On the nineteenth day of the month of waning winter, Teren's master was summoned before Halfbones.
True to his name, the legendary Gravecaller's face was split down the middle between a clean-shaven elderly man and a rotting corpse. An impressive display of deathcrafting to be sure, but Teren couldn't for the life of him figure out the purpose of the spell.
"Not that I'm complaining, but I don't understand why they asked us," said Rotwood. He walked next to Halfbone's decaying side, seemingly unbothered by the faint stench. "There are five realms between Fendal and the Southrange. Why isn't Barym or Sun's Shadow taking this one?"
Halfbones glanced at his former apprentice and smiled wide. He had a tendency to exaggerate his expressions, putting in work to shift the focus off his eyeless socket and rotting skull. The head was mostly bone while the neck down was more exposed muscle and hanging flesh. Most of his body was hidden by the maroon and purple robes that a Gravecaller of his station was expected to wear. The hood was comically large, keeping much of his nightmare face obscured in shadow. "That may be so, but we have two things those westerners don't. A leygate right in our city, and a decent relationship with Guiding Breath."
Teren followed closely behind his master and Halfbones, attentive but not overbearing. It was an overcast day with light winds rustling gently through the leaves. Here at the old heart of Decidual trees were scarce, aside from the few remaining ancestor palms that were too ingrained in the city's architecture to remove safely. Much of the ancient buildings that had made up the old heart had been created through woodwhispering, and even now one could see hints of that expertise creeping back into the newer foundations made of mud and stone. It gave the feeling that the jungle was waiting for the right moment to swallow up the city and reclaim the territory taken by civilization.
The three of them were strolling down the riverfront, watching sailors from all across the Sainted Lands unload their wares. The ships were as varied as the goods and people they carried, with everything from Istali sailships with their triple masts to Barym banka boats with their side-by-side canoes. Most common were the reefvessels of the Cicada Islands, shallow things with small sails and thatched roof houses. Sailors lounged about the wooden docks, smoking from long, thin pipes. Those who didn't have a pipe in their hands surely had a leaf in their mouth. Teren watched as a figure with blue face paint stood on the bow of a sailship with a hand outstretched. The sailship was moving unnaturally fast against the current, backing into an unoccupied space where line handlers and a dockmaster waited. Traffic had spiked since the appearance of the leygate, and the Guild of Currents was busy at work bringing boats upstream. Not an easy task when the river was running hot, as it tended to during these rainy months.
Often as a child Teren had wished that the great tropical forest that surrounded his city and encompassed so much of the realm of Fendal was a bit less hot, a bit less humid, and a lot less rainy. He used to dream of seeing snow instead of rain. Nowadays it seemed he only dreamed about death, and its uses.
On the topic of death, Teren picked up that they weren't alone. There was a sharp scent in the air. Hard to explain what the smell was like, but it always hurt his nose. This smell had come and gone seemingly at random ever since he could remember. When he was a youth, Teren believed that he was smelling nothingness, the smell of the absence of smell. Now he knew the truth. It was the stench of powerful spirits, strong enough to leave an imprint in the lands of the living. This smell here was probably the entourage of dead advisers who trailed Halfbones at all times.
"A working relationship…?" Rotwood mused, tilting his head to one side. His face brightened as it dawned on him. "Farstrider? She's coming with us?"
Teren couldn't help grinning himself. Farstrider was a Lifeguider of Guiding Breath, and a woman Rotwood was obsessed with. Better yet, her apprentice was a good friend of his.
Rotwood laughed, wrapping a grumbling Halfbones in a big hug. "Bones, you saint! You got Strider and me a mission to the Southrange?"
That drew some attention from the street. A woman gasped as she noticed what was hidden under Halfbone's hood. She grabbed her child by the hand and briskly turned to walk the other direction. Teren tried not to smile at that.
