Silent Hall (44 page)

“What do you want?” he demanded. “Where's the wolf?”

“You kill him,” Bandu said, her eyes flashing.

The cripple gulped, and his eyes widened. “Why are you here?” he asked, with dread in his voice.

“This is a nice house,” Narky remarked, glancing about the room with his one good eye. “Not half bad for a cripple.”

“My father bought your boat,” Hunter spat, “and you turned around and sold it again.”

“You didn't claim it!” the old fisherman cried. “Your father was dead, and then you all just disappeared. My nephews died in Karsanye thanks to you, and I can't sail anymore, not alone. What was I supposed to do?”

“Lend it,” suggested Narky. “Or rent it. That's really not our problem, is it? Our problem is that we need a boat, we
own
a boat, and you went and sold it to this guy.”

The old fisherman's eyes finally found the younger one's. “Well, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Give him his money,” said Hunter. “We're taking the boat back to Tarphae.”

“I haven't got it all on hand,” the cripple objected.

“Give him what you can,” said Criton. “We won't be in Tarphae long. When we come back, he can have the boat again. The least you can do is rent it for us.”

“What if you don't come back?” the younger fisherman demanded. “Where will that leave me?”

“Here,” said Hunter. “Alive. If that's not good enough for you, you'll have to come with us and make sure we don't sink.”

Goodweather awoke and began to cry.

“I'm not going to that island of ghosts,” the fisherman said.

“All right,” Hunter said, with a shrug. “Then you can either make do with the money he
can
give you, or you can call him a thief and punish him accordingly. Again, that's not our problem. I suppose I can bequeath the boat to him as soon as we come back from Tarphae, and then you can consider the sale honorable. But until then, it remains my property and mine alone.”

With that, he turned and swept from the room with Criton and the others in his wake. The two fishermen, stunned, simply watched them go.

“Oh my,” said Phaedra, when they were back outside. “Hunter, that was… amazing. I don't know how you had the nerve to do it.”

Hunter clearly did not know what to do with such praise. He said nothing, nor did he slow his pace until they had reached the docks again and were able to climb aboard their new property. Old property? Ah well, it didn't really matter, did it?

Their voyage to Tarphae was a little too calm for Criton's liking. Though none of them were sailors, they had no trouble reaching their homeland over the strangely peaceful ocean waters. The tides and currents seemed eager to welcome them home, tugging them gently into the harbor of Karsanye. Goodweather fell asleep again from the rocking of the boat, and by the time Hunter jumped out to tie them to the dock, even Bandu seemed only half awake.

The empty docks groaned as they stepped off the boat. Hunter groaned too, a soft groan that could barely be heard above the lapping of the waves. Phaedra caught his hand and clutched it tightly. It was harder for them, Criton thought. To these two, even this harbor felt like part of home.

They proceeded up the planks toward dry land, and Criton saw Hunter turn back for a moment. “What is it?” asked Phaedra.

“Our boat's the only one,” he said, a little shakily. “All the ships are gone.”

“Scavengers,” said Narky. “They might be too afraid to step onto the island, but a ship's something else.”

“Not too afraid,” said Bandu, pointing with her free hand. “Only dead.”

Criton followed her finger and jumped a little when he saw the corpse on the edge of the dock. A pile of rope had mostly obscured the body from his view, but the stench as he approached was unmistakable. The man had been rotting away here for at least a couple of months.

“The plague?” Criton asked.

“Maybe,” said Phaedra. “Either way, it was definitely a God that killed him. Look, the seagulls haven't even touched his body.”

Criton nodded quickly and turned away. Gulls or no gulls, it was still a nauseating sight.

They reached the end of the planks and stood there hesitating, afraid now to step onto the dry land.

“Karassa protect us,” Hunter more or less pleaded. “Eramia too. And God Most High.”

But it was Bandu who first stepped off the dock, with Goodweather still cradled in her arms. “We are alive,” she stated. “We go now.”

Criton wanted to scream at Bandu for the way she'd endangered Goodweather, but he held his tongue. Soon they would pass the customs houses and reach the city. His clawed hands shook in fright and anticipation.

