Ghosts

The small mountain town of Bone reminded Martin of nearly every back country village he had ever visited. There was one large building surrounded by smaller homes. The large building was some sort of public building, an inn or old fort. The only difference in Bone, the old fort, an over glorified outpost in Martin’s opinion, was on the outer edge of town. The rest of the houses surrounded the fort’s east and south sides, each street straight despite that it was built on the side of a mountain.

Fred rode ahead of him, nodding to the people who hailed him. The Ghost General had changed into his uniform before they approached the town and they rode through the streets without being stopped. Apparently there was a Ghost unit in this town and the people were glad for their presence.

“Who’s assigned here and why?” Martin asked as they approached the old fort.

“I have Ghost units scattered among the smaller towns,” Fred explained, tossing a coin to the boy who opened the gate for them. “Not all battles are fought by armies, Martin. These people have been suffering from war. The price rises of goods, young men enlisted into the army, and Terk has been sending harass teams to torture these good people. I have my Ghosts protecting these people and also teach them a bit about defense.”

Martin nodded slowly, dismounting. “And that’s why there are so many exaggerated stories about the Ghosts and their talents.” Small towns were notorious for embellishing the truth.

“Can’t be helped,” Fred sighed, dismounting and giving the reigns over to another boy. “I’m not going to let people suffer.”

Martin reluctantly handed over Rowan’s reigns to the same boy and followed Fred. The old fort was just like others he had seen. There was one long building inside the outer wall, a combination of barracks and offices. The stable near the gate looked like it was added after the fort was originally built; the wood didn’t have the same weathered grey color as the building. The outer wall was made of stone and mortar with a walk running all along the top.

But what was out of place were the rows of old men and young boys standing in the center of the courtyard. There couldn’t have been more than thirty men lined up as they tried to master a spearman’s stance. The only ones who looked like they knew what they were doing were five tall, muscular men in Ghost uniforms.

“Who did you say was assigned here?” Martin asked, walking up to Fred. The Ghost General frowned as he considered the lesson the Ghosts were teaching.

“I didn’t say,” Fred answered. “It’s Coronal Hillard.”

Martin blinked in surprise and turned again to look at the Ghosts. He had heard of Coronal Hillard, Ghost Fifty-Six, though had never met the man. He was one of the more celebrated Ghosts. He was easy to pick out, since he was the only Ghost without a coat and his sleeves rolled up, the coronal insignia on his shoulders. The rumors of his fierce appearance were not exaggerated. His face was badly scarred and stretched into his hairline. Martin also noticed that he was not ashamed to show off similar scars on his muscular arms.

This man, Martin thought, doesn’t care if people stare at him. The prince was almost envious.

“Hillard!” Chief bellowed.

The coronal finally noticed them. Turning back to the man he was working with, he whispered something to the old man, then strutted over to them and saluted to Fred.

“General,” Hillard said, his voice as rough as his appearance. “An honor.”

Fred nodded to the lesson. “How are the townspeople?”

Hillard groaned, rolling his eyes. “Give me a proper fighting unit and I might be able to do something to protect Bone, sir. I’ve got dregs here.”

“I’m afraid that’s what you’re stuck with,” Fred said. “How is everything here?”

“Nothing exciting to report,” Hillard grumbled. “And I mean nothing exciting. No thefts, no affairs, no nothing. The most exciting thing about this town is the newborn about a month back and that the weather has been overcast for the last couple weeks.” Martin fought the urge to squirm. Had he really affected the entire weather of Aeterna?

“Well,” Fred said, fighting a smirk, “I think I’ve got something to give you a bit of excitement.” The general turned to Martin, patting his shoulder. “I’d like you to meet your new recruit.”

Hillard stared at him. Martin stood at a military stance, ignoring the disappointed glare the coronal gave him. Nothing new. He was used to people always looking down on him.

“This slight creature?” Hillard snorted. “You’re expecting me to train this? Sir, with all due respect, but I already have a team…”

“Hear me out,” Fred said sharply. “I want you to reserve your judgments about this man. He’s proven others wrong before.”