Halfbones grunted, squirming out of Rotwood's grasp. "Don't get any ideas. This a serious job, the Feather Prince of Merdz has personally requested a Lifeguider and a Gravecaller to participate in some festival he's putting together. Don't know exactly what sort of celebration it is, but I do know that a prince, even a foreign one, is a good friend to have. Pack light and fast, travel's been booked for tomorrow morning." Halfbones glanced back at Teren for the first time that morning. "You too, welp. This'll be a good chance to make a name for yourself."
Teren nodded. "I won't waste the opportunity."
…
That evening Rotwood and Teren got beds at the All Roads Inn, a newer establishment that had sprung up as a part of the town center that had formed around the leygate. It was a nice inn by Fendali standards, and by Fendali standards that meant it served drinks and kept the rain out. The inn was dimly lit with a half dozen candles, doing little to keep the darkness out of the corners of the room. The innkeeper stood behind a counter near the entry to the kitchen, keeping an eye on the stairs leading to the rest hall. Unlike most other buildings in town, the inn had separate tables rather than long benches, probably an accommodation to keep the diverse crowd brought through the leygate from killing each other. There were even a few seats at the innkeeper's counter, perhaps for solo travelers wishing for some small talk. Teren glanced at the scowling face of the man behind the counter and decided that couldn't be right.
They sat in the main room at one of the few tables with a candle of its own, waiting for Farstrider to show. There was a small group of Swampreachers at the table next to them, laughing hysterically at a story involving a beastbonder, a dolphin, and an Iaric noblewoman. The other table closest to their own was taken by a hooded man with darting eyes and his pet snake, a red creature with a black head about two forearms in length. Another party of Cicada Islanders was turning in for the night, drunkenly making their way upstairs. Teren kept his pack hidden under the table instead of the chest provided along with his bed, just in case.
Rotwood sipped his red tea. Out of all the men in the inn, he might have stood out the most. A clean-shaven head that went against Fendali fashion, bone jewelry in his ears, and a ragged and filthy coat that completed the look. "Tell me, Teren. How much do you know about the Southrange?"
Teren thought about it through the haze of two ales. "Uh. Well, the Southrange is to the west of the Sainted Lands, bordering Sun's Shadow and Barym. It was the last territory the Half-World Nobles conquered, but also the first to rebel.
"First to successfully rebel!" Rotwood interjected.
"Right. Anyways, the Southrange used to be pretty much impassable. But the leygates have brought in a lot more trade."
Rotwood nodded. "That's what we need to worry about. Southrangers are one thing, but the Westerners passing through are another. We really don't know a thing about Tixjin and the Bridgelands, but odds are that they aren't going to want to deal with descendants of the Half-World Nation."
Teren grunted. "True enough." He took another sip of his ale and spotted a familiar face entering the inn, a short-haired woman with a stern expression and two crossing yellow sashes over her tunic, signifying her as a Lifeguider of Guiding Breath. He grinned. "Don't look now Rot, but your woman's here."
Rotwood returned the grin and wiggled his eyebrows. Just as the woman was coming up behind him, he spoke in a comically grave tone. "Farstrider… It's been a while."
"Hello, Rotwood." She slung her pack onto the table and sat between the two of them. "Teren, watch out."
"What?"
Two hands grabbed Teren's sides and pinched hard. He yelped and jumped out of his chair, whirling around to find another familiar face laughing at him.
"Not funny, Ronic!"
"A little funny?" asked his friend.
"Chew grass." Teren punched the apprentice Lifeguider's bicep. "Good to see you though. Almost didn't recognize you with all that muscle."
There was a younger boy standing behind Ronic. He was noticeably shorter and lighter of skin than most Fendali.
Farstrider nodded to the boy. "Rotwood, Teren, meet my second apprentice."
The boy stepped up, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, hello. I'm Baltry Ythcralt, of West Cicada." He awkwardly stuck his hand out.
Rotwood grabbed the hand and shook it vigorously. "West Cicadan, eh? You don't look it."
Teren raised an eyebrow. "Two at once, Farstrider? Didn't know you were so charitable."
"I'm not. It won't be two for long at the rate Ronic's progressing."
"Damn right," said Ronic. "I'm hoping to get a title during this trip."
