Kill the Dead, Tanith Lee [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT] 📗

oblivious. He lay on the bed, peacefullyslumbering. It was a peace that filled Parl Dro with iron rage.

Drotook one stride forward, but in that second, the manifestation began to return.

Sheformed, little by little, in the shade just over the far edge of Myal’s bed.She was visible from the knees upward, and below her knees, across the mattressand Myal’s body, flowed the smoky convolutions of the water. She was mainlytransparent. Even so, Dro could see she showed none of the rigours of drowning,though plainly, if unconsciously, she recollected exactly how she had died. Herface was calm and empty at first, but as she looked at him, focused on him, herface altered. Her eyes seemed to sink and to enlarge into mere sockets. Shegrinned, and her grin was terrible, unspeakable, showing only her lower teeth.She raised her hands, and she held a freshwater fish in them. She bore it toher mouth as if to kiss it, then sank her teeth into its squirming living back.A trickle of pallidly gleaming blood ran down her chin.

Itwas an illusion, the fish. She was even more a witch, dead, than she had beenalive. She fashioned such forms to intimidate him. When she perceived he wasnot intimidated, the fish, the trickle of blood, even the swirl of the ghostlystream evaporated.

Shehung there, still smiling vilely at him. Then her smile went away, and she tooslid away, back and back and back, as the inescapable force of Dro’s willpushed her.

Sheopened her mouth in a soundless cry, and lifted her hands again. Her nails werealready very long. She fought him, but he was used to such fighting, and shewas not. He thrust her all the way to the wall, seeming to press her, like aphosphorescent imprint, into the whitewash. Her hair blew or fanned out like amisty colourless sunburst–moonburst–on the bricks. He held her pinned likethat, and then, never taking his eyes from her, he fastened one pitiless handover Myal’s throat, squeezing the windpipe until, gagging and choking, themusician flailed into consciousness.

Drounfastened the stranglehold. Myal croaked a number of expletives andaccusations. Dro cut him short, dragging Myal’s head around by the hair towardthe wall.

“Look.”

Myalfroze, petrified, rigid as a stone in Dro’s grip.

“What–whatis it?”

“Don’tyou know?”

“Ciddey—it’sCidd—”

“Don’tkeep naming her. She has enough of a hold on you as it is. How do you feel?”

“Ifeel sick.” A ludicrous note of reproach crept into Myal’s voice. “I haven’tbeen well.”

“You’llbe less well if she goes on feeding off you.”

“Feeding–”

“She’s usingyour life energy to supplement her own. Can’t you feel it?”

“I...Something. I feel terrible.”

Drolet him fall back on the mattress. Dro never once let his own eyes slip fromthe apparition, stapled like a moth to the wall. Even as he spoke, three quartersof his mind and a great deal of his strength were being utilised to keep her asfar from her life source, Myal, as possible. To prevent her, also, from flight.For she might come to see that flight was her only current ploy.

“Whatdid you bring with you, Myal,” Dro said, “from the stream?”

“What?”

“Thestream where she died. You took something from her body. A lock of hair, aribbon–something.”

“No.”

“Don’tconceal it. It’s her link. Look at her. She’ll kill you, one way or another.Either persuade you to die to appease her jealousy of your life. Or draw yourlife out of you, moment by moment.”

“Ithink,” said Myal. He coughed. “I think I brought one of her shoes. I don’tknow why. I forgot I had. They were cloth, very small. I trod on one on the bank.I was already getting sick. Didn’t know what I was...”

“Where?”

“Theinstrument. Where is it? Somebody must have put it somewhere.”

“It’sthere by the bed. Reach over and hand it to me.”

“Ican’t. I’m too weak to move.”

“You’llmove.”

“Allright—I’ll—try—”

Myalfloundered around. His arms were trembling so much he could hardly get hold ofthe sling, but he managed it, and lugged the grotesquery of wood and stringsonto the mattress. To touch it steadied him. But the shoe, crumpled together,had been shoved into the opening over the sound box, and through into the holeof the instrument. Invisible. He could not remember doing this. Yet, somehow,he could....

Still not looking at him, Drotore the shoe out of Myal’s hand.

“Whatever happens now, stay whereyou are, and stay quiet.”

“What’s liable to happen?”

Myalcringed and shot a glance at the blocked door. But his head swam. He flopped onhis face, hiding his eyes.

ParlDro stood midway between the bed and the door. He dropped the little shoe onthe ground. The sole had cracked where Myal had palmed it into a ball.Pathetic, desolate little shoe.

Drotook the tinder from his shirt and struck a flame. At the rasp of flint andfire, Myal burrowed more deeply in the bolster. Dro stooped, awkward from thecrippled leg, and set the shoe alight, bracing himself as he did so for theghost’s dying frenzy. Which did not come.

Asthe flame fluttered around the shoe, destroyed it, and expired on the flags,Dro stared at what was left of Ciddey Soban, plastered, insectile andbeautiful, on the wall. She never moved. With vast extinguished eyes, she gazedat him. And then she melted like frost. And she was gone.

Thedungeon chill swilled instantly off the room and down some supernatural drain.

ParlDro drew a deep breath. The familiar exhaustion clambered on his back, draggedhim down. Exhaustion, and something else. Something–something–

Outside,the noise of the crowd had mounted, now the eerie barriers were gone from theair. Footsteps ran across the compound, and the door rocked to blows. There hadbeen enough people in the street, and concentrating hard enough, to form a kindof composite pseudo seventh sense. Sufficient to guess when the exorcism wascomplete.

He pulled the chair away from thedoor.

Myal groaned. “Is it over?Whatever it was?”

“Ihope it is.” Dro checked, hand on the door, appalled by what he had just said.Never before had there been any doubt.

CHAPTER SIX

The drinking partywent on into the small hours.

Most of the village had heard, many had been spectators.Spectators who had actually seen nothing, only felt, and halfunderstood. The priests filed solemnly through the hostel, now it was safe,blessing it and sprinkling unguents. They blessed and sprinkled Myal, too. Paleand shaking,