“What they failed to realize was that we do not demonize Fionn for being associated with death. Fionn guides spirits from this world to the next, but the path there is fraught with danger, and spirits may easily get lost or devoured by monsters. There are many tales of how Fionn tricks the various beasts and monsters who would feed on lost spirits, or otherwise distract them from finding peace. He’s revered for being clever, and a helpful guide to spirits. I suppose that’s why we think of the Thief as a clever helper rather than someone to be feared.”
“Interesting,” Tofi replied. “It also explains why you would bury your dead in tunnels, although Tofi is still confused why the bodies must be whole. It seems a strange practice to Tofi.”
“The common belief is that one can measure the spirit’s progress on their journey to the Otherworld by observing the state of the body. Whatever decays here has already made it to the Otherworld.” He eyed the mage next to him. “You can understand why my people would be very hesitant to want the bodies of their deceased loved ones walking about.”
“Yes, Tofi understands,” the necromancer said with a nod. “But what do the dead think?”
“Pardon?”
“The dead,” Tofi said, turning back to the fog. “The way Tofi sees it, they are the offended parties here. It is their bones the bandits squat upon, their rest that is being disturbed, their eyes being used to watch their kinsmen. These bandits, they squat in your most sacred of places, pissing, drinking and fucking among your dead, and you do not believe the spirits cry out for vengeance?”
“I…” Rowan cleared his throat. He’d never thought of it in such terms. “How can you claim to speak for the dead you do not know?”
“Tofi claims nothing,” said the necromancer with a shrug. “But Tofi has spoken to many spirits. Tofi knows the nature of their ways, their secret agonies and despairs. Many things are different between your gods and Tofi’s, but one thing remains. The dead should rest. It is a necromancer’s duty to honor the dead. No disrespect is meant.”
Rowan wasn’t so sure about that. Even if Tofi didn’t mean to cause pain or anger to the living relatives, Rowan could see no way to go forward with Ieduin’s plan without doing so. It felt wrong to disturb the dead. He didn’t know if he believed in these rumors of angry spirits and demons, but he believed in spirits and ghosts.
Yet his point about the bandits having already done so stung. Perhaps the dead wanted the chance to avenge those who would defile their final resting place. There was only one way to know for certain.
So, Rowan swallowed his unease and asked the question that had made him avoid the necromancer ever since his arrival. “Can you see restless spirits?”
Tofi looked at him, pale blue eyes painfully intense. “Is that really what you wish to ask Tofi? Or would you instead ask about the one tethered to you?”
No, he thought, but if he asked about her… Ambra had suffered alone in life. He wanted so badly to believe that she had moved on to the Otherworld, free of her suffering. If she hadn’t, he was to blame, and he didn’t know if he could bear to hear that.
Tofi put his hands behind his back and took a step closer to Rowan. “Tofi is happy to offer a demonstration of Tofi’s power tonight. You may ask your own dead how they feel about the situation. Come to the library once full dark has fallen. You will need another to complete the circle.” He stepped around Rowan without being dismissed.
Rowan spun. “I didn’t dismiss you.”
“Respectfully, Tofi answers to a higher power than you, King. If Tofi is to appease the gods, Tofi must get to work. There will be rain soon. Perfect weather for gathering worms. Enjoy your day.” The necromancer walked away. Not even a glance back.
Rowan didn’t know what to make of him. There was a part of him that wanted to like the mage, and his willingness to debate topics others might have considered taboo, but he didn’t seem to have much of an attention span for things that didn’t interest him. He was also strangely lacking in his understanding of social cues. People usually bowed to him, or at least addressed him as something other thanking. They certainly didn’t walk away without some sort of acknowledgement. The way he talked about himself in the third person was also incredibly… odd.
He also wasn’t sold on this demonstration. Contacting the dead wasn’t quite the same as animating their corpses, but it was still unsettling. He’d seen enough ghosts lately.
An icy breath tickled the back of his neck. He shuddered and rubbed his arms, knowing that if he turned around, he would find her standing there, watching him with her empty eyes.
Rowan closed his eyes and sighed. Greymark was full of ghosts. What was one more?
Therainstartedanhour later and did not let up all day. There was little for Rowan to do except pace until dark fell, and when it did, he went straight to the library.
Ewan was waiting outside the doors, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. When he saw Rowan, he pushed away from the wall and said, “This is a bad idea, lad.”
“What does one do when all the ideas are bad, but a decision must be made?” Rowan closed on him. “You make the least bad one you can with as much information as possible. That is what I’m doing. You don’t have to be here, Ewan.”
His mentor shrugged. “You said you needed help. Better me than someone else.”
Ewan had a point. He was a hardcore skeptic, a rare man who didn’t believe in ghosts, and put little stock in superstitions. If Tofi tried to use some trickery to convince them, Ewan was intuitive enough to catch on. Not that Rowan expected the mage to trick them, but a little pragmatism was never unwelcome when dealing with the supernatural.
“He’s already in there with the commanders.” Ewan pointed to the door with a thumb. “Are you sure you want to go through with all this, lad? I know you believe, and… Well. I just don’t want to rip the scab off any healing wounds.”
“We’ve all lost someone.” Rowan pulled open the double doors.
The library in Greymark was one of the largest rooms. It stretched up two stories with a beautiful ceiling of reinforced glass. There were thousands of books upon dozens of shelves, and Rowan had read them all at least once.
His father had started the collection shortly after Greymark’s restoration. Despite being an illiterate man himself, he wanted to make sure his son never had a shortage of books. Sometimes, in the dead of winter, when the wind was howling and snow fell deep enough to block the doors, they’d sit in the library, Rowan and his da, and Rowan would read to him. It was impossible to stand in that library and not think of his da.
Tofi and Ieduin stood over the great oaken table in the middle of the library, lighting the candles. Rixxis walked along the stacks, perusing titles, her hands folded behind her back.