“No, Mama.” Halani’s alarm was unmistakable.
Asil shushed her. “He needs it more than I do if he’s going in there alone.” She grinned at Gharek. “It will look pretty on you.” She motioned for him to bend so she could adorn him, and he complied.
He lifted the bauble for a closer look, noting the craftsmanship of the silver medallion with its trio of interlocking pieces that resembled a draga, a horse, and a woman. He didn’t imagine the vibration it sent through his palm or the way it lay almost too hot against his chest when he let it fall.
“Halani made it for me to keep me tethered here,” Asil said. “I wander off too much.” Her unapologetic smile made him smile as well and pity her daughter. That unfortunate predilection was how he’d gotten his hands on Asil in Domora.
“Thank you, Asil,” he told her.
Halani, on the other hand, was not amused. “My mother is generous to a fault,” she said. “Forgiving as well.” She nodded toward the charm where it rested just below his collarbones. “You wear the gift of a fire witch who once held the power of a goddess in her hands. Those symbols are the foundation of this world, the herbs the children of its bounty.”
“An anchor,” he said.
“Just so. May it serve you and Siora well and bring you both back to Estred.”
“Two hours,” Malachus reminded him before Gharek sprinted toward the opening of broken wall that allowed entrance into Midrigar for any fool brave or stupid enough to visit. Or driven and desperate as he was.
There were no faceless abominations to give chase as he raced through the city toward the plaza with its vile temple. The silence was like nothing he’d experienced before; a twisted, living thing that throbbed around him and drifted over his skin with a crawling touch that left invisible but viscous traceries. Asil’s charm grew even hotter, and he was grateful for his shirt that acted as a barrieragainst its blistering heat. But the compulsion he felt every time he ended up in this awful place was gone, suppressed by the clean, vital magic of the earth this city no longer truly occupied.
He shouted Siora’s name the moment he saw her standing alone at the base of the steps leading to the temple’s portico and the black mouth of a door.
He gasped when she turned in response to his shout. The Siora who’d given him her back at the gates and returned to the city’s poisoned heart had been a woman with life blood pinking her cheeks and youth in her face and body. That woman was gone, replaced by a shade of grayish skin, sunken eyes, and lips bleached of color. The hollows under her cheeks lent a skull-like cast to her face, and the contorting play of light and shadow from a warping sky passed through her as if she were a windowpane.
Horrified by her transformation, he sprinted toward her, snatching one of her hands in his grip when he was close enough. They both gasped, he from the iciness of her touch, and she from some force in his that brought color to her face and solidity to her form. A wave of fatigue overwhelmed him for a moment before dissipating, as if she’d drawn a small portion of his own life into her fading form.
“Why did you come back?” she said. Her eyes widened with alarm. “Where’s Estred?”
“Safe,” he said. “With your free trader friends.” He tugged gently on her still chilly hand. “We can’t stay, Siora, not even to help your ghosts. This entire city will soon burn with draga fire.”
“Malachus,” she said. Gharek nodded, and she frowned. “It won’t help.” She pointed to the temple. “This is a door that needs to be shut before it’s destroyed. Even draga fire can’t do it.” Herpallid smile ratcheted his fear for her up another notch. “But I think I know how to do it.” She paused. “If I’m strong enough.”
They couldn’t stay; Siora refused to leave, and Gharek wouldn’t leave without her. Resigned, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “What can I do to help you?”
“Why did you come back?” she asked him a second time.
He ran a light finger along her jaw. “Surely it’s obvious, shade speaker.”
Siora tilted her head in puzzlement, though the light in her eyes was one of joy mixed with a tiny bit of disbelief. “You wanted vengeance not so long ago,” she pointed out with a half smile.
Honesty wasn’t one of his strong traits, but it came easily when he dealt with her. “I did, but Estred made me put vengeance aside, and you made me forget it altogether.” He brought her cold hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “We’re yours, Estred and I. And you’re ours, whether you know it or not. You belong with us.”
Tears sheened her eyes for a moment. She lifted his hand to press it to her cold cheek. “I should insist you leave, be brave and show my love by sending you away where you’ll be safe. But I’m weak and afraid, and so very glad you’re here with me.”
“That’s a good thing because I’m not going anywhere, so you can tell your annoying nobility to piss off.”
Her answering laugh was cut short when a pulse of black light burst from the temple to wash down the steps toward them in a tumbling tide.
“Don’t let go of me,” Siora said, lacing her fingers with his.
Gharek did more than that, wrapping her in his arms and turning her away from the spectral wave of venomous emotionthat threatened to drown them—fury, despair, horror, and, worst of all, a ravenous, unending hunger that knew nothing beyond the urge to devour and destroy.
“Give me my meat, witch!”
The command was a scream, razoring across Gharek’s senses until his ears popped and blood trickled from his nostrils. Siora shuddered in his arms. All around them, a chorus of shrieks filled the air. He bent under their burden.
She abruptly pulled away from him, though her hand remained firm in his. A triumphant glint lit her gaze. “Our dead are the creature’s foothold,” she told him. “The ghost-eater can only find purchase in this world if it eats continuously. It can’t take the dead I have in thrall. They protected me and Estred from the wolves without faces.” Her features saddened. “Those creatures were people once, Gharek. Living people stolen from the Maesor and warped by the ghost-eater.”
That explained the uncanny absence of their kind when he traveled through the Maesor a second time to reach Midrigar fully prepared to battle one, if not several of the abominations to reach Midrigar. He shivered, wondering if the vicious Koopman was counted among their number.