The Lessons Never Learned, page 29
"Who was it? The Sourcerer who took you from the Other World?" I asked aloud. I knew I could make Ssserakis hear me by asking the question in my mind, but I wanted to speak it. Maybe it had something to do with hearing my own voice somehow making the conversation feel more real, less like I was imagining the horror possessing me.
A man. Terran.
"You don't know his name?"
Your lives are brief flickers of light in the darkness. They pass so quickly, there is little point to learning one name from another. He was a man, a Sourcerer. He pulled me from my world and tried to dominate me, to control me. He was not expecting a will to match his own. I escaped his prison and fled. I was new to the world and unsure of how much of my power had crossed over. Less than I would have liked, certainly. But your hateful sun was too bright. It burned my body to mere wisps.
"That's why you were in the Pit? You fled there to escape the sun?"
Coincidence, but a grateful one. To escape the sun, I fled into one of your kind. A terran who couldn't understand my existence. He blamed others for what he couldn't see and struck out at those close to him. He killed and killed and killed. And the fear he fed me was delicious. But others caught up with him and put him in chains, dragged him underground and forgot about him. He kept killing down there, always saying the voices made him do it. I never told him to kill anyone. I could feel Ssserakis' amusement. A simple mind with no idea how to make others fear without pain, without threat, without death. The little king took notice and killed my host, setting me free. But it was no matter. The fear down there could have kept me sustained for eternity. And the darkness was as comfortable as any place in this world of yours.
But even there, underground, the light of your world hurt. It is everywhere. It seeps through the rock and shines out of your eyes. I must return home. I must take back what has been stolen.
It was the most Ssserakis had ever said to me in one go. I decided to ask the horror some questions while I had its attention.
"Can I take your form again? Like we did inside Vainfold's crown?"
No. The rules there were different, more like those of home. Taking form here is difficult, straining. But I am not powerless. My window was open and moonlight poured through, casting my shadow on the bed. I saw it move, then. I saw tendrils of darkness worm their way out of my shadow. It seemed to change consistency, becoming less incorporeal and more like thick tar, spreading unnaturally far. A mad grin stretched impossibly wide, across my shadow's face, as though the moonlight passed right through me. And then it was back to normal, as though I hadn't just witnessed Ssserakis making a mockery of my shadow.
I can draw on fear and lend you strength. I can sap the warmth from around you and give your shadow form, but I cannot assume my form. Not here.
It was something, at least. I had a better idea of what I might be capable of with Ssserakis lending its strength to mine. Perhaps even more useful would be the knowledge such an ancient creature could provide, assuming I could keep it communicating with me.
But I must be fed. I cannot help you without power, and for that I need the fear of others.
I had other questions I wanted to ask, many others, but there was one that had been there ever since we had left the Pit. "Why do you appear to me as people I have killed? Why stand there watching me through the hunter's eyes, and yet speak to me inside my head?"
A few moments of silence were damning. I have nothing to do with your apparitions.
I snorted "You're telling me you're not watching me from his eyes? Over there in the corner. The huntsman I killed in the Forest of Ten." I stood from the bed and approached the figure standing in the shadow. It was the closest I had ever got to one of the spectres and I winced at the guilt I felt. He was a tall man, and broad. He had been strong in life, but he seemed somewhat diminished in death. His ribs looked buckled and blood leaked out of his mouth, drying to brown on his bearded chin. There was damning accusation in his eyes.
I am not your conscience, Eskara. The ghosts you see are of your own making.
I don't know how exactly, but I knew truth when I heard it from Ssserakis. The ancient horror could see them too, but they were not its doing. "Then how is he here? Why do they keep appearing?" I reached out and passed a hand through the ethereal form of the hunter. Like stirring mist, my hand disturbed the apparition, but its form quickly resolved. There was nothing but pain and hate in those dead eyes.
Only one of us is a Necromancer. I know as little of Sources as you know of my home.
"I'm no Necromancer. I haven't even tasted a Source since they determined I was attuned to it. The academy didn't even teach it as a school."
