The Ghost Lady
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Morning dawned, and they left with suitable fanfare, though in an odd direction, perpendicular to the mountain path. Michael had someone that he needed to visit before leaving. Trevor noted with concern that they were going in the direction of the Ghost Lady’s house.
The Ghost Lady was a matter of some curiosity for the youth of the village, as such cases of mystery and low-grade peril tend to be. Her house was a decrepit shack on the edge of the wild, overgrown with weeds and bushes suitable for hiding adventurous children and capturing active imaginations.
They arrived at the fence line. Though the house appeared to have sat vacant for a number of generations, a pair of booted feet propped on the gray porch railing spoke otherwise. Trevor hesitated at the broken gate. The Ghost Lady was a formidable feature in the village. She never came to town, never spoke to anyone. Trevor recalled crawling up to the property in the bushes to spy many times as a younger child. The Ghost Lady often sat on the porch, as she did today. Once he had seen her standing, staring off into the middle-distance. She remained that way for hours. As the last rays of the sun filtered through the trees, Trevor and his friends had skulked off to their homes The Ghost Lady hadn’t moved.
Michael had stepped through the gap in the fence, so Trevor reluctantly followed. It felt like he had pressed through a tangible barrier. Michael stepped silently up the path, while Trevor trailed behind. The boots held a menace for him, pressing him back. He could hear his own breaths, the sound of his footsteps seemed to echo like a foggy night.
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and the reclining figure was visible. The boots were attached to the body of a young woman reclining in a rocking chair. Bare legs, denim shorts, and a plaid blouse. A straw hat rested over her eyes. For a long moment Trevor wondered if she had in fact died. Suddenly, from the Ghost Lady there was a sharp intake of breath, her chest rose as though remembering to breathe. “Hello, Michael. I am glad you have come to visit me! The children try to keep me company, but they are timid things.”
“Diana, I should come more often, but you know how it is…”
“Don’t worry Michael, I run fast these days. The weeks flow like hours, the days like minutes,” she sat up slowly and removed her hat and looked at it, “though if you did come and visit me more often, perhaps it would slow down.” Her gaze then rested on Trevor. “Who is your friend?”
“His name is Trevor. I, we…” Michael paused, as if conflicted, before plunging ahead. “We intend to go to the Outside, and I came to see if you would be willing to accompany us.”
There was a long silence as the Ghost Lady stood, frowning at Michael. “Outside? That is asking quite a lot, don’t you think? I am Militia now, and so are you. What goes on beyond the hills is no concern of ours now, unless it comes to visit us. This is our jurisdiction.”
“I was summoned,” Michael said by way of response.
The Ghost Lady’s nostrils flared slightly, but her face remained calmly displeased otherwise. “Summoned? Who would have the temerity to call Michael from his duties when there are others better suited?”
Michael stood silent.
“I see…” Her voice took on an odd edge to it, “Michael, if I were you I would let the old witch rot in whatever corner she has found herself in. She has no right to ask this of you!” She looked again at Trevor, “Nor you of this boy. Your duties are here. Mind your business.”
“I have to go.”
“I know, but it doesn’t make me wrong.”
She stood looking Michael in the eye from the porch. Suddenly she blinked and smiled, as if remembering herself. “Michael, Trevor, I forget my manners. Please come in, and I will find you something to eat and drink.”
“I had forgotten mine as well,” replied Michael, with a wry smile, “and for that I apologize.”
“You don’t need an apology for me, Michael. We are both old, flying down the slope, fast. When they pass, you grab onto things to slow yourself down.”
Diana turned the water on, and the smell of rust permeated the room as red water flowed out. She let it run until clear, rinsed and filled a kettle, and put it on the stove.
“So, Diana my old friend, you won’t take this opportunity to slow down one last time to rain hell down on the enemies of the Coalition?”
“Even if I wanted to, Michael, I have no Hell left with which to reign.”
“Surely you have some Fire left?”
“When I was formed, it was with five Fires. Now I have but three.”
“I have one.”
“No, both a Fire and a flame.”
“And you have no flame?”
“Once, long ago. It is lost. All that I have left is a faint spark for this place. I will stay here for a time, while the spark burns. When it dies, I will pass.”
They sat around the Ghost Lady’s weather-beaten table, in the dappled light coming from the holes in the roof. The tea tasted old and stale, but drew no comment against it. They ate dried fruit and fish, hardened with unguessed age. They rose, and Michael thanked her.
“Before you go, I would give you a token of my friendship, Michael.” She pulled a heavy sheath from her belt. It was not made of the leather that Trevor was accustomed to, but some other substance. She drew a long dagger blade from it, and handed it to Michael hilt-first.
“Here is my dagger. The binding is broken. For years it was my identity. Think fondly of me when you look at it, perhaps.”
Trevor craned his neck to get a better look at the blade. It had strange tracings and words on it, and a dark gem in the center of the handguard. He could see nothing obviously wrong with it. After a long moment Michael took it along with the sheath.
She held his gaze still. Suddenly she rounded on Trevor. “Sidhe militiaman, what is your name?” The hard edge in her voice had returned, and he squirmed.
“Trevor Broadnet, of the Coalition,” he managed to get the formality out as he had been taught.
“You have no business in the Outside. Are you determined to go on this ill-advised journey, of your own volition?” she queried.
Trevor had answered similar questions without thought, but it was different here. He was at the edge of the known world, being asked by the Ghost Lady herself. The question took on a greater weight. He paused for a moment to consider. Again he felt the weight of the decision, and again the smoothness evaded his grasp. “Yes.”
She gave him a hard look, as though sizing him up. The look then faded into the distance for a rather long time before returning softly to the present.
Diana looked again at Trevor, and searched his eyes less sharply. She sighed, her expression softened, and she turned to walk to a tall cabinet with swinging doors. Inside was revealed a neatly arranged assortment of weapons, contrasting with the prevalent state of the cottage at large.
The Ghost Lady considered for a moment, lingering over this, caressing that, before plucking out an arm-length rod with a dagger-like head and crimson tassel at one end. She demonstrated grasping two adjacent handholds near the center of the shaft and pulling them apart. While it had been barely a baton before, it lengthened into a proper spear. She then returned it to its original length and pressed it into Trevor’s hand.
“This should suit you, but you must practice. Michael?”
He nodded.
Trevor tried his hand at the trick. The spear lengthened with alarming ease, but did not collapse when he tested it for fastness. Upon closer examination, he failed to find evidence joints. Oddly, the exposed section of the shaft appeared to be longer than the length of the entire weapon when collapsed. It seemed to be following his intent rather than any mechanical trigger. Yes, definitely magic!
That he was given what was plainly a magical artifact from the Outside was endlessly pleasing to Trevor, and served as a strong confirmation that he had made the proper choice in coming with Michael.
They took their leave of Diana, and continued up the trail into the foothills. Trevor was pensive as they made their way along.
“I think I understand what you meant when you said we were going to the mountains to see a dragon.”
“Pardon?”
“The dragon we were going to see. It was the Ghost Lady, right? You talked about fire and Hell with her. She acted funny, and she had a treasure. She was clean, her clothes were clean, the treasure closet was clean, and everything else was a wreck. She’s a dragon in disguise, right?”
Michael looked at Trevor for a moment before his shoulders quaked with laughter.
“Or the dragon part was a metaphor?” he tried.
“Maybe Diana is a dragon of sorts, but not the one I spoke of. Trevor, when you see the dragon, you will know her.”