Songreaver

by Andrew Hunter

  Footsteps in the hall drew Garrett's attention, and he turned to see Uncle Tinjin standing there with a hollow, devastated look on his face. In his hand, the old necromancer held an empty glass jar.

  Garrett looked at the dog again, and Branni turned her face toward him, giving him a happy bark. Her little eyes flashed, and the patches of white on her fur seemed almost to sparkle with an unnatural brightness. Garrett struggled to contain his own emotions and had to look away to keep from crying.

  When Lord Ignasio was at last able to speak, he looked at Uncle Tinjin and cried out, "You've done it! You've done it! Thank you!"

  Uncle Tinjin Stumbled forward, and Garrett rushed to catch him before he fell. The empty glass jar that once held the lake stone sand rolled away across the floor. Garrett helped his uncle to a nearby chair, and Tinjin collapsed into it, his eyes fluttering.

  "You are a true master, Sir Necromancer!" Lord Ignasio said, burying his face in Branni's fur, "Tell me how much I owe you, and I will double it! Triple it!"

  Uncle Tinjin groaned. "No!" he shouted, his voice strained and thin, "I'll take no pay for this! Go now, and never speak of this to anyone!"

  Lord Ignasio stared back at him in astonishment. "But I must pay you something..." he said.

  "Leave me!" Uncle Tinjin hissed, leveling a bony finger at the nobleman's chest, "And know this, the day you tell anyone what happened here is the day I take back what I have given!"

  Lord Ignasio clutched Branni to his chest in terror and fled from the room.

  The little dog looked back over Lord Ignasio's shoulder as they raced down the front steps, and barked happily. They disappeared into the carriage and rolled away down the street.

  Garrett shut the door and returned to the parlor where Uncle Tinjin sat with his face in his hands.

  "How did you do that?" Garrett asked.

  Tinjin shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered, "I don't even know why I did it... It just seemed right somehow."

  "You really brought it back to life, didn't you?" Garrett asked.

  Uncle shook his head. "I don't know," he said, "I don't know what that was."

  "It looked alive to me," Garrett said, "maybe a bit... shinier."

  Uncle Tinjin groaned and laid his head back on the chair. "What have I done?" he said.

  "Uncle Tinjin, that was amazing!" Garrett said, "I'll bet no one's ever done anything like that before!"

  "No," he said, "They haven't... and it can never be undone."

  "What's wrong?" Garrett asked, "Why aren't you happy?"

  Uncle Tinjin rubbed his eyes and looked at Garrett. "Suppose," he said, "that man goes out and tells everyone that necromancers have to power to bring people back from the dead? What happens then?"

  Garrett shrugged. "Well, we sorta do... now, thanks to you."

  "No, Garrett," Uncle said, "We just have the knowledge of how it can be done. I risked my life to obtain a sample of sand large enough to reanimate one small dog. We already know that at least two factions of killers are vying for control of this resource. Imagine what will happen if everyone in the world learns what it can do?"

  Garrett waved his arms. "So, what?" he asked, "Should we just pretend that didn't happen? I mean, isn't this exactly what you've been trying to do all along?"

  Uncle Tinjin stared at the floor for a long while. "No, Garrett," he said, "I think I've been trying to prove that it couldn't be done, because, if it can then..."

  "Then what?" Garrett asked.

  Uncle Tinjin buried his face in the crook of his arm and wept.

  By the time Garrett came back with a blanket, the old necromancer was already asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Garrett sat beside Warren on the shore of Brunnog's Lake, the ghouls' name for the place where one of the city's underground storm drains had long ago dammed up with debris, forming a deep black pond. It was a great place to fish for sewer carp or just to sit and think things through.

  "So, your uncle is all right?" Warren asked. The ghoul scratched absently at the sticky patch of grave mold that Ymowyn had smeared along the burn on his jawline. A similar greenish-gray patch covered the wound on his arm.

  "Yeah, just pretty tired... he's been sick," Garrett said. He wanted to say more, but Uncle had sworn him to silence on the matter of the dog.

  "He musta been pretty mad when he found out the church took all his stuff," Warren said.