“But sir!” Hillard protested.

“Hillard,” Fred warned, “give him a chance.”

The coronal grumbled for a moment before turning sharply on his heel and faced his men. “Fine,” he snapped, “but he is going to have to pass my test. Dixon, Clary, Irvin, Suit! Gear up! We’re going to test this man’s skills!” The four other Ghosts quickly shooed the townsmen away, clearing an area in the center of the courtyard.

“Suit?” Martin muttered to himself. Taking a good look at the team, he realized he recognized one. “Fred,” he muttered quietly, “do you really think it wise I am on the same team with Suit’s son? I mean… What if Art tells his old man where I am?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Fred replied. “Doug and Art haven’t been on talking terms since Art joined the Ghosts.”

Martin nodded. He remembered that day. Three years ago, shortly after the war began, Art Suit got into a disagreement with the Spy Master. Harsh words and threats were exchanged for the better part of an hour before Art finally stomped away and left the Tree. Martin had never seen the Spy Master so angry.

“You there,” Hillard said, spinning around and pointing at him. “Come here.” Martin walked over. The four other Ghosts, all large men who tried to match Hillard’s muscle mass, stood at attention, staffs in their hands.

“Here,” Hillard snapped, handing him a similar staff. “Let’s see what sort of skills you have. My Ghosts will attack you. Your job is try and not get bruised until I say the fight is done, understood?”

Martin blinked, disappointed. Surely he wasn’t serious? Not to get bruised? Martin knew his skills; he could probably beat these men to a pulp. But the coronal didn’t know that. Sighing, he nodded.

“Good,” Hillard sneered. He stepped away, joining the circling crowd. “Let’s see what this runt can do. Men! Attack!”

The four men didn’t run at him. Martin was expecting that. A Ghost was taught to analyze their opponent before attacking. They slowly circled around him, Martin was careful to keep all of them within his sight, noting how each one lowered their center of balance, gripping their staves. One of them was holding his too tightly, a sign of someone who didn’t feel comfortable with the weapon.

“Fine then,” Martin muttered, knowing he only had moments before they did attacked. Before they could move against him, Martin spun on the man who was uncomfortable, smacking the spear out of his hand then spinning his spear around to hit the man on the side of his head. The man went down without a sound.

The others were shocked for a moment before moving against him. Martin lowered his center of gravity, holding his spear out and ready. They were probably expecting an inexperienced fighter and were ordered to just bruise him. Seeing their comrade taken down shortly had them out for revenge.

“Come on,” Martin whispered, eyeing his next target. “I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
************
Irvin went down first. Hillard flinched as the “slight creature” then attacked the other three men, matching and exceeding his Ghosts in combat.

“Well?” Chief asked, beaming proudly as the young man took down Art with a blow to the knee. The poor Ghost limped to the sidelines, rubbing his knee. There would be an ugly bruise there, guaranteed. “He’s better than you expected.” That wasn’t a question. Hillard glared at the Ghost General. Obviously the general knew about the young man’s skill.

“Where’d you find him?” Hillard grumbled, flinching as Clary barely dodged a blow to his ribs. The young man didn’t even seem bothered by it, quickly giving Clary a hit in the stomach, sending the Ghost rolling on the ground.

“Originally at Loman,” the general answered, watching as the young man and Dixon were left fighting. “But that was about nine and a half years ago.”

Hillard paused. The young man didn’t look any more than twenty, likely younger, but the general had known him for almost ten years? He stared intently at the young man, trying to place that common face. The Ghost General sometimes had a shadow with him, a young child he had rescued…

“A spy?” Hillard asked, vaguely remembering Chief boasting about the child he rescued and what the child had accomplished. “You want to put a spy on my team? Why?”

Chief’s expression suddenly froze, concealing whatever thought he just had. “It’s not to be discussed at this time,” he finally answered, rubbing his bearded chin. “Now is not the time or place. Let’s just say that something happened that resulted in his immediate removal from the spying network.”