A man stepped out of the customs house, reaching out to them. Criton let out a weak cry and stopped in his tracks. The man turned to him and disappeared for an instant, winking in and out of sight as if he were somehow too flat to see head on. His face was blurry and indistinct, but his hollow eyes had a longing in them that Criton could not ignore.

“What's the matter?” asked Phaedra. She and the others had turned around when they heard his cry. Could they not see the figure?

“There's a…” Criton began, and stopped. The man's pleading eyes were fixed on him.

“Go away,” Bandu hissed. The man took a single step back and disappeared.

Narky looked around, frightened and confused. “What?” he said.

“Ghost,” Criton finally managed to answer.

They were everywhere in the city. Apparitions met them at every turn, coming out of houses or simply appearing out of nowhere on the dusty streets. Some of them pointed angrily at the living islanders, their silent shouts causing the air around their mouths to ripple. And yet apparently only Criton and Bandu could see them.

“What do they look like?” asked Narky. “Can they see us?”

“They definitely see us,” said Criton. “And they're angry.”

“Why?”

A whole crowd of them was gathering now, staring and pointing. Criton shuddered. “I think they blame us,” he said.

They fled from the crowd of angry spirits and went to Karassa's temple, where the bones of the dead lay all about the altar.

“The king's not here, is he?” asked Narky. “You don't see his ghost, I mean? I know we think he's alive, but I just want to make sure.”

“What does the king look like?” Criton asked him, surveying the few half-seen figures that wandered about the area.

Narky frowned. “I don't know. Like a king, I guess.”

Hunter sighed. “The king is about ten years older than my father,” he said. “He's tall, and his gut is bigger than my father's. At least, it used to be. He's been living here alone for a year. I wonder if I'll even recognize him.”

“That shouldn't be too hard, as long as he's still alive,” Narky pointed out. “Just find a man who isn't dead, and it'll be him.”

That wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded. The king wasn't anywhere to be found, in his palace or his unkept gardens, or anywhere else they could think of. They wandered through the city streets until the sun began to dip perilously close to the horizon, and still the king was nowhere to be found.

“We're going to have to stay the night,” Phaedra said, her voice strained.

“We're not going to my house,” Criton said hurriedly. “
He
might be there.”

“We should sleep somewhere without ghosts,” Narky suggested. “What if they attack us while we sleep? There must be some place here where nobody was around to die.”

“I don't think they're tied to the place where they died,” Criton told him. “They're all sort of wandering around.”

Bandu pointed behind them. “That one follows us,” she said.

She was right. When Criton turned, the apparition from the docks was standing in the street behind them, its soulful eyes still pleading. The sight made Criton shudder.

“How long has he been there?” he asked Bandu.

The girl shrugged. “A long time,” she said. She handed Goodweather over to him and stretched her back. “Wait here. I go talk.”

Criton clutched Goodweather to his chest, watching his wife approach the ghost. She came within an arm's length of it before she stopped and said something, too quietly for him to hear. The ghost pointed past her at the group, its blurred mouth moving silently.

“What's going on?” Phaedra asked.

“Wait,” said Criton.

Bandu nodded at the spirit and held out her hands to it. “Bandu!” Criton cried. “Don't!”

He ran toward her, but he was too late. The spirit took her by the hands, and its ephemeral body melded with hers and vanished. She turned to him just as he reached her, and held up her hand.

“Please do not stop me,” she said, her voice low and male and completely foreign to her body. “I am here for Hunter.”

Criton stopped in his tracks. Goodweather awoke, clutching at his shirt, but for once she did not cry. Bandu brushed past him and walked toward the others. He followed helplessly.

The others had started toward him, and their faces were pictures of alarm. “What happened?” Narky asked.

“Bandu…” Criton moaned.

“I am not Bandu,” Bandu said, in that other voice. She stopped walking and looked at Hunter appraisingly. “You've changed,” she said.

Hunter's eyes widened. “Father?”

“Yes,” said Bandu. “I was hoping you'd come back.”

“What happened here?” Hunter asked, his voice cracking. “What happened to you? The plague…”

Issuing from Bandu's lips, Lord Tavener's voice was warm. “What happened,” he said, “is that I saved my son.”