  "Not as much as you'd think," Garrett said, "Cenick sure was mad though when he found out someone had tried to use his haunted root collection to make beer."

  Warren snorted. "Really?"

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "He's warning everybody to stay away from the taverns in the Lower City for at least a year."

  Warren laughed, then fell silent, staring out over the dark surface of the lake. Snowflakes drifted softly down a little shaft of daylight from a drain somewhere in the roof high above. Silver ripples danced on the black water where the light touched it.

  "You sure your dad is gonna be all right?" Garrett asked.

  Warren nodded. "Uncle Raikjaa is a great healer," he said, then looked around the chamber to be sure they were alone before continuing, "...not a very nice guy sometimes, and Norris gives me the jibblies, but Uncle Raik knows his business."

  "How do they change themselves to look like humans?" Garrett asked.

  "That's white wolf magic," Warren said, "Nemre's work. Dad was never much into it. Says that, if you start puttin' on other people's faces, you wind up forgettin' who you are."

  "So, Raikjaa is really your dad's brother?" Garrett asked.

  "Half brother," Warren said, "same mom, different dads."

  "Oh," Garrett said, "How does your uncle know Miss Ymowyn?"

  Warren looked around again and lowered his voice, "Now that's really weird. They act like they know each other from way back, but she doesn't want anything to do with him."

  "Why did your uncle say that she called him?"

  Warren shook his head. "She must've sent word to him when she knew the redjacks were gonna catch her. She didn't know me and dad and the others were already on our way."

  "She got caught?" Garrett asked.

  "Yeah, we were right about the Inquisitor having some sort of magic finding out stuff spell," Warren said, "By the time we got there, they were haulin' people out of their homes in the middle of the night for all sorts of reasons and draggin' 'em down for trial in the morning. The whole city stank of burnt people when we showed up.

  "I was jumpin' outta my skin, worried about her, but Dad sniffed her out. They had her locked up in a cell, ready to burn her as soon as they had a pole free. Me and Dad tore through those guards like a two-copper shroud." Warren paused, grinning at the memory. "Ah, Gar, she looked so glad to see us... wouldn't stop cryin' and huggin' me... Anyway, we thought we'd got free, but then, outta nowhere, the creepin' Inquisitor himself shows up, screamin' mad!"

  "Prex?" Garrett said.

  "Yeah, all decked out in gold armor with this big hammer, yellin' and pointin' at us, calling us demonspawn! Dad tells him exactly what he's gonna do with that hammer, and that shuts Prex up fast. Bad thing though, there was about twenty redjacks between Dad and old Torchy. That don't matter much to Dad, he's got his blood up by now, and, when he's like that, you'd think Raikjaa was his little brother. Prex sees the odds startin' to turn, and he runs for it, but not before he chucks some sort of spell at Dad."

  "A spell?"

  Warren grimaced. "Like a ball o' nighttime... hits Dad square in the snout, and he yells like it burns really bad, but he shrugs it off and keeps after Prex. He got away though, and Dad says we can't waste any more time on him, so we run.

  "We made it all the way out of the city and into the woods, what woods there are in Astorra, and we run like our tails are lit. We don't slow down to catch our breath 'till we reach Gloar, thinking we made it clean. That's when the real demons showed up." Warren shivered.

  "You think Prex is the one sending those thi
ngs out after people?" Garrett asked.

  Warren shrugged. "I guess," he said, "I mean the guy's evil. Maybe if you do enough bad stuff, you get to have really evil guy powers?"

  "And your Dad fought all the demons by himself?"

  Warren hung his head, scratching at his wound again. "We tried to help," he said, "but... when we saw we couldn't really hurt them..."

  Warren's shaggy shoulders shook as he sucked in a breath.

  "Dad said the rest of us should run for it while... I told Ymowyn to go on, but she wouldn't let go of my arm. She kept yelling that we had to keep running. Then one of them got her around the throat and started chokin' her... That kinda got my blood up... In case you ever get the urge, don't bite one of those things! They taste like bad cheese... and fire."

  "What happened then?" Garrett asked.