“Big words for getting fired,” the coronal muttered. “Why was he fired?”

“That goes under what cannot be discussed,” Chief said, shaking his head. “I didn’t want him to waste away. His removal was just insult to injury.”

“May I ask what his injury was?” the coronal asked, not really expecting an answer. The general was very good at giving answers that weren’t very satisfying.

“His best friend was killed,” Chief sighed. “And he could have stopped his friend from being murdered. Even now, he blames himself for Luke’s death. His mind needs to be taken off those thoughts. It wasn’t his fault.”

At that moment, Art Suit walked up to them, rubbing his aching knee. Art could have easily passed as his father’s twin if it wasn’t for the fact that, in order to rebel, Art had let his hair grow all the way to his shoulders and didn’t sport a mustache. “That guy sure is kicking our butts. Hey, Chief, where did you get someone like that?”

Chief raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Master Art, surely you recognized him. After all, your father chose to personally train him to be the next Alex.”

Art frowned slightly before it dawned on him. Turning just in time to see Dixon barely managing to roll out of the way from the spy’s attack, the younger Suit finally recognized the young man. “I guess that is Marty.” He watched a moment longer before laughing. “I assume he’s the Alex now? I heard whispers of a new Alex.”

The Alex, huh? Hillard mused. Of course he knew of the spying title and the supposedly amazing spies that were allowed to use it, but he never knew any of them. Apparently rumors of their fighting skills were based off truth. And if the other rumors were to be held to the same light, this “Marty” was the best spy in Aeterna, if not the world.

So then, why, Hillard wondered, was the greatest spy we have removed from active use? What could have happened that caused our best spy to stop spying? Glancing to Chief, he knew he wasn’t going to get the answer to his question. Chief’s expression was hard. Whatever had happened also affected the General of the Ghosts as well.

The fight between the Alex and Dixon seemed to be getting close to an end. Dixon finally managed to knock the spear out of the spy’s hands, sending it flying across the courtyard, causing several men to jump away from its path.

“There,” Hillard snorted, satisfied that one of his men had finally managed to defeat the spy. “The fight’s…”

“Wait,” Chief said, a mischievous glint in his eye. He smirked as the spy rolled under Dixon’s spear and tackled the large man to the ground, pinning him so he couldn’t get up. Hillard felt his jaw drop. How…?

“Martin is more dangerous without a weapon,” Chief chuckled. “He’s one of the best fist fighters I know.”

Hillard could only stare as the spy let the large Ghost up, shaking hands with Dixon. The Ghost looked as surprised as the others, pointing to where he got tackled down, asking the Alex how he managed to get him there. The coronal shook his head, getting his wits back under his control.

Well, Hillard thought, stepping into the informal ring and approaching the young spy, if he’s really the Alex, I want to see if those rumors are all true. Dixon walked off and left the spy alone in the ring. The young man stood at a military stance as he approached.

“Well fought, young man,” he said, impressed by the young man’s show of respect. “Art was telling us that you’re a spy. Marty? Is it?”

“I prefer being called Martin,” he said, his deep voice quite bland.

“Martin, then,” Hillard corrected. “As a spy, you are great at close combat. I was also told you are the Spy Alex, the best spy in Aeterna, so I’m sure you’re a great stagiest. And your skills could be endless. But what truly qualifies you to be on my team?”

Martin thought of it for a moment; carefully, Hillard was sure, analyzing him and the question. “To beat you in combat, sir,” Martin finally said. The coronal smiled.

“Good answer.” Hillard whistled and one of his Ghosts tossed him a spear. Spinning it expertly, he let the spear rest on his shoulder, eyeing the young man. “Let’s fight.”

Without warning, he swung his spear for the spy’s neck. Martin dropped to the ground, rolling away. When he jumped up, he held another spear. Hillard didn’t even pause to wonder where he had picked it up, but went in for the attack. There was no thought as they fought, only action and reaction. Every time he made a move, the Alex was ready with a counter attack. Hillard lost track of how long they fought.