H
unter couldn't help it
. His eyes filled with tears, and he wept like a child.

“You've changed, Hunter,” his father repeated.

Hunter looked down at his callused feet, ashamed of his tears. “I lost my shoes,” he croaked. “And I lost my shield, and my armor. I lost everything you gave me, and it was like… it was like I lost pieces of you.”

Bandu's face smiled sympathetically, and Father's voice said, “But you knew you'd lose me one day, Hunter. You wanted to be the king's champion, and you never would have been, so long as your brother and I lived.”

Hunter shook his head. “I didn't want you to die,” he said. “I wanted you to see me and be, and be…” He couldn't continue.

“I know,” said Father. “I know.”

Hunter chuckled ruefully. “The life I wanted was stupid,” he said, “and I have nothing to replace it with.”

Bandu put a hand on his shoulder. “You are still young,” said Father. “There will be time. The important thing is that you have the opportunity to live and grow, and find your way. I'm proud of how you've grown already. I'm proud of you.”

Hunter looked down into Bandu's eyes, grateful and confused. “What for?” he asked.

“Look at you!” Father exclaimed. “You're not the same boy you were back then. That boy was single-minded and stubborn, and his armor never left his back. Honor was everything to him, and people were nothing.

“When I left you at the docks, you were surrounded by strangers. Now you're surrounded by friends. This girl was willing to lend me her body just so that I could speak with you. What do I care if you've lost your shoes or your shield? I would have liked to give you friends instead of all those things, but I didn't know how. I'm glad you've made the exchange yourself.”

Hunter couldn't help it then: he broke down. Bandu embraced him, but he pulled away after only a few seconds. It was too strange, feeling her breasts press against him when he ought to have been hugging his own father.

He dried his eyes on his sleeve and looked around, as if for the first time. Phaedra was gazing at him with warmth and admiration. Narky made an effort to smile, though such a genuine expression didn't look quite natural on his face. Criton stood holding the baby to his chest, his concern for Bandu carving wrinkles in his brow. Hunter turned back to Bandu. He nodded, and smiled in relief.

She beamed back at him, tears welling in her eyes too. “You were always your mother's child,” Father said. “Perhaps that's why I cherished you more than Kataras. He resented it, poor boy, but what could I do? Ah well, that's all over now.

“You should leave this place,” he added, his smile fading from Bandu's lips. “I've given you everything I can. There is nothing for you here.”

“We're here for the king,” Hunter told him. “We need to bring him somewhere.”

Bandu's eyebrows shot up. “You're rescuing Kestan?” Father said. “I hope you succeed. If he leaves, we may finally be able to rest.”

“Do you know where he is?” Phaedra asked. “We've looked everywhere.”

“He fled the city some time ago,” Hunter's father told her. “Those who blamed him followed. I didn't.”

Bandu glanced at Criton, then back to Hunter. “I have taken too much advantage of this young lady's generosity. I should return her body to her.”

“Wait,” Hunter pleaded, but Bandu closed her eyes and his father's spirit left her. He would never come back, Hunter knew. He was gone now.

Bandu blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. “Are you all right?” Criton asked, rushing forward.

She nodded. “I'm tired,” she said.

They slept that night in Hunter's old house, surrounded by Lord Tavener's desolate estate. The linens were all moth-eaten by now, but the hide rugs were as soft as ever. No other ghosts approached them here, though Hunter stayed up for a while, hoping. Surrounded by childhood memories, it took him a long time to fall asleep.

Phaedra too stayed up late, staring at the ceiling. “I used to imagine sleeping in this house,” she said quietly.

Hunter said nothing. She had liked Kataras, he knew. Everyone had liked Kataras. Until Father's ghost had spoken to him, he had never thought to pity his brother. Now he felt bad for the bruises he had inflicted during their sparring matches, and for avoiding Kataras after his brother had refused to fight him anymore. He had truly understood nothing back then.

They lay a while in silence, and then Hunter asked, “Phaedra? What's the underworld like?”

