The Ghost Sister (25 page)

Through the half-open door, Shu watched the family leave for the funeral. Eleres walked at the head of the funeral procession, his face withdrawn and closed. His cousin Sereth was beside him, her hand wrapped in a black bandage. To Shu's dismayed gaze, the girl looked utterly lost. Slipping out of the door, Shu hurried after them, intending to get out while she still could, but as the last person stepped through the gate the procession halted momentarily, and she felt the air change. It shimmered, with a haze like heat, and there was an echo of the lightning in her spine. She did not dare face that force again, whatever it was. Her head was ringing like a bell. Still feeling shaken, and wondering just what the family had done to conjure up that invisible barrier, Shu went slowly back inside the house and found some water. She sat sipping it in the dim kitchen, then she bent forward and put her head in her hands, praying as she did so that Sylvian's attempts to close down the generator had been unsuccessful, that she'd find a way to get back to the aircar, that everything would be all right. There was a faint, uncertain sound and Shu looked up sharply to find that someone was staring at her: an old woman. She was peering at Shu, her face creased in bewilderment. Shu wondered
with a shock whether the woman was even all that much older than she herself.

“Inuya? Is that you?” the woman asked.

“No. You don't know me. I'm just a visitor.”

“I can't see you properly,” the woman said. She came forward, frowning, then stopped dead. “A ghost,” she whispered. Shu sighed, but before she could make any of the usual disclaimers the woman reached out a clawed hand and gripped Shu's wrist. “My daughter's daughter,” she hissed. “Where is she now?” The woman might be old, but the grip on her wrist felt like an iron band.

“I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean,” Shu said in alarm.

“The child who was killed. What has happened to her?” the woman snapped.

As calmly as she could, Shu abandoned her scruples and said, “She's in the otherworld. Everything's well with her. She says to tell you that it was—it was her destiny. You have no more need to blame those who killed her.” She suppressed a pang of pure guilt as the woman's filmy eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you,” the old woman whispered. “Thank you. Tell her that I love her, when you see her again.”

“I will,” Shu lied. Her wrist was abruptly released, and the old woman vanished into the depths of the house. Shu took a deep breath and made her way out into the courtyard. She had to force herself to approach the gate. She took the scanner out of her backpack and held it up, reading the results. The data which scrolled across the little screen meant nothing to her, but that did not matter so much. Maybe the scanner would not be able to interpret the results, but the aircar's system would. If she ever got back to the aircar … Experimentally, she picked up a small stone and tossed it through the gateway. There was no flash, no spark. The stone landed out in the street, unscathed. And yet there was still something there, cutting Shu off from the rest of the world.

Its presence made her feel nauseous, rather as she had felt back there in the humming chamber beneath the ruins, the place that had contained the generator.

Frustrated, Shu retreated to a little room she had found in the attic. It was, she thought, a good place to hide. By the time the late light fell golden through the window, she heard sounds in the courtyard and realized that the funeral party was returning. She stepped out onto the balcony and waited. They looked exhausted, but there was a kind of peace in their faces. Eleres was among them, a tall, dark-clad figure in the deepening sunlight. Shu slipped down the stairs to meet him, but by the time she reached the courtyard, he was nowhere to be seen.

After the funeral, the
satahrach
made Sereth go and sleep, which she did without protest. That in itself worried me. She was usually the last to head for her bed. I wanted to apologize to her for my ill temper, but when I looked in on her, she was asleep, curled around her wounded hand and breathing gently. Now that the funeral was over, the possibility of seeing my sister again tugged at me. Looking for the ghost, I went into my own borrowed room, where a soft knock on the door surprised me.
Jheru?
I thought with a sudden leap of the heart. But it was Pera Cathra.

Her hair was unbound and trailed across her thin shoulders. She was wrapped in a robe too large for her, and I remembered her that morning, which seemed so distant now, clawing wildly in her pain. My cheek still hurt, and unthinkingly I put a hand to it.

“Ai Mordha?” she asked uncertainly. She peered at me.

“Come in,” I said.

