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is the rifts through which they move that are.
My confusion deepened. “But those rifts have been here for more than a century now—why would they suddenly be a threat?”
It is not those rifts of which we speak, he said. But rather the one that now dominates the central plaza—
“But that’s a false rift,” I cut in, even as fear surged. The last thing we needed was the wraiths having a direct path into the heart of the city. “It leads into Government House; it is not linked to whatever realm the wraiths emerge from.”
Perhaps the witch can tune it to be either. She has been present whenever the wraiths have emerged from it.
I swore and scrubbed a hand across my eyes. “That still doesn’t explain why the plaza rift is a threat to you. Is it the staining?”
Yes, because it not only stains our bones, it disintegrates them. When our bones are gone, our spirits are banished to who knows what hell. He paused, and sorrow washed across his thin face. It takes the young ones first—we have already lost five.
Damn it, why was it always the littlest ones who paid the deepest price? “I’m really sorry, but we are trying to stop the spread of that rift—”
You won’t succeed, he cut in. The only way to destroy the rift is to kill the woman who created it.
I frowned. “What makes you think the false rifts are linked to her life?”
Redda says it is so, and she was once also a powerful witch. He turned and beckoned to someone. A matronly figure moved forward, but her form wasn’t as solid as either Blaine’s or many of the others, suggesting she was an older ghost—perhaps even one who’d died long before the final bomb had destroyed the city.
It is true. Her voice was faint but kindly. I’ve seen the witch Nuri here several times, but she is not strong enough to stay or remove the magic of the rifts now. No one is.
“But what makes you think its existence is linked to the woman who created it?”
Because she used her blood in the spell. Only when she no longer takes breath will the power of her blood within that spell fade. Until then, the rifts will remain.
“You saw her create them?” I asked.
Yes.
“Would you be willing to tell Nuri what you saw?” Surely once Nuri knew what sort of spell had been used—and what exactly had gone into it—she stood a better chance of being able to destroy the rifts?
Yes, the woman said. But it will not help. Your only hope—our only hope—is for you to destroy its creator.
“Then destroy her we will.” All we had to do was find her—and that wasn’t proving to be easy. I glanced back at Blaine. “We believe we might have uncovered the witch’s identity, but we’re still a long way from stopping her.”
He didn’t say “try harder” as I half expected him to. Instead, he waved a hand at Branna. We shall hide this one beyond the walls, in the deep pits of the madman’s graveyard. He deserves nothing less after his treachery.
The madman’s graveyard? Was that the one outside the walls? The ghosts there hadn’t seemed particularly crazy, but it wasn’t like I’d had the capacity—or, in the end, the time—to talk to any of them at the time.
Blaine nodded and made another motion. Half a dozen ghosts moved forward—some more “real” than others—and, after picking up Branna’s body, quickly whisked him away.
We cannot help you fight against those who would destroy Central, Blaine continued, because we are bound by our deaths to Carleen and cannot move too far beyond its walls. Nor can we fight the witch or the wraiths.
I frowned again, unsure why he would make such a statement when I hadn’t asked for either of them. I opened my mouth to say as much, but stopped when he raised a hand.
But we can act against the vampires who pass through our city, and immobilize the vehicles that move in and out of the false rifts. It may not stop either, but it will at least decimate the vampires’ numbers and force the witch and her people to find other avenues for their vehicles.
If they were capable of such actions, why in Rhea hadn’t they acted before now?
But the answer was, in reality, pretty obvious. Up until now, the situation hadn’t really affected them. Just as had happened during the war, the inhabitants of this place had shielded themselves from the realities of the conflict until it had arrived right on their doorsteps—and by then, it was altogether too late to act.
I really hoped history wasn’t about to repeat itself.
“Anything you can do to hamper their movements will be appreciated.”
There was little point in saying anything else. These ghosts might be a little late in realizing the enormity of the situation, but at least they had realized, and were now willing to help—and at the possible cost of banishment. And if they were successful, they might just give us something very vital—something we desperately needed.
