven mad, reaved, and left to die in comas. Your father is amongst them. This must end, tonight, before the gravebeasts pour forth and begin their ghastly hunt!”
“What do you want her to do?” Tamlyn interjected.
The Steward pointed at Lukie. “Reclaim the urn and rouse your ghost’s memories when she reawakens after sunset. Let her guide you into the realm she comes from. I can’t say what you’ll find there, but both of you have powers over the dead. Discover the identity of the ghost lord.” They made a wide, sweeping gesture. “I have spent years researching this. If you understand who the ghost lord is, I’ll know their true name from my studies.”
“A person’s true name may not be their birth name,” Tamlyn interrupted, lips thinning.
“The first name said over you has occult power. Your bestowed name. That’s what I intend to use.” The Steward studied the cloud-scudded sky above.
“Hmmph,” Tamlyn thrust his jaw out, frowning. “Then don’t call it a ‘true name.’ And it’s terrible that enemies can use your birth name against you.”
“I did not make the rules of the Indigo World.” The Steward shrugged. “Yet it has its advantages—those names discovered through documents, certificates, and so forth. It makes tracing our enemies easier.”
Tamlyn’s face became perfectly smooth and expressionless. A sign he was fuming inside about the name thing.
“And if it’s in Stonerise, we’ll find it,” Meven said.
The Steward cleared their throat. “When you escape Tenebra, we’ll meet at my office at the hospital. By then, I’ll have completed my ritual preparations to attune to the dagger. We can go to the Tower of Wings to bind and destroy the lord of Stonerise!”
Lukie thought of the first possibility that had occurred to her. “What if Anneth is the ruler?”
“It’s possible.” The Steward smiled like Mrs. Milliner, Lukie’s geography teacher, who gave smug dismissive smiles when Lukie asked a dumb question in class. “Unlikely, however. How could a ghost lord forget their identity when they are the sum of their passions and memories? And as the tragedy of Stonerise was the conflict around the undeclared ducal heir, the ghost lord will more likely be a noble than a commoner.”
She opened her mouth to explain that her patron had been seventeen years old, a teenage detective—
And the words froze upon her tongue. Nothing came forth. Did you stick a binding on me? she shouted internally, poking at her vestige.
No response came from the Detective. Dammit! You have no right to do this to me!
“Please!” The Steward stood over Lukie, staring at her with their solid green elven eyes. “Do this to save your father and end the curse forever.”
“Do you have to be the one to kill the ghost lord?” Lukie asked.
“Yes.” Again, the Steward stroked the wooden box. “It is a relic that draws on ancient magics. No one with a vestige can master it. Have no fear—once I attune to it, I will complete my duty.”
Lukie watched Meven, his leather coat flapping around his ankles. “The primary source of evil in the Thunderhead Ward is the ghost lord of Stonerise. Once they’re gone, will you free Meven?”
The death knight cocked his head to one side, alert.
The Steward regarded the revenant. “He’s served me for nearly fifty years. And he’s shown patience, kindness, and a better understanding of human nature. Revenants are usually stuck emotionally at the age they die, and yet some mature. Meven, when we deal with the ghost lord, you have my promise of freedom.”
Chapter 15
Stonefell Hill
Tamlyn dragged Lukie to one side, hiking away from the Steward, who remained staring at the mourning stone, their long hair streaming in the wind.
“What do you think?” Lukie whispered. A pleasant warmth filled her when she pictured Meven riding free on the open road, the Thunderhead Ward behind him.
“If the Steward’s right, it’s the best way to protect the people,” Tamlyn said. “This ghost lord is a serial offender.”
Lukie struggled to articulate her concerns. How wrong could it be to devour a wicked soul forever to prevent future catastrophe? Especially when she’d gleefully consumed the Baron? She shook her head, noting Tamlyn’s blank expression. “You’re pissed about the name business.”
“Yes.” A slight frown creased his brow. “It’s a rule that makes little sense.”
“If I find the book with all the supernatural rules, I’ll give it to you,” Lukie offered.