"That's fantastic!" Rotwood poured a cup of red tea for Farstrider. "I think Teren might get his too."
Farstrider ignored the cup and passed some slivers to Ronic. "Get three beds and send me some food." She passed her bag over to Baltry. "And you go with him while I talk to Rotwood." As the two hustled off, she looked at Teren expectantly.
Rotwood cleared his throat. "You know what Teren, maybe you should grab another ale for yourself. And get me some food while you're at it." He began looking for slivers in the numerous pockets of his ragged coat. "Your drink's on me, just have to… find…"
Teren stood up and pushed his seat in. "Don't be ridiculous Master, It's my treat. Just watch my bag please."
The three apprentices left the two masters to discuss their business. Ronic and Baltry paid for their beds and put their bags upstairs while Teren waited at the bar. He sniffed the air and frowned.
Upon closer inspection, the innkeeper behind the counter was a middle-aged skinswitcher with owl eyes and a beard of feathers. Occupied with cleaning his mugs, he didn't acknowledge Teren's presence.
Teren cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Can I get some food sent to that table behind me? With the Lifeguider woman and Gravecaller man?"
The man grunted and kept on wiping off the cup in his hands. Teren noticed that his fingers ended in talons. "Didn't know the fellow belonged to the Order of Remains. A man like that should be in uniform."
They did, and Rotwood rarely wore it. He had more enemies than most, even for one who practiced deathcraft. "Add three ales to that, but I'll take them here."
"Thanks, brother," said Ronic from right behind him. "I got next round."
"That's twice now you've snuck up on me," muttered Teren. "Feel like explaining?"
"What's there to explain?" Ronic hopped gleefully onto the tall chair next to him. "I'm a stealthy kind of guy."
"No, you're not. I'm stealthy. You're a rabid fox in a chicken coop, and you always have been. I was watching that door and I saw Farstrider walk in, but not you. How'd you do that?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "So you didn't see Baltry either?"
"Talk."
Ronic leaned back, looking quite pleased with himself. "Almost all lifebreathing involves stoking that flame of life. Making people stronger, faster, heal quicker, you know. But lots of other Paths do a fair amount of the opposite. Sure you can call up a spirit, but you also can banish one."
Teren nodded slowly. "Or like how a Blaze Berserker could put out a fire."
"Precisely. Now you apply that same idea to lifebreathing and you end up with a spell that's good for a fistfight. Every hit you give or take would draw the energy right out of the enemy."
"Ooh." That was similar to a deathcraft spell he knew.
Ronic held up a finger as he took a swig. "Now going off that, I tried to experiment a bit. Without getting too technical, I diminish my own life force instead of others."
"Wouldn't that just make you tired or sick or something?"
"Well, yes. The first couple dozen attempts left me in pretty bad shape. But I kept at it, finding different parts of my life to diminish. Now I'm losing you, I know it! But bear with me for just a bit longer." He took another swig. "You know how you can sometimes sense when you have people watching you? Or that you're being followed? That's a part of life, the connection people have to each other." He took a deep breath. "And through trial and error I can temporarily diminish my body's connection to the rest of the world. You were staring right past me as we came in, you just didn't notice."
"I just… didn't notice?"
He nodded. "Didn't notice. And now I can do it to other people too, which is why you didn't see Baltry." He frowned. "But too much human interaction and the spell won't have any effect. As soon as I pinched you and drew your direct attention, it stopped working on the both of us."
Teren whistled, taking in the implications. Could that sort of process be applied to deathcraft? He would have to look into it. "This is incredible. You don't need a mission to earn a title, making a spell like that is more than enough!"
"Farstrider agrees. But if she titles me now, then I don't get to see the Southrange." He looked around carefully before lowering his voice. "And Baltry's great, really. But he's a bit too new to be backing her up on a trip beyond the Sainted Lands. By the way, can you suggest Silentstep to Quick? She won't take suggestions from me, says apprentices shouldn't choose their titles."
Baltry himself came down the stairs at that moment, as if drawn by his name. He seemed on edge as he looked around the bar.
