No particular theme, here. This is just a collection of a few more favorites than didn't quite fit into any of the earlier collections.
We'll start with some Shivaree:
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Lure of the Ghost House IV
The house enfolded him, becoming more solid and real with every step he took towards it. The ruins were easily forgotten; Cat walked a clean cobblestone path through a well-maintained garden surrounded by low stone walls. He circled the stone fountain, now intact and flowing with clear water, and continued on. Three shallow steps led up to the doors, which stood open to the night. This was not a place of fear and tragedy, but someone's beloved home.
He stopped in front of the steps, and tightened his hands on the haft of his navic. It was a curious weapon; not quite a sword, but not quite a polearm, either. The blade was fit for a saber, but the handle was as long as the blade, and wrapped after the fashion of a sword. The house wanted him to be comfortable, to admire its cleanliness and splendor, but Cat remained indifferent. The blade in his hand was a potent reminder of why he was here.
He reached out, forcing himself to focus on the physical substance of the house, even as its ghost became more real to him. The stone steps were still cracked, the doorway still blackened by smoke and fire, though they insisted to him that they were whole and intact. He could feel something else, almost lost in the intersection of the vin-cha beneath the house, almost hidden by the house itself: someone had created a tracery that flowed through the whole structure.
Small wonder the house remembered the shape it once had. Small wonder it had awakened, and was trying to convince him that it still was what it once had been. Insanity was not unique to living men and women; the spirits could be just as mad, in their ways.
He realized then that he'd been wrong. He'd expected a single problem, that whoever had taken the children was also causing the change in the house. Standing at the doorway, he knew that the house was manifesting on its own. In the process, it was concealing whatever intelligence remained inside... but likely also interfering with whatever that one was trying to do.
Where are the children? he asked it, pushing the thought outward.
The house ignored him. It didn't care about the children. It cared about itself, and perhaps about the people who had once lived there... but as the women had said, the people from the village never came here. It wouldn't know them.
Still, someone had created a tracery, a rarified and invisible structure that ran through the house itself, tracing the shapes of the walls and floors, doors and ceilings. When the house was whole, it would have allowed anyone with the right sort of talent to extend themselves throughout the house, just as Cat extended his own energies through the navic. Now, though, with the spirit of the house awake and active...
Cat stepped through the door. For a moment, all he could see was the house as it once had been. Little things shifted, furniture changing places, pictures replacing each other on the walls, but the house remained itself. It took an effort to extend his senses back to the merely physical, to feel the rubble and ash and detritus, the ruined walls and the shattered windows.
Kneeling, he placed a hand against the floor and attempted to extend himself along the paths of the tracery. The house pushed back, trying to hold him out, and he decided not to force it. Hush, he whispered. You're beautiful. I only wish to see through you.
There was a momentary hesitation, and then agreement. His awareness flowed through the house, from the long, low attic -- destroyed now, but remembered strongly enough that it might still have supported his weight -- to the rough stone of the basement, carved from the stone of the hilltop. The other mind was there, of course, cold and dead and angry, gathering power through the young, bright lives arrayed around it.
It twisted away, but the children remained in their circle: still linked to each other, and to the dead thing that had gathered them from the village. Cat could feel the focus of the circle moving, rising, approaching.
He looked up, and found himself facing a ghost.
He stopped in front of the steps, and tightened his hands on the haft of his navic. It was a curious weapon; not quite a sword, but not quite a polearm, either. The blade was fit for a saber, but the handle was as long as the blade, and wrapped after the fashion of a sword. The house wanted him to be comfortable, to admire its cleanliness and splendor, but Cat remained indifferent. The blade in his hand was a potent reminder of why he was here.
He reached out, forcing himself to focus on the physical substance of the house, even as its ghost became more real to him. The stone steps were still cracked, the doorway still blackened by smoke and fire, though they insisted to him that they were whole and intact. He could feel something else, almost lost in the intersection of the vin-cha beneath the house, almost hidden by the house itself: someone had created a tracery that flowed through the whole structure.
Small wonder the house remembered the shape it once had. Small wonder it had awakened, and was trying to convince him that it still was what it once had been. Insanity was not unique to living men and women; the spirits could be just as mad, in their ways.
He realized then that he'd been wrong. He'd expected a single problem, that whoever had taken the children was also causing the change in the house. Standing at the doorway, he knew that the house was manifesting on its own. In the process, it was concealing whatever intelligence remained inside... but likely also interfering with whatever that one was trying to do.
