Songreaver

by Andrew Hunter

  Cenick pulled Garrett away, and the tent flap fell.

  "She'll be all right, won't she?" Garrett asked, keeping his voice low.

  Cenick did not answer. The two of them walked together toward the large tent where Chunnley prepared the camp's meals. The sky loomed above, the color of charcoal ash.

  Garrett's stomach twisted inside him, and with it a little flutter of fear. "One of those things touched Ghausse's leg," he said, "You don't think he might be sick too?"

  "I'll look at him," Cenick said, "but my wound was greater than his, and I have almost completely recovered."

  "Why is that woman so hurt then?"

  "Those creatures weren't natural," Cenick said, "When it touched me... it was like the first time I felt the slaver's lash. Not just the pain, suddenly realizing that your body could hurt more than you thought it ever could... also the helplessness. When it touched me, I was seven years old again, and nothing I had ever done in all the years since mattered at all. The burn on my leg is already healing. What it did to my soul... that still hurts. I can't imagine what it would have been like to have endured what that woman did."

  "Do you think Miss Serepheni's magic can help her?" Garrett asked.

  "Healing isn't always magic, Garrett," Cenick said, "and some wounds even magic cannot heal. In any case, the Life aspect of Mauravant is far weaker than her Death aspect."

  "Huh?" Garrett said.

  Cenick gave him a weary look. "When Malleatus slew Mauravant, her aspect was changed, perhaps eternally. Where once she represented life and rebirth, now she is the goddess of unlife."

  "But, if she's dead, how does she do anything at all?" Garrett asked.

  Cenick shrugged. "I don't know, Garrett," he said, "I'm not even sure that Mauravant and Malleatus were ever really gods to begin with. For all we know, they could just be metaphors for two competing philosophies, or perhaps they were mortal leaders who found a sort of godlike immortality in the religions of their followers after their deaths... I don't know, but Uncle seems to think they were real, and I respect his opinion more than any other man's. Then, of course, I am rather biased by the fact that he saved my life."

  Garrett smiled. "So, what were those creatures out there in the forest?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Cenick said, "I really wish Uncle was around to ask."

  "I miss him," Garrett said.

  "We all do," Cenick said, "I think Max could use his help too."

  "What do you mean?" Garrett asked.

  Cenick exhaled slowly. "When Uncle isn't around to channel him in the right direction... Max can be a little dangerous."

  Garrett laughed, but Cenick wasn't smiling.

  Cenick cast a long glance across the grassy field to where Max was having another argument with Jitlowe. Though indistinct, the tone of their words made their meaning clear. Max was enforcing his will on his brother necromancers once again.

  "You think he'll go back to normal once we get back to Wythr?" Garrett asked.

  "I hope so," Cenick said, "for all of our sakes."

  They had reached the mess tent, and the smell of Chunnley's cooking drifted out through the open flap of the tent's main door. The high-pitched hooting of ghoulish laughter rang out as Garrett and Cenick stepped inside.

  A trio of ghouls sat at a makeshift table. Two of them pounded their fists and howled with laughter as the third struggled to swallow the contents of a large stew pot into which he had thrust his entire head. Loud gulping noises echoed from inside the stew pot as the ghoul upended it, spilling gobbets of soup down his scraggly haired chest.

  The boy with the tattered white robe huddled behind a table at the far corner of the tent, watching the ghouls with wide eyes. His eyes lifted to the hulking form of Chunnley as the great, brown-furred ghoul approached him with a plate full of tiny pies.

  "Made you somethin' special," Chunnley said, plucking one of the little pies from the platter and offering it to the boy in the palm of his clawed hand.

  The boy shrank back, looking at the pie, then at Chunnley. Finally, his hand reached out and snatched the pie from the ghoul's grasp, and he clutched it to his chest, trembling in fear of the monstrous dog creature in the stained white apron.

  "Hi," Garrett said as he and Cenick approached the boy's table, "Chunnley's cooking is really good. You should try it."

  Chunnley turned and grinned at Garrett. "He's already had two plates of leftovers, but I thought he should have something fresh for dessert. Baked some apple tarts for him."