"Not a local, is he?"
"No, he's only been in Fendal for about a month. Kid lived in West Cicada his entire life until he accidently used lifebreathing to keep a hanged man from dying."
Baltry spotted them and walked over, awkwardly sliding into the seat next to Ronic.
Teren passed him an ale. "Hear you're new. What road did you take to Decidual?"
He nodded in thanks but didn't drink. "Uh, well I started in Shereo and went across Jaw to Beldise. And then I got on a ship that was supposed to get me across the straits and sail along the coast, all the way up the river to Decidual. But the ship got attacked by Reefborn, so we ended up in Drifton."
"Reefborn on the south coast?" Teren shook his head and finished off his drink. "They're just getting bolder and bolder."
"Something'll have to be done about them," Ronic agreed. "Go on, Baltry." He took a more serious tone when talking to his junior. Guess he was already beginning to think of himself as a full-fledged Lifeguider.
"So, um… I stayed in Drifton for a while, and it looked like my father was going to send someone to come and get me. But Farstrider came and brought me back to Decidual."
"Why didn't you just train with a Lifeguider in the islands?"
He shifted in his seat. "My mother wanted me to see the world. Get some experience."
"Seems like there'd be plenty of that in the islands. Reefborn raiders and all that."
Baltry shrugged. "Reefborn don't have much of a problem with West Cicada. We share a lot of blood with them. It's the Easterners who keep egging them on."
Ronic glanced at their masters. "Don't look now, but those two are going at it."
Teren sighed. "What's new?" He didn't understand what sort of relationship those two had. Rotwood enjoyed her company very much, a sentiment Farstrider never seemed to reciprocate. Yet as far as he knew she hadn't ever objected to working with him, which was a step up from the grievances most of Guiding Breath and the Order of Remains had for each other. Not that Teren paid much attention to the petty inside politics of the Twelve Paths.
"So… I guess you two know each other?" asked Baltry.
Ronic laughed. "We grew up together! As kids Teren and I used to run with the Dock Hounds, a group of urchins that used to be a menace in Decidual. Teren found his path early on, he was using deathcrafting to scare the city senseless before his balls dropped."
"True enough. I'm responsible for most things that go bump in the night in Fendal. The Headless Howler, the Bloated Bride, Old Man Whispers? All me."
"Don't forget the Man in the Woods. That one even gave me night terrors, and I helped you set it up!" The two of them cackled, drawing glances from the other patrons.
Teren sighed wistfully. "Good times. And then not long after that, Ronic was using lifebreathing to give the whole crew heightened speed and strength. Pretty decent healer too, fixed my leg up real good that one time with that stupid Junglesworn guard with the alligator familiar. I suppose that's just about when the cat got out of the bag."
"Yep. The Twelve Paths came knocking, told us it was either join up or get out."
"Exile? Really?" asked Baltry.
"Of course." Teren lowered his voice. "The saints may overlook a stonebreaker who becomes a mason or a woodwhisperer who chooses gardening over a life serving with the Knights of the Petal. But life and death are a step above the rest. We don't get free reign."
"Granted," mumbled Ronic through a mouthful of buttered bread and onion, "S'not a bad life. A lot of honor to be found following the Paths."
"And money."
"Yes! And money."
"And girls?" suggested Baltry.
Teren frowned. "Not for Gravecallers. Pretty women tend to keep their distance from those who keep company with the dead."
"Chin up, Ter." Ronic signaled for another round. "You could always bed a corpse if nothing else works out."
Farstrider appeared behind them. "Don't even joke about that. Far more common than you'd think." She glanced disapprovingly at the array of empty tankards littering the bar. "How many pints have you had tonight?"
"Barely four," lied Teren.
Ronic nudged Baltry. "Blame the new guy. Islanders know how to throw 'em back!"
Baltry began to protest but was cut off by Farstrider. "Back to the table with you lot, there's business to discuss."