The old woman crossed to the window and sat down heavily on the window seat where Sereth and I had had our
conversation. The sun was riding low over the water, gilding the sea. Pera Cathra watched it fall, unspeaking. I did not know what to say. We remained in a tense silence for a few minutes. Then she said abruptly, “I should not have done what I did today. I—I have had time to come to my senses a little since this morning. Her death—the little girl's death— hurt me so much. I know what your cousin did, in compensation,” she added in a rush,” —what she tried to do. I wish she hadn't.” Her old mouth twisted suddenly and she put her face in her hands. “I would have loved my granddaughter so. I could never forget her mother; the joy of her birth never left me when they told me it would. I'm sorry, ai Mordha. I'm sorry your cousin hurt herself like that.”

I was so embarrassed that all I could think of to say to this was, “You were a warrior for your House?”

“For Temmarec, and Tetherau.” She sat and rubbed her tired eyes, and when she looked up again some of the fire was back inside them. “We were at feud in those years, with a family from the east. I carried arms from here to Heleth, over Snakeback in winter. I watched my brother die of frostbite in Achen Pass, I lost another in Derenthsara. But I was too good at feuding to die.”

“I think you still are,” I said with some feeling, and this won a reluctant smile.

“It won't mark your handsome face for long, young man. Fifty years ago—well, you wouldn't have had a head on your shoulders.”

“You're familiar with
ettouara?
”

“For most of my life. I was taught the discipline when I was a girl, in the first year that I came back to Tetherau. You?”

“Not
ettouara
, no, but
emhaittic
and a little
sedrai.The
martial side of the disciplines. I know the basics of
ettouara
but nothing more.”

“
Ettouara
is the secret sister of
emhaittic
, the water against the fire.You ought to learn it. It brings serenity.” She gave a
grimly reluctant smile. “So they tell me, anyway. I don't think I've managed that yet. If you were staying longer, I would teach you what I know.”

It was a handsome offer. “Thank you,” I said.

She sighed. “I'll speak to your cousin tomorrow, tell her what I've told you.” She rose, with the care of age now that the bloodmind once more lay dormant. I could hear her old joints creak. As she reached the door, she turned back and said, “Did you see? Did you see my granddaughter go into
eresthahan?
” as though she could hardly hope.

“She ran among the fires. She was leaping and dancing.”

Pera Cathra bit her lip. “I wish I'd seen her. But soon I will.” She looked past me into the shadows. “I never used to think it was so, but now I feel it coming to claim me. Good night, ai Mordha. You'll be going soon, I suppose, back to your family? I'll see you before you leave.”

“Good night,” I said, but she was wrong.We did not leave Temmarec on the next day, nor the next.

I searched for the ghost, but could not find her. Frustrated, I went down to sit in the courtyard with Jheru, to catch the last of the light and to play two-handed edendo. He beat me two out of three games. At last the evening darkened to a scatter of stars and the tip of Embar's crescent rose above the gable end. Jheru lit a lamp and its light made a yellow pool in the corner of the courtyard. Someone brought us a plate offish fritters, sizzling on an iron skillet. Gradually the stress of the day began to ebb away. Jheru said, “How's your cousin?”

“All right. I think. I looked in on her earlier; she was sleeping. I didn't speak to her very much today.” I paused. “Maybe it's selfish, but I was angry with her. I thought she'd done an unnecessary thing.”

“Who can say? To my mind, no, such an honor price was not called for. But for her own peace, it seems she felt a need. I can't judge for her; I don't know her well enough.”

“I know her very well,” I said. “She's stubborn; she always has been.”

He smiled at me. “Perhaps the result of living with strong-minded relatives.”

I laughed. “If you mean me, you're wrong. I know my own mind too little, and change it too much. But sometimes I can't resist telling her what I think she should do. Sometimes she tells me the same thing, though, so I suppose we're equal.”

“Hessan and myself are similar. I try to persuade, he pretends not to hear. But if it's reasonable, we compromise in the end.” Jheru selected a round black counter with care. “I'm closest to him, I suppose, of all my siblings, but I probably speak with him less than anyone.”

“It's often the way.” I wanted to ask more about the family, but did not feel that it was the right time to do so. Instead, Jheru asked me about mine, so I spoke of Mevennen and Luta, all the family, and then, because the warm evening air and the wine were relaxing my tongue, I spoke to him of Morrac. Talking about my lover ruined my concentration; Jheru won another round of edendo.