Phaedra boosted herself up on an elbow. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” said Hunter, “you've read a lot about the Gods, and I was wondering, what's hell like? Does any God rule there? What do the dead
do?
”

“Not much, I think,” Phaedra said cautiously. “And there's no God of the Underworld that I know of. Followers of the Sun God in Atuna believe that the underworld is a cold, wet place where the dead lie in uncomfortable sleep, but that if you're cremated you'll join Atun in the heavens instead. A Mayaran philosopher I've read suggested that those who drown or are buried at sea become absorbed by the Sea God Himself.”

“Do people stay themselves when they die on land?”

Phaedra sighed. “No one really knows,” she said kindly.

“Oh,” said Hunter. He rolled over. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Phaedra whispered.

They awoke just after dawn. They raided the garden and the larder for any foodstuffs that had survived a year's neglect, and ate a breakfast of cucumbers, dates, and the highest quality Laarna olive oil. The luxury of this last item did not escape them: the world would never again taste Laarna's olives.

They left the city after breakfast and went once more in search of the king. Grasses were growing in the middle of the roads, and yet the country felt much less deserted than the city had. At least here it felt more natural to go an hour without seeing anyone.

They found King Kestan on the southern crags, less than a mile from Karsanye. They were able to spot him from some distance, climbing along the jagged cliffs that overlooked the sea. Hunter would not have recognized him had he not known he was looking at the king. Kestan the Third was skeletal now, and his beard was long and bedraggled. He was not wearing the royal garments that Hunter remembered – at least, not unless the tattered muddy rags that he now wore had once been a deep, rich blue. Teetering there on the cliffs above them, he looked to Hunter as if he might blow into the ocean at any moment.

“He's surrounded by ghosts,” Criton said. “How do we get him down from there?”

The king was looking out to sea, and had not noticed them yet.

“I don't know,” said Phaedra. “Who knows what kind of an influence they're having on him? What will he think when he sees us? We don't want to alarm him.”

Narky lifted his eyebrows. “Alarm him? He hasn't seen anyone alive in, what, a year now? I'm pretty sure he'll be alarmed.”

“So what do we do?” Phaedra asked, looking sidelong at Hunter.

“We climb,” he said.

Bandu nodded and reached out to Criton. “Give me Goodweather,” she commanded. “Then you go.”

Up they went, scrambling over the rocks toward their king. Yet even as Hunter climbed, his mind filled with doubts. What were they doing here, really? Were they here to rescue King Kestan, as Father had believed? No. They were here because Psander had sent them. They were here because Criton wanted to free his ancestor and awaken his people's ancient God.

Bandu had agreed with Criton because she loved him, and Narky had agreed because he was afraid of the Gods and wanted one on his side. And those weren't bad reasons, really. But what would become of the world when the dragon returned? Would God Most High be kinder to humanity than His rivals were? Hunter wanted to believe that He would, but he couldn't know, and that worried him. He couldn't help but feel that they were really acting out of selfishness.

The king turned just as they were nearing him. When he saw them, his eyes widened with fear. “Keep away from me!” he cried. “Keep away!”

“We're here to help!” Phaedra called from the rear.

“No!” shouted the ragged king. He turned from them and began leaping frantically from rock to rock, trying to escape.

They hurried after him. Partway there, Criton slipped and skinned his knees on a boulder. “Forget this,” Hunter heard him say. In a moment, he had leapt off the rocks and was flying toward the king. Hunter watched him with envy, but did not stop his climb.

“Stand back!” the king cried, backing away toward the cliff's edge. “Keep away! She will punish us!”

“Your Majesty,” called Hunter. “Stop.”

The king looked over the precipice, and then back at them. He fell to his knees on the bare rocks. “She will punish us,” he whimpered, over and over.

Criton reached him then. He stood beside the crouched figure and put a hand on his shoulder, just in case he decided to leap off the cliff after all. “It's all right,” he said. “We'll get you out of here.”

By the time Hunter and Narky arrived, the king no longer seemed in danger of jumping. Phaedra remained stranded halfway down the hillside, her progress hindered by her ankle. “Help him down from there!” she yelled to them.

“Go away,” begged the king. “Save yourselves.”