Once the group had gathered, with Baltry having awkwardly shoved a fifth chair into the arrangement, Rotwood took a thin scroll out of the pockets of his ragged coat. He spread it on the table, revealing the illegible handwriting of Halfbones. "Okay, we've booked passage through the leygate. We take the Night Ley up to Istal, then the Wood Ley twice through Sun's Shadow, and finally the Water Ley into the Southrange. We'll end up in the Merdz, the Crater City. On arrival someone will be there to lead us to the Feathered Prince. Questions?"
"A few," said Ronic. "Who's this Feathered Prince?"
"First in line for the Mountain Throne," said Farstrider. "Or second, depending on whether or not you support the Queen's claim. It's a complicated and volatile situation that we'll be steering well clear of."
"And why does he need you and Rotwood?"
"Rotwood and I are going to be taking part in some sort of celebration. Perform some street magic, shake some hands, rub elbows with royalty. Couldn't be simpler."
"Well, there are some dangers," interjected Rotwood. He leaned forward in his chair, scowling deeply. "The Southrange is merciless. The air is hard to swallow, the people are rough, and the weather is cold. Worse than that, there's going to be a lot of ill will towards us there. The Southrange was the first to leave the Half-World Nation, and they've always been salty bastards about it. They really do not care for Saintlanders."
"Nor do they have any love for Practitioners of the Twelve Paths," said Farstrider.
Baltry half-heartedly raised his hand. "Why not?"
"They believe we're possessed by dark spirits."
"Oh, okay."
"Also," said Rotwood. "You're going to feel drained, weak, tired. This is a result of the mountain air, hard to breathe for outsiders. Some theorize this is caused by an ancient galecasting curse. The higher you go, the worse it gets."
The group discussed their plans for a while longer before the two masters stood up. "We'll be getting an early start," said Rotwood, pushing the stool in behind him. It's fun catching up with friends, but don't stay up too late. You'll need the rest."
Baltry got up. "I'm heading up too."
Ronic stretched. "Guess I'll call it a night. Let me just pay the tab."
"I got this one," said Teren. "Thinking I'll be staying up a bit anyways."
Rotwood gave him a look but didn't comment. The four of them made their way upstairs, leaving him alone at the table. But not as alone as he should have been.
As the crowd dwindled and the night grew long, Teren moved to a table in a dark corner of the inn. There, he began to perform deathcraft.
It began as a prickling sensation running up and down his back. The scenery around him grew hazy. The warm lights and pleasant smells of the All Roads Inn dulled as Teren half-stepped into Aren Fultas, the fading world.
The ghost of an attractive woman was sitting next to him. Her spirit was a perfectly maintained image of a living woman, a stark and impressive contrast to most of the ghoulish forms that roamed the fading world. Her wool vest and trousers were foreign, as were her features. Female fashion in most of the Sainted Lands was to have their hair worn up or cut short, while this woman had one long braid thrown over her shoulder. All this suggested she came from one of the border realms, if not farther. But maybe not, as the dead didn't keep up with the trends.
Teren glared at the spirit. "I've sensed you clinging about all day. State your business or depart from my presence." He had found a formal tone worked best with the dead. "Lest I cast your spirit into the void."
She smiled and leaned in closer as if to share a secret. "Little apprentice. I believe you have the power to back up such a threat, but not the malice."
A laugh escaped him, along with a small drunken belch. "You'd be shocked. I've expelled more than my fair share of spirits." He leaned in just as close as she did, their eyes now a hand-width apart. "You think I wouldn't send you into the beyond? Try me."
"Hmm." She leaned back. "The Order of Remains teaches that compassion is the trait required to walk death's path."
"And what would you know of the Order?"
The woman laughed. "What would I know?" Her vest flickered, becoming a purple robe with a red shawl, cape, and pointed hood, tied snugly at the waist with a simple rope. The attire of a Gravecaller, but not a modern one. "I helped build it."
Heat rose to his cheeks. Even after death, a member of the Order commanded respect. Teren got out of his seat and knelt with his head bowed, ignoring the looks the innkeeper and patrons gave him. "My deepest apologies," he muttered. "I did not realize who I was speaking with."