“There’ll be no such thing.” Tamlyn shook his head. “Anyway, I wish we had a better plan for dealing with the ghost lord. I can’t arrest them. There’s no higher justice in the Indigo World to report to. There are too many things that can go wrong! You could get trapped, like Karra.” His eyes glinted with tears; he’d been devastated to learn that she’d been imprisoned for twenty years in the Baron’s nightmare realm. “And yet we can’t let the Phantasmal Hunt run amok, possessing people. Ordinary folk are in danger.” He clenched a fist. “If only Cage had stuck with us for longer!”
“We can manage without him.” Cage was far from Lukie’s favorite person. “Meven and I will take care of it. He’s got stealth powers. We’ll find the name and stop the ghost lord and—”
“Focus on rescuing Zeran,” Tamlyn instructed. “It’s obvious you think Meven is amazing but be careful.”
“Huh?” Lukie glanced over at the dark-haired revenant, arms folded, and brooding, studying the distant mountains. “I mean, he’s okay—”
Tamlyn rolled his eyes. “Lukie, this guy is centuries old and taking advantage of your naivety. The Steward told me he was a conman, thief, all-around dangerous criminal, and…”
“The Steward enslaved him!”
“For the duration of a sentence. Doing community work.” Tamlyn grimaced again. “Again, I hate that one priest handles this, rather than a court or a proper system of justice. It’s not ideal. I’m concerned about how risky the plan is. We don’t know what’s in the ghost realm, only that it’s likely an endless battle or torture pit. And I can’t come with you, so you won’t be able to eat to defend yourself. Before you answer, think about this.”
Lukie stuck her hands in her jeans pockets, coming to the same conclusion as she’d had before. “I’m going ahead. It’s the only way to save Dad.”
“What do you need me to do?” Tamlyn sighed.
“Keep the urn safe. I can call Anneth without it. And be careful. That gravebeast might come for it. Stay away from graveyards and things. I promised to help Anneth, and I can’t do it if her ashes go missing.”
Tamlyn gave the barest nod. “Let’s do this.”
Meven and Lukie arrived at the ruins of Stonefell Castle. The site comprised a forlorn hill devoid of tourist gift shops and kiosks. A thick bank of storm clouds massed behind it, and wind flattened the wild tussocks of brown grass. Only a worn, wooden sign indicated the place was of historical significance.
A tent was pitched at the base of the slope, next to a battered van. A man and woman chatted gibberish to each other until Lukie’s mind registered they were speaking in a foreign language. During its conquests on the continent, the Royal Empire had tried to expunge all local dialects and different languages. Now, many cultures had reverted to their original tongues, causing the ire of ardent nationalists and old people.
The woman greeted Lukie in the same language.
“Uh, sorry.” Lukie shook her head. “I don’t speak Stonewilder.” She supposed with her pale, undead skin, she resembled her ancestors from that region rather than the sun-reddened and tanned citizens of Breakwater Bay.
“Ah, that is okay.” The tourist smiled and flipped her platinum blonde plait over her shoulder. “I am Ingvar, and this is my boyfriend Emrek. You are welcome to join us if you wish.”
She gestured at the bearded man, who offered them an herbal cigarette.
“No, we’re here to do something else,” Lukie said. “Thanks, anyway!”
“Oooh, they are the dark poetry people. I read about them.” Emrek displayed a worn book: The Budget Backpacking Guide to the Stormfields. “Can we hear a poem?”
Meven stood forward, dipped his hands, and recited Broken Bells in a strident voice.
“We’re going to the top to do a private reading to the spirits,” he said. “Afterwards, I’m more than happy to give a further performance.”
The couple applauded. Lukie and Meven made their farewells, climbed to the hill’s crest, and looked outward. Below was a spreading patchwork of farms and fences bordering on the distant forest. A thin ribbon of road, illuminated by pinpricks from headlights, cut through the far hills. Beyond, the haze of the suburbs began.
There was no sign that a castle had even stood here. Count Wulgar had done that part well.
