Ghost Ascension, Episode 23a

“Do it,” you tell Anacepheon.

Anacepheon trembles, then rears up upon his throne, his skeletal hand outthrust. For a moment, just a moment, you see how he must have looked in his prime; the Magus-Emperor of Nighmar, filled with dread and terrible power. A column of gray mist appears before the throne, swirling and flickering, lit from within by a pale light.

Then Anacepheon slumps back on his throne, shaking with exhaustion.

“The way is open,” whispers Anacepheon. “The path will take you through the netherworld to Emperors’ Reach in a heartbeat. Yet be wary – the netherworld is filled with illusion, and lying spirits. To enter there physically is to put yourself in their power, if you are weak of will.

“Knowing you,” says Lucan, “that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Considering that you’re hearing voices, you’re not so sure.

“Take my sword and dagger,” says Ancepheon, gesturing at the blades lying upon his lap. “Take them! They may be of use against the hellblade your enemy wields.”

You frown, cross to the throne, and pick up the sword and dagger. Both are ornate, and both look as if they were crafted from gleaming silver. Yet as you pick up the weapons, you feel a peculiar…vibration, for lack of a better word, in the handles. The weapons remain motionless, but you could swear that they are vibrating.

“Lucan,” you say, “these are ghostsilver.”

His eyes get wide.

Ghostsilver is incredibly rare. To your knowledge, there are only nineteen ghostsilver weapons in the Empire. You could sell this sword for enough gold to buy your own province, maybe two. It is lighter and harder than normal steel, and can holder a sharper edge.

And it’s absolutely immune to sorcery, capable of piercing any protective spell. Sophia’s bronze longsword can cut through solid stone and steel with ease…but it won’t be able to cut through ghostsilver.

“Take this,” you say, handing the sword to Lucan, and keeping the dagger for yourself.

“Go!” says Anacepheon. “Go, quickly, before it is too late!”

You take a deep breath, and step into the mists, Lucan at your side.

And then…and then…

And then you are eleven years old again, standing before high windows with a view of a brilliant blue sky and a rippling green sea. You turn, and see tall shelves laden with heavy books, and your heart catches in your throat.

Your father’s library.

No. Impossible. Your father has been dead for seventeen years, his library burned when your mother and the magi murdered him.

“Caina?”

You turn, and joy and astonishment pierce you to the heart.

Your father sits at his desk below the high windows, smiling at you. He looks just as you remember him – balding and bluff-faced, his shoulders stooped from hours spent over his books. Impossible. You saw him die.

Didn’t you?

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” says your father, rising to his face.

Maybe it was all a dreadful dream of blood and death and pain.

“We’re leaving for Malarae,” he says. “You wanted to see the Imperial Library, and I promised that I would show it to you. The servants have packed your things. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

Perhaps you had a nightmare of your father’s death, a nightmare that you grew into a woman cold and hard and surrounded by enemies on all sides.

Only a bad dream.

You want to run to him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything. But something is wrong…

Shaking your head, you look at the library’s door.

A swirling gray mist fills the doorway.

Suddenly a strange ripple goes through the room, and you are wearing an odd black cloak, weightless and darker than any shadow, and a peculiar silver dagger hanging at your belt.

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