Melissa McShane - Emissary ()

Melissa McShane - Emissary (), Ebooks (various), 2015 Best Ebooks

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//-->EmissaryMelissa McShanePublished by Night Harbor Publishing at SmashwordsCopyright 2015 Melissa McShaneTable of ContentsChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixGlossary and Pronunciation GuideThe PantheonAbout the AuthorChapter OneZerafine had only a moment’s warning before the ghost was upon her. A shout, a flicker ofmovement, and it enveloped her like a chilly whirlwind.Seicorumpebbles the size of large,rough marbles pelted her from all directions, stinging where they struck the bare skin of herhands and face, sheering away where they brushed her red robe. It was fortunate for everyone onthe road that the ghost wasn’t powerful enough to make more of the strange ore that gave a kindof physical form to its insubstantial body, but even more fortunate for them that Zerafine wasthere to draw its attention. Gerrard shouted something made unintelligible by the roar of theunearthly wind, but she pulled the heavy crimson hood over her head and all sounds faded to ahum. She felt surprise, but no fear; it was nothing she hadn’t faced hundreds of times before.From within the shielding folds of her hood she closed her eyes and drew three deep,cleansing breaths, felt her shoulders relax and her center of balance shift downward. She openedher heart’s eye and saw the ghost in its true form, not as a violent hail of stone, but as acollection of memories emerging like shattered glass that now glowed with the white-blue lightof a discorporate spirit. She called out to one, and it unfolded before her—an infant, swaddled close and breathing a milk-scented sigh of contentment—and golden symbols rose up within Zerafine and danced behind her eyelids; she chose onethat spoke of home and hearth and traced it with her heart’s eye. Then she spoke to the ghost inquiet tones like water over stone, reminding it of that soft bundle, of children running, ofmotherhood in all its stages, and as she spoke more memories came whirling in to connect to thefirst.She pieced together the woman’s life, soothing her, reminding her of who she had been.Mitela, her name was, and her final memories were of fire and agony so profound that her spiritlost the way to Atenas’s court of judgment. Zerafine’s efforts would help her find it. Moresymbols, this time ones of release and relief from pain. She chose two and drew them in hermind: the crossed sticks of Ormus, god of travel, for safe journey; and the triple arch, for thegates to Atenas’s realm.With a final gust of wind, Mitela’s ghost vanished.Seicorumore rained down aroundZerafine like hailstones, no longer propelled by the whirlwind of the ghost’s desperate need tocreate a new body. She tried to stand, and stumbled before she realized she was already standing.Gerrard’s huge hand wrapped around her upper arm, supporting her. “Steady on,” he said, hisvoice muffled as if he were speaking from a great distance.With the ghost’s cold presence gone, Zerafine felt suddenly very warm. She swept her hoodback with her free hand and shook her dark hair loose of its folds. She dashed away the tears shenever remembered crying during a consolation. The afternoon sun beat down on her unprotectedhead, but a warm breeze stirred the air enough to cool her sweat-damp forehead.All traffic on the dusty road had stopped. Two women had their hands full trying to control ahorse that screamed and arched its back against its harness. Almost all the pedestrians hadbacked off the road into the tall summer-scorched grass, well away from Zerafine, though theyappeared too fascinated to actually flee. Three men and one woman stood nearby, as still as treesrooted to the spot. One of the men balanced a rusty metal box, about three feet long and one footdeep, on his shoulder. Its outer door hung open, revealing the inner mesh too fine to allowseicorumto pass through. A ghost trap. And four hunters. They wouldn’t be happy at beingdeprived of their catch, but Zerafine wasn’t very happy either.“I would love to hear your excuse,” she said, her words acid-etched, “for driving a ghost intothe middle of a populated area with no better way of controlling it than an antique ghost trap and—I’m just guessing here—blind greed.”The woman’s eyes went narrow, and she opened her mouth to say something that Zerafineknew would be too offensive for the god’s curse to ignore, but the oldest of the men, dark-hairedand with lines creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth, stepped hard on her foot and herwords came out a cry of pain instead. “Forgive us,thelis,”he said, removing his wide-brimmedhat. “It got away from us in the woods and we’ve been tracking it for over a mile. We weresomewhat lost, ourselves, and didn’t know we were on the highway until we were...on thehighway....”Zerafine glared at him. “That would no doubt have been a great comfort to anyone itattacked.” The man cringed. She turned her glare on each of the others in turn, fury building inher like a bonfire; all, even the woman, turned away rather than meet her gaze.Ghost hunters,she thought.Atenas preserve me.With ritual slowness, she raised her hood until it settled above her forehead, leaving her faceuncovered. “Get out of my sight,” she said, “and may Atenas have mercy on you.” It was not ablessing.The four turned and ran for it, the tall man staggering under the awkward burden of theghost trap. Zerafine maintained a stony mask as she watched them flee into the shelter of thetwisted olive trees beyond the dry grass, but inside she sighed. She saw them more often thesedays, toting those metal boxes, capturing ghosts so they could harvest theirseicorum,then lettingthem loose far from civilization. Lucrative, if it didn’t kill you first. She despised their kind, butwhere else were the people to turn when thetheloiof Atenas weren’t around to provide a morepermanent solution?The small crowd of travelers still hadn’t moved. They seemed enthralled by the spectacleZerafine had just enacted. She sighed again, this time out loud, and stepped to one side soGerrard could collect theseicorumthat lay around her feet. It would bring them a decent pile ofcoin to help support them in the coming days, but Zerafine, moved by inspiration, whispered“Give each of them a nugget” to Gerrard. He made an irritated face, but obediently went to eachbystander to give away their windfall. Atenas, god of Death, could use all the goodwill Zerafinecould manufacture, and they had plenty ofseicorumalready.Gerrard still had five or sixseicorumpebbles when he’d finished distributing the rest. Hereclaimed his longstaff, which he had probably dropped when the ghost appeared, and theycontinued down the road, her sandals and his boots scuffing up tiny puffs of dust with each step.None of the bystanders moved. No one wanted to walk the road with athelisof Atenas. Histheloiwere sometimes respected, always feared, but never loved and certainly not desired astraveling companions. After forty feet or so Zerafine and Gerrard had the wide, dusty highway tothemselves.“Will we make Portena by nightfall?” Zerafine asked. Behind them, she could hear themovement of two dozen people trying not to catch up to them.“I hope so,” Gerrard said. He held his longstaff ready in his left hand, though Zerafinedoubted they’d meet anyone he’d need to use it against. “Portena’s legendary for its maze ofstreets and almost as well-known for the crime rate in its lower city. We might have troublefinding the shrine after dark.”“Just let me know when I can lie down and sleep, that’s all I ask.” [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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