Excuses. These shades are your doing, not mine.
Truth is a prison. One that sits behind us our entire lives, just waiting for us to step inside its barred domain. I have heard people say that the truth can set you free. Somewhat ironically, that's a bloody lie. The truth locks you in, determines a set way of thinking, of feeling, of believing. The truth is the opposite of freedom. Lies, on the other hand, can be whatever we want them to be. Lies can free us from a burden that truth would bury us with. Lies can ease a pain that truth would cause to rot and fester. Lies can make a point, where truth would just expose us for the hypocrites we are, a lesson all parents know well. The world is founded on lie, upon lie, upon lie. But the truth is always there, just waiting for an opportunity to tear down everything we have built.
Ssserakis was telling the truth that night, and I could find no lies to spare me the confusion and pain. The ghosts were my doing, somehow. I was, entirely without design, bringing about my own haunting. I had no idea how I was doing it, and the ancient horror was my only confidant in the matter. I couldn't tell any of the others about Ssserakis, and I certainly couldn't tell them I was a Necromancer who was bringing back the dead as spirits to haunt me. How could I possibly explain to Hardt that even in death his brother found no rest because I was somehow responsible for raising him as a ghost to follow me around all my life. I was already responsible for Isen's death, the truth that I was also responsible for his continued torment was too much even for me to take.
I did what many of us often do when confronted with a hard truth we'd rather not submit to: I jumped out the nearest window. Of course, I couldn't escape Ssserakis, but at least I left the ghost of the huntsman behind for a time. My window opened out into our little garden and I had to be careful not to step on my Spiceweed. It wasn't just about not wanting to damage the plants, but also that the stems came with barbed thorns and in my haste to escape my room I had not bothered to find my shoes, nor anything else, for that matter. I was standing in the garden wearing nothing but a loose white shift, but at least the fire inside of me kept the chill from my arms and legs.
Drawing in a deep breath, I blew it out through my lips and settled into the routine of stretches and poses Tamura taught me. In truth, I wanted to move, and I would happily have launched into a run, but I was not dressed for it and didn't feel like climbing back into my room while the huntsman was still there. Chased out of my home by a ghost. I wish I could say it was the last time such a thing has happened.
It is easy to get lost in that series of stretches. I don't know what time I woke, but by the time I had finished the sky was starting to lighten. As morning broke over Ro'shan, the city started to shake. The great chain was being drawn in, and it was finally time to leave Isha behind once more. I hoped that next time we floated past; I would be in a position to take the fight to the Terrelan empire. In case you have never considered the practical side of laying siege to an empire, let me be brutally honest about it. Even considering it is a daunting prospect. Back then the extent of my planning was to swear I would destroy Terrelan, I had not even thought about how I might go about it.
I was being watched. I knew it by that crawling feeling between my shoulders, there were eyes focused on me though I couldn't say where. Silva, standing by the gate to our little garden, was wearing a smile that was all appreciation. Despite the early hour, she looked energised, her golden hair almost glowing in the first rays of light, and her eyes hungry.
"Don't stop on my account. I'm enjoying the view," Silva said.
I wasn't sure how to feel about that. The implication was clear, she was watching me bend and stretch. Yet I felt embarrassed somehow, as though I had been caught in the act of something forbidden. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away from her. We hadn't managed to speak since she had kissed me, not properly. I had run the conversation over in my head time and time again, trying to parse what it had meant, how it made me feel, and how she felt about me. Just like my time in the Other World, all my thoughts had only left me with more questions; questions I was determined to ask Silva the next time we spoke. But there she was, the sun just starting to rise and Ro'shan beginning to wake, and I could not find my tongue. All the things I wanted to say to her, all the questions I wanted to ask her, they all vanished. Silva knew. She saw me, saw through me, and knew my frustration and awkward embarrassment even before I did. But of course she did, looking into people's hearts was always her gift.
She walked over to my window and jumped up a little, perching on the lip. I noticed then that she had a bottle in her hand, long necked and holding something rose tinted. A fruit wine, if I wasn't mistake, and from her favourite vineyard.