Where are the children? he asked it, pushing the thought outward.
The house ignored him. It didn't care about the children. It cared about itself, and perhaps about the people who had once lived there... but as the women had said, the people from the village never came here. It wouldn't know them.
Still, someone had created a tracery, a rarified and invisible structure that ran through the house itself, tracing the shapes of the walls and floors, doors and ceilings. When the house was whole, it would have allowed anyone with the right sort of talent to extend themselves throughout the house, just as Cat extended his own energies through the navic. Now, though, with the spirit of the house awake and active...
Cat stepped through the door. For a moment, all he could see was the house as it once had been. Little things shifted, furniture changing places, pictures replacing each other on the walls, but the house remained itself. It took an effort to extend his senses back to the merely physical, to feel the rubble and ash and detritus, the ruined walls and the shattered windows.
Kneeling, he placed a hand against the floor and attempted to extend himself along the paths of the tracery. The house pushed back, trying to hold him out, and he decided not to force it. Hush, he whispered. You're beautiful. I only wish to see through you.
There was a momentary hesitation, and then agreement. His awareness flowed through the house, from the long, low attic -- destroyed now, but remembered strongly enough that it might still have supported his weight -- to the rough stone of the basement, carved from the stone of the hilltop. The other mind was there, of course, cold and dead and angry, gathering power through the young, bright lives arrayed around it.
It twisted away, but the children remained in their circle: still linked to each other, and to the dead thing that had gathered them from the village. Cat could feel the focus of the circle moving, rising, approaching.
He looked up, and found himself facing a ghost.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Lure of the Ghost House III
The house sat regally atop its hill, its walls full and clean, the glass in its windows whole. The roof was done in regular rows of slate tile, like the finer houses in the village below, and the fountain bubbled with water. Cat stopped at the gate, his feet still on the overgrown cobbles outside; inside, the path was clean and straight, the grass neatly trimmed. "Do you feel that?" he asked.
Beside him, Delissa said: "It was ruined, overgrown..." Then she straightened.
Mara was already nodding. "I see it, but... there's no substance. When I feel it, I feel the ruins." She stopped, staring. "I've never seen the ghost of a house before."
"There's someone inside, remembering it into this shape." Cat didn't want to be saying this, but he didn't have time to be indirect. There were children inside, and the townspeople were scared; that said enough for their relationship to the ruined house, and whatever might be here. "If the children aren't dead, then he's using them."
"For what?" asked Delissa. She had raised her spear; now she lowered it slightly, hesitating.
Cat shook his head. "I have no idea." Here, where two veins of the world's invisible life-blood crossed, there was plenty of energy: enough to restore the house in truth, not just in appearance.
"It's a circle," said Mara. "He didn't take all the children, only the ones with enough talent to contribute. Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's using them to raise more power."
Cat nodded as that piece fell into place. "Let me go in," he said Mara. "Let me try to talk to him."
Delissa said, "You can't talk to..." Then she fell silent.
Mara turned a curious look his way. "You think you can?"
Cat shrugged. "If we all go charging in there, he'll turn their energies against us... or he'll kill them. If I walk in alone... he might at least be curious."
Mara nodded. "What about us?"
Cat considered. "He's invested a lot of himself in this house. If I don't come out, take it apart. Scatter it, destroy it. Or attack, and try your hand at destroying him -- whoever and whatever he is." And however that might go.
Mara nodded again, more slowly this time. "Do it."
Expressionless, Cat stepped through the gate.
Beside him, Delissa said: "It was ruined, overgrown..." Then she straightened.
Mara was already nodding. "I see it, but... there's no substance. When I feel it, I feel the ruins." She stopped, staring. "I've never seen the ghost of a house before."
"There's someone inside, remembering it into this shape." Cat didn't want to be saying this, but he didn't have time to be indirect. There were children inside, and the townspeople were scared; that said enough for their relationship to the ruined house, and whatever might be here. "If the children aren't dead, then he's using them."
"For what?" asked Delissa. She had raised her spear; now she lowered it slightly, hesitating.
Cat shook his head. "I have no idea." Here, where two veins of the world's invisible life-blood crossed, there was plenty of energy: enough to restore the house in truth, not just in appearance.
"It's a circle," said Mara. "He didn't take all the children, only the ones with enough talent to contribute. Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's using them to raise more power."