“Summon Anneth!” Meven instructed.
The sky rumbled with thunder overhead. Lukie inhaled, the incipient smell of rain flooding her undead lungs. Lukie opened her senses to Tenebra. Screams howled across the Veil as the spectral storm raged.
“Anneth!” she called. Nothing answered.
Lukie screwed her face and tried again, concentrating hard on the ghost’s presence.
A second flash of sheet lightning lit the sky overhead, and in the next moment, Anneth appeared. An ethereal wind blew her red dress and dark hair, different from the physical breeze that raked Lukie’s short style. The ghost regarded the hillside with hollow eyes. “This place,” she whispered. “I know it.”
“It’s Stonefell Castle,” Lukie said. “Where you died, when it was called Stonerise. What do you feel? What do you remember?” Her hands clenched. Anneth needed to recall where she came from, so they could rescue Dad.
Anneth folded her arms. “I charged you with finding my name and nature, and yet each time you show me something, it stirs the worst within. I will not recollect my past any further.”
The clouds parted above, revealing the scattered light from the ring cutting across the northern side of the sky: Marmaruk, the spirit of war, strife, and endings. Especially prominent on the last night of the thirteenth month, dedicated to him.
“Please,” Lukie begged.
“No, child. What profit is there in remembering a hatred so complete it drowned me? Instead, I beseech you, restore my urn to its original resting place, and there I will wander amidst those silent tombstones, regard the stars, and attempt to know some modicum of peace. I felt it once before, perhaps that moment will return.”
“Anneth, something trapped my father in the world where you come from—” Lukie began.
“I am sorry.” The blended elven woman’s face was concerned but resolute.
“It’s my fault he’s caught there!” Lukie begged. “I hadn’t seen him for twenty years, and when I saw him again with another daughter, I was furious. It was like he hadn’t waited for me at all. There was this moment—”she snapped her fingers“—when I told the girl to ‘go away,’ and then a gravebeast appeared. Dad leapt to protect her, and the beast reaved his soul and took him into the Stonerise ghost realm. He’s suffering because of what I did. Please, help me save him.”
“I understand your sorrow,” Anneth whispered. “I also feel I have lost someone very important to me.” A tear dripped from her cheek, mingling with the perpetually flowing blood from the cut on her face. “Yet, I will not return. My heart breaks for you, but I must say no.”
Lukie buried her head in her hands. No, this wasn’t fair. Without Anneth to take them to the Stonerise ghost realm, they’d never cross over. Dad would be lost forever.
She paced back and forth. Lightning cracked overhead and rain drizzled from the sky.
“What’s wrong?” Meven asked.
“She doesn’t want to return,” Lukie whispered to Meven, drawing away from her link with Anneth.
“Compel her. She’s your ghost.” He said it like saying she’s your cat.
“I can do that?”
“Yeah. You can control her. Overpower her with your feeding synesthesia,” Meven explained. “Drown Anneth with your own poems or flavors, or however you perceive souls.”
Lukie glanced at the ghost, a silhouette against the storm.
“I can’t! She’s my client. My friend. She trusted me to help her with her problem.”
“There’s no other way,” Meven reminded her.
“What if we find that gravebeast and—”
“We have no idea where it is.”
Lukie paced back and forth.
“There’s five hours until midnight. No time to screw around, especially with your father at stake,” Meven said. “If Anneth won’t play ball, change the game. Make her take us there. We have to rescue Zeran.”
“Okay. Let’s do this.” Lukie grimaced. Only her cache objects remained on her. She’d handed her phone to Tamlyn after Meven had warned her that mundane items had a habit of going missing when traveling into Tenebra.
Meven had given nothing of his to the Steward. Instead, he removed his goggles, motorcycle keys, and a small parcel sealed in waterproof plastic and placed them on the ground. His blank, luminous yellow eyes gleamed in the cloud-covered darkness.
Rain broke and splattered, drenching Lukie. She walked to where the ghost stood on the crest, staring across at the blur of suburbs and woodland. “Please. One last time. Will you help me save my father?”