  Warren sighed. "Well, lucky for all of us, Uncle Raik showed up about then. Norris and some other White Packers were with him, but Raik didn't really need their help. He starts howlin' out all these weird spells, and he's kinda covered in this blue light. The demons scream like singed rats and take off runnin'... or floatin', I guess, but really fast. Dad and Ymowyn are out, but still breathin', Dad barely. We get Ymowyn roused enough to walk again, but she keeps mutterin' about dead voices and other cheerful stuff.

  "Uncle Raik slings Dad over his shoulder, and we set out for home. The rest of the White Pack heads back to Astorra... don't know what they were doin' there, and I didn't think to ask. The demons trailed us as far as the city, I think, but they didn't dare come close with Raik there." Warren picked off a chunk of grave mold from his face and flicked it into the water.

  "Well, I'm glad you guys are all right," Garrett said, "I guess the Inquisitor probably sent those things after those Peacebringer people too. Lucky your uncle was there. Miss Serepheni wasn't able to save the lady that was hurt like your dad was."

  "Yeah... I don't know what we're gonna do next time we meet those things," Warren said.

  "Maybe I could teach you some fairy magic," Garrett said.

  Warren snorted with laughter.

  "You wouldn't be laughing if you saw what it did to one of those things," Garrett said.

  Warren stopped laughing. "I'm sorry, Gar," he said, "I'd try just about anything at this point. I don't ever want to feel that helpless again."

  "I'll bring you a can of essence tomorrow after I get back from the temple," Garrett said.

  "Temple?" Warren asked.

  Garrett sighed. "I sorta agreed to do the whole Templar thing that Miss Serepheni wanted me to do."

  Warren gave him and incredulous look.

  "I know," Garrett said, "but Max said it's a great opportunity, and I shouldn't really have to do all that much. It's just an honorable title or something."

  "Does your uncle know about this?" Warren asked.

  Garrett winced. "Not really... I haven't had a chance to tell him yet."

  "Well, you'd better tell him quick," Warren said, "Tomorrow you'll have already sold your soul to the Worm Queen or something."

  "Yeah," Garrett said, staring out at the lake. Something large and scaly broke the surface and then disappeared again beneath the water.

  Warren reached out and laid his paw on Garrett's back. "It's good to see you again, Gar," he said.

  "You too, Warren."

  ****

  Garrett rapped his knuckles softly against the door of Uncle's study. It swung open a little on its creaking hinges.

  "Come in, Garrett," Uncle Tinjin said.

  Garrett stepped into the warm little room to find Uncle Tinjin seated at his table studying a large and garishly illustrated book.

  "What's that?" Garrett asked as he approached.

  A large illustration, spanning both open pages, depicted a great, golden-scaled dragon curled around a white obelisk, surrounded by smaller dragons of many different colors. Around them, a great city of domes and spires rose up to meet a clear, star-swept sky. Before the golden dragon, in an open courtyard, stood what looked like the silhouette of a man, wreathed in smoke. The man's shadowy arm pointed upward toward one of the two moons hanging above them. His finger, drawn as sharp as a dagger, pointed directly at the heart of what appeared to be a great, faceted gem in the sky.

  "Did the Crystal Moon really look like that?" Garrett asked.

  Uncle Tinjin laughed. "An artist's fancy, no doubt," he said, "It probably looked much like any natural stone. Of course there's no way of knowing now. No real records survived the cataclysm that followed the moon's destruction, only stories passed down by the survivors."

  "Who's that guy?" Garrett asked, pointing at the dark, smoking figure in the center of the courtyard.

  "One of the Volgrem," Uncle said, "ancient demons that came to this world to spread their own kind of mischief."

  Garrett felt a chill run through his body at the memory of the things in the forest... the same things that had attacked Warren and the others. "Where do they come from?" he asked.

  Tinjin shrugged. "Who knows?" he said, "and who knows what they hope to accomplish. They've tried to destroy this world at least once through their trickery. Perhaps they hope to succeed this time in some more subtle fashion."

  "By working with the Chadiri?" Garrett said.

  "That would seem to be the case," Uncle sighed, "What is it you wanted?"

  "I..." Garrett hesitated, "I have to do something for Max tomorrow, and I wanted to tell you about it."

  "Oh? What is it?"

