The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [6]
At this last she angled her head, almost imperceptibly, at Bastun, before returning to her place at the stern. Though her words stung, Bastun couldn't help but see the beautiful young girl he had once known. Duras looked apologetic as he sheathed his blade. Bastun returned the amulet to within his robes.
"She just doesn't understand, Bastun." Duras glanced at the others, shaking his head slightly before continuing. "None of them understand."
Bastun turned away, eager to regainhis place in the shadow of the bow, but looked sidelong at Duras before he did so.
"And you do?"
Duras didn't answer, and they both walked away from the question.
Bastun sat back into the bow's curve and stared westward, even though his thoughts lay just a short distance to the east. He contemplated using his mask to eavesdrop on Thaena and Duras, but decided against it. He had heard enough. It was already decided that the rusalka came for the vremyonni, that the land would reject him at every turn and that not even the ethran could quell the spirits' anger. It was all the same to him, the evolution of an idea that would never lift from his back.
The faint image of Ulseta still hung in the back of his thoughts, his long-lost sister haunting him once again. It felt strange that he had forgotten what she'd looked like. In some way he had the rusalka to thank for reminding him. It was shortly after Ulsera's funeral that he had been taken to the vremyonni and hidden away among the Running Rocks. No rusalka dream-song could lull him to rest by summoning memories of that time in his life.
The western shore, though still a few hours away, was just visible on the horizon. The Firward Mountains rose to the north, giant silhouettes in a deeper black against the night sky. Dark clouds hung over the horizon, harbingers of the winter storm that had stirred the waters of the Ashane. He could make out no details of that shoreline, but he could imagine them. Broken walls, hollow buildings marked by char and ice, and the lonely streets winding through ancient ruins walked only by the dead. Shandaular's conquest had solidified the rise of the Narfell Empire over two millennia ago. It was left abandoned and forgotten by most, much like its conquerors.
Bastun was curious to see the city himself, to witness the towers of the Shield, though he would have little time before the hathran that watched the citadel made good on his recent request. The trial seemed like a lifetime ago-as did the events that had preceded his being questioned. His master had handed to him the staff he carried just moments before succumbing to mortal wounds. It was there, sitting in the snow somewhere on the edges of the Ashenwood, feeling more alone than he had since Ulsera's death, that he had made his decision.
Quiet now, the journey continued uninterrupted. Those enchanted by the rusalka were already being clapped on the back and teased about their longing for the water maidens. The nearness of Shandaular, however, kept their jests and challenges short. All of them felt the shadow on the horizon and the prayers returned, whispers and folk-magic to ward off the attentions of evil spirits. Shandaular, the City of Weeping Ghosts, was no place to forget one's faith.
It had been his master, Keffrass, who had taught him the secrets of Shandaular and inducted him at a very young age into the brotherhood of the vremyonni. Bastun promised himself that he would see the city, at least once, before sentence was passed. The wychlaren, having founded an outpost at the Shield, once called Dun-Tharyn, used it for purposes such as this. The trial was long over, and Bastun had been given a choice. It had always been so in Rashemen that there were two choices for a male who found the path of the wizard-go to the vremyonni, shut away from society at the Running Rocks, or accept exile.
Bastun had chosen the latter, eventually.
Now that self-imposed exile was mete hours away. For all the choices he had made, he would never look upon Rashemen again.
He could not shake the