Cat nodded as that piece fell into place. "Let me go in," he said Mara. "Let me try to talk to him."
Delissa said, "You can't talk to..." Then she fell silent.
Mara turned a curious look his way. "You think you can?"
Cat shrugged. "If we all go charging in there, he'll turn their energies against us... or he'll kill them. If I walk in alone... he might at least be curious."
Mara nodded. "What about us?"
Cat considered. "He's invested a lot of himself in this house. If I don't come out, take it apart. Scatter it, destroy it. Or attack, and try your hand at destroying him -- whoever and whatever he is." And however that might go.
Mara nodded again, more slowly this time. "Do it."
Expressionless, Cat stepped through the gate.
Lure of the Ghost House II
Cat woke to the sound of angry voices. There were people outside the guest-lodge, too many people for this time of night. On the far side of the lodge, he felt Mara sit up; he felt the stirring of Gai-Cha around her, and felt the pistol in her hand. He stood, shedding his blanket, and his navic came into his hand. He followed the commander to the door.
Mara was not tall; she was shorter than Delissa, and stockier, with sandy blonde hair cut close to her skull, pale and freckled skin, and sharp blue eyes. She was also a good five years older than the other two, just past her thirtieth year. She pushed the door open and stepped out beside Delissa. "What is this?" she asked, her voice hovering in the toneless region between inquiry and threat.
The crowd fell silent. It was a crowd, and not quite a mob; only a handful of them were armed, and they seemed more upset than violent.
A woman stepped forward: older, heavyset, with her back held straight and her gaze clear. "My Sinna is missing," she said. "So are other children, boys and girls both. You have to get them back."
Mara frowned, but lowered her pistol. "What happened?"
Cat knew the answer almost before she finished the question; it came to him in a flickering spark of intuition. He knew, but he couldn't explain.
"The house has taken them. Old Yeric saw him come down, saw him gather our children and take them up the hill." She looked past Mara, and Cat found himself suddenly the focus of attention: the woman's, and everyone else in the crowd's. "That's why we never go up there. You did, and you woke him up."
Mara turned, and Cat bowed his head. It's possible, he thought. It's more than possible.
"I... see," said Mara. She turned back to the crowd. "We'll bring them back if we can." She turned back to Cat and Delissa. "Gather your things, and then show me where you went."
Cat nodded and stepped back through the door. He meant to gather the rest of his weapons, but Mara caught his arm as soon as the door swung closed behind them. "What did you do?" she demanded.
He paused, because words had never come easily to him. "There's a ruin on top of the hill. I went and looked at it. I didn't do anything, but..." ...just my being there... "...that might have been enough."
"Obviously it was," snapped Delissa. "Come on. Let's go fix your mistake."
Mara was not tall; she was shorter than Delissa, and stockier, with sandy blonde hair cut close to her skull, pale and freckled skin, and sharp blue eyes. She was also a good five years older than the other two, just past her thirtieth year. She pushed the door open and stepped out beside Delissa. "What is this?" she asked, her voice hovering in the toneless region between inquiry and threat.
The crowd fell silent. It was a crowd, and not quite a mob; only a handful of them were armed, and they seemed more upset than violent.
A woman stepped forward: older, heavyset, with her back held straight and her gaze clear. "My Sinna is missing," she said. "So are other children, boys and girls both. You have to get them back."
Mara frowned, but lowered her pistol. "What happened?"
Cat knew the answer almost before she finished the question; it came to him in a flickering spark of intuition. He knew, but he couldn't explain.
"The house has taken them. Old Yeric saw him come down, saw him gather our children and take them up the hill." She looked past Mara, and Cat found himself suddenly the focus of attention: the woman's, and everyone else in the crowd's. "That's why we never go up there. You did, and you woke him up."
Mara turned, and Cat bowed his head. It's possible, he thought. It's more than possible.
"I... see," said Mara. She turned back to the crowd. "We'll bring them back if we can." She turned back to Cat and Delissa. "Gather your things, and then show me where you went."
Cat nodded and stepped back through the door. He meant to gather the rest of his weapons, but Mara caught his arm as soon as the door swung closed behind them. "What did you do?" she demanded.
He paused, because words had never come easily to him. "There's a ruin on top of the hill. I went and looked at it. I didn't do anything, but..." ...just my being there... "...that might have been enough."
"Obviously it was," snapped Delissa. "Come on. Let's go fix your mistake."
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
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