“I've talked too much,” I said, looking at my diminished games line.

“No,” Jheru said, “no, you haven't. So, his name's Morrac. I'd wondered.” He gave me a shy, sidelong glance. “Do you enjoy talking about him?”

I looked into the lamplight for a long moment. The wick had begun to burn low and the shadows danced and turned against the dusty tiles of the courtyard floor. “I don't know. I can't remember when I wasn't besotted with him, to tell you the truth. There was such a time, not very long ago. I've had other lovers; still have. There is a woman in Munith, Ithyris ai Sephara, who is still dear to me. But it's only Morrac who torments me.” I paused. “And you?”

“I had a lover once,” Jheru said. “When I was younger, in
the early years of my twenties. She was very lovely; she came from a neighboring house. I was obsessed by her, too.”

“From the house of the Sea Serpent?”

Jheru stared at me blankly. “How do you know that?”

“I don't; it was a guess. I saw the house when we pulled into port. I suppose it stuck in my mind. The balcony is carved with a sea serpent.” I remembered the woman who had stood upon its back and gazed down at the harbor. Now, it stayed in my mind with the uncanny significance of an omen, but I did not know why. I thought of mad Selen, riding the waves and bringing destruction in her wake.

“Yes, that's the house. Well, she didn't want me. She was bitten-hearted—winter-hearted, as they say in Tetherau. She loved no one, she took several lovers and would play us off against one another. It was a painful, absurd situation. Everyone knew what she was doing, but no one could seem to do anything about it. We all thought we would be the one to win her, I suppose. We were all very young. She was enormously decorative. She had her face inlaid with silver wire until it looked like a mask, she braided her hair on a lattice, and she was more like an ornament than a person. But no one could deride such sophistication, because she was so beautiful. At the masques, she'd move through the dark like a spirit and feed off her lovers.” He paused, blue eyes looking down through the memories.

“And then?” I couldn't resist asking.

“Then—she fell in love at last, with a man who came from Mora Port in a little boat. He was not
bantreda
, he was a landwalker.
Mehedin.
He had some language, by means of signs. It was an extraordinary thing. She gave up everything and they went up into the peaks of the Otrade. But it was autumn then, and in the winter he died. She came back on foot, to Tetherau like a pilgrim, appeared on the doorstep of Esterey one morning. Merideri—another friend—said she hardly recognized her. She had cropped her hair, and eased the silver wire from her face so that it was crossed in a
network of scars. And all the cruelty was gone from her eyes and had left nothing in its place. They sent her back to the House of the Sea Serpent, and they say that she lives in a little room and has never spoken since the day she told them her story.”

“So her name was not Edruen?” I ventured.

“No, Edruen was … a calm sea after storms. She came from Metry a long time after Orithe returned from the mountains and became a recluse in Mora Port. I thought I could feel nothing, then Edruen brought me back to myself, taught me that it wasn't necessary to be in pain to be in love. Then she died. It was that simple.”

I was silent. Jheru reached across the edendo board, took my hand and turned it to the light.

“But it was years ago … The Long Road runs across your hand.”

“I know.” It was traced in a lattice from my fingers to my wrist; it signifies the great journey into death. Jheru's long fingers closed around my hand. All of me was concentrated on that touch at this moment, but it was the wrong time, the wrong day, and we both knew it. We finished the last game and spoke no more of love for the time being. I went upstairs, to take a last look at Sereth.

She was very still, curled under the thin blanket, and with a growing sense of apprehension I touched her shoulder. She was burning hot. The curve of her forehead against the pillow was wet with sweat. She would not wake up, but mumbled and tossed in the bed. I pulled the blanket aside, around the bandage which wrapped her wounded hand, and the flesh was shiny and swollen. A thin dark line ran up her forearm almost to the elbow. I backed out of the room and ran downstairs to look for the
satahrach.

“Natural enough,” Rami said, to my dismay. “She is bound to Moidra's child, the child has gone to
eresthahan
, and your cousin is trying to follow. She's not in balance.”