  "Do you mind if we sit with you?" Cenick asked.

  The boy looked up at the necromancer. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Garrett had known Cenick for so long that he had forgotten how intimidating he could be. The black runic tattoos that covered the big man's face gave him a devilish appearance.

  "Our friend is taking care of your sister," Garrett said, "She wanted us to look after you until she got better."

  The boy's eyes went to Garrett, and a little of the fear in them dissipated. Garrett was glad that he was wearing the hood. His own scars might have been every bit as unsettling as Cenick's tattoos.

  A furious boiling noise sounded from beyond the rear flap of the tent. Chunnley muttered something about the caramel and quickly set the plate of tarts down on the table in front of the boy. He loped away and disappeared through the back of the tent.

  "Those pies look good," Garrett said, "Can I have one?"

  The boy looked down at the platter. After a moment, he reached out with his free hand and pushed the plate roughly toward Garrett before snatching his hand back to his chest.

  The battered wooden plank, stretched between two crates creaked as Garrett sat down on the crude bench. He took a pie and bit into it. Hot chunks of apple in a rich, buttery cinnamon sauce bubbled out through the crumbling brown crust. Garrett wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and said, "You have got to try this!"

  The boy lifted his own tart to his mouth and took a little bite. He chewed it for a moment, then took a bigger bite. Halfway through the pie, the boy smiled, bits of pie stuck to his dirty face.

  Cenick sat down at the end of the bench, positioning his rump directly over one of the crates to ease the strain of the ghoulish furniture. The boy eyed him warily and finished his pie in silence.

  "My name is Garrett, and this is Cenick," Garrett said, "I know we look a little scary, but we really are good guys."

  The boy's eyes darted toward the three ghouls who were now singing the second verse of Marrow in the Barrow and scratching their long claws across the tabletop in time with the song.

  "Oh," Garrett said, "Yeah... those are ghouls. They can be kinda scary too, but they only eat dead people. Otherwise, they're pretty friendly."

  The boy's face paled, and he looked down in horror at the plate of pies.

  "No!" Garrett said, "Those are just apple pies! Chunnley doesn't put any meat in the stuff he makes for us."

  The boy looked slightly sick but nodded his understanding. He flinched when the bench creaked as Cenick shifted his weight. Cenick froze and smiled back at him.

  "Wh... who are you?" the boy asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  "We're necromancers, from Wythr," Garrett said, "We're on our way back home from fighting the Chadiri."

  The boy looked confused.

  "Necromancers are people who use magic to animate the dead," Cenick explained.

  The boy looked just as confused.

  "So, if there's a dead guy," Garrett said, "and you want to make him get up again and walk around... I mean not like make him alive again. We can't do that, but we can make him walk around like he was alive and have him do stuff."

  The boy stared at Garrett as if he were juggling snakes.

  Garrett stopped trying to explain and smiled again. "We're really nice people," he said.

  At that moment, Max Zara strode into the tent in his black deathlord armor with his polished silver skull visor concealing his face.

  The boy tumb
led off his bench in fear.

  "Max!" Cenick growled.

  "What?" Max said, lifting his visor.

  Garrett ran around the table to help the boy to his feet.

  "Who's this?" Max asked with a wave of his black steel gauntlet.

  "A refugee," Cenick said, rising to interpose himself between Max and the boy.

  "Oh," Max said, "Have you seen Serepheni?"

  "She is tending to the boy's sister," Cenick answered, "They were attacked in the forest by demons."

  "Demons?" Max laughed.

  "I've never seen their like before," Cenick said, "but it seems they are vulnerable to wild magic."

  "Wild magic?" Max asked, "Since when do you use wild magic?"

  "I don't," Cenick said, "Garrett did. He saved us all."

  A bewildered smile brightened Max's haggard face. He looked at Garrett with pride. "Well done, Garrett! Well done!"

  "Thanks!" Garrett said.

  "I shall have to make it part of the curriculum at my war academy," Max said, "Would you consider a teaching position, Garrett?"

  Garrett laughed and Cenick sighed, shaking his head.

  "They're called Volgrem," the boy in tattered robes whispered.

