Spectyr Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  ONE - A Thing of Beauty

  TWO - Whispered Messages

  THREE - The Bonds of Duty

  FOUR - A Warning from Beyond

  FIVE - Prayers Answered

  SIX - Watched Clocks

  SEVEN - Fallen Dreams

  EIGHT - The Wakened Dark

  NINE - Into the Hive

  TEN - Within a Welcome Embrace

  ELEVEN - Buried in Roses

  TWELVE - The Bond Reborn

  THIRTEEN - Returning Home

  FOURTEEN - Alone with Consequence

  FIFTEEN - Lost Loves

  SIXTEEN - Taking the Reins

  SEVENTEEN - Out of Time

  EIGHTEEN - Familiar Faces

  NINETEEN - Looking Deep

  TWENTY - A Grand Arrival

  TWENTY-ONE - Interview in a Library

  TWENTY-TWO - The Last Time

  TWENTY-THREE - Freedom and Fight

  TWENTY-FOUR - Return to Reality

  TWENTY-FIVE - The Eye and the Fist

  TWENTY-SIX - The Unseen Prince

  TWENTY-SEVEN - A Son’s Love

  TWENTY-EIGHT - Despair and Delight

  TWENTY-NINE - Prodigal Son

  THIRTY - Birthing Sorrow

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Praise for GEIST

  “Absorbing adventure that revels in both the creepy and the courageous.”

  —Gail Carriger, New York Times bestselling author of Heartless

  “With its richly detailed world and wonderfully realized characters, Geist is one of the most vividly original books I’ve read this year.”

  —Nalini Singh,

  New York Times bestselling author of Kiss of Snow

  “An incredibly rich story . . . rich in high action, rich in mystery, rich in characters, rich in ghosts. Absolutely not to be missed.”—Barb Hendee, national bestselling coauthor of

  Of Truth and Beasts

  “Part of the entertainment in this novel is putting the pieces together to get a picture of the complicated political situation, the period (they have magical airships!) and the nature of the geists . . . Plenty of magic-blasting action keeps things lively for a rousing start to this new series.”

  —Locus

  “Philippa Ballantine has crafted a unique and engrossing tale with Geist. Memorable characters, multiple subplots and spot-on dialogue combined with some dramatic action scenes create a vivid and satisfying read . . . a promising start to a unique series.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “In the tradition of greats like Margaret Weis and Robin Hobb, Philippa Ballantine has woven an excellent tale of fantasy, paranormal, black powder, steampunk goodness.”

  —Geek Life

  “An intriguing blend of fantasy, paranormal and history.”

  —Night Owl Paranormal

  Ace Books by Philippa Ballantine

  GEIST

  SPECTYR

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  SPECTYR

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / July 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Philippa Ballantine.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-52918-8

  ACE

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Dad and Mum.

  You lit the fire and kept it burning.

  Words of thanks are barely enough,

  but they are all I have to give in return.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like Raed, I have many people on my ship without whom I would be stuck in port:

  My navigator and agent, Laurie McLean, who is not only a fantastic business partner but also a brilliant mentor and friend. You told me this would happen, and I really should have believed you.

  My quartermaster and editor, Danielle Stockley of Ace Books. She knows how to make sure things are where they should be, and what I really need on a journey.

  The head of the press-gang, Brady McReynolds, one of Ace’s marketing whizzes. Thanks for helping people find Geist in the sea of books.

  My redoubtable first mate, Cathy, who has listened to my complaints and fears for nearly fifteen years. Though we are on different shores right now, I know the tides will soon bring us together again.

  My captain, who provides advice, support and motivation. Also, you make me laugh when I really need it. You set sail with me, and I am looking forward to discovering what lies out there.

  My marines on this ship, who are all my new friends and family in America: Jen, Elena, Linc, Mary-Ann, David and the cardnight ladies.

  My crew on the ship, who are, of course, my podcast listeners. Thank you for helping me row out from the shallows into deeper waters.

  ONE

  A Thing of Beauty

  In the Imperial Palace Grand Duchess Zofiya slept on sheets of polished white satin in a grand bed painted and carved like a sailing ship. Around her gleamed the treasures of her brother’s and father’s dominions.

  These, however, did not guarantee her a night of peaceful slumber. Her long black hair lay in a sweaty tangle, while her tawny limbs were twisted in the covers. Nightmares crashed through her head, breaking her famous calm in ways that would have surprised any of her Imperial Guard had they been privileged enough to witness it.

