Lugos

Haru set the ghostlight in the dark, pulling his hand away from the small lifeline. Its glow flickered and he held his breath, ready to reach for it again, but it returned to its dull equilibrium. 

“Good,” he whispered to it. “That’s good.”

The fleck of ghostlight brightened a shade. On instinct he pressed his finger to his lips to quiet it, and the light dimmed as if commanded.

Keeping his body between the light and the door, Haru checked the weapons that Aksana had left. She’d wrapped the six knives in the same fabric of her cloak to conceal them from the guards, and the metal glinted in the dim glow of the single flicker of borrowed light. 

Vahn’s paired set had simple natural wood handles that were darkened from the oils in his hands while Osawa’s were inlaid with a viridian chrysocolla composite. The last set was his.

The first of his knives was made for him. The handle was set with a white turquoise webbed in a subtle gold, the gemstone of his family’s house. The second was black, from the grip to its end, the back spine of the blade mottled. He ran his fingers over the small gouges in the handle, charting the scuffs on the dark gem handle to assure himself it was the same. Under the ghostlight he tilted it. Under the right light, the rainbow of color was revealed. Long veins of indigo and deep violet twisted in the black. Shards of gold inclusions in the handle caught, winked, and disappeared again before his eyes.

He tilted it away from the light and it became a solid, unassuming black once more.

Satisfied that Aksana hadn’t pulled a switch with the blades, he wrapped Vahn and Osawa’s back in the material and slung it around his back, knotting the ends together so it was tight against his skin.

He stood, and the flicker of light followed his movement. At the door, he pressed his palm against the lock before considering the ghostlight. It wouldn’t work, not the way he wanted it to. Ghostlights couldn’t be manipulated or molded, their shapes couldn’t be controlled or bent. He could ask, but it didn’t mean they would comply. They were shards of light, broken pieces disconnected from any conceivable source.

His dipped in the air as if it read his thoughts.

“Don’t worry, I have another idea,” he said, not sure why he felt the need to comfort something with as much sentience as a roadside pebble. “I will need your help in a moment, though.”

Haru adjusted his grip on his knives, then felt the rough cut of the wall with his fingertips. The guards outside were already stirring, his movements and voice drawing their attention, so he would have to be quick.

He pressed the flat of the white-handled blade against the stone and yanked it across. It hissed against the rock and threw sparks. Which was all he needed.

He caught the sparks of light and threaded them through the lock on the door, shoving the pins up and yanking the tumblr free. The door unlatched with a heavy clack.

Two guards were just outside the door, with another pair further down the hall. Haru had an advantage, though. The dark would hinder their sight, making them slow and unbalanced. 

The dark didn’t bother him.

Haru slammed open the door, running the first guard through before he could react. Haru shoved his weight back into the open door, shoving it into the guard at the other side and knocking him off-balance. A thrust of Haru’s second blade cut off the warning shout, but not soon enough.

The ghostlight buzzed past Haru’s shoulder and down the hall, darting past the second pair of guards that rounded the corner. 

He heard the shattering of glass in a room ahead and smiled at the fresh guards. They hesitated, then turned at the buzzing static sound that grew near.

Haru called to them and they came. Dozens of ghostlights tore through the guards bodies. The second pair of guards fell forward as the lights pulled through their skin, speckling the halls in a thin spray of blood.

The ghostlights swarmed excitedly around him. One hovered in his eye line and he waved his hand, bidding it to join the others.

Haru rummaged through the guards pockets. The first pair had nothing. No keys, no maps, nothing that would help. He moved to the second set. On the first guard he found a comlink and pocketed it. When he moved to the second, he was stopped by the man’s grip on his wrist.

It was weak, his strength failing. He glared at Haru, his mouth working around the blood and curses that rose in his throat as he bled out, still believing his twisted purpose was the true one. Life fled his eyes and they unfocused, settling on something beyond the living. 

Haru shrugged off the limp grip at his wrist and continued his search. In the soldier’s pocket, his fingertips touched metal. Withdrawing it, he eyed the silver rectangle. He flicked the lid of it open, then pressed his thumb along the wheel. He was rewarded with the sound of flint on metal and a flickering flame.

Pocketing the lighter, he stretched back to his height. The lights had calmed their erratic whirls but kept close to him as he continued through the narrow hall of the prison.

The deep prison wing opened up to a guard station littered with pierced bodies, their movements arrested in mid flight. At the center was a circular table with a shattered lantern and a cascade of blood spattered cards. A canteen was tipped over, its contents spilling over the wooden table.

Haru moved to the table and righted the container, replacing the lid before shaking it. There was still a portion of water left, though not much. He set it back onto the table and placed the knives he carried besides it. 

Haru continued his search, but didn’t find anything else of use amongst the bodies. He unbuckled the sheaths from three of them then returned to the table and fit the knives he carried into them. He strapped his own to his back, then belted the others at his waist.

He shut his eyes and reached for the lighter he had pocketed. He turned and leaned back on the table, his thumb toying with the lighter. It opened and closed with a sharp snap of metal as he tried to calm himself enough to think. 

Then he felt it: a small tug of memory, a dim glow in a dark place.