  The necromancers turned to look at him.

  "What was that?" Cenick asked.

  "Volgrem," the boy said again, his voice a bit louder now, "Jedda says they come from the dark between the lights."

  "Is Jedda your sister's name?" Cenick asked.

  The boy nodded.

  "What's your name?" Garrett asked.

  The boy's large brown eyes looked from one of them to another. At last he answered, "Banden."

  "Nice to meet you, Banden," Garrett said.

  "Always good to meet a new recruit!" Max said.

  Cenick gave Max a hard look.

  Max shrugged and raised his palms. "Only if he doesn't have any other plans..."

  Serepheni cleared her throat, silencing whatever Cenick was about to say. They looked to see her standing at the front of the tent. Even the chattering ghouls fell silent at the look on her face.

  An icy fear twisted in Garrett's stomach as he watched the priestess cross the floor toward the boy. She had been crying, and was trying not to now. Cenick and Max gave way, and Garrett got to his feet and shuffled back from the table.

  Banden looked up at Serepheni, his eyes hollow and his lips strained and trembling.

  Serepheni knelt beside the boy on the ground and wrapped her arms around him.

  They held each other and wept.

  Chapter Six

  One hundred zombies labored throughout the following day, building a cairn of white stones high above Jedda's grave. Built atop the tallest hill in the area, it would be seen for miles in every direction.

  Jedda had been buried in her Peacebringer's habit with a shroud of plain white linen. Her brother, his white robe now mended and cleaned, stood beside Serepheni, one hand in hers, the other supporting Jedda's white metal staff. Her only possession in life, it now belonged to him.

  As an undead soldier lay the final stone upon the cairn, the necromancers and ghouls of the camp gathered round to pay their respects to the stranger.

  After a long silence, Serepheni spoke, "I'm afraid that I don't know any Peacebringer rituals."

  They all turned in surprise when Chunnley stepped forward. "I know a little," the ghoul said, "What my Ma taught me."

  Max nodded at him, and Chunnley loped forward to lay his great shaggy paws against the white stones of Jedda's cairn.

  "Oh, Maker of Lights and Weaver of the First Song, hear us now," Chunnley cried out, his head bowed and eyes clenched tightly shut. His voice sounded different, as though he was trying to remember the words of another, "One... One who loved you seeks passage to your hall... Show her the way... Show her the path and welcome her, that she may join her light to the many... that she... that she may light the way for us in shadow."

  Banden sniffled and then sobbed, breaking down as Chunnley spoke the death-rites over his sister's grave. Jedda's staff slipped from his hand and fell. The boy tried to catch it, but it dropped between him and Garrett, ringing against the rough stones of the hilltop.

  Garrett jumped to catch it before it rolled away, grabbing the staff with his right hand. A jolt of power shot through his arm when he touched it, staggering him backwards as he released his grasp on the thing. For a moment, he felt a great weight on his chest, as though he had just learned some ancient secret, too terrible to bear alone. Then, the tingling in his arm faded, and the dreadful sense of duty fell away.

  Banden scooped up the staff with both hands and clutched it to his chest, tears streaming down his face. Serepheni stood behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

  "As we remember those who have gone before," Chunnley said, opening his eyes to look back at the boy, "Remember us."

  A cool wind blew across the hilltop, whistling through the loosely packed stones above the grave, and all bowed their heads. The wind carried the scent of growing things from the forest below, and Garrett felt a sudden swell of emotion, like homesickness for a place he had never been.

  "Thank you," Serepheni said to Chunnley.

  The brown ghoul nodded and stepped away from the grave.

  All watched as Banden slowly approached the cairn and knelt on the grass beside it. He lay his sister's staff across his knees and reached out to put a shaking hand on a white stone. His lips moved in a silent Goodbye.

  Serepheni came and took Banden's hand, leading him off down the hill and speaking softly to him. Most of the ghouls gamboled off, discussing the peculiarities of human death rituals, as the necromancers who had survived the war dispersed to tend their own duties.

  Cenick and Garrett walked with Chunnley as the big brown ghoul descended the hill, looking a bit wistful.