  "I have to go to the temple," Garrett said.

  Uncle's face darkened. "The temple? What for?"

  Garrett drew in a breath before speaking again. "I'm supposed to learn how to be a Templar."

  Uncle Tinjin stared back at him for a moment and then coughed, his eyes bulging a bit. "What?" he demanded.

  "It happened when we were up in the swamp, fighting the Chadiri," Garrett said, "I helped figure out a trap the Chadiri were laying for the army, and everyone was really grateful... Miss Serepheni was so glad that she made me an honorable Templar right on the spot."

  "Honorary," Uncle corrected him.

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "... I'm sure it doesn't really mean anything, but I told Max I would do it, and I don't want to go back on my word."

  Uncle's lips tensed as though holding back something he wished to say but didn't. "So, Max is pressuring you into this?" Uncle Tinjin asked.

  Garrett winced. "No, he said I could say no if I wanted to... I just..."

  "You just want to earn his respect," Tinjin said.

  Garrett nodded.

  Uncle Tinjin ran his hand over his face and made an exasperated sound. He stared down at his book for a while. He sighed. "Oh, to have been born into a quieter age," he whispered.

  Garrett waited. Part of him wished that Uncle would forbid him to go, and that would be the end of it.

  "You may go," Uncle said, "on two conditions. First, you must report to me everything they ask you to do. Secondly, you must make no oaths of secrecy with them... I doubt that they would knowingly share any of the sisterhood's secrets with you, but you must not pretend that you will be able to keep any secrets for them."

  Garrett nodded.

  Uncle Tinjin placed his hand on Garrett's shoulder. "You must understand that Mauravant was the Mother of Worms, but her daughters have become a nest of vipers."

  "What does that mean?" Garrett asked.

  "It means to watch your step," Uncle said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "You look very handsome," Serepheni said as she smoothed the front of Garrett's green silk doublet.

  Garrett wished that he had worn a thinner robe as the added layer of silk was already making him uncomfortably warm in the incense-laden air of the Temple of Mauravant. Serepheni had given him permission to wear the tabard of a Novitiate over his usual necromancer garb. He had feigned a professional attachment to the purple robes, primarily as an excuse to keep his hood on. He would probably have to explain his scars to the
other young Templars at some point, but he'd rather it not be their first impression of him.

  "Can I wear my medallion outside the tabard?" Garrett asked, running his gloved fingertips over the silken lump just above his heart.

  Serepheni smiled and shook her head. "You're not even supposed to wear that in here," she whispered, "but I think it will be all right, as long as you keep it out of sight."

  Garrett nodded.

  Serepheni stepped back and straightened the high collar of her own new vestments. She seemed slightly uncomfortable in the bulky layers of silk of her Matron's habit. Her promotion had been part of her reward for the successful campaign in the North. Garrett's acceptance into the Templar academy had been another.

  Garrett's eyes went to the door of the sacristy. The blood-red wood of the door had been carven in the shapes of hundreds of writhing worms, intertwined together around the central figure, a depiction of Mauravant herself. The Worm Mother looked like a great, segmented worm that formed a serpentine curve up the center of the door. Clusters of tendrils grew out from the rim of her mouth to form a tangled halo around her eyeless head. Garrett shivered to look at the carving of the monstrous goddess, and hoped that Serepheni took no notice.

  "Are you nervous?" she asked.

  A distant, mournful chanting of many voices drifted in from somewhere beyond the door.

  "I'm all right," Garrett said.

  "You'll be fine," Serepheni said.

  "Oh, there was something I wanted to ask you," Garrett said.

  "Yes?"

  "I was wondering if I could get another one of those letters from you," Garrett asked, "I think I found out who has my fairy, and I wanted to try to go get her back on my way home today."

  Serepheni nodded. "Of course," she said, "I'm glad you found her. I'll write something particularly intimidating. They've given me a very impressive seal to stamp things with now, and I'll use a lot of red wax." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "It reminds people of blood." She winked at him.

  Garrett grinned. "Thanks!" he said.

  A distant chime rang out, and Serepheni steered Garrett toward the door. "You'd better get going," she said, "You do not want to be late for your first day... trust me."