“We're here to save
you
,” Hunter told him.

The king chuckled and looked up at him. “I know you,” he said.

Hunter nodded. “I'm Lord Tavener's son, Hunter.”

Kestan blinked. “No, it doesn't matter,” he said angrily to himself. “It can't make any difference. She has no power here, not against Karassa.”

“What are you talking about?” said Criton. “Who has no power here?”

“Let's talk about this when we're a little farther from a deadly high cliff,” Narky suggested. “Come on down with us.”

The king shook his head, and Criton said, “Don't listen to them.”

“What?” said Hunter.

“Not you,” said Criton, “the ghosts.”

King Kestan looked startled. “You see them too?”

“Let's go,” Narky said. “I'm getting nervous up here.”

He reached down a hand to help the king to his feet. The king stared at his hand fearfully.

“Take it,” said Hunter. “We're here to help.”

With the utmost hesitance, King Kestan reached slowly for Narky's hand. Narky, impatient as ever, grabbed the king's hand and pulled him to his feet.

The ground shook.

Hunter nearly lost his footing in the initial motion, but the second tremor threw him to the stones, and it was only his luck that he fell toward Phaedra and not toward the water. The king was less lucky. He tipped over backward and disappeared over the cliff, while Narky nearly followed him. The one-eyed boy stumbled and fell onto his stomach, with one arm hanging over the cliff face.

“Narky!” Hunter shouted, but he could not even hear himself above the roaring earth. He could not spot Criton either, though that didn't worry him as much. Criton, after all, could fly.

He crawled toward Narky over the jiggling stones, his heart pounding. Narky was struggling to get up, with no success. “Are you all right?” Hunter shouted at him.

“Hold on!” Narky yelled back, but every attempt to rise seemed to push him farther over the precipice. With an effort, Hunter managed to reach him and grab hold of Narky's legs. The next moment his head was thrown face first against a rock.

Dazed but conscious, Hunter wrapped his arms around Narky's legs and held on with all his might. The whole world seemed to be shaking. Narky was still screaming, “Help me!” but Hunter could do no more. Then he saw Criton swoop down past the edge of the rocks, and he realized that Narky was not talking to him.

“You have to climb up,” Criton shouted.

“I can't!” a voice answered. The king! Now Hunter understood why Narky had looked as though he was struggling to stand: he must have held onto the king's hand even as he went over the cliff, and had been struggling to hold on without slipping over the edge himself.

Hunter felt a tug, and Narky groaned. With Criton's help, the king was climbing up his arm toward safe ground. Even though the ground convulsed beneath them, the king made steady progress. First his hands and then his head came into sight, until finally he was able to crawl past Narky onto the lower rocks.

There was a great cracking sound from below, so loud that Hunter could feel it in his bones. “Get away from the edge!” he cried, jumping up and helping Narky to his feet. “GO!”

They ran as best they could, leaping down toward Bandu and Phaedra with reckless speed. With a deafening rumble, the cliff behind them collapsed into the sea.

“The boat!” screamed Phaedra. “We have to get to the boat!”

They fled for Karsanye, frequently falling to the ground only to jump right up and run even harder. Fissures opened in the ground as they ran, and Hunter had to catch Phaedra once before she fell in. His hand found her hair instead of her arm, and the girl cried out. He tried to apologize once he had pulled her back to safety, but he was too out of breath. They ran on.

When they finally reached Karsanye, the city was barely even recognizable. Walls had collapsed; trees had fallen; whole buildings had been swallowed by the earth. The king's grand palace could not even be seen above the wreckage. Hunter suspected that it had been leveled.

When they reached the seaport, half the docks had splintered apart or torn away from the island in chunks, floating off toward the mainland like so many inelegant rafts. Thankfully, the boat was still there.

Overpowered by the quake, the tide seemed to have reversed itself. Water was rushing away from the shore in frantic waves, rippling out into the ocean and dragging along what planks remained in its path. The islanders ran across the undulating dock toward their boat, while Criton flew overhead with Goodweather in his arms. He arrived first, but could do little good there: he couldn't even put the baby down, because the boat was half full of water.