Finally, it seemed Martin started to lose steam. Over stepping just by an inch, Hillard saw the opening to take the young spy out of the fight. Quickly swinging his spear around, he smacked it against the spy’s thigh, pressing down. Martin grimaced as he fell to his knees with the spear pressed hard on his leg.

“You’re maimed,” Hillard breathed heavily, leaning over the young man. “You can no longer fight.”

“Maimed I could be,” Martin softly said. Then, as if out of thin air, he suddenly produced a dagger and pressed it against the coronal’s exposed throat. “But you are dead. I won.”

Hillard stared at the dagger. Where had it come from? Before he could figure out where the spy had hidden the knife, the words he spoke suddenly made sense. He lost. How?

Then he realized it. The young spy had overstepped on purpose, he had let him “wound” him, he had let him get close, he had decided to end the fight. Hillard understood that he wasn’t really fighting Martin. The spy was testing his skills. There was not once he had control in this fight. He had lost the moment when the Spy Alex suggested the fight.

“Indeed,” he said, taking his spear away from the spy’s leg. “Now, how about you put that blade back?” Martin grinned briefly as he pulled the knife away, sheaving it in his sleeve.

“Oh,” Chief said, walking up to them, the other Ghosts behind him, “did I forget to mention that he’s just as good with knives as he is with fists?”

“You forgot to mention that, yes,” Hillard grumbled, rubbing his neck where the blade had been. It had been a long time since someone had taken him out in a fight. The audience and Ghosts stared at them, shocked that anyone had actually managed to beat him in a fight.

“Then you accept him into your team?” Chief asked. Not that it mattered if he asked; Hillard had orders to accept the young man into his team.

“How can I say no to a fighter like that?” Hillard asked. “He’s in.”
***************
Martin walked out of the dressing room, tugging at the sleeves of his new uniform. It was Fred’s gift to him after Hillard had accepted him into his team. His audience, the other Ghosts and Fred, were waiting for him as he emerged.

“Excellent,” Fred beamed, “now you look like a proper Ghost.”

Martin glanced at his new uniform. Dark blue, it was similar to the regular army uniforms, though it was trimmed with silver ropes, signifying him as a Ghost. The other difference was that it was better cut than any uniform he ever had before.

“Where did you get this?” Martin asked, quickly checking to make sure his knives slid easily out of his arm sheaves. Hillard’s team shifted uneasily as he put the knives back. “I’m sure I don’t fit any of their uniforms.” Martin liked to think of himself as fit, but Hillard and his team made him look like a scrawny wimp.

“I didn’t spend those two weeks to the Tree just traveling,” Fred said, grinning. “I had these made for you.” Martin jumped a bit. Made for him? He never had any clothes tailored for him. He had always just taken whatever fit.

“Out of curiosity,” Hillard said, idly pointing at him. “Just how many knives do you carry?”

Martin made a quick count. “Generally about six,” he admitted, smiling weakly. “I’ve had up to twelve before.”

Hillard wasn’t the only one who paled at the news. “Why so many?” the coronal asked, exchanging worried glances with his team.

Martin shrugged. “It’s the weapon of spies. And I’m not about to give up that weapon.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Fred agreed. He clapped his hands, turning to the other Ghosts. “Now, time for introductions. You’ve already met Coronal Hillard.” The coronal nodded. “You know Art, Ghost One Thirty.”

“Hey there, Marty!” Suit’s son chuckled, sitting down on a window ledge. Of the Ghosts present, he was the most comfortable around him.

“Hi, Art,” Martin said, holding in a groan. He didn’t like being called Marty.

“The first man you dropped is Perry Irvin, Ghost Twenty Three.” The black man nodded his head. He was shaved completely bald but had a bushy mustache.

“Wayne Clary, Ghost Seventy Nine.” Clary was the shortest man among the Ghosts, though he was still a half head taller than Martin. Clary gave him a lazy salute.