“No, child.” Anneth turned away from Lukie. “No matter how many times you plead, I will not go into that dreadful place.”
“I’m sorry,” Lukie whispered, touching the woman from behind. Pensive violin music played and for a few seconds, Lukie beheld all that was currently Anneth. Then she attacked, drowning the violin with a series of electric guitar chords. Anneth twisted away, her soul-song wailing into a panicked melody. Lukie smothered Anneth’s own rhythm with her own. “It’s going to be okay,” Lukie whispered. “The right thing to do is to take us to Stonerise. And then, once Dad is safe, I’ll escort you to the Lanes of the Dead. This is for the best.”
“Perhaps,” Anneth murmured, as Lukie buried her own song. The red-clad woman stopped her flight, facing the revenant. “You are my guide, after all.”
“Exactly.” Lukie filled in the gaps of Anneth’s soul music with her own improvisations, extrapolating from Anneth’s core melody.
Anneth’s eyes shifted to the hue of green glass. “There it is,” she whispered. “The old castle. I am looking at the bailey from a tiny, slitted window. One side is where the carriages and coachmen are entering. The courtyard is hung with bunting, the parquetry is assembled for the dancing, and the year gong is rung.” She clutched at her forehead. “The ring! It never ends!”
“It’s alright,” Lukie soothed. “Take us there.”
The booming chime bled through Lukie’s consciousness. She seized on the note, playing it on her electric guitar.
Spectral energy foamed around them, like when the lid was removed from a shaken bottle of soda. Anneth screeched as reality tore open, revealing a mud-churned courtyard. The ghost frantically struggled away from Tenebra.
Lukie’s heart broke. Wait, this is wrong, I shouldn’t be doing this!
She grasped at Anneth, but Stonerise sucked the ghost into its nightmare vortex, down into a confused jumble of images and sounds—red sky, black shadow castle, dead bodies, the distant screams of beasts, and the booming of gongs.
“Meven!” Lukie screamed. “I’ve got it.”
“Let’s go!” He jogged to her side and took her hand. His synthesizer soul music played an anticipatory overture as they journeyed from the living lands into the Underworld.
First, they crossed the Veil—the barrier between the physical realm and Tenebra—which tore like tissue paper. Then the endless void of Tenebra surrounded them—a sea of wailing souls that fed on each other. And lastly, they fell through a storm of angry, churning fog that rang with howls that crashed like thunder in all directions.
Like an instant photograph gradually changing from a blank pane to a vibrant, colorful image, the ghost realm of Stonerise formed about them. Shadows spilled across the ground like black ink. A crimson sky stretched above.
Something shoved Lukie from behind. The muzzled gravebeast dove into the realm after her, shoving past. Lukie staggered, losing control over the crossing. Her sense of Meven vanished, and she fell, screaming, into a broken labyrinth of blood and darkness.
Chapter 16
Stonerise Castle
“Out of the way!” a voice roared, as a matched set of bay horses pulling a carriage nearly trod Lukie into the dirt and muck. She rolled to one side, frantically scanning the area. The gravebeast was nowhere in sight.
Smells of vomit, manure, and piss choked her. She retched, and sour acid burned her throat. She staggered, gasping.
What, I’m alive again? She swallowed. Her heart raced and thudded. Sweat slicked her hands, and her head spun. Everything was a thousand times more intense than her undead state.
Where was she? In the middle of a castle’s courtyard, or bailey. She had made a model of one from toilet rolls and ice cream sticks in junior history class. A stable ran along the left-hand wall, with carriages parked in front. That area was a confusing mess of blue-liveried servants leading the horses into stalls and coachmen yelling at each other.
On the other side of the bailey, an open-air kitchen leaked scents of roasting meats. Her mouth watered. Oh, so good.
In contrast, marquee tents, bunting strung between poles and bright oil lanterns obscured the front of the castle entrance. In that area, men in fine coats and women in formal gowns greeted each other, turning away from the rest of the courtyard’s chaos as though it didn’t exist.