"It shouldn't matter," she said sternly, putting nearly weightless fingers under his chin, raising his gaze to meet hers. "Everyone is equal in death. If you're going to live this life, walk this path, you must treat the dead with respect." A smile returned to her face. "So start by getting off your knee and having a drink with me."
Still embarrassed, he reluctantly got up. "Never met a spirit who could drink, Master…?"
"Spellhaunt." She whispered something under her breath, tracing a finger across the table. Spirit residue was left behind, a faint green smoking trail on the table. The smoke coalesced into a cup of wine with something floating in it, and a plate of foreign-looking food. She took a sip from the cup and sighed happily. "A fond memory of mine. This meal was served to me in the land of Trigap, at the coronation of the Rain Emperor. Plum wine, pickled cabbage, and whale with a pepper sauce. The whale was slightly mixmade with salmon and pheasant." She wiggled the cup at him. "Try some?"
Teren took it hesitantly, thinking it might slip through his hand. But the construct was solid, if not terribly firm. He got the impression the wine was one hard squeeze away from becoming a wisp of spirit smoke. He sipped lightly from the cup and realized the object floating in the wine was a plum itself. The liquid seemed to evaporate in his mouth. "Very sweet," said Teren, and as he did so he burped a small puff of spirit smoke. He set the cup on the table. "Very sweet indeed. And exactly which Rain Emperor's coronation did you attend?"
"You should know better than to pry into a lady's age." She placed some of the red cabbage on top of a piece of whale-salmon-pheasant. Spellhaunt held it out in front of his mouth, staring intently at him. "Now open wide."
Teren didn't bother to protest as she placed the food right on his tongue. The smell of the cabbage was unpleasant, but the spicy and sour taste was bearable. The mixmade meat had a wild taste to it, fatty and gamey all at once. He managed to swallow it all before it could evaporate. A warm and pleasant feeling spread throughout his body. "Did I just eat a memory? Wow."
"Eating is a strong word. You'll get no sustenance from that parlor trick."
He couldn't stop himself from grinning like a fool. "I'm guessing you can bring forth the memories of any spirit? Can you do weapons too? Please, you have to show me how that's done!"
"I'll consider once you've shown me some more of your character. Memory conjuration is quite addictive, and a young man such as yourself has better things to do than live in the past."
"More of my character? I don't follow."
"No, I'll be the one following. Halfbones asked me to watch over the two of you."
Teren frowned. "Really? What for?"
"No reason in particular. He has his fair share of dead Gravecallers hanging about him, looking for a chance to be useful. But I also like to think he cares about your master and doesn't want him getting hurt."
Teren snorted. "Yeah, sure. More like he doesn't trust us to stay on task."
"Well whatever the case, Halfbones asked me to keep out of sight. And I wasn't going to reveal myself, but…" Spellhaunt cocked her head to the side. "You sensed my presence. When you most definitely should not have."
"I have a nose for trouble."
Spellhaunt's robes faded back to the more casual wool attire. "Hmm. It's been ages since a man has accused me of being trouble."
"Are we talking the third age or the second?"
She laughed, flicking a ghostly piece of cabbage at him that exploded into smoke. "I was born in the fourth, same as you. But that's all you're getting out of me!"
Hopefully not. "So, Spellhaunt. What do I have to do to get you to teach me some deathcraft?"
She tapped a finger to her lips, deep in thought. "Well… I'm not opposed to the idea. I'd love to have some impact on the living world once again." She paused as she thought about it, absentmindedly taking another sip of the wine. "I'll tell you what Teren. I'll pass on some tips as long as you don't let the others know about me. I'm already stepping on Rotwood's toes by trailing you two, and I certainly wouldn't want him to think his teaching wasn't enough on its own."
"No, of course not." He took another sip of the plum wine and winced. The sourness was noticeably stronger.
Spellhaunt noticed his expression and laughed. "The more of it you drink, the more real it becomes. It'll take some getting used to."
The rest of the inn made a valiant effort to ignore the young man in the corner talking to himself and laughing the night away.