“And then we have Trevor Dixon, Ghost One Sixty Two.” Dixon was the largest of the Ghosts. The black man still seemed a bit miffed about how he had lost the fight earlier, judging from how his arms were folded and his posture hostile.

“And what’s his number going to be?” Dixon asked, jerking his head toward Martin. “He didn’t go through our training.” Martin let out a slow breath. So Dixon was a bit like him, hard working to attain his goals. The large man obviously did not like the idea of him just jumping into their ranks with only one fight to prove himself.

“He already has a number,” Fred chuckled, either not noticing Dixon’s tone or ignoring it. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Ghost Eighty One?”

“That’s your number,” Hillard began to say when he stopped. He frowned, eyeing Martin again. “Let me guess. You used the general’s number this winter? You were at the Stand?”

Martin shrugged again. “I wasn’t going to tell them I was a spy.”

“A smart move on his part,” Fred added before anyone could argue. “I approved of his use of my number. I wasn’t using it and he needed it.” Fred glanced at Martin, considering.

“I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve insisted that Martin join your team,” the general said. Martin grimaced; he wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t want them to know until he was ready. Fred caught the discomfort in his expression and paused. The general sighed, turning back to the other Ghosts.

“And I’m afraid that I cannot tell you why yet,” he said, switching what he was going to say. Martin nearly sighed in relief. “But I want all of you to be aware that I will be staying with you for a time, teaching Martin…” He paused again, carefully wording what he was going to say next. “Teaching him about things that he should have been taught already.”

“Like that wasn’t cryptic,” Hillard snorted. “Anything specific so we at least know why he’s with us? Or how about what he hasn’t been taught?”

“I’m afraid not,” Fred sighed. “Not yet.”
***********
Martin quickly found out that Hillard had been correct about what was happening at Bone. Nothing. The first week he was there, he felt bored out of his mind. It was nearly as bad as the gathering of princes, with one small improvement. Instead of being the student, he was a teacher. He helped the other Ghosts train the townsmen, though that was boring itself. The old men and young boys knew nothing of combat and, while they were enthusiastic, none of them really knew what they were doing.

He had expected Fred to teach him in the evenings, once the townsmen returned home and the fort was left to them, but the general held off. When Martin asked why, Fred shrugged. “I’m waiting for something.”

“What are you waiting for?” Martin asked. He was anxious to get started on his special training. He had been fumbling with his powers and he now understood that was a dangerous practice. He needed to understand what he could do.

“Don’t worry,” Fred said. “I have a plan.” What that plan was, the general never explained. Resigned to wait for Fred to finally tell him what was happening, Martin spent most evenings with the other Ghosts on Hillard’s team. Hillard himself spent most of his evenings with Fred, talking about who knew what.

The evening of the week of his arrival, Martin sat on the end of his bed, watching as his fellow Ghosts played a card game. He had been banished from the game the second evening he was there, when they suspected that he cheated. Martin had done nothing to tell them that he wasn’t cheating.

Art, Clary, Irvin, and Dixon sat in a circle on the floor of their barrack room, beginning another game. The room was large and would have easily slept another ten persons. But the old fort was no longer an army outpost and left mostly empty.

“So that’s when I told the butcher,” Clary was explaining, somehow making sitting on the dirt floor look like lounging, “that I wasn’t interested in his daughter and that I was joining the Ghosts.” He grinned. “I tell ya, the look on his face was priceless!”

“My father was proud when I joined up,” Irvin said, picking up a card. “Said it was about time that someone in our family did something.”

“My da wasn’t so proud of me,” Art sighed dramatically, not looking the least bit sorry. “Ran off…”

“And joined the Ghosts,” Dixon finished, rolling his eyes. “We’ve heard your story before. A spy master’s son who couldn’t spy? I would have hate to grow up like you.”

“The Tree isn’t that bad,” Art said, picking up a card. “Is it, Marty?”

Martin frowned. The day before he had approached Art and asked him to not use that nickname. Art ignored his request. “It’s better than other places I’ve been,” Martin said vaguely.