  Finally Zofiya jerked awake, lurching upright in her bed with a half-swallowed scream. Her hand instinctively went to the medallion around her neck as she tried to control her rapid breathing.

  The bedroom
was nearly silent; there were only the fine curtains blowing in the wind, and far off in the corridor the sounds of the many clocks ticking away to themselves. That noise was familiar and calming; her brother had inherited a love of machinery from their father. Still, what she was not used to were nightmares. In this one a person had been killing Kal, and she had been unable to reach him in time.

  Her brother the Emperor was a great man, but his sense of personal safety was limited. He firmly believed that he had tamed this continent and the worst was behind them. Zofiya knew better.

  Slipping from her elaborate bed, the Grand Duchess padded to the window and looked out over the sleeping city—not realizing that she had failed to let go of the medallion. Thousands of lights twinkled all over the lagoon. The bridges were reduced to a string of bright pearls. Even the slum areas of the Edge were smoothed to attractiveness by darkness and the occasional gleam of a streetlight. Directly below she could make out not only her own Imperial Guard at their posts but also the swathed forms of the soldiers from Chioma.

  The delegation had been in the capital for a month, testing the waters for a marriage between the Emperor and Ezefia, daughter of the Prince of that distant principality. No promises had been made, but she knew Kal was entertaining the idea. The throne had to be secured quickly, and Onika, the Prince of Chioma, was fabulously wealthy.

  Her brother, she knew, would have preferred the group marriage practiced in their homeland, Delmaire, but he was wise enough not to try to push that custom on the citizens of Arkaym. Change came slowly here, but it did occur. Take the city, for example. It was not as majestic as Toth, her father’s capital, but it was pulling itself out of generations of misery and torment. All of which was her brother’s doing. Yet there were plenty who wanted to stop him.

  Zofiya clenched her fist on the curved edge of the medallion until it hurt. She had lost the one she brought from Delmaire a week before in the training ground. No amount of sifting the sand—which she had gotten the servants to do—had located it.

  However, when she had come in that evening, this new one was lying on her pillow. It was not the same; there were five diamonds set in the snaking curve of stone that represented Hatipai’s constantly moving nature, and it was larger than the one she had lost. Some aristocrat had probably had it made to curry favor.

  In Court her faith was an open secret. The little gods were not persecuted, but they were figures of amusement and derision. Nearly a thousand years was a long time to hold on to faith in the face of derisive public opinion, but the sect of Hatipai that the Grand Duchess subscribed to had managed it. Though she kept her medallion tucked inside her clothes during daylight hours, she would not deny her goddess. If the people around Zofiya wanted to gossip, then she had no way of stopping them.

  Kal knew of his sister’s beliefs—though he dismissed them as superstitious nonsense. When the geists had come and the Otherside had poured in, most of the population had lost faith—including the royal family of Delmaire. Zofiya was made of sterner stuff.

  Yet, now as she looked out over the city, her mind turned to the dark realities of the world—and most especially the events that had occurred under the ossuary.

  “The Murashev.” Zofiya shivered under her spider-silk nightdress, as if even mentioning the geistlord’s name would bring its arrival. Only a month before, the creature had almost been brought forth into the heart of Vermillion—an event the city would not have survived. She had been at the secret briefing from the new Arch Abbot and had shared her brother’s shock. “Hatipai, give us strength,” she murmured.

  That was when she heard it: a clatter of pure notes, like those from the bells of the Temple in Delmaire. She recalled them clearly, because even as a child she had spent much time there. The bells had been strung in long skeins across the doors so that each penitent who went in made them ring, high and sweet.

  She heard the cluster of notes again. It was not the sound of one of the clocks in the hall. The Grand Duchess slipped on her coat, took her belt and scabbard from the chair close to her bed, strapped it on and went out to investigate. She had already dismissed her personal guards for the night. If trouble was going to come to one of the Imperial siblings, she wanted it to be her and not her brother.

  Growing up in Delmaire, she had been used to the fact that she would always be the surplus child. Kal had wanted her to come to Arkaym, and their father had not protested. He had daughters enough to fill a royal barge—all of them far more compliant than her.