  "I didn't know you were religious," Cenick said.

  "Me?" Chunnley said, raising his bristly eyebrows, "Oh, no more than any other ghoul, I mean the dead are our livin', so to speak, so we're all bound to be a little spooky. Just my Ma was... well, it was important to her, and I remember her fondly 's'all."

  "It was really nice," Garrett said, rubbing his arm, "what you said for her."

  Chunnley smiled. "Never hurts to show some gratitude for the dead... after all they done for us."

  "What's wrong with your arm?" Cenick asked.

  "Oh, nothing," Garrett said, "It's just that staff kinda stung me when I tried to pick it up."

  Cenick frowned. "Let me see your arm," he said. They stopped walking as Cenick and Chunnley stared at Garrett.

  Garrett hesitated, but Cenick's stern look overcame that. He pulled up the sleeve of his robe to reveal his bare arm. The old dragonfire scars stretched from wrist to shoulder along the outside of his arm, but the staff had left no visible mark of its effect on him.

  "I wouldn't worry about it," Chunnley said, "Peacebringer magic's not for harmin'. I don't reckon it would hurt the boy."

  "Hmm," Cenick said, and he nodded at Garrett to roll down his sleeve again.

  As they made their way to the bottom of the hill, Garrett asked, "Who are the Peacebringers?"

  "An order from the North," Cenick said, "I believe they came from Chadiria, but were driven out by the priests of Malleatus long ago."

  "Nah," Chunnley said, "They're older than that. The old religion's been around as long as time. The Peacebringers was just one group of 'em. Maybe all that's left now though."

  "If that," Cenick said, "I haven't seen a Peacebringer in years. I thought they were all killed when the Chadiri took the Free Cities."

  "What were they doing here?" Garrett asked.

  "Perhaps they were traveling to Wythr, just as we are," Cenick said, "With Astorra under the Chadirian banner, Wythr is the last haven west of the mountains."

  "What's on the other side of the mountains?" Garrett asked, suddenly curious.

  Cenick raised an eyebrow. "The rest of the world, Garrett," he said, "wil
ds and deserts and jungles, towns and cities and places yet unmapped."

  "Oh," Garrett said, looking thoughtful.

  "What is it?" Cenick asked.

  Garrett shrugged. "I just thought the Chadiri owned everything else, and we were the last ones left fighting them."

  Cenick smiled. "The Empire is big," he said, "but the world is bigger. There are people in lands far away that have never even heard of a Chadiri... or a necromancer."

  Garrett pondered this as they neared the bottom of the hill. "So why don't we just go over the mountains?" he asked.

  "And let Wythr fall and our homes be burned to ash by the enemy?" Cenick said.

  Garrett blushed. "I mean... I don't know."

  Chunnley spoke up, "I know what you mean, boy. Sometimes it's just easier to run and find a new place to hide. Problem is, when you've run away from too many lions, you start runnin' from mice. Sooner or later, you gotta turn and show your teeth, else you'll just run yourself to nothin'."

  "Someone has to fight the Chadiri," Cenick said, "It was just our fortune to be next in line. If we fall, then the forests of the Fae will feel the red axe. After that, the Chadiri would own the West, all the way to the eternal ice. The mountains would become their bulwark, and then they would turn their eyes to the east. People that now sleep in peace would, one day, wake to the beat of Chadiri drums. At the very least, we may buy them a few more happy days, unstained by the hate of Malleatus."

  "I'm sorry," Garrett said.

  "None of us wished for this, Garrett," Cenick said, "It isn't wrong to want peace. That's what makes us different from them... and every one of us thinks about running away sometimes."

  "Not Max," Garrett laughed.

  Cenick shook his head. "You've never shared a tent with him," he said.

  "Huh?"

  "If you'd ever had to hold him down and shake him awake from one of his nightmares," Cenick said, "You would know what he hides behind that silver mask."

  Garrett said nothing.

  "Max was only seventeen when he was called home from school," Cenick said, "He arrived at his father's estate the day after the Inquisitor had visited to test the purity of Lord Zara and his family's allegiance to their new masters."