"You're celebrating?" I asked, finally finding the courage to look at her again and feeling my heart skip at the sight.
"We are. Six days of trade," Silva said with a grin. "And not a single bum deal. In fact, I made some excellent new connections and secured Ro'shan with a new supplier of iron for a third less than what we are currently paying the pahht of Itexia. So, yes, I'm celebrating. I really hoped you'd join me."
I did. We sat on that windowsill and talked while we shared a bottle of wine and watched the sun rise over the city. My nerves and embarrassment both evaporated in the heat of Silva's company. I found myself laughing as she told me of a young terran merchant who had been trying to learn pahht but kept stumbling over the pronunciations so badly he almost crashed a deal at the moment of its completion. And again, at the story of a fat terran who had actually offered to purchase Coby's hand in marriage. Apparently, the mercurial Aspect had taken on the skin of a stunning Polasian man for the day, and it had gotten the female merchant rather hot and bothered. The idea of anyone trying to court Coby was enough to have me giggling and struggling to breathe past the wine I swallowed down the wrong way.
Thinking back now, I cannot tell you when it happened, nor which of us made the first move, only that we kissed again. I say again, but the time before, Silva had kissed me, the second time we kissed each other. My heart raced at the touch; my mind blank save for the feel of her. Life had never felt so joyous, and all that lay behind and before could be nothing pale shadows of that moment. Sense and sensuality mixed. The smell of each other, the feel of each other, the taste of each other. I wanted her like I had never wanted anything; and the extasy of her lips against mine, of her body slowly moving against mine, was almost too painful to bear.
We spent the rest of the day in my room, actually we spent most of it in my bed. It passed in a blur of whispered voices, hot breaths, and lingering kisses. And more. By the time we emerged, the day had long since passed and night, once more, had its claws in the world. In some ways, you could say it was a day wasted, but a day spent in the arms of a lover is never a wasted thing. It is in moments like that, in time spent entwined with another, that even I can find new reasons to go on.
Chapter 39
We stopped for a few days in Polasia, Ro'shan anchoring itself in the ocean just off the coast. Silva explained that water anchorages were not ideal, but there was simply nowhere else to secure the city. Beyond Polasia's capital city, there was nothing but a broad expanse of desert that stretched on to forever, dotted with the occasional oasis, most of which were surrounded by smaller settlements. It was also dangerous for Ro'shan to float too far out into the desert. Somewhere out there, the sky was ripped open and a great eye stared through it, a rift caused by a battle between Djinn and Rand when they were at the height of their power. Strange things happen around that tear in the world, and once the eye focuses on you, it never looks away. No matter how far you might flee, or how deep in the earth you might hide, the eye is always watching. Proof, if ever it was needed, that there are things greater than all of us.
Silva was required on the ground once more, the most suited of all the Aspects to broker trade deals, and it was also something she loved doing. I didn't understand the thrill she got from dealing with merchants, but I didn't need to. I could happily listen to her talk about anything, and for hours. It made me happy just knowing she was happy. We were growing closer every day, and there were few nights we didn't spend together.
Belmoroes said there are three reasons for a nation to go to war. The first is power, and the second is principle. The third reason is sex. You may wonder why I bring up the matter of war while talking about my first few weeks with Silva. A new relationship is a lot like war. Two kingdoms meeting. Borders drawn up, lines in the dirt where sides should not cross. Then the testing of those borders, prodding to find the other's weaknesses. Pushing against them harder and harder to see just how far those lines can bend before they break. We tested each other's borders regularly and I will admit no one has ever managed to break them quite like Silva.
I decided to visit Polasia with Silva, having never been before. I had seen it from afar, watched the ships navigate their way around the chain and into port, glimpsed movement in the great coliseum that dominated the western edge of the city, gawked at the size of the palace and how much of it is green in a city on the edge of a desert. I wanted to see the place up close, and in no small part because I hoped to get a glimpse of one of Polasia's feared Demonships. I also hoped I might be able to find some mercenaries willing to tie their lives to mine. I was making very little headway in building myself an assault force, though it was somewhat fun watching Horralain and Hardt growl at each other every time we all came together.
The flight down to the city was somewhat disappointing in a way. Silva had little time for me, organising and instructing the Ro'shan merchants, but Imiko had decided to join me. I think the little thief was looking for fresh ground to stalk, new marks to rob. She had grown taller than I in the past few months, and gangly with it. Between her lithe shape, her hair that was the colour of dying embers, and her easy smile, she drew quite a lot of attention. Attention was something the thief in her hated, so Imiko took to wearing a heavy hood she could pull up to obscure her features. I think we made for an interesting pair. I have never been tall, but I had put on muscle and Hardt liked to describe me as compact. Imiko, on the other hand, was a good hand taller than I, and thin as a reed. My hair was dark brown, almost bordering on black, and short. Hers was long and red, so distinct that people often stopped to look. Imiko was pretty, near flawless skin and so easy with her smiles. As for me, well I have always worn my scars with pride, and I scowled at others as often as smiling. But my eyes drew the attention. The storm that raged in them had not subsided, if anything I felt it even stronger than before.
We landed at the docks. Flyers were built for land-based berths, ideally, but they could sit in water just as well, though I will admit it felt quite strange underfoot. After just a few minutes on board that bobbing flyer, I felt myself growing queasy and hurried onto dry land. Silva said goodbye with a kiss, and Imiko and I made our way into the city. We walked along the docks for a while, based solely on my desire to see a Demonship up close. I have since learned, with disturbing clarity, that it is not wise to get too close to a Demonship.
The vessel we came across was called Ilrahadeen, and it was a monster, in more ways than one. A huge boat with three sails, and sailors climbing all over it like ticks. You have probably never seen a Demonship. There are so few of them left, but they are horrific things. The hull is made from some sort of fusion of Golemancy and Necromancy. It is flesh, pulled from the corpses of terrans, and somehow given terrible life. It appears red, almost bloody, and has the texture of skin. But as we drew close, I saw eyes opening along the hull. They were huge things, round and unblinking, and they watched us pass.
"That's creepy," Imiko said. Fear making her voice tremble. "You think that's creepy as well? It's not just me."
I did, and not just because I saw hands reaching out of the hull and clawing at it, pulling on the eyelids and reaching for us as we passed. Ssserakis raged inside of me, hissing and speaking in some language I had never heard before. The Demonships are an affront to nature, not just the natural order of our world, but of the Other World too. They are a fusion of magics and flesh and wood and monsters. And they are dangerous. I have seen arms burst forth from the skin of one ship and grip a person, breaking bones and tearing limbs. I have seen mouths open along the hull, screaming out in pain and gnashing teeth, I have seen the Demonships eat, and it is all blood and anger. Only the Polasians know the secret of making Demonships and it is a secret that I hope will soon be lost.
Imiko pulled me away from the ship as it reached for me with dozens of clawed hands, mouths opening all along the hull, whispering something just beyond my understanding. I let the thief lead me, but kept my eyes on the ship, and it kept its eyes on me, so many eyes all tearing open from the skin of that thing, watching me.
Polasians have some odd traditions, perhaps it is part of living so close to a desert. The men all wear veils across the lower half of their faces. It is considered quite impolite for a man to show his mouth to a woman, yet most of the men also went bare chested, sweat glistening in the baking sun. Others wore loose fitting robes of myriad colours, made of silks and other materials I couldn't even name. The women wear similar robes, though often far grander, and rather than veils, they put their mouths on display with powdered makeup, coloured lips, and piercings that look as painful as they are decorative. At first, I found it quite strange, but I soon realised that it is because the women do the talking. All the talking. Polasian men are, for the most part, silent. In fact, it's quite rude for a man to speak in public, and the few times it is required, they do so in hushed voices, drawing close so no other can hear their words. I felt quite out of place in my close-fitting dress, but I would wager Imiko felt it even more in her blackened waist coat and matching trousers.