  She stepped into a hallway lined with lush carpets woven in red and yellow, the Imperial colors. The sound came again, and this time it could be clearly heard over the numerous clocks ticking gently to themselves on this floor. With one hand on her sword hilt, Zofiya went down the back stairs and out into the courtyard. The ringing had come from the garden. The warmth radiating from the goddess symbol spurred her on, through the mist-shrouded topiaries and flower beds. Finally she reached the walls of the palace. The bells rang a third time, so she found herself sneaking out of the postern gate and into the city itself.

  The Grand Duchess was not frightened, even if she was only wearing her greatcoat and her nightclothes. She had her goddess with her. The warmth of the medallion and the sound of distant bells led her on. In bare feet she crossed over the Bridge of Gilt and into the Tinkers’ Quarter. Under her brother’s patronage, the Guild had grown in power, and many of the houses here were nearly as grand as those on the Imperial Island. Yet, Zofiya took no notice of fine architecture or welltended gardens. Instead, she followed as bidden, until she reached a house at the end of Piston Street. The sound of bells now led her around the rear of the property to an open door. She paused for a moment, for the first time noticing the deep shadows that surrounded her. She almost had the impression that there were eyes moving within them. For an instant she considered how vulnerable she was, but then the tide of her faith washed back. She entered, walked confidently down the stairs and into the basement. Let the contents of the shadows look to themselves.

  It smelled very strange here, musty and dank, but she stepped over the piles of soil, barely noticing her grubby feet, and toward a magnificent brass door. That such a thing would exist in the home of a Tinker Zofiya didn’t question.

  Inside she did pause, though. The corridor she was in was unlike any tradesman’s house she’d ever seen. It was covered in frescos that rivaled decorations in her brother’s palace. Neither did the theme of the artwork slip past her notice; it was something not often depicted. The Break—the arrival of the geists and the revelation of the Otherside. The Grand Duchess tilted her head and let one of her fingers trace the outline of the design.

  Here was the population screaming and cowering as shapes stepped through the gap. Padding on a little farther, Zofiya found the rising of the dead and the arrival of the spirits to haunt their loved ones. Circles of rei led the innocent to their deaths. Spectyrs brought retribution on those who had wronged them.

  A little gasp escaped her when she reached the final frame in the frieze. Here was displayed the Season of Supplication—the final nail in the coffin of faith. Believers of all religions were shown gathered around a central point, blood pouring from knees they had been on for weeks, while they raised their hands to the gods.

  No salvation had come. And those that had been revered and trusted were ever after referred to as little gods. Zofiya felt tears well up, and she couldn’t remember when that had last happened. Her goddess’ Temple had at least survived. Many others had fallen into ruin when their followers abandoned them altogether.

  Yet she had faith, she had belief, and she would never give up. The thought was warm and comforting. As she leaned against the frieze, she smiled softly. Something moved behind her hand, like the shift of a snake, smooth and sinuous under her palm.

  Taking a step back, Zofiya watched as the ancient artwork flexed and twisted. The supplicants’ self-inflicted wounds oozed blood, while fresh tears streamed from their eyes, rolled do
wn the wall, and pattered on the floor. Above, the symbols of the gods boiled, gray and thick like thunderclouds, yet among them she recognized one. Hatipai. Her goddess’ symbol gleamed gold and bright among the others.

  The Grand Duchess’ smile broadened as she reached out and touched it. Instantly she was filled with glory. Her head snapped back, and she let out a groan of pleasure that went right to her core. All physical delights paled in comparison to this one. No aristocrat or Prince could make her feel like this. The goddess was with her, and she was pleased that her daughter had held her faith when so many others faltered.

  The symbol moved again, and Zofiya followed it, barely aware of the steps passing under her feet. Her deity whispered into her soul.

  Together they went down deeper into the earth, two more flights of stairs, and then the frieze stopped at a blank wall of stone. Zofiya leaned forward and touched it. W medallion grew hotter on her skin, the Grand Duchess was not surprised.

  The walls were smooth white stone, fitted so tightly together she could not have slipped even her narrowest blade between them. Though she had no torch, Zofiya did not fear stumbling, for tiny weirstones embedded in the walls let off a cool blue light. She should have been afraid at this flagrant use of those dangerous power receptacles, but she knew the goddess would not let her acolyte fall. Beneath her fingers the gold symbol traveled on, and the Grand Duchess followed in her wake—feeling more content and calm than she ever had in her life.

  The frieze had changed though. Now it showed only abstract forms, shapes of birds and animals—but nothing human. She would have stopped to examine them if she had been alone, but the goddess still held her dazzled.