“Out of curiosity,” Irvin said, turning around to look at Martin. “Did you learn how to give vague answers from Chief or are you naturally like that?”

Martin shrugged. “I guess I learned it from Chief. But I am a private person.”

“Private?” Art snorted. “I could have sworn you couldn’t talk when I first met you. It was a complete surprise when Luke finally got you to talk.”

Martin grimaced, looking away. Art groaned. “Sorry, Marty,” he said. “I forgot…” While Fred hadn’t told them that he was the prince, he did tell them about Luke’s death and how he blamed himself for it.

“I have to get used to it sometime,” Martin sighed. “Luke asked that I name a kid after him.”

“Oh?” Clary asked, raising an eyebrow. “Planning on marrying anytime soon?”

“Eventually.”

“See?” Irvin said, pointing behind him as he focused on the game. “I told you! He’s vague! Dixon, it’s your turn.”

“End the game.”

Everyone turned to the door as both Hillard and Fred stormed into the room. Neither looked very happy.

“I’ve got some news for you,” Hillard said, shaking a crumpled paper in his fist. “One of our scouting boys saw a harass Venter unit roaming around in our mountains and they’re coming our way.”

“Finally!” Irvin said, jumping to his feet. “It’s been boring here!”

“I would have preferred boring,” Fred growled. “But that won’t be the case. Tonight you’ll help the townspeople get ready for battle.”

“We’re too few,” Art said, gathering the cards. “Not to down play these people’s spirit, but they just don’t have the force to defend themselves. Five…” He stopped, glancing briefly at Martin. “Seven men can’t defend everyone.”

“It’ll actually be the six of you,” Fred said, looking worn. “The nearest town is a hard day’s ride from here. There’s another Ghost unit and they have a lot more fighters there.” He turned to Martin. “I was wondering if I might borrow Rowan.”

“Of course,” Martin said, a bit stunned. He had been expecting Fred to make him get the other Ghosts.

“I ride out tonight,” Fred told the others. “I want the rest of you to keep Bone safe until I come back in two days with reinforcements. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” the Ghosts said in unison. The general humped satisfied.

“Good. Then let’s get moving!”

The Ghosts were quick to jump up and run out the door. Martin was a bit slower following, stopping Fred outside the room.

“Why aren’t you sending me?” he asked softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that I’m not going, but I thought you wanted me out of danger.”

Fred stared at him, a bit surprised. “I never said I wanted you out of danger. Face it, Martin. If you’re not in danger, you get jumpy.” Martin flinched at the accurate statement. “The reason I’m going is because I would be useless in a fight with my knee.”

“You’re in better condition than most of the men here,” Martin snorted.

“Yes,” Fred sighed, “but they have a greater reason for wanting to stay and fight. I also can order the other Ghost unit to march here without having to worry about carriers loosing my orders or the Ghosts challenging those orders. It’s best that I go.”

The Ghost General started to walk toward the stable when Martin caught up with him again. “But…” Martin looked around nervously, though he knew no one was close enough to be listening. “What if… What if I do something? You haven’t taught me anything about controlling my powers.”

Fred grimaced. “No, I haven’t. I was actually going to start your training tomorrow. I don’t have time to teach you much tonight, so I’m just going to have to give you some advice.

“You have a lot of power, the ability to control the land, knowing the emotions of those around you, knowing when you’re in danger, the ability to talk to the Spirit. But there is one thing about these powers you must understand. You control them, they don’t control you. Because you have the control, you’ve got to be the one in charge. It’s going to take practice and hard work on your part, but it is up to you how you use your powers.”

Martin frowned. “That’s not the best advice you’ve given me. Any mage could have told me that.”

Fred shrugged. “Perhaps, but I do think that you need to be reminded that you’re the one with the power. You choose how to use it. Remember that.” The general turned back to the stables when he stopped and turned back. “Oh, and one last thing. Keep your Connection with you. It’ll help.” Without explaining